I want that. I want that awful intense and serious unhappiness, cos then I might feel better, and then I might be happy.

He'd been let down so oftenHis brow was on the floorBut then they foundA small hole in the groundAnd let him down some more

I feel like I'm in a film about a struggling artist who keeps getting up at all hours of the night to look at his big, blank empty canvas. And in a way I am. Except that i'm not struggling. I'm Hector Kipling. I might be getting up at all hours of the night to look at my big, blank, empty canvas, but I am not fucking struggling.