This morning the sky hung heavy; a dirty, yellow sky that kept me in bed
longer than I should have been in bed. A thunderclap, as loud as a bomb,
shot me into action. I was dressed and ready to leave for the studio in
ten minutes. Today, I'm in the car(?), for better or for worse. Not wishing
to go too far into the jungle of sound we stopped. We start another path.

Thursday 23/5 1985:
Deep in fear of running down the job I run into the estate. We are *not*
late. Socks, money, shirts, photographs of loved ones, tea, book,
telephone book, international driving license... We also need a day of
love before we go.
I speak of a spirit, as free as the wind, able to travel anywhere in the
world, nay, the universe; and yet, the only place that this spirit wishes
to be is home. But is this not the wish of the governing forces that are
higher even than the said spirit? Even the seed blown from the tree has
a predestined point; a point that must be met at some time. Paris has
lost some of its romance.

Thursday, 30 May 1985:

We return at dawn on Saturday; and it seems that the [tunnel?] will not
be discovered by the guards. Remorse is for the birds! We speak of a
dangerous dress that the girl puts on when she finds her lover. Fear in
the spring. [This following section is spoken very fast and with a strange
reverb.] Feeling of pleasure has been absorbed, the war is over, come home,
come home, [???] but to last the heroes of an unforgotten war, we are
expected to carry on as if the memory of the past was a pain which even
love could not overcome. We did have too much. We have had enough. There
will be more but tomorrow we'll be over the page as it always is. Help
please help me.

Friday, May 31st:

One of the boys took a strange turn. What was to be a simple film
soundtrack turned out to be more of an ordeal. Ian, now only having one
leg and laid up in a Paris hospital, was being visited by a gay black man
that he'd met in a nightclub. Martyn was lost forever in the underground
of Paris.
This last day in Paris and my stomach is in total turmoil. My heartbeat is
too fast. I cannot sit down, my thoughts revolve around only one thing,
yet I cannot focus my attention at all. Is it that we have broken some
unknown universal rule? Have we somehow angered a long-forgotten god? And
why, why when life for so long would seem to be worth living? Must this
bolt of unleashed fear be set free within my body? My mind is unclear.
Am I to be set free from the prison that I am in fear of living? Time will
tell us all. I know this but still a human would try to guess, or predict,
or dream how it will end... a totally pointless exercise. And yet, even
though I know this, I find myself reaching into the future with all my
powers, which are few, to try and glimpse a single look of the end. Oh,
how fucking futile the unexpected can be!
Today is bright, as yesterday was dark. The brightness comes from within,
but for me, my inner light is fast fading. Did I ever get a day of light
[day of life]?
Ian is safely at home with his parents in Sheffield, Martyn is living in
Amsterdam, and Glenn is alone. How often as children we played at being
something we were not; now that we are grown all this play-acting must
just stop, love must take over this desire to be someone or something
else. We all have love to give but not all of us get given love.

Tuesday, 13/7 1985:
A long time, a lot done, new places have been seen, new things have been
tried. Today is okay to tell the world that we are fine. ALL INVOLVED ARE
FINE - I think