And what a brave new world it is we live in.

The black dog stalked me down the road today. It has become his habit, he seems to enjoy it. There is a certain terrifying elegance about his quill-sharpened teeth and the lope of his soft foot falling silently on the floor.

Hug me till you drug me, honey
Put me in a coma
Hold me honey, snuggly bunny
Love's as good as soma.

I love those five lines. If I was a musician, I'd put them to music, or I'd sing them or something. Aldous Huxley's not a patch on Orwell, but he's still fantastic.

Someone else I love is still confusing me. Sometimes he wants me to touch him, sometimes he doesn't, never in a sexual way. He eked out of me today how I really and truly think about myself, and I think he finds me dour. I can't always be lively.

I've got a hairbrush I'm desperate to clean and I just can't work out, for the life of me, how to get the dust out of the roots of it. I'm reluctant to placate consumerism by buying a new one. What on earth should I do?

I will have to dust soon because a thin layer of my own dead skin is coating my room.

I finished a book that detailed the inside of someone's upper lip. I wonder what your upper lip is like. I wonder what your car crash body is like. It's none so terrible from the outside, with your three protective layers against the world. It's your torso. Maybe you're just like me underneath, and you're worried about the size of your waist, or your stomach, or anything else.

Here are today's.

one and a half scones with creme fraiche-450
a tuna baguette-500
oranges-50
stir fry-100
half a scone-150
raisins-50

1300. Unlucky because I'm a triskaidekaphobe, but alright.

I adore looking at people's parents, because one person's face is suddenly two faces. I adore tracing.