That's £275 billion, now, isn't it, altogether? This quantitative easing is ridiculous. Where will it all end? Has the Bank of England gone crazy?!
I wish there was something I could do to stop it, the QE. Stop the whole world, in fact. I've had enough! I'm sick of existence. It's at times like this that I miss the astral plane. But there can't be any going back. We're stuck here, all of us. Here: it's a wretched reality that's too sticky and too cold to change. I still try, though.
There was a day, one day, years ago, and I thought the chaos would change my mind, but I just got buzzing in the ears, still got it. We're all stuck in this jam. It's on our fingers, and in our hair. We can't escape. I saw one of those humans, a square, well, a picture of one, educated at a slave shop, and I could tell, right then, in that moment, earlier, not too long ago, this morning, I remember, that he had no idea he was alive and sticky, all sticky like a fly, a fly in jam. And we know he'll never stop. I would like him to stop. But he'll continue living in the jam, happily, not even noticing. I feel sick. Sick that I have to share the jam with a man like that. No awareness, none. It should be a crime! No shame. These fucking people should be ashamed! But they're not even aware. We can't stop them. They breed like rabbits, or flies.
Update (6.30pm): I seem to be losing it again. I think maybe I write too much. But I won't delete this post. I mean, I could delete half the blog if I wanted to get rid of all the things that disturb me - and you? Or do you just take it all with a pinch of salt? That's probably best. You know me quite well now. I didn't even need to make this update, really.
I wish there was something I could do to stop it, the QE. Stop the whole world, in fact. I've had enough! I'm sick of existence. It's at times like this that I miss the astral plane. But there can't be any going back. We're stuck here, all of us. Here: it's a wretched reality that's too sticky and too cold to change. I still try, though.
There was a day, one day, years ago, and I thought the chaos would change my mind, but I just got buzzing in the ears, still got it. We're all stuck in this jam. It's on our fingers, and in our hair. We can't escape. I saw one of those humans, a square, well, a picture of one, educated at a slave shop, and I could tell, right then, in that moment, earlier, not too long ago, this morning, I remember, that he had no idea he was alive and sticky, all sticky like a fly, a fly in jam. And we know he'll never stop. I would like him to stop. But he'll continue living in the jam, happily, not even noticing. I feel sick. Sick that I have to share the jam with a man like that. No awareness, none. It should be a crime! No shame. These fucking people should be ashamed! But they're not even aware. We can't stop them. They breed like rabbits, or flies.
Update (6.30pm): I seem to be losing it again. I think maybe I write too much. But I won't delete this post. I mean, I could delete half the blog if I wanted to get rid of all the things that disturb me - and you? Or do you just take it all with a pinch of salt? That's probably best. You know me quite well now. I didn't even need to make this update, really.
