# life or rather mere existence often seems an infinitely receding grey slope of work-hell. i've had a recent flare up of rsi so bad i can barely think. for two days i've hardly slept. i should definitely not be typing this now. i told reception to inform the doctors about my severe symptoms of strong constant pain - now agonizing - and the doc called me back four hours later to say i could have a chiropractor appointment a month down the line. i need strong medicine and a some kind of steroid injection now. now you baskets update: finally managed to get a couple cumulative hours sleep. fits and starts and constant shifting around. i started crying a couple of times a hot damp mixture of pain and self pity === this flat is a cold overpriced prison in that one is held hostage by the constant ever looming psychological threat of eviction by inherently evil and sociopathically greedy 'lords of the land.' these people give tiny parasitic worms the writhe though rotting semi liquid dog mess a bad name. in the republic of bob we've entirely dispensed with such horrible little schlizards and ir ilk **//** it feels good to type on the thinkpad keyboard; if only it came in a low profile orthagonal split alice tented version (or whatever it is) with magnetic connectors and a solid usb connector (none of that micro usb-c rubbish.) at some point - ey says - will get someone to make one for me. the unique texturing and travel on the new 2025 thinkpad also sounds appealing. what is it with writers who don't like short-travel keys with low activation pressure **//** now playing in lab background - randy pitchford's rainy night in georgia. beautiful warm voice. reminds me of the opening of that good-bad burt reynolds cop movie with the amazing shots of the infinite dystopian post-industrial megacity having said that london is a literal hellhole and it terrifies me. the notion of 'having to get out in a hurry' combined with the very idea of a 'bug out bag' is the stuff of existential nightmares. mind you even that doesn't hold a dark light patch to the notion of having to actually live there totally alone from day to bleary day - a fate i wouldn't wish on anybody **//** sometimes like tonight i feel acutely lonely. the last time i had a friend was over thirty years ago. wow. i think i even forget the feeling of needing to miss having a friend - as opposed to merely needing one. c0de blue was a great buddy - as was bighair gothman. man i miss those guys. harold budd and robin guthrie's 'before the day breaks' now plays in the lab background and let me tell you - whoever's out here online alone with me - this tune is doing the job. it's creating a subtle and emotionally evocative mood where there was none before. earth's where it's all happening baby - and wouldn't it be a shame if we idiot space apes destroy it and ourselves by not out-evolving our own rampant stupidity **// 22:14** chilling with a warm bowl of ready brek. how's your saturday going. feel real tired but my damn arm is still killing me. still can't sleep on my side so i snore like a pig with a blocked snout. i really need to get to bed **//** just lost all my written words for no reason. i like that. damn sublime text isn't so sublime. oh wait this is kate editor **//** i am a tiny ill made boat on the ocean of useless pain years of neglect / work (not 'over work') have dumped me here - can i accelerate my healing or do i need an equal amount of time to change in a positive manner am dead on my feet; must sleep can't sleep. just lie there and fart gross ham stink. haven't data dumped in two days. i just churn and produce boffene. a boffene factory with no friends hmm i wonder why **// later** must. get. to. sleep // republic of bob