The TV business is uglier than most things. It is normally perceived as some kind of cruel and shallow money trench through the heart of the journalism industry, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free and good men die like dogs, for no good reason.
Hunter S. Thompson
Your correspondent's clock has gone haywire, doing the graveyard shifts last night and tonight, I'm completely oblivious to what time of day it is, the clock on the wall glows purple and tells me it's 3PM, but it feels like 6AM. An attempt to sleep was made but this horrific electronic, shrieking, high treble version of "buttons and bows" kept playing, not sure if it was grounded in reality or a audio hallucination caused by exhaustion, either way it kept me awake and in a very agitated state.
Filling myself with caffeine is the only solution, this is the only solution to most of my problems that affect my state of mind. Exhaustion hounds me like a foul spirit. The ghosts that hang over my head in a perpetual state of torment, swarm on days like these.
George Harrison said it best "It seems like years since it's been clear". Despite the fact that the sun is shining today, there is a shadow that hangs over the day. Watching the magic box, the world is astounded that a 93 year old man who had been fighting pneumonia and heart disease has died.
Peering through the windows of the bunker, I see the hollow eyes of the ghosts as they wander the alleys of the urban jungle. Despite the commanded joy of the season, the streets seem to be filled with despair. Walking home in the morning, there is an imagic irony of a man in a sleeping bag seeking shelter from the elements in the doorway of a bank.
I need to sleep.
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