13.11.2009 - 3:53 p.m.

Mr Hornblower, come on down.

As expected, forklifts were no match for my mightiness and i passed both exams at instructor level, but having seen some of the illiterate retards i've worked with all riding forklifts it can't be that hard, this now completes the current triumvirate of competency certifications making me a forklift riding - tree swinging - chainsaw wielding motherfucker, shamone.

Just because i felt like it, not because i have to, not that it makes much sense anyway

stolen from the vault, no clues no drama no resistance, ohminous silence whilst light filters slowly
down top bottom up, strange charm remains inviolable, nothing and everything is present
particles and matter revolve in suspension, casimir and brown hold no more surprises
negatives are held, stripped and cast free, the bond is broken the charge is left positive
allegations stick covalently, the outer shell bears the weight and responsibility
radicals are identified in unpaired orbitals, a closed shell brooks no excitement
bonding behaviour is as expected, no secrets are held, energy imparted brings closeness and answers
still the vault, the box, remains empty, transitory movement with no interaction, just passing through
everything is relative, mass is debatable, here today and gone today, time is measured in passing
the discrete mechanic is guilty and alone holds the answers, the parameters are both real and imaginary
rotation brings both into focus, scanning reveals only the outer surface
if you're positive then you'll be charged
parity inversion brings an anti charge
comparison leaves nothing
the thief escapes in the confusion

Glad i got that out of my head, it sounded so much better on the drive back to work, thank god for the internet or i'd've been at it for days, I'm no Charles Stross that's for sure.

Enough for today, unless something else rambles or hoves into view, there's only two and half hours left of the week and then the weekend begins with a sunless trip to tesco sandwiched by spliffs, that's when i know the weekend has really begun, no other day has the same shape as a friday, heralding lie-ins and playstation, or in the case of this weekend many hours with BBC iplayer.

If you're foreign and accessible to proxy servers in england, bbc iplayer is the number one place for television with substance, i can guarantee that it shits on most everything else and is advert free, that's the clincher, if we ever leave england and it's more than likely, the beeb is the one thing i'll miss the most, as much as i like the odd bits of satellite offerings sieved from the ten million daily hours of 'quality programming' offered by the Sky hegemony / neo-con refuse company, i could live happily with just my (albeit company loaned) laptop and the iplayer.

Only an hour fifteen left, the rest of this entry could be a little dull

hour twelve

w00t, fifty nine minutes, c'mon the final hour, the most favouritist hour of the working day

enough of this, time for bed