In which I could fall on you.

Today I recorded the song I wrote last thing last night, which is electronic and throbs like cock blood in times of opportunity. I walked in the park, had a coffee in the sunshine, read XXL, which was OK. Shaved. Brushed my hair. Those last two may seem trivial, but I very rarely do either. Today I am having a Very Handsome day. It is a terrible thing to waste, but hell. South Park was shit. The Sopranos was amazing. Tonight they are playing CLONES on CSI, but I have never seen that show, so I have no frame of reference.

It is all about having a decent frame of reference.

Everything is great, apart from the small pile of rather terrifying buff windowed envelopes on my door mat, that I have yet to bear to open, and the similarly rotten state of my inbox. I don't know what to do about it. I have 639 emails I know I need to reply to. Lord knows about the rest. I need to take a few days to answer email. I need to not write songs or go to the park or watch a cartoon for a few days. That's it.

The song I wrote today runs at 224 beats per minute, features an unsettling bass drone, an unsampled symphony created with a digital paintbrush and a software synthesizer, a stark opening hook, and an increasingly complex multi-harmony crescendo. Today it sounds genius. Maybe it will be shit tomorrow. Live for the moment, they say.

Oh, what! Marvin The Martian just rang me. He is wandering around Old Street looking for Rooz Studios. Has been since 9:30 or something. He thought we were rehearsing there tonight. In fact, we are rehearsing there tomorrow. Same night as the gig we are playing. I know this is weird. But it is true.

Poor Marvin! Go offer your condolences on his MySpace page, or something.