Home Alone

My parents are away for most of today, so there's plenty of uninterrupted opportunity to record vocals for Gallows Hill and mix it right.

Tonight is a forum on immigration - which, as a good, loyal and committed socialist, I might skip to see H if he's feeling better. Though as the one charged with reminding others to turn up, there'll be an hour on the phone persuading others to be there.

I've stumbled across the notebooks I kept in the early 1990s. I kept them to record any philosophical questions and ideas that occured to me. About two thirds of the entries either trivially true or obviously false, but there's some interesting stuff in there. When I find a bit of time, I plan to transcribe some of the more interesting mini-essays here.

Three quarters of the stuff from my bedroom is in boxes in another room. So why has one quarter of the mass produced the same level of mess as before?

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