Driven to murder by nudity and tin openers.

I made a list, while on holiday, about all the the things I now can and cannot write about with impunity.

I have the things I cant write about list hanging around somewhere. It turned out to be too dense to burn and too large to bury, so at the moment its being used by Hackney council to house several families and a small shopping mall.

As far as I remember, though, it covered most things from Aasvogels to Zymurgy (although i seem to remember that i included those as things that I cant write about because I dont know what they are).

In between aasvogel (a type of tough, dirt-textured siberian bagel, apparently) and zymurgy (the honed ability to tell frozen food from frozen bodily fluids; the zymurgist is an essential crew-member on any space station) were the usual suspects;
work, people at work, work situations and work.

And a bunch of other things.

Works the main thing. Its taking up a lot of my time and energy at the moment, in a very good way, but its so strange. Ive gone from writing this thing on a small island, to being a student and now, in a city and a responsible job, my life is full as fuck but contains little of the everyday I can write about.

So I am thinking. I am thinking and with my list of things I Can write about;
Cheese sandwiches, bus seats, old stories (the ones I havent used up already) and the fact that if I dont move house soon, Im going to lay waste to my flatmate. Seriously. Im going to kill her.

Also, theres a big project thing that you have to help with.
But in the meantime, Ill just write rubbish.

Sorry, this is one of those dull thinking out loud posts.