At the risk of sounding pretentious (that's a risk that's become a field of security for me now mind you) - I have to get the future off my back. With so many ways to get what I want I never seem to get round to any of them. Tomorrow everything will be done and then I get there and a great, fucking vacuous fart of existence waits for me. Okay, perhaps a teenager might describe tomorrow like that, but since were skipping about in time here, then why not. Also, because time has seen fit to treat me like a rag-doll, rape victim, I am typing this with no forethought - as such - and only several minutes left before I have to leave the flat soon.
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In about four hours I'll be sitting in a winged bullet once again. Breathing the compressed air with my fellow budget travellers. It's only for an hour, so I'll live without the extortinate, dead sandwich and even the surly-served orange juice.
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We are jetting into Langkawi. There's not many ways to describe this tropical island other than the well-trodden phrases of guide books and travel promoters. Anyway, I'll try. If God butters his toast on his grand balcony, when he drops a piece in a glistening puddle, it creates Langkawi. So, I'm going to laze, burn, brown, sweat on God's discarded breakfast for a week.
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I'll pick up a pad and a biro when I'm there and try to jot down some stuff to help me post more regularly when I return, but, you know, this is all in the future and God doesn't even know when that will happen. He's the prat who dropped his toast after all.
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Get pissed. Destroy.
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I'll get Fucking in the toilets of the Zoological Museum - part 2 to you when I return too.
