I have no rich spirituality with which to comfort myself, I need money. It’s the only religion I have.

J letter to S Monday, 6 November 1995 12:11 PM God crappy-crappy, fuck-fuck. Shit mood Sis. Shit mood. Wanna go home and crawl under my doona. It’s one of those rainy days that are ripe for video watching and that’s about it. I hate this job, I just can’t bring myself to look at these pages of proof anymore, it’s a bit of a concern … Continue reading I have no rich spirituality with which to comfort myself, I need money. It’s the only religion I have.

It’s the type of voice that sours milk, makes fruit fall from the trees, send a babe-in-arms cross-eyed.

Thursday, 2 November 1995 4:28pm Howdy Sis, Dad just came in and met me for lunch. We had bagels in Collins Place. He asked me what “baggles” were. I talked him into trying one. He went for the Hawaiian. I think he wants to make this lunching a regular thing, which worries me a bit. I don’t know if I can come up with half … Continue reading It’s the type of voice that sours milk, makes fruit fall from the trees, send a babe-in-arms cross-eyed.