Saying 'I told you so' doesn't help anything and only works if you had in fact told that person so.

I never told Chris so. Who was I, his single female friend who's relationships never work out, to tell him that going out with this girl wasn't a good idea? He liked her, and she appeared to like him. I was not good friends with her and hold no grudges against her. I know only what Chris has told me.

I talked to him last night and he said that they have broken up. They have being going out for almost a year and a half. He had always seems so happy when he talked about her. I rarely though saw them together. He is away at college and I usually talk to him over the internet. He called her 'the love of my life'. I had sincerely wished them the best of luck. I was begining to believe in destiny and fate. Here, his first girlfriend and he has probably found 'the one'.

I want so much to help him. He and I have always helped each other. I was the one that he had worried that he would graduate from high school without kissing a girl or having a girlfriend. I hoped that his senior prom might change this. But his date I was unsure about. There were rumors at my small and very closed minded school that she was gay or atleast bi. I was unsure if they were true. I figured that they were rumors.

They started going out at prom. He immediated asked what I thought of his girlfriend. I wished them the best of luck. They were a cute couple. And they seemed very happy together. I only worried because I knew she was more 'experienced' than he was. I worried that he may be mistaking lust for love. I only hoped he wouldn't be too broken hearted if things didn't turn out for the best. But then again, I'm almost two years younger and not had the best of luck with relationships so I kept my mouth shut.

I'm trying very hard not to tell him 'I told you so'. I wished and hoped that they would be happy together and I still think they might. All I can do now is hope and listen.

Day Log, cha cha cha. Day Log, cha cha cha. It's the eve of this new year. It's a year I've been looking forward to since reading the Class of 2002 bs stamped over every little piece of paper i saw upon entering school. The year, this year is finally arriving. I'm thinking about 1 bedroom apartments, looking at used cars, thinking about budgets, and all of that jazz.

6 measly months to go, until that graduation morning when the page takes it's next turn in my personal book. I feel lucky, already secured in a job with a decent idea of how the next bunch o' years is going to be. Needless to say I'm psyched.

My sweet love has been by my side in so much of this past year, and I love her for it. We made hypothetical invitation lists tonight, it let loose some amazing feelings inside my little brain. I can't wait until the day when we can be together, permanently.


  • Get in better shape.
  • Get my GPA up to 3.0.
  • Work out little self-annoyances.
  • Learn to save $$$.
  • Realize my potential in all areas.

Happy New Year, e2.

I rarely know what to say anymore. Hello.. yes, alive, living, working on that one. I miss you. I love you. I'm sorry. It's okay. And I hate to turn to defaults so I have been quiet.

He is gorgeous (this means worlds) and I love where we are going. I could sigh and I could be impatient.. I remember that everything a person really wants seems so much longer and I try to remember to breathe.

The sky is so sane in winter. It doesn't even turn so angry and when it does, you can't see it through white falling cold. I would be depressed over things like this, sometimes, not lately, though.. it just is. I just am.

We list our resolutions and they never turn out quite as we expect. It is not bad to list. One can never have too many lists, probably.. human brains (perhaps just mine) are so terrible for remembering single words.

This year is for people. It is for my dad who is still sick so often but he is here and lord knows what I would do if he wasn't. I don't forget how that was all so intense and horrible and frightening. I still worry every day and I watch you sleeping in a chair and check twice to make sure you are okay.

It is for Bryon. We all loved you.. we still do.

It is for Quince.. he was not a person but he was an amazing creature. I will miss him, too. It is sad but not surprising that he did not live long without you..

It is for the thousands of people I did not know who just aren't anymore.

K is not around and it seems strange. I don't feel like she is a person I can just let be a peripheral in my life. I am determined to fix this somehow.. so much to say to her, so so much.

I am really not much for mentioning each person who has been a lot to me, I can not remember them all, there are far too many. I miss Leigh Ann much more than I really care to.. so many people are just dull aches that float around my stomach so much of the time. I can't figure out how I will ever not miss at least a dozen people horribly.

This year has been so sad and so wonderful and so /insane/. I met (mostly I feel like I got closer to some people I already knew) so many people and I fell in love with so many things about them and I am just in awe of all that I've experienced since I met you. You have changed me, and my life, despite how horribly negative I can be, I am a trillion times happier than I have ever been. It is hard to stay sad. It has never been that.. you are like a little angel to me. My noggin' is filled with thoughts of us. I am not even so worried about when exactly it will all unfold, it just feels very real and unlike anything I'd expected. I don't really know what else to say. You are my best friend, and I love you so much. It is the most wonderful thing to watch you thinking about how it will be after you step into life (really step into it), and to know that you want me to be a part of it.

This next while is just going to be strange. Long.. I am going to be lonely a lot for a while. I have so many crazy ideas of things I'd like to do this year.. mostly, I need to eat more fruit.

I guess it is the end of the year daylog for so many of us. It doesn't seem like that big of deal this year. I guess its because I have to work today, most of the day. It is also because this year I will be spending New Year's without her for the first time. So its not a really big deal.

I wonder what resolutions I will make this year and not keep. I could list but then I guess I would become accountable....

Another New Year’s Eve. This one not much like the others. For the three years before last I attended grand parties. The sort where the women dress up in gowns and the men are in tuxedos (except for one chap who always came in full camouflage gear and makeup). We’d sip champagne and watch the stars outside and dance. Sure, there were drugs, but they were done in moderation, and we all stayed civilized. I remember the first one of those parties where most of us were single and we all danced in the proper partner dancing fashion. It didn’t matter that none of us actually knew how.

This year I am at work, pretending to work, but thinking about tonight and how it doesn’t feel much like anything is happening. Some of my friends are away (many that I’d like to see live elsewhere, anyhow) and some have decided to stay home by themselves this year and ruminate on their own failures. Some have decided that fancy dinners are the way to go. We tried (about thirty of us) to reach a compromise, but all we could agree upon was that we would all go our separate ways this year.

On one hand this is a very sad thing. We are growing apart as we grow older, which all of our elders said we would, but we never believed. Some of us have finished school, while others have remained undergraduates for years and years and have no intention of ever finishing (preferring safety over risk, one supposes). Some have “real” jobs with suits and ties and business luncheons. Others, like myself, are moving on, across the country, to seek destinies on opposite coasts. Some have moved to foreign lands.

In this growing up, expanding outward, the things we once shared no longer apply. We try to recreate the bonds through sharing of drugs and alcohol, but it’s only momentary connection, which fades as the high wears off. Then we stumble off to home to lay in bed wondering how it could have ended like this. Of course, it’s exactly how it is supposed to end, we just never accepted it, or tried to deny it.

On the other hand, it’s normal and almost exciting. It is becoming obvious now as we move up in the world who we will have to leave behind and why, and it’s easier that way. We also know who our real friends are…the ones who will be with us no matter what the boundaries in distance or economics or social situation. I’ll be spending New Year’s Eve with two of the people who I’ll keep in contact with once I’m gone. It will be somewhat more quiet than I’m used to, and as right now I’m ill, it works out well, but it’s still a little disappointing. I do enjoy a good, crazy party.

Today, with work and a quiet gathering, it is becoming ever more clear to me that in two months I will be gone for California, thousands of miles away. Someone asked me how long I’ll be gone for, not understanding. Forever, I said, or at least until I retire to New Zealand or Scotland. Funny thing is, I know I’ll forget to think of them everyday, and after a while I’ll not think of them at all, until one day something reminds me of them, and suddenly I wonder how they are doing and whether they have significant others and what jobs they do. I’ll probably write a song about it. And they’ll think of me every so often and maybe email. But there will be a rift that maybe only substance abuse can fill so we can walk across.


(check my homenode for my resolutions, if you have interest)

Something to Swallow Us Whole

There’s a television inside my head; I see it every day as I fall into sleep. It’s not a fancy TV, nor is it crummy. But it happens to be sitting curiously inside my head, in the middle of a room. This room I am quite familiar with when asleep, though I seldom recall its existence in reality. This room is a waiting room, when dreams are not yet available, and as I often dream it seems I am seldom in this room to begin with. However, the television is what catches my attention every time I’m there; it is never on, it just sits there with no apparent purpose.

On one particular night, when dreams were scarce, I decided to find out what type of things this television showed, figuring it would not be anything too normal now that I was asleep. Sitting up from the comfortably soft couch I had been lying upon I searched the untidy coffee table for a remote. I found only a few magazines with scramble worded headings upon them and pictures of monsters falling through cloudless skies. With no remote in site I decided to turn the TV on by hand, and did so by turning the volume dial up. Suddenly a map filled my vision. This was a map of the western United States, with lines dividing each state from the other.

Looking down at the great state of California I saw there was a large city standing right about the middle. Up from the city came laughter and smoke, and smiles of various kinds. I saw myself there, and I was happy and content with life. There were many people with me, all my friends, and we were singing and dancing and drinking and laughing. I wanted to tell them all how much they meant to me, how they made my life so grand, but before I could say anything I noticed that maggots were eating their hearts and were coming from their eyes and mouths. The little beasts came towards me and I reached out to them, longing for the death they offered but a shadow fell across me and drew me away.

The map was in my vision again and looking upward I noticed there was a white daisy growing in the state of Washington. Looking closer I saw myself walk towards the daisy and I gave it water and cared for it. Soon it grew into a beautiful woman, and she hugged me and cared for me and kissed me a thousand times over. I found that I had to keep watering her so she wouldn’t dry up and crumble away but the more I watered her the more she grew, and soon she was no longer a woman but a giant black weed. The weed reached out towards me with its razor tentacles and wrapped itself around me tightly, cutting deeply within my flesh. I cried out with pain as tears flowed into blood and ran along the tentacles towards the weed’s mouth. Consuming my tears this monster became enraged with a lust for my taste, and it started to suck at me and suck at me, draining me of all I was. And I was dead.

Again the map was in my vision, but now it was showing the whole United States, and the entire west was drowned in a pool of blood. Looking away from that sight I noticed a small cottage sitting in the Midwest, right where Kansas would be. Looking closer I saw myself knocking at the door, tired but grown, a man at what should have been the height of his life. I saw someone I knew only too well open the door with a warm smile and bid me enter. The cottage was small, warm, and inviting, and as I looked into her eyes tears filled my own. I fell to my knees and began to cry so many tears, of joy and of sorrow. And as I cried she took me in her warm embrace and her hair was fragrant and I was alive.

The TV shut off immediately, and I blinked several times before I noticed that a dream had become available and had already started to be off with me.

mood : manic
music : Marilyn Manson - Tainted Love

maybe she was right, when she told me what she really thought...

maybe it was just bullshit, and lies, to quell my tumult?

first thing is first, I have to decided to really open myself on the journal, more than I have before, really put my blood, sweat, my heart, and my soul into it...

Whether that is good or bad is up to the viewer, but maybe, just maybe one day I can look back and understand myself better, or maybe someone will really understand me better...

I ain't in it for the bullshit, so get out of my way

-fbp, heading out for new year's eve, seeing what trouble I can cause, if any...

I shall modify this when the night is over, maybe the night will last till late tomorrow night, in some chance of luck, and coincidence, because that is what I am looking for a party that starts at midnight, a 24+ hour blast from midnight on, yeah that's what I am looking for, or forward to, not one that starts to end...

English, is a dangerous language, I suggest that no one in their right mind use it, it is beautifully tragic, and tragically beautiful

New Years Resolutions I Kept, 2001

  • I didn't. It was a tough year.

    New Years Resolutions I Didn't Keep, 2001

  • I didn't stay in college.
  • I didn't quit smoking, though I no longer smoke indoors.
  • I didn't paint my bedroom.
  • I didn't regain that which was lost, though I did come to grips with its implications.

    New Years Resolutions for 2002

  • I resolve to quit smoking. (a perennial fave, and this year, I'm going to quit with a friend, so it should be easier. A burden shared is a burden halved, or something.)
  • I resolve to finish noding those damn Super Bowl entries for the CRT.
  • I resolve to attain level 6.

    To all fellow everythingians ... Have a Happy and SAFE New Year's Eve revel!
  • Well, the man and the hour have met -- and the hour has kicked my ass.

    I won't give my full grade report for last semester to the world here on E2. Suffice it to say that I now must average a B+ in Operating Systems (a retake) and Multimedia next semester, something I've never even come close to, to graduate. It's possible, but I'm going to have to work harder than I've ever worked before. And if I screw it up, I can probably kiss my substantial post-grad job offer goodbye. On the positive side, those are the only six real hours I'm taking. I have a one-credit choir class, but that's just filler for fun -- and it doesn't do anything for my CS in-major GPA, which is what is in question.

    Parental reaction was not positive (no crap! you say). I get to go back, but I may be forced to quit my job, a job I love and have been fairly good at. Working F-shifts was a contributing factor to the semester's academic misadventures, and I was already planning to avoid that (and I'm high enough on the seniority list to pull that off), but I think leaving Transit entirely would be an overreaction. When my dad controls the checkbook from which my final tuition payment comes, though, I may have no choice. It's not a battle I need to fight immediately, though -- I'll save that one for next week, or until my dad brings it up directly with me, in which case I'll just have to go ahead.

    "It's been a long December, and there's reason to believe
    Maybe this year will be better than the last"
    -- Counting Crows

    (a la Comic Book Guy) Second-best New Year's Eve ever.

    This is my favorite holiday; my secular self. "Once more 'round the sun," they say, scoffingly. "Yes," I reply, "exactly."
    It's an arbitrary date, ain't it? Any day could be the New Year.

    Yeah, so pick one, and let's mark it.

    I celebrate time. What a beautiful collision of human mechanism and universal material. Labcoated Sysiphees count their photons and spin the LEDs, tick tock, but it's always gonna be just... off. Now now now now now. Right. Uh...add 'nother day every four yearsish, and call it square. How I love you so: our gorgeous illusion.

    This bounce around, some thank yous are in order:

    Charmayne. Today guaranteed I'll never forget you. All that fuss, but it's so simple once I get my head straight... Who'd have known you were waiting, down the long line of years? Thank you.

    Page, Mike and Trey ( Jonny F, how I wish the time was right for you to be there. This is for you, too.) "...and they rejoiced with exceeding great joy." Your gifts to me are beauty, and love, and magic. You've changed my life and touched me more deeply than anything I've ever experienced. That which flows from you to all of us is beyond words; all I can manage to do is stumble over clichés in return. Thank you.

    Jeff, thanks for sharing it with me.

    Gimme five, Janus.

    I left the house around noon. A hot day, but the journey to the Vortex was uneventful. The party was back at the old Grabouw apple orchard venue, which takes about an hour to get to. I took a walk around, and soon found C&K, and parked next to some Rastas (I use Rasta here in the looser sense of the word to mean middle class white kids growing their hair, smoking lots of dope and generally experimenting with a less uptight lifestyle on the parents' budget.) they were selling people rocks, um, I mean healing crystals.

    We actually spent most time hanging out with a whole bunch of friends at the other side of the campsite. The farm was quite full, probably fuller than the organisers anticipated as people were having trouble finding parking.

    The afternoon passed uneventfully. Until about 5pm the best strategy for the heat was to get under shade and not do too much. The music started around sundown but we held off until 11pm. Plenty of time for dancing through the night.

    Just after 11 I took the small paper square. It had been in my cupboard for a while, and I didn't remeber the brand couldn’t tell what the design was supposed to be from that small area. I hoped that it would still be strong enough. I hadn’t taken acid from 4 or 5 months, and the last one had been an unpleasant tightrope walk through the verbal minefield of a misfiring relationship.

    The 11-to-1 Dj was really good. Twisted, psychedelic music but not dark or scary. At midnight there was general cheering and spraying of champagne. I realised that I could see the multicolour phosphor-grid over reality. Time to take the Nexus.

    The music got better, way better. Part of my mind was sceptically holding out that I might just be responding to cheap tricks and hard drugs, but those fuzzy serrated noises went straight through my head and wiggled with my lobes. Candy-sharp, lemon-sweet and chunky chewy noise. My mouth fell open in astonishment and my brain melted and ran out. Now that is what I call fun.

    A while later I remembered that I had purchased two balloons full of Nitrous Oxide earlier, and had left them in the car. Time to try the combo out. I had tied the necks together. One had deflated, but the other still held enough for a good hit. I rebreathed it several times. The ringing increased, grew … My veins are full of starfish, iridescent, shimmering creatures all climbing towards the center of the spiral … reality is optional. My ears are ringing. Very nice.

    I didn’t enjoy the next DJ too much. He was very good at making it go thump, making the beat kick bigtime, but after a while it started to feel like a hustle – the agro and shallowness showing through. It was DJ personality more than anything else. Dead Can Dance’s Lisa Gerard once said something like this in an interview: "Music should make us more than just creatures that eat and shit." This wasn’t it. I started to wonder if there really is more to human existence than consume, reproduce and jostle for status.

    I also was losing identification with the crowd. One of the things that attracted me to the trance scene initially was the lack of musclebound lager-louts. That has slowly been changing. They were here in force, and in my space. Never before have I seen so many muscular male shoulders rubbing shoulders. I change over the years, and so does the trance scene, the continual influx of new generations, as I get older. We diverge.

    Since the nitrous, I had been finding it a bit harder to breath. The Dance floor was hot, smoky with tobacco and dope, and humid. I was hoping for some wind to blow fresh air to us, my lungs felt oily and sore. Part of this was real, part of this was the trip, and part nitrous. I coughed a couple of times and tried to shake the feeling from my lungs. I debated asking the medics for Ventolin and decided that it was not necessary.

    Even away from the smoky sweat of the dance floor it seemed to me that that the air was plastic coated. I heard later that K had been having similar breathing difficulties, also that H’s boyfriend had had serious problems with the Nitrous. With no history of asthma, he had, just after taking it, had a serious respiratory crisis, and after being given Oxygen by the Medics, had gone back home. To he honest the sight of people sucking on balloons and then falling about on the Dancefloor and chewing on each other is not an inspiring, community-enhancing thing. The organisers are not happy with it. Fun though it is, I don’t think that Nitrous has a big future here.

    I got tired of the uninspiring music and went to find the other campers. Looking at the surroundings, I realised that the acid had been slow to start, but had crept up on me and was now going like crazy. The walk to the campsite was a long, very long journey through a black and white bombed-out wasteland. Wreckage and vehicles lay strewn all about. Several times I wondered if I had lost my way, but I stuck with it. It was rather post-narrative.

    I began to realise one of the keys to this trip. We are all just monkeys. Apes. The reasons why these individuals do things can be explained by their money natures, being social animals. No matter where you go on this planet, you are surrounded by monkeys. This is the planet of the apes.

    Back at the tent D- was raving under the influence of lots of dope and some shrooms: So maybe enlightenment is when everything is perfect because you just don't give a fuck ... you can just be ... yaaa! ... it took me 30 years to realise that ... 30 years!

    After having regained some sanity and a short rest, I headed back to see what the music was doing. It was past time for the next DJ, but the guy with the dreads hadn't left yet.

    Eventually they managed to get the DJ off and congratulate him enough to placate his ego, then another DJ, one of the Flying Rhinos came on. He was decent.

    The sky got light, I headed back to the tent, sore of back and leg. There wasn’t much else to do. The acid was calming down. I talked with C, and took a first dose of the meth. There wasn’t much else to do. This was shaping up into a major bender. Instead of putting on I tight top that I had selected for the morning, I put on a loose grey geeky t-shirt. I didn’t want to identify myself in any way with the can-clutching oafs.

    We danced, leapt around, and greeted the light, said hello to people we hadn’t seen, in some cases, for a year or two. B- back from Amsterdam. C- back from Los Angeles. Happy 2002 all round.

    The western hills were shrouded in clouds and illuminated by the dawn.

    Out father who art in heaven
    Hallowed by thy name
    Thy kingdom come
    On earth as it is on television
    Television is the new god.

    The clouds stopped it getting too hot in the morning, but for the first time in at least five years, we were not rained on over new years night. This is one of the perverse mysteries of Cape Town weather: in the middle of the hot dry summer, rain on this one night is a regular fixture.

    Other people, at events further east of us, did however get wet.

    The morning passed as it tends to with stimulants: unchallenging fun. When the meth wore off I hit the GHB and jumped around some more. We have hard drugs and no shame.

    I tried another balloon of nitrous. In this state, it wasn’t visual at all. Reality rang like a gong. The ringing vibrations of my connection to space-time shook, rippled and momentarily broke. Then I perceived a faraway bleached-out picture of a scene, people moving and slowly this scene came closer and reattached as the vibrations decreased, and I found myself still sitting down, grasping at the ground. Oh my god. The shaking subsided and I found myself mostly back in world-zero, real space again. Whew. World-zero is the foundation layer of our castles of illusions. Without, the rest cannot exist, but it is only the base layer.

    When I could dance no more, I spent time talking (my mouth running away with me I fear), using GHB to surf the edge between happy and insensitate. Actually, after meth it’s much harder to knock yourself out with G. Around 1pm the nasty fear and worry set in and I decided it best to head home and hide. I looked pretty worn out in the mirror, but could not sleep. I drifted into a light doze with lucid visuals around 10pm.

    Avoiding Christmas is impossible out here, on the land, in a village. This is not to suggest I would even try to. From as far back as I can remember I've felt whatever it is that is Christmas Spirit, from just the glee of presents and traditions, to the sense of sharing with friends and family and strangers the fact that you are here and a smile and season's greeting is a good way to go about it. (Even before I can remember: there's a photo of my brother and I in thin red and white striped pyjamas --with matching nightcaps-- and grinning, not forced, just grinning wildly... i think that's the year my father built a fire engine and fire house bunkbed for the two of us... i must have been all of four or five, but i have no sensory recollection of that christmas.) I like the chintz, i like the bittersweet, i like the cold crunch of frost and rarely snow, the lights and christmas trees and tinsel and carols (the last time i remember caroling, though, is wandering the suburban streets behind the church in Santa Cruz, bundled up against the 50 degree farenheit weather, at dusk, and ending at Pastor Nonhof's for cider and cookies... that can't have been the last time, could it?). I like the parades on tv and american college football games and the dinner and the games the family and friends would play, from cards to rummy to cribbage to board games. I like the memories of travelling to relatives, of not having any money to get gifts and family not minding, of going to the movies on the day before or after. I like all those silly tv programs and old movies.

    I haven't been having good luck with christmas the past few years. either it's not getting anything decent for heyoka, or not thinking up great outings, or getting lost and pickpocketed in a dusty town in Morroco. So, with a little trepidation, I approached the festive season with caution. But this year, everything pointed towards a good time.

    You could call them omens. the two turtle doves in the garden, followed by the pheasant under the peach tree. we've had chestnuts roasting on an open fire. a perfect tree handpicked and decorated with care (including with wooden ornaments my father made). Snow a couple days before christmas (it melted by christmas, but that doesn't really matter, it's back again, just before new year). Santa Claus sledded down the street on christmas eve, and the sight of the pleased and awed many young children crowding the small village street gave me a lump in my throat. we caroled in one of the local pubs; a few hours later, in the same pub, a stripper celebrated an absent boy's birthday in front of an old man whose walrus moustache quivered. we went to christmas 'mass', or communion, at the chapel two houses down from us. presents were exchanged and they were perfectly chosen on all counts. christmas dinner, stuffing ourselves, a couple drinks at the pub on christmas day because you have to (a gentleman who overstayed his visit was fetched back home by his wife swinging a rolling pin! all in good fun, of course). Does it seem as if I've had a great Christmas? There's been all this and more.

    So there are a myriad grand new memories to add to the years, all good, all perfectly fitting.

    We've been on outings. From just walking out the front door to see what we could see -- a spectacular sunset, whirling flocks of starlings and rooks, gnarled windswept oak trees, snowed over fields -- to driving a different way from the nearest market town, Diss. We go on drives and don't mind getting a little lost. Invariably you find an old church, like the one in Burgate when we were out searching for a christmas tree (there are gravestones for a family named Appleyard). We've seen a thatched church, a castle mound, fields of sheep, ducks skidding on iced-over ponds, horses with steaming breath, deer shooting down the road, rabbits hopping under marshes, polish ponies racing to keep warm right along us, more fields full of sheep. On one trip back from picking heyoka up from the station, we stopped at the Redgrave church, a monolith that seems to be in the middle of nowhere. the sky was clear, empty of moonlight, thus filled with stars, so many that they seemed to spill out: yes, shooting stars, bright and piercing. The last time we'd seen one was in the desert in Morocco, and it landed a mile away.

    I'm not sure when it stops, remembering good things. things from growing up in rural california (like the christmas tree that must have been twenty feet tall in the living room; how did we fit it in?), and things shared with heyoka (like yesterday, at the beach in Southwold, when, under a deep coal ember sunset, it started to snow. Or today, when the blue from snowblindness as we walked through blanketed fields reminded me of being in petra at sunset last march and all the shadows were purple). Are they all supposed to meld together? Spring up whenever I tug at them? Or lie around, waiting for good times to add to them? There's been times when i've thought i could never be so happy as now, and the amazing thing is that lately, it seems to happen every day.

    Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.