Friday, 29 March 2013


I like the black and grey format. It's very masculine and angry. It's also nice on the eyes, eyes tortured since 2002 by neon white pages like the one I'm writing on now.

Why does white have to be the dominant colour on computers? Why not brown, like furniture and floors? Why not grey, like concrete? Why not black, like the night and everything primal and infinite it suggests? Why not beige, like skin?

White is an unnatural colour. It should only be reserved for those billowing white canopy beds people wake up in in bad films, or Bedouins who trek across the fucking Sahara. I don't know. Just get it away from me.

I like the dark. I like the privacy and the eroticism and the danger and especially the anonymity of it. Somehow your body, so conspicuous and fleshy in the pitiless daylight, seems to melt into darkness like an eel in black water. You become a sinuous, slick thing - your body implodes into two eyes, breath and nerve endings. Why wouldn't you want to always be a wholly sensual thing, crackling with heightened feeling? You become restless, and restless is good. Restlessness makes your nerves pierce out of your skin and your bones groan and your senses sharpen into a keening point. Restlessness forces you to ACT. It's when I'm restless - in the dark, in the thick wanton dark - that I feel the most savagely alive, the most contemptuous of my usual cringing surrender to the world, the most awake.

And I have been asleep for a very, very long time.

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