motorcycle emptiness

i feel empty. i'm not sure where motorcycles come into to it, but it's the manics and they are good. the bell has just gone. fuck. another shit entry with little or no interesting content. people are asking each other about histoy homework. scarily boring topic of conversation. my head is spinning. i feel like biscuits. you can just see the energy draining from everyone by thursday. i hate thursday. it's neither the end nor the beginning, just almost the fucking end, but not quite. my fingers ache and everything seems surreal. i had this scary dream about a poem i wrote when i was 13 that started "they stare with native eyes of sore reject". i forget the rest. it was kinda shit anyway, and melodramatic. 13. like adrian mole. but he was 13 and three quarters. i wish i were him, his life is hilariously disfunctional rather than depressingly so. i just made £30 for the tsunami appeal. you'd think that would refresh me but it doesn't. and now registration awaits.

farewell, faux amis.