Tainted pages. No coffee stains here,
the tainting done by hand,
the hand of power's weak lackeys,
Dear J, Strange times. Most fruitful are my works in opposition to my days, dripping viscously away.
Going, J, going.
(Ed (7.10.2005)- cops raided me at my parents place a few days before I wrote this, They read some of my earlier writings (out loud) in the diary and had a good laugh. I was living at my parents under terms of my December 1995 sentencing.)