Sunday Night Confessional

I love having a day off tomorrow,
And the fact burglars are robbing houses I don't know about,
I loving having music,
And apples.
I love fog, but only as a memory,
I never like it to drive in.
I love having a tidy flat,
And cars I no longer have to MAINTAIN.
I love the fact I have my phone off.
And also that I use st carnage capitals,
As my nonsense,
To preach stupidity, like religion.
I love having tomorrow off,
Without mentioning the day.
I love frame-by-frame memories of everything gone.
And free-form thoughts of anything to come.
And the fact burglars are robbing houses I don't know about.
And repetition.
I also like tempting fate,
And cliches,
And contemplating beckoning burglars from the patios.
And the fact I still have my coat on,
When I really should take my coat off.
I love electricity,
When I'm not so down on electrics that I can't use it
To my advantage.
Like now.
I love the fact I'm not as fucked up as Nicolae Ceauşescu.
That TV programme about him the other week was fascinating,
But horrible.