11 November 2004

Indiscreet Ingrids

We peered through the windows
New bottoms on barstools
But the people remain the same with prices inflating, inflating
As if saved from the gallows
There's a bellow of buzzers
And the people stop working and they're all so excited, excited.

I came across the realisation in cinematic mirror shards that as long as Bergman is beautiful and London is the scene for intrigue, I will always want to be Cary Grant.

So, I edited the post, sue me, I do it all the time you just never notice.
I realised that with all the things I've seen and done, with all that my still unaged eyes see, I seem to take the awe-striking moments for granted, and only later do I appreciate them in my memory, replaying every second. So here's what you are going to do. Come to Scotland. Fuck the cold weather, fuck the rain, fuck the sodding food and everything else. Come. Go to the highlands, or even the midlands, just to see the sun rise and set. It cannot be paralleled. Come, visit, stop being arses, and I'll stop editing posts when I get bored.

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