Sunday, January 26, 2003


I hate it when there's really only one thing to write about, and I can hardly bear to write about it because the subject fills me with despair and something that used to be anger but is now so worn out with overuse that it's become unrecognizable. But the West must have blood and so here we all are, on the brink of yet another pointless conflict that probably won't even shift Saddam's arse half-an-inch from the throne that we put under him.

I wish this shit didn't make me so damn tired. There's only one thing I can really do, only one response that I'm capable of making: to write about it. I can take no action except to be a commentator on the action, I can do nothing but bear witness. And that one thing gets harder and harder to do because I feel like I'm trying to empty the sea with a sodding teaspoon.

Somebody hate-mail me, please. Tell me how pathetic I'm being, how I'm no better than the despots and the terrorists. You know, the stupid bollocks you're so good at. Maybe you'll actually manage to piss me off. Maybe you can get me to feel something, anything besides this big fat apathy.

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