i'm not sure what is it about computers, and the way they twist your mind; it's long after i wanted to go to bed, and i keep moving in aimless circles across the sites i usually frequent. nothing interesting there: books i will not buy, articles i will not read. yet i go there.
it's easier in Michael's flat: he has heating, nice ambience lights, a DIY hi-techy desk, a laptop and broadband. A guess: this is the only squat in London with broadband. well, maybe in East London, and maybe not even this. you see, he's not paying for it, so why assume he's the only one? no scam, just one of these offers from these slimey octapus-like net companies that lurk in the plumbing of this thing on which we find ourselves inscribed.
i promised S to wake up early. i better turn the un-invited irish folk music that appeared suddenly in the background, and go

i think i have temprature. oh god. things don't work out today and had to abandon all illicit plans. until next week. bummer.
already on the way to the library i noticed that something was strange. cycling along the canal, i could see many ducks going about their buisness, and a cormorant was hasitly pacing, almost running. but none of them were in the water. they were making alarming sounds.
later i saw a squirrel. almost run over it. wait a minute i thought, aren't you supposed to be hybernating, or semi-hibernating? is it the last rounds to collect food before sleep? it's december mate.
then i saw many more of them.
the book i'm reading at the moment tells me that in the middle ages squirrels symbolised the male member, and there's a tale about a girl seeing a dick for the first time, she's told it's a squirrel so naturally she fondles it.
what does it say about me.
i'm really almost delirous and have to find all these books now so i get something done over the weekend. so ips ips

yes. the last time was more than a month ago. which raises the question, am i serious in this relationship. oh well. i wanto, really wanto,
but you know.

I took Gary to the wholesale fruit and veg market today. He's writing an essay about skipping for college, and came with me to see the best place to skip in London, but much more than that: the place where you understand what Globalisation is about, oh doesn't this sound all too didactic, but hey: New Covent Garden Market: it's the world as you don't know it, it's the present future, the future present, it's radicalizing, empowering, bringing you down to earth, showing you the cogs deep inside the machine, opening the hidden closet, undressing the truth and hanging it to dry, sobering you up and making your fingers stink a bit, it's all those cliches and more, and much more.
and it's where i get my food from, occasionaly. Now that i live in the East End I don't go there very often.

amm, it seems to be a South-London-Squatting word, it's not known to brits outside this small and cozy community. as UK residents know a skip is where you dump stuff you can do without, ie dumpster. and as with similar verbs, to peel is to take the peel off, to joint is to separte the joints and to skip is to take things out of the skip, or more generally, out of the trash. simple.

we didn't find much today. it was slow, and there was some nasty energy in the air. didn't find much is two panniers full with
huge bag of yellow peppers
parsley, fresh mint,
pineapples
bannans,
swedes
beetroots
salad, roket,
red onions
melons
probably forgot something.

I was going to write something about the superiority of middle eastern mint, that is, na'na as it's known in Arabic/Hebrew and the whole complex issue for me that is skipping veggies from israel, ("problematised homesickness: the smell of Israeli mint in a London skip" i can see an academic paper here). yes, the whole thing, familiar smells from home, unwanted produce, unwanted people, immigrant Thai workers working for a kibbutz on the eve of economic bankrupcy, the whole boycot issue on "illegal israel"). but let's leave that for the moment.

I have this idea, filming a documentary in the market: no explanations, just quotes from Marx, with emphasis on the fluid, ever-flowing and changing natuer of capital. "all that is solid will turn to compost". #

and after that, well, not much. gales on Waterloo bridge. almost blew me away into the Thames they did