Sunday, May 18, 2008

Wishful Thinking.

And how is Melbourne, the Big City?

Blah. It has a good point somewhere, I'm sure. It's okay, continuing to suck my soul out and leave me hollow - in a slow death sort of way. Woo! Actually? I hate it. I need trees and paddocks and that smell, that air, I need to leave the door unlocked, I need to smile at passers by, I need to just look at the mountains and the water and say, that's enough. Because it is, because I really don't care about what anyone does for a fucking living, and I really don't care about the latest band, or restaurant - I mean I like it when we all sit around with a guitar, and play and eat whatever we cook and the stars come out and the smell of the fire sticks to me and every time I am there I am truly happy and straight up - every time I come back to the city, I am truly, honestly and completely fucking depressed. I fucking hate it here. I fucking HATE it here.

Ok, let's get you the Hell out of there right now...come home, Mathew. Come home.


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