Thursday, May 19, 2005
Tired slash emotional
I am very tired. Perhaps less so than I was yesterday but still Very Sleepy.
Done in. But at least if nothing else I have line breaks again.
It's midnight and I want to talk to someone. Talking to people plugs the leaks. But I'm just going to go to bed (without the dog, who has a mild but noticeable case of Kennel Whiff - but is happy as a sandboy with a big bucket, or something, so no trauma there) and moisturise my poor lizard hands and read some more of the extremely disappointing book I'm reading. Apparently the end is astonishing and brilliant, though.
Where have all the good adjectives gone? Where? The NME ate them. Oh, and there's a new music magazine and they want me, apparently. But do I want them? more to the point. This is one abuse of punctuation I enjoy - question marks and exclamation marks mid-sentence. "She had red hair and a lovely smile, but that didn't matter! because! she had big tits."
That band !!! can fuck right off, though.
This, apparently, is your brain not on drugs.
One London pal has come off his anti-depressants claiming to feel no better or worse on them. I said that given that one of the side-effects of anti-depressants is depression itself, he probably got to some point of perfect chemical balance and the benefits and deficits cancelled each other out. I say bring back ECT and Clockwork Orangey conditioning with the Beethoven and the eyelids and the ultraviolence and the screaming and glaven.
What was the name of that guy who devoted his life to the semi-academic research of recreational drugs and expansion of the mind? Timothy Leary. Always confuse him with Timothy the other Timothy of Oklahoma bombing infamy. Anyway, I want to be that guy. The drugs one. Not the bombing one. What bliss! to be in permanently altered state and never have to be sad and bothered and lonely.
Still, work is icumen in and I have books to read and insect bites to scratch, and I am Not Afraid.
Done in. But at least if nothing else I have line breaks again.
It's midnight and I want to talk to someone. Talking to people plugs the leaks. But I'm just going to go to bed (without the dog, who has a mild but noticeable case of Kennel Whiff - but is happy as a sandboy with a big bucket, or something, so no trauma there) and moisturise my poor lizard hands and read some more of the extremely disappointing book I'm reading. Apparently the end is astonishing and brilliant, though.
Where have all the good adjectives gone? Where? The NME ate them. Oh, and there's a new music magazine and they want me, apparently. But do I want them? more to the point. This is one abuse of punctuation I enjoy - question marks and exclamation marks mid-sentence. "She had red hair and a lovely smile, but that didn't matter! because! she had big tits."
That band !!! can fuck right off, though.
This, apparently, is your brain not on drugs.
One London pal has come off his anti-depressants claiming to feel no better or worse on them. I said that given that one of the side-effects of anti-depressants is depression itself, he probably got to some point of perfect chemical balance and the benefits and deficits cancelled each other out. I say bring back ECT and Clockwork Orangey conditioning with the Beethoven and the eyelids and the ultraviolence and the screaming and glaven.
What was the name of that guy who devoted his life to the semi-academic research of recreational drugs and expansion of the mind? Timothy Leary. Always confuse him with Timothy the other Timothy of Oklahoma bombing infamy. Anyway, I want to be that guy. The drugs one. Not the bombing one. What bliss! to be in permanently altered state and never have to be sad and bothered and lonely.
Still, work is icumen in and I have books to read and insect bites to scratch, and I am Not Afraid.
Comments:
<< Home
Timothy McVeigh was the bomber. Could probably have done with some mind expansion.
# posted by 
: 3:40 PM
: 3:40 PM
Ah yes, I remembered that this morning. Although I thought it was McVey as in Morgan McVey. They used to have something to do with Neneh Cherry. Such a mine of half-understood information, I am. I got Alan Bates confused with Alan Freeman the other day. It's just as well no one's life is in my hands.
Post a Comment
<< Home
