Listening to: Coco Rosie and the Unicorns. Kicking myself for not bringing the White Stripes to work. I feel like listening to throbbing bass.

"But certainly for the present age, which prefers the sign to the thing signified, the copy to the original, fancy to reality, the appearance to the essence, ... illusion only is sacred, truth profane. Nay, sacredness is held to be enhanced in proportion as truth decreases and illusion increases, so that the highest degree of illusion comes to be the highest degree of sacredness," Ludwig Feuerbach.

After two 'ebb' days in a row, I'm back to my state of agitated expectation. Perhaps this feeling has something to do with being at work. I can't just phone *someone* up and take off... The feeling is hollow like a bowl waiting to be filled, waiting to be laid upon the table, waiting for fingers to dip into it and swirl around the rim before they are sucked gently.