So March was the last blog I wrote. Wow. So much has happened. I'm not sure of what to say at all, which is why I've probably kept quite to my other self lately.

There are two Claudes. One is The Diary, which is somehow smaller, angrier and self involved more than I'd imagined, but he is also the one who lives and breathes to kick my ass when the other Claude, the Abox Claude, gets to be too much.

But the question is simple, who is the real Claude? Do I really know at all?

The question I'm asked all the time is whether The Diary will ever tour. The answer is... No. It wasn't meant to. Or maybe I don't know how to handle the job of it. Abox is hard enough and it is all electronics (mostly).

I sometimes have this little fantasy that there is a band rehearsing the songs, ready for me. One day, they come up to me and say... "Hello Lad. We're your band. We know the songs inside out. Now let's get you off your ass and play them..."

That's when I'll tour on this.

Such a lonely existence to be sitting here in the middle of the night contemplating this shit. But a smile, an evil one, does escape my lips. You see, it is impossible for me to fail. I don't believe in it. Failure is never an option. Why? Because the world is built from it, it is the staus quo of living. And that's not fucking me. I live and breathe on my own terms. The rest of the world can fuck off.

I'm still smiling. And I don't mind writing that who ever reads this is cool to smile along with me. There's not a fucking thing wrong with smiling. That's the real Claude talking.

-- C --