Pete Um is out of the office.   Leave a comment

Stuff in bold is from recent email Spam (verbatim):

u dont make much with ur current job nor repeat height
college close yourself heard nay different nine nay all resolved! independent argue arm point that exaggerate repeated gym broken, example new six trees particular satisfied any cry explain lady, stepped son circumstances him fasten usual person low. case sugar poison thousand changed!

Jesus Christ, the ghost of William Burroughs is sending me emails.

So, I’ve done no diary for a while, mainly because I’ve been a bit fucked in the mind by circumstance. Sam had our second 15+-week miscarriage a few weeks ago.


It was fucking horrendous. I would tell you about it but I haven’t got time right now. I’d have to tell you about the first one as well and it would start turning into some kind of epic of roughness.

thank feel farther itself lay. drink bird walk hardly lived supper plan address, taught spoke cried to-morrow almost planning table progress.

And then about two weeks after that happened my feud with our neighbours took a turn for the worse when they accused me for the second time of being aggressive and intimidating towards their kid, which didn’t actually happen but there you go. I’m living under the threat of violence and allsorts. Goes with the grief beautifully, I can tell ya.

Waste A Few Bucks To Increase Ur Sizeee ovular tarmac

And now this week I’ve got Syd all week because Sam’s busy as fuck feeding all the people that make Strawberry Fair happen, and I’m not getting a whole lot of sleep because I’m stressed, and this stress has been eating into my lumbar regions or whatever it is that’s fucked up with my back, and this morning, while I’m standing making a cup of tea, but not actually physically doing anything else (like twisting or lifting) I suddenly feel this burning ball of pain start rising up my spine before settling to rest alongside my left shoulder blade. It hasn’t done it’s thing yet and snap, spasm and popped into agonizing pain-where-you-can’t-even-breathe, but it will probably do so if I don’t lie flat on my bed for about 12 hours, which is what I told Sam I’d be doing right now, rather than moaning in cyberspace. Do people still refer to cyberspace? It seems old-fashioned somehow.

bored with life. Buy Xanax .

So, I’m praying for a miracle that I’ll be OK to do my childcare duties and be fit enough to carry a weighty and cumbersome retro-chic tape-recorder round Midsummer Common on Saturday. If anyone wants to apply for a job as boombox-boy or girl please apply through this site. The rest of you can throw fruit or cow dung or misfortune at me as per usual.

Little Diicky, U Better Have A Huge One subsystem diggings

I’m not making this stuff up, I swear.

Oh yeah, on my flyer announcing my plan to be a wandering minstrel I forgot the crucial bit of the whole exercise, which was to advertise the concept as a protest against the war in Iraq, the environmental degradation of the planet and my lack of profile in the music business. I was hoping to carry this off by stumbling around the site, drunk and rabid and yelling “I pay my taxes! Why aren’t I a celebrity!” through a megaphone.

Ehh, U Have Small Pe–nis, Help Urself quivering

Or to put that another way:

Waste A Few Bucks To Increase Ur Sizeee cotula evolvement fribble

Hopefully see you at the Fair. If you seem a man lying on the grass next to a very large tape-recorder do not attempt to move him.

Posted June 3, 2004 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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