I got a giant HUGE movie poster of Tim Burton's Corpse Bride.

For free.

I'm unbeatable. Muahaha.


**


Been reading this book by the title of "Seven Types of Ambiguity" by this guy called Eliot Perlman. Seriously, never heard of him.

But it's such an amazing book, I just dunno where to start.

It's like all those thoughts that're trapped within me, those words for which I cannot find any voice, nor give them any face, they come to life in the lines of this very book.

Many a time I just can't help but let out a gasp whilst reading.

Or give a knowing smile.


There are so many lines in this book that make me catch my breath and wonder how this genius was created, but I can't list all of them here. Let's still give you a little teaser for effect.

How many people around the world who have not yet fallen off Alex's graph are eating dinner night after night after night on their own? There are the divorced. There are widows and widowers, of course. We think of them as old. They are not all old but even those who are - are they in some way meant to eat dinner each night on their own? Do they deserve it? Have they earned it? How many nights must you spend alone for every night you were not on your own?

It feels ridiculous to make a salad for yourself. You wash the lettuce, tear it apart, cut up the tomatoes, add a little dressing and wonder whether it will feel less ridiculous, hollow, artificial, with the passage of time. Don't add dressing. No one is watching. Try to cover the hum of the flourescent strip light and the refrigerator with the radio. The radio is worse. It shouts at you, advertisements, drum and bass, little girl or boy groups voicing perfectly timed musical cliches to computerised accompaniments, right-wing shock jocks with switchboards lit up by fear, hate and ignorance, or New Age flatulence masquerading as enlightenment. Turn it off and that leaves you the hum and the salad. If you don't add dressing, it will be over that much faster. Then you try leaving out the tomatoes.... the idea that there is a definite warning sign for people living by themselves - the salad dressing stops appearing in the salad, then the tomatoes, then the salad itself. Then you're just left with a bowl which, sooner or later, you fill with cereal and milk and then - for the hell of it - you start to add a little scotch to the milk.