Phew. Went to soccer practise, played soccer and now feeling sweaty. Really
sweaty. Sweat feels kind of nice. Somehow I'm not feeling so bad about my
writing anymore. Too long has gone from my last poem, I know that much, but I
feel that another one is just around the corner. Can't wait to get drunk this
weekend, maybe it'll come to me...

Hmh, writing. I'm obviously not angry enough nowadays. "Poems are my bastard
children". I should hate them more, I probably should hate everything more.
It's all just a gray mass, which again reminds me of mushrooms, and I wonder
should I finally get something done in that region of my life. Alcohol may not
be enough.

This Femko fellow seems interesting. And nice. That gives me a bit more hope, 
what comes to Bat in general.