Fucking Full Moon:

I am in a really bad mood. I wasn’t an hour ago– and now I am.

I can’t write when I feel like this.

I don’t care to discuss why– it’s private, it’s personal, and it irks me.

Lucky for me, however, I have a brand new book to plough through.

Here. Have some of it’s goodness:

Death To This Book.

Death to this book or fuck this book and fuck this marriage.
Fuck the 26 letters of my cowardice. Fuck you for breaking the mirror and throwing the eyebrow tweezers out the window. Your dead bed night after night and nothing warm but baby talk. Fuck marriage and theology and the cold goodnight. Fuck the idolatry of anger and the priests who say so. How dare they. How dare they. Thanks for your judgement on me. Murder and a fast train to Paris and me thin again in my blue raincoat, and Barbara waiting at the Cluny Square Hotel. Fuck her for never turning up.

Page 20. Death of a Lady’s Man.

Happy full moon. x.

YOINK.

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