No diary yesterday, as I was too, crying into my pillow, depressed. And don't go singing "the thing about depression is, you mustn't let it get you down" - because my despair is caused by TOO MUCH CRIMSON. I hear it in my sleep, eat it for breakfast, and chew on it all day
The Vicar is mixing the KC improvs ("blows" as they used to be, before they became PC). Three a day. And that leaves me tidying up Mastelotto's rhythm tracks.
Aaaaargh.
No that wasn't loud enough.
AAAAAARRRRGHH.
Still hardly enough to register in the infinite gloom of cyberspace.
But, while I am here, I shll make a public promise. No more King Crimson in the next year, unless they come bearing gold. And lots of it. Which is most unlikely. And now one final
AAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGH before I go.
"Our enemy is our friend."
