prolific.org

These are my links for November 17th through November 18th:

• Ginger Anyhow: Text Messages – Embroidered text messages, mapping a relationship
• Marco Grob – Photographer – Beautiful portraits
• Steven Wells: Indie music could learn a lot from American Idol | Music | guardian.co.uk – "In real pop, pretty people who can't sing get pitch correction technology like Pro Tools, and they mime. In indie pop the audience are evidently too stoned, drunk or stupid to tell the difference."
• Alexei Sayle discusses his new novel, Mr Roberts | Books | guardian.co.uk –
• http://64.233.183.104/search?q=cache:tZ7U4v73isAJ:www.mute.biz/richardhawley/Downloads/Lyrics/Richard_Hawley_Coles_Corner.doc+going+down+town+no+flowers+no+smile&hl=nl&ct=clnk&cd=2&gl=nl&lr=lang_en&client=firefox-a – Richard Hawley lyrics. Hmm.
• Martijn van Es – Class of 2001 – Waar zijn ze gebleven, die webloggers van toen?
• Balsamiq Mockups Home | Balsamiq – "Product managers, designers, developers and even clients can now work together in the same tool to quickly iterate over software mockups, before writing code."
• bourbonese qualk archive 2007 – to download

It was, quite possibly, the last sunny day of the season. I woke sixish, immediately registering the throbbing in my head. The nausea. Not again.

Another day down the drain. I don’t know how much of my life is lost to this affliction, but it’s a lot. What a waste.

As the hours pass, the light became unbearable. I fetch a bucket from the kitchen, fill it with a layer of water – something learned in early childhood, I’ve always been a proficient vomiter. On my way back I pick up my mobile phone. Cross-eyed, I tap a few lines, send off text messages with no regard for the early hour in his part of the world. My inner-bitch wants mankind to suffer like I do.

I’m sure I’ve woken him, or disturbed a quiet breakfast. We ‘talk’ in brief spurts for while before he says he’ll ring me ‘in a few hours’. When the cafeine kicks in.

Later, still prone, but bucket unused, I take his call. I’m surprised by the sound of my own voice. I sound small.