It's been a long time since everything, I suppose.

Here's some lyrics composed on the walk home, to a melody that can probably never be accurately transcribed, changing, as it does, every time I sing it.

They say that nothing is free,
But then how can they explain Nelson Mandela?
They say that nothing is how it should be,
But what about a mother's love?
They say that good things come in threes,
But then what about tits and vincent van gogh?
I guess they don't know, they don't know.

Some things are better because you can't have them. Somethings are worse because you do.

Randomness is the order of the evening, of, well, the last half decade or so. Who'd have thought the 20th century would be so non-linear? Well, I guess most people.

Words the sentence this in order out are of.

Blah blah blah blah.

"Oh you're a blogger?" Emily said to me with a hint of amused disgust.

Yep. I even have the sweatshirt to prove it.

-Trevor

P.S. Read Atonement by Ian McEwan.

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