all reasonable/ en skript root yeats-er ran into s- so to t- for three for 25/ got home and niced it up, ekooting the while/ then'd an urge to speak to people i've been meaning to call for months and so did, my old house-mate j- and his spouse over this eve for supper/ reading hemingway, for whom the bell tolls a la mo' and it's as good as i remember it/ went thru a large papa phase a few years back but it's been dh and assorted non-literary materials for some clock now/ not even keeping a diary, bar my brief entries here/ but then i am a lot happier (or perhaps just less emotionally responsive)/ tally-prostitute!/

up obscenely early, 'ving passed out at 1900 and slept well till 0000/ i next rose at 0415 then returned to bed till my mind over-pestered me, rising finally at 0445/ listening to the velvet underground, the gift and drinking acerbic red/ i just can't sleep soundly and for an uninterrupted and reasonable period without alcohol or heroin/ i'm now almost off methadone and certainly not drinking as much as i was a year ago (i have evidence)/ i feel more sprightly and look better/ however i do not sleep as well and thus suffer adverse psychological facts/ these are not pleasant but life is full of shit and good and one n'er gets it all good/ one must aim for the least shit solution/ is this it?/ i'm not sure/ memory is a fucker/ so what do i do?/ hmm.../ accept there are no answers/

back from (cross-out-christ's-name)-mas/ 'twas a fine period, no booze, the bourgoise comforts of the parental home and a fine haul of things i'd forgotten i owned, viz. lots of books and a rather beautiful sumiko blue point special cartridge/ got home surprisingly fast, bro. in tow, tidied up, got some guiness and whiskey, smoked a little weed and marvelled at the work of phillip spector/ 'twas a truly mid-blowing experience/ then a foray, late of course, to noble b- and finally home in tempratures sub-zero, kept from death by a kindly bus-driver who allowed me to ride for free/ considered carrying on the night, the chaps upstairs still roused, but wisely slashed the losses around 0200 and am thankful this morn./ zappa, dupree's paradise, through and out the boxes/

rose at 0300 'ving 'd some kip and feeling uh-wake, innit?/ so got un-down, made food, put on cap. beefheart, 25th century quaker and poured wine into a glass/ 'tis fu'k-m's E-m-you, gig-os?/ off to the rest spot of parental structures with the alba in hours few, accompanied also theoretically, potenitally and-set, &set by my brother tho.'s lassitude is become so acute i fear he may not make it/ vell, a ver, as billy S burroughs was so fond of writing in his letters/ as ever, he also liked to write/ i think he thought it quite droll, and to teenagers, indeed to this then teen, he certainly was/ wot else...my blues channel swells and burgeons tho' the orb, blue room, is currently pulsing gently through my speakers, easy.../ the sik-nz wasp-ejaculated twain beaucoup to carry so i un-up'd mlz twain-century and smiled as my bones filled with sickly (tho' 'thick' w'd ov s'n'd'd n'c'r) green warmth/ bizat (or the hungarian rhap. no. 2, horowitz, carneige hall, 1953/ eh-koot and be amazed)/ uno lust...

a quote from one of the few people worth reading:

few people are capable of expressing with equanimity opinions which differ from the prejudices of their social environment. most people are even incapable of forming such opinions.

albert einstein

maintaining at 12.5mls/ felt it yester, the sickness, so got a can post-pharm. visit and then drank pretty steadily all day/ attempted to go out and meet someone for a drink around 1945 ow-ers but woke at 0035 fully clothed and passed out upon the bed at home, alba sleeping soundly the-by/ then slept till 0630, rising in the dark with no hangover and no apparrent sickness/ iggy, loose on the aural box/ oh and the cap.'s mirrorman on 180 gm virgin vinyl arrived par post this jour/ it is a truly excellent album, the opening 19.00 minute track a real blues though off-beat and a serious indication of things to come/ i'm educating myself extensively in the blues before investing in trout mask replica/ drinking wine and building my blues-channel/

down to 12.5mls and feeling some symptoms of sickness/ h'ever they're nothing compared to what i've experienced in the past and at this rate i should be opiate free by early next year/ w-who!/

good day at a german fair drinking strong cider and beer and eating (precocious-child)-(the-most-terrible) covered in bitter-german/ vyse/ now home and drinking an award winning taxi-um...no (sorry, cabernet) sauv. that's taking strips off my town-g/ my blues collection grows in strength/ that's it though some acid would've certainly perked up the fairground lights (but wouldn't it always?)/ booooing...

the blues the blues the blues...so, bro. over alba out the jour/ waiting for the penny to drop, the work to flow and to leave this rut/ but, when i think about it, it's not a rut/ the amount i've learned about music in the past year is truly astounding/ my writings improved/ it's much sharper and clearer and i think more melodius/ willie mae 'big mama' thornton, unlucky girl, on the deck/ for some great blues check out my thou-tube channel: http://www.youtube.com/billyshitcheese/

listening to watermelon in easter hay, zappa, the usual psychedelic parody drivel at the beginning/ a genius for the mediocre, to be certain, tho' some of his stuff is pretty decent/ now big mama thornton, hound dog, featuring buddy guy/

mens i is over da pale cheese disk (i believe globe is more accurate tho' don't sound as nice- moreover i fear these jours one must explain evvah-thang...chamone m'th'r-f'k'r)/ 've just discovered a rich vein of early chicago blues, which is basically the delta blues made electric and even sharper/ stunning/ george 'harmonica' smith, jb hutto and his hawks, buddy guy (d'course), earl hooker, the wolf, skip james, eddie boyd, earl hooker...the lyst goeth upon oond upon ooond upON/ i'm over the fucking spheres blood/ just when i think there's no more music out there for me to discover and to thrill me, something like this (usually) happens/ the blues has had such a prestigious history, patton, house, johnson, james, mctell, willie johnson in the early days, then wolf and of course the surviving early guys, then the cap., then the reclamation of blues in the ghettos of chicago/ what i find truly astounding is the sheer quality of output, every record heavy with emotion and excellent musicianship/ there's footage of jb and the hawks playing a tiny basement bar in chicago and the bassist plays his part with one hand on the fret whilst lighting a cigarette and stepping aside to let people walk past/ not only does he look effortlessly cool, he comes out with the thickest, fattest bassline whilst the drummer, who appears to be asleep, keeps excellent time/ the blues was my first love and i'm thankful there's such a huge amount of quality material/ currently reading dh loz, women in love/

zappa, cosmic debris, upon th' box, iced bier twain the droit/ ass-holes in action?/ mumbo jumbo?/ i think not.../ anyway been genuinely hypnotized by j.b. hutton and junior wells this post ten + two, oui in-dee-D/ about to observe 24 hr party people for the umpteenth o'clock-reading-at-the-point-and-only-at-the-point-at-which-it's-read, as long as that which is read corresponds precisely with whatever is recognised as 'the time'...know what ah mean, brother?/ most like-ah-leh nat...

all good, bob dylan, highway 61 on the deck/ got to earn some bread, man/ i just have such a powerful antipathy to work, i mean it really scares me/ i've not had the best experience of hard work, a combo of generous parents, easy academic success, tutor and peer flattery and 28, yes 28 shitty fill-in jobs has cemented some ideas in my mind what are not conducive to success/ as the great pablo p said, inspiration does exist but it must find you working/ when i work at writing i get good quick but, as well as a love of and facility with language i've for a long time been in love with the idea of being a writer/ however a combination of fear of failure, realising just how hard one must work and the fact there are a lot of chumps writing out there has really devalued the whole notion for me/ i know it's gratifying to create, achieve, overcome and set er ah and when i'm into something i certainly don't lack ingenuity or zeal/ and sometimes i wonder 'maybe it's not for me, if it don't just flow all the time', but then is that defeatist?/ possibly/ refer to the russell quote below.../ right, where am i going with this.../ yes, so selby jr said what got him going was close to death he thought if i die and've done nothing with my life that'll be un-cool so he worked his ass off and wrote a fine book/ but then working from fear...that's terrible/ but then he got probably more out of that experience than not going through it/ yes, that's it, of course there are no absolutes so one has to settle for the best possibilities/ and maybe concentrate on the positive outcomes rather than constantly pour over reasons for, possible outcomes (as one knows no one can predict any outcome...at best one can get lucky)/ ok, so i should write because i feel frustrated when i don't and gratified when i do/ and maybe if i just get on with it my mental block re: work will be chipped down, blown away even...hum...martin hannett...i don't know, but then neither do you, or you, or you for that matter, but shouldn't we at least try?/ tyes, yes we should/ ok then i will/ good for you, pessimism is a disease and we don't like those, do we?/ i'm not sure/ well that's your problem/ but some claim surety is absurd so that's a problem/ yes but then one does nothing...common sense must be applied/ label labels labels...suicide/

doing boo-eh-no: hearing near restored to full capacity; i'm ready, muddy waters, on the stereo; iced stella to my near right; duck and cognac pate on granary toast with organic normandy butter to my near left/ sp-ice.../ just procured a month's worth of are-ex, my cupboards already overflowing with an excess of opiates/

everything is vague to a degree you do not realize till you have tried to make it precise.

bertrand russell

out of the woods/ ears near restored, dropout boogie, captain beefheart on the deck/ now it hurts me too, elmore james/ up early in the dark, again/ drinking much less i require less sleep (about 7 hours) and once i'm awake i find it very difficult to lie still/ indeed, so down to 1 btl wine per eve and a mere 17.5mls of methadone uh dey/ i should be completely free of it early next year, which'll be nice.../ i've found it much easier to reduce than i'd been led to believe/ my previous methadone detoxes were rapid and completely unsuccessful/ this time i've been on it 3 years, starting at 100mls plus a hefty habit and currently 17.5mls and no use on top/ my raging alcoholism has clearly been a by product of my reducing but with heroin it was no substitute at all/ moreover i find it quite easy to break my alcohol dependence whereas smack i would crawl through broken glass to acquire/ i've been so long without aitch i no longer have a psychological dependence/ and as profound as the physical symptoms of withdrawal maybe they are hugely exacerbated by psychological factors/ simply knowing a tenner'll stop the agony is enough to make it almost impossible to 'cluck'/ nice/

we hang the petty thieves and appoint the great ones to public office.

aesop.

up early in the still dark/ feeling ok tho' ears not back yet/ cont/ watched an excellent and moving documentary on the cap. last night, narrated by the late john peel/ what a guy the cap. was (is?)/ i must have all his albums on 180 gm vinyl/ i will have all his albums on 180 gm vinyl/ bizat...

jesu fuck of hommes diz-eye-ray...i am soooo fucking wrist-slittingly bored/ the lib.s, campaign of hate, on the deck/ hearing much restored, what feels like a thin membrane separating me from the outside world.../

an other list:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/richpub/listmania/byauthor/
AIZW2PSPI6D06/ref=cm_lm_pthnk_athr?ie=UTF8&lm%5Fbb=

and some wisdom from our pal bow-d-lair:


it is by universal misunderstanding that all agree. for if, by ill luck,
people understood each other, they would never agree.

i am one happy partially deaf mu-thu-fug-uh/ just purchased sly and the family stone, stand!, and the cap., nay beefheart, the mirrorman sessions, both sealed 180 gm audiophile re-pressings/ below-blime/ feeling better everyday and've sworn to take better care of myself once this bug's expired/ it's not surprising i'm ill, considering my lifestyle/ i just always operated under the classic opinion that the poppy preserves life and health/ no what am i talking about, it's booze, but i wouldn't be an alcoholic had my entire metabolism not been altered by heroin addiction/ i defend heroin like i would a member of my family whom others view lowly/ but you'll see, we'll be vindicated, it just takes time for johnny human to catch up/ and till then, i'll bide my time.../ nice tae gie yer heed a treat, son/ indeed it is rab, indeed it is/

f'n' ok tho' ears stille vugg'd/ donovan, sunshine superman on the deck, for what it's worth/ drinking cafe au lait/ pa taking us for lunch later then e- for rx then home/ i've actually managed to spend two days at home and it has improved my health considerably/ the alba's offered to procure my script for me the day, an arrangement with which the pharmacist is happy, so i may take her up on it/ i crave health tho' it is easier to remain house bound when even mild activity floors one/ yes/ been reading many old copies of private eye/ um...and that's it/

i am always doing that which i can not do, in order that i may learn how to do it.

pablo p.

indeed...feeling much better for a day's confinement/ a cpl more and i think i'll make a significant improvement/ it's a beautiful winters morning, hard, bright and crisp, cold pastel colours and pale gold sunlight/ finished hem. and started scott fitz., tender is the night / it is a fine book, the opening few chapters full of restrained, poetic sentences but they are little more than decoration as it does begin flatly/ reading a moveable feast explains this/ scott was having trouble with a jealous wife who was eventually committed/ until he knew she was insane, quoth hem., he couldn't work/ but what a gift/

f'n' markedly better/ ears are still sur-blocked but no longer painful/ sipping a cafe au lait and pondering hawking some lists of albums/ my plan to find an agent's been put on the back burner/ i've always held the only way to write is for one's self but till very recently was also in love with the idea of being an author, of being published, the fame &c./ the two are completely unrelated/ a good friend of mine is a critically accomplished producer in the aphex twin style/ whist he could very easily mimic the successful formulas and earn a lot of money, he refuses to as he believes so strongly in his art/ the smiths were of the same mind/ unfortunately now some believe that small sales equals quality but it does not/ many are made rich and transiently famous by bad taste/ some with exquisite talent are made not only rich but immortal/ one might put faith in lasting quality, brilliance passed over in one age recognised when the people are 'ready'/ but then some lacking talent are made rich and immortal too/ one may then say 'there's no accounting for taste' but this is a cop-out/ the subject is an incredibly complex one and must be discussed/ labels of 'good' and 'bad' are obviously too crude/ the subjectivity of experience provides no end of difficulties when trying to come up with a yardstick/ we might say the popularity of 'bad' art has little to do with the art itself/ if one is caught up in a fad, e.g., one's critical faculties go abroad/ if one is a friend or supporter of an artist, ditto/ is 'good' art then something which has a profound effect on someone aside from any other considerations?/ perhaps/ but then subjectivity comes into it again/ intellect is now seen as a matter of brain frequencies, ppl with higher intelligence operating at higher frequences/ if these patterns are reproduced in art, someone of a similar intelligence will recognise 'something' in the art that others won't/ we then leave behind an idea of 'the good' and 'the bad' and replace it with a frequency related theory/ ppl can only appreciate music, literature at a certain frequency, admiring whatever most closely reproduces their brain frequencies/ shit maybe...

heater's chucking out heat, i trying to stay warm/ reading hem and sipping k, slipping into occasional reminisces of bourgeois comforts as the lamp contrasts with the ink blue sky/ everything generated by it's opposite/ i do like hem but not as much as i thought i did/ indeed i think it essential to strip one's self as far as possible of prejudice before judging an artist/ if not one is apt to think too much or too little/ drink and be damned/ think and be misled/ but then one must try...this is where it all falls down...the older and better james killed himself because he could always see an alternative to any argument and thus felt lost in ambiguity/ whilst this is the best possible position it illustrates how much bastard man needs to feel 'certain' to lead a happy life (pack animals at one level or more, depending on the animal)/ the world is not evolved enough to admit it's frailties/ everyone needs to label and be labeled/ it is truly terrifying to let go, to lose control, but one in fact gains greater control when one admits one's ignorance/ i've not the energy to argue this further but just accept you know nothing...socrates figured it out more than 2000 yeas ago/ with the weight of so much discovery behind you, how can you not at least recognise this paradox?/

my clinic has run out of methadone/ i never thought this possible/ dealers, yes, as there are many variables in their supply chain, but a state sponsored programme?/ what excuse could they possibly have?/ methadone is about as rare as paracetamol/ i arrived in the forenoon and was told post-1200 the latest/ thus i to the library where i read hem and tried to stay warm/ i returned 5 mins post-1200 and was told post-1600 (this relayed to me after a pantomime of visiting the cupboard of controlled drugs, unlocking it then recoiling in disbelief when the absence was 'discovered')/ 'tis indeed a mad world/

not feeling trop mal/ rose at 0930 yester and drank rouge and read hemingway, a moveable feast, till 1300/ then whilst out to lunch was assaulted by iced-air so sped home to bed where i remained till 0930 this morn./ it is finally apparent i have a pretty severe virus (tho' it is my penchant to ignore advice and regret it)/ awaiting the congos, fisherman, and donovan, sunshine superman, in the post/ should be here the day or the morrow/ tea is currently doing a fine restoration job and soon e- for rx then home/

an ill-advised but unavoidable 2 am trip to b- for xor owt saw me up till 0600 watching the shining and then casino/ today's been ok/ hearing returning very slowly but any improvement, no matter how minor, brings big joy/ been sipping tea and listening to the orb with the alba who is currently my ears/ this night another early in a bid to speed convalescence/ yes...

s'p'n' scotch and listening mf doom, monkey suite/ can just make out some through my left ear, after an abrupt and painful shift of detritus/ all is quiet otherwise/ really want to watch a film but cannot think what/ besides after this is england i feel i'll only be disappointed/

feeling better tho' stille partial dead/ another doc.'s app. yester. revealed a severe inner ear blockage, the result of an imbalance of pressure in the closely linked e-n-t system/ i was told to expect three more weeks of near deafness which, for a rabid music lust-fiend is near hell to contemplate, lest experience/ i keep looking at my beautiful, expensive equipment and tall pile of recently acquired gems and rarities/ the one bonus is a cessation of my obsession with sonic quality, so it's not all bad/ moreover when i come out from under this cloud i'll appreciate what i've got all the more/ amusingly a neighbour we'd over for drinks last night, when we were listening to fairytale of ny, mentioned she knows macoll's husband well/ he is none other than steve lillywhite, producer of many pogues and mondays records and close friend of the late great martin hannett (or why joy division sounded so incredible - compare live and studio recordings and you'll 'see' what i mean)/ we've been tasked with the care of two maltese terriers for the next few weeks bar the mas d'christo and, whilst i've always been put off by the breed, they are very sweet dogs/ they're also remarkably active: they move about constantly, sniffing, leaping off and onto things but when you pick them up they are inert and can be stroked for as long as one might wish/ great dogs/ i think also with our recent bereavement they might provide some much needed 'dog therapy'/

more lists at

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/richpub/listmania/byauthor/
AIZW2PSPI6D06/ref=cm_lm_pthnk_athr?ie=UTF8&lm%5Fbb=

if anyone's interested i just found a series of lists of books and albums i made a cpl years back, and one today, at:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/richpub/listmania/byauthor/
AIZW2PSPI6D06/ref=cm_pdp_lm_seeAll

you need to copy lines one and two of the address separately.

also herewith a spot-on quote from bob frost:

the best way out is always through.

ears diagnosed: severe flu and, if i'm not careful, pneumonia/ thus i house bound/ they are as bad today as yester./ last night i caught very little sleep hence nil improvement/ fuggudy fug/ one positive is i've dropped about 2 stones/ it's too painful to eat and for once the concept of booze-oh-hol is so utterly repellent i've touched not drop one in several days/ the distinguished fuckery is my GBP 300 castle speaker stands (for which i paid GBP 5) and thick chord silver speaker cable arrived one half hr ago, along with three pogues albums/ god moves in mysterious ways...

both ears FUCKED/ i can barely hear a thing/ h'ever tho' worrying it brings with it a certain sense of calm and phenomenal, vivid dreams/ p'haps i'll take to wearing ear plugs when it's cleared up/

f'n' a piece improved, ears still thoroughly blocked but/ my journey wasn't too painful tho' 'tis icy without/ narrowly escaped being cornered by a jehovah's witness, the poor guy who succumbed so lonely he ended up handing out his phone number/ do these people not mind their only recruits are the lonely and ill-advised?/ it seems not/ anyhoo...

well managed to rest-sleep much of yester and night without too much pain/ 've been taking ibuprofen with pseudoephedrine which works a treat/ the blockage has now spread to both ears though/ my one consolation was a lot of very sexy dreams (it's nice to have variety and no bad conscience)/ i have to go out the next four days and am dreading it (tho' oft. things are never as bad as one expects)/ anyway, fuck it/

in 'orrible pain/ la noo-E dere-nee-air whilst watching x factor a horrible blockage began to develop in my left ear/ i persisted and watched a self-congratulatory documentary on the emergence of the late 60s-70s folk-rock scene in la, my punishment the pain reaching such a crescendo i couldn't lie down/ thus no sleep/ it is basically the most horrific pressure on the ear drum and sounds like i'm underwater/ occasionally 'it' shifts and affords mild relief but this fucker feels like it's here to stay/ it's sunday so if it gets much worse'll go to a&e/

f'n' purdy gurd/ sipping strong cafe au lait and listening cpt. beefheart, ice cream for crow/ un-hung-over consequence of low alc. intake la nuit d. and an early night/ the cold persists though is now little more than an annoyance/ stereo phenomenal/ been listening to john coltrane, settin' the pace, this chill morn., jaw agape at the pace and clarity of my system/ switched my generic leads for some qed quenex 2s yester. thus removing the penultimate weak-link-in-the-chain/ sheeyut it rocks/ still waiting for my speaker stands and pogues albums tho' it seems deliveries range from lightening quick to lead slow and everything in between/ the ease and thrift with which i've built this fine system is yet another affirmation that in certain respects i've moved forward considerably and self and outer exploration are fine ways of achieving that/ anyhoo, must jet...

currently listening to zappa and the mothers, magdalena/ not too bad tho' i still think van vilet, aka beefheart the more engaging musician/ zappa to me is much like bowie, a great composer and producer who supported great talents/ shit, then there was costello and macgowan/ that's all i can think of right now.../ stereo fantastic tho' salivating over decca and grado cartridges/ it's great when someone seriusly into their music (id est most of my family and friends) hears my hi-fi and goes 'like, wow?'/ h'ever i find it very hard to be satisfied/ i just need to relax/ i came back from a mate's t'other night, stuck on biggie's life after death and 'twas like a serotonin/dopamine cocktail quenching the parched throat of my ears (you see?)/ yeah, just fucking relax, man...

f'n' 'k' tho' congested and sad/ father took us for lunch yester. at a notable local tapas bar, which was excellent/ we'd much calamaris, octopus, lamb cutlets, garlic chicken, spicy potatoes, warm bread and vin red/ polished it and us off with their sublime pistachio ice cream and lick-you-er coffees/ today is rain and cold tho' the knife like wind of the last cpl days's dissipated/ sipping a nice argentine rouge and awaiting the arrival of my castle speaker stands/ i've got two items on order, some silver speaker cable and a russ andrews reference power cable (or cord') and then c'est ca, no more, just me and records/ buying new kit it is kick in itself/ even good cables are pleasing to one's aesthetic sense/ but one has to stop at some point, let the components settle in and just enjoy the music/ were it not for music one would not be attracted to hi-fi in the first place/

the hound's absence still constitutes a gaping hole/ this bug i caught some one week ago remains, tho' weakly/ convalescence should surely be attempted free of toxins and i only lasted 72 hours without/ n'er mind/ writing goes well/ keep buying stereo shit and albums, a record arriving at least once daily/ been caining the smiths, death of a disco dancer and happy mondays, step on and kinky afro/ got the pogues peace and love yester tho' 'ts certainly not their finest/ not to worry for rum, sodomy and the lash is on its way/

feelings morphing hither and now and when?/ indeed, 'tis not too pleasant feeling emotionally and physically confused/ i'm unusually sensitive and paranoid, said the great tricky/ but what will really happen, other than the shit one inflicts on one's self?/ and i'm always worried, said mark e smith of the fall/ rain rain rain, awh duh tyme.../ i've been places...now i just want to stay where i am...

stille in profound shock 'v'ng lost the hound/ the vet informed me 90% of dog youth-in-asia is staffy pacific/ they've become a very popular dog with the working classes who seem to have less idea of what dog owner ship involves and, once they get the dog, less or no inclination to take responsibility/ i just hope the guy who abandoned him to my friend has some for of karmic retribution visited upon him/ what was most disconcerting however was the fact no one - police, breeders associations, charities, re-homing centres - would take him on/ i should have said no in the first place but, had i, they would have got wasted and released the dog into the wild/ i suppose at least with us he got to spend a pleasant few months/ i keep running through all the options just to convince myself i did everything in my power before having him put down/ and i did/ it just doesn't take the stinging emptiness away...people should have to go through a rigorous inspection process, both physical and psychological, before they are allowed to take on any animal/ post-all, what sort of individual buys a dog with a temperament like that, fails to register of spay him, and then dump him after four whole years?/ someone who should not own a dog/ there was a programme on disabled dogs the other night and the in-house psychiatrist hit the nail on the head: ppl keeping these dogs alive are not kind and altruistic; they simply prolong the animals discomfort to spare themselves grief/ i feel fucking empty and sick while his real owner walks around with no idea (tho' if he did, i'm sure no care) to what happened/ that poor fucking dog, man/ poor fucking dog...

no post yester as had the dog put to rest/ the vet said it should have been done when he bit me though i'm glad not/ the last few weeks have given him a chance to get over it and he went on a good note, tail wagging, paw in hand/ at first i felt numb, then we went to lunch to celebrate his passing and the numbness remained/ when i arrived home around five however it felt like my insides were being torn out/ i was momentarily concerned for my mental health/ popped a citalopram, leveled off and went to bed early, no booze, no drugs.../ feel better this morning though mainly through rationalising he's at peace and better off than living muzzled and frustrated/ he was dumped on us aged four with balls and a lot of anxiety issues/ his owner proper should have made the hard decision but didn't/ however, no matter how many people, professional or non-, tell me it was the right decision, it makes little difference and will not fill this cavernous emptiness.../

frustratingly still house-moping under this dense malady/ don't think i'll repeat yesterday's excursions/ trying to ebay some fcuk-mas gifts, hampers and such/ can't wait to get out of ldn to my parent's/ only been out of town twice this year (both instances my parents took the alba and i away) so the impact of the unfurling countryside'll be all the more profound/ i'm not sure if tea-total-ism is an option for a freelance writer/ perhaps i'll take another form of occupation but, having worked many different jobs the years i was supposed to be turning up at college i've'd a taste of many offices, shops, clubs, bars, post-production companies, courier circuits and they all suck'd & blow'd simultaneous, aside from the courier apres-ride which, amusingly, involved lots of rides (i was single at the time)/ anyway, enough of this pointless dire-tribe/ going to blow my nose and then listen to happy mondays, kinky afro, wot just arrived by post/

up reasonably early/ stayed up till 0100 with the alba watching this is england on channel 4/ i'm still fucked up by it this morning/ possibly one of the finest films ever made/ i've never felt such revulsion for a lead character, mainly because he's not a stereotypical bad guy/ though he behaves with an almost complete lack of humanity, he is recognisably human beneath the thick sediment of his psychoses/ i felt truly sick from the moment he appears to the climactic scene, the moment of his decent into hideous violence not unexpected but not when one might have anticipated it/ copolla still rants about the significance of tripe like godfather 2 or apocolypse now and how making apocalypse now was 'my own personal vietnam'/ then comes a small independent film with no self-congratulatory fanfare in the press, unknown actors and it's as good as taxi driver, one flew over the cuckoos nest, deerhunter.../ the actors are all outstanding and a raft of awards are deserving of the lead actor/ it also has that rare ability to give light relief where needed, but without destroying the underlying tension/ if jerry bruckheimer'd been involved there'd've been scenes so grotesque they'd fail to have any impact/ less = more my fellow entities, less is most definitely more...

some sly piss-wad's out bid me and won, by a mere GBP 0.50, a complete set of pre-1990 mondays singles and albums/ i must remember to log in just before the end of any auction i desperately want to win/ at that point today however i was buried neath duvets twain shivering after an ill-advised two hour walk with the dog/ as we neared the final stretch a downpour of ice-cold rain and then hail assailed us/ i feel better now, in a warm jumper and full of day nurse/ i also'd to fill my our-X this morn. and so chalked up another 1 and 1 half hrs in the biting wind/ h'ever when ill i always deem it advisable, if one has the energy, to get the circulation going and fill the lungs with fresh air/ 'tis truly grim to lay and rot in one's germs/ also keeping busy distracts one/ the symptoms of most illnesses can certainly be improved with mental diversion/ nothing of any note to report/ i sneaked a can when out but did it for medicinal reasons so feel somewhat vindicated/ i'm adapting rather well to a 'socially functional' existence, enjoying the comforts of surety &c./ i feel i've 'lived' enough to enjoy it a good while longer/ oh the unfathomable complexities our little brains imagine...

been up about an hour, sober energy driving through my malady/ went to bed obscenely early, 'ving been up obscenely early and, though busy and fucking ill all day lay awake for hours, fearing an attack of the dreaded insomnia/ h'ever eventually fell into a series of light dreams and slept till about 0600, which isn't too bad/ i'm hoping it's just a symptom of adjustment/ in fact, i think it is/ i remember giving up cannabis in 2000 for a few months and for the fist four weeks lying awake till two every morning/ any-route...other than this bug feeling pretty good/ it's amazing when one gives up alcohol the rapidity with which one's faculties return/ i think a combination of constitution and age allow me to recover quite quickly/ i don't even suffer withdrawal which, if the substance was heroin and the quantity and duration of use the same, i would to an unthinkable degree/ and though off the booze maintaining at 20mls methadone and no citalopram/ nice/ and i know it's early days and my attempts over the past cpl years to dry out 've failed comically but one can but try (at least the desire is still there - i think when one becomes resigned to one's fate all is lost (though some say much is gained))/ i just want to be free of it because it has no benefits outside of drunkenness, and that i haven't felt in the pleasant sense (everything generated by it's opposite) in years/ fuck and i'm only just 29/ booze is shit/ and the thing is, when i think about it, it's not like heroin, i don't get a host of cherubim singing in my brain, i feel sick and repelled/ i don't like booze (though i do a very convincing impression of someone who does)/ i am simply drawn to it by default/ in the ingenious words of viz's suicidal syd, i'm out of the frying pan...and into not being dead!

iggy and the stooges, i need somebody, on the system and i bound to the house by a confluence of ill health and the elements/ a second cup of taylor's of harrogate's italian blend (i know, trying to save money - decent beans cost a lot these jours) accompanied 1000mgs ibu., 1000mgs. asp. and a multi-vit./ hoping to kick this bitch into touch by the morrow, the morrow after at latest/ i spend such a ridiculously long time on this machine i should probably invest in new screen/ i wish to preserve my 20/20 vision/ hum...'twould be great to do something this jour but must be sensible/ h'ever with the energy of an absent h'over i may find this difficult/ i opt for the life of the quasi-recluse these days as it's the only way i can be moderately well behaved and stay within the alba's good books/ ho...here comes johnny yen again, with liquor and drugs, and the flesh machine.../ also'd a bit of lou reed, transformer, on the system this morn. and it's surprisingly well recorded/ bowie's real achievements were with reed and pop/ most of his solo stuff is just too fucking ott and populist, though i like gene jenie, fashion, let's dance...i think low is a hugely overrated album (fucking sound and vision/ puh-leeze) though the warsawza track's pretty engaging (and where our good friends joy division took their first proper name (they were initially called stiff kittens, but apparently none of them liked the name))/

in spite of weighty cold feeling good for not drop of booze one yester./ i think it takes a good 20 years of booze-O-hol-ism afore one gets, exemplar gratis, delirium t.s, so i've got time to get out before any serious damage is done/ i also get a garunteed three day break over the mas of christo as my father and i grudgingly abstain to avoid booze fights/ listening to van morrison, cyprus avenue, and trying to ignore the standard listener remarks of 'aching beautiful' and 'devastating genius'/ toss3rs/ my fuck-mas list keeps growing as i remember albums i've sold or lost, like van morrison, astral weeks, the stooges, fun house, the smiths, meat is murder, john coltrane, a love supreme, joy division, substance (which i've now bought and lost/sold thrice), ornette coleman, free jazz...the list goes on/ this cold is a fuck-cunt/ light the morn. of yester., heavy the eve. and has a manageability i don't quite trust this morn./ been caining the specials, gangsters, which has the best rucki'g freverb on mr hall's vocal (indeed, the same (almost unaged) mr hall who sings on tricky's poems)/ it's snowing here and the dog has no coat so i'm not sure what to do about exercising him/ i have to put him in a kennel over x-mas because my parents 've got 9 of us coming and don't want a rambunctious staffordshire to contend with (he doesn't relocate too well)/ 've found him a place in nth ldn with luxury rooms and acres of woodland, so he should be happy there for a few days/ think i'll construct another coffee (which indeed was used for medicinal purposes before it became a popular beverage)/

terrible hangover: 40cls whiskey, 1 btl rouge and a horrible, pointless argument with the alba, a drunken exchange of insults till we couldn't be bothered to continue and went to bed/ we haven't argued properly in months so it was quite shocking/ it was my fault, i started it and i have a far sharper tongue than she/ thus ridden with guilt for saying nasty things and forlorn at the thought of the futility of it/ peace and love, man/

've survived today thus far and 've taken no drink/ mother for lunch, brother over soon/ looking for libertines records on ebay but they're all bloody expensive (around the 20 quid plus marcus)/ when one considers i got da smifs strangeways here we come for GBP 0.99 and the pogues' rum sodomy and the lash and red roses for me at GBP 0.99 a piece it does extract the urine slightly/ absurd/ there's a copy of the libertines the libertines with a 'rare misprint' selling for GBP 49.99/ i recall selling a first pressing of the beatles abbey road 'ving seen one in the shop for GBP 370/ the guy offered me GBP 30 for mine/ so i sez to 'im, 'wot abaht dat wun on duh wowh?'/ quoth he, 'there is a slight irregularity on the label of the second side'/ fucking stamp collecting bastards/ thank mercy irvine gave trainspotting a new connotation/ i remember flogging my complete martin scorcese presents the blues for eight quid, rrp 52 squids/ that stung, even in one of my many hours of consuming need/ hummm...was listening to an old recording of rachmaninoff (or rachmaninov as it's rendered on the label/ i've seen dostoevsky spelled in at least two different ways) playing chopin's sonata no.2 but the quality of both the record and the recording's so bad i couldn't bear it/ so on went the mondays' bummed, my new and expensive stylus drawing the music in front of me/

f'n' much better than on waking/ lay awake between 2245 and around 0600, first time i've'd insomnia in a long stretch/ i was plagued by sleeplessness from birth, the climax coming around 2003 when i was a cycle courier and for over 4 months slept only 0-3 hours per night, usually closer to 0/ then, exhausted and with a 12.5 mile ride to get on 'circuit', i'd drink 16 shots of espresso (four quadruple lattes) during the day, a neat vicious circle/ when i first used heroin i slept for 16 hours straight and during the three year period i was addicted i would sleep around 13 hours a night/ then methadone (100mls/day) and the dose allowed me to sleep through the night/ thus the last five years, in spite of their tempestuous nature, 've been the happiest of my life/ with sleep one can deal with most problems but without sleep even the slightest difficulty is amplified/ recent studies on pilots found they performed worse when deprived of sleep than drunk/ the long term health problems created by insomnia are numerous and terrible/ a lack of sleep deprives the body of it's ability to produce vitamins e and c, leaving the immune system weak and one looking haggard/ the profound mental health problems it can induce are shocking, and i say this from first hand experience/ paranoia and anxiety were my constant companions 'til '03/ anyway, best not obsess about it or whoopsie!/

've filled are-ex and now sit 'working' and sipping whiskey, the last thing i wanted but it's making me feel yards finer/ finally finished glue, which i'd been reading at a page a day for the past couple of weeks, and started schindler's ark/ i'm most pleased it's written with sophistication and economy having just digested over 600 pages of welsh/ wot else...n'thing really/ waiting for the writers and artists year book so i can go to the extreme but necessary distance of finding an agent/ oh and for a new stylus for my shure v15xmr, tho' i am enjoying the sound of the cartridge that came with the deck, even if it wears on the ear after about an a-were/ my girlfriend's been buying me winter clothing since she contends i spend money on nothing i can't smoke, drink, read or listen to/ personally i think this an exceptional policy but one must wear clothing appropriate to the weather, rather one's body temp., though this is of course affected by the former/

lord...a god sized h'over/ two cans k before my appointment, one post, several stella the young eve and then ran into v- whom c-'d gifted with a bud sized like a bloated hedgehog/ christ what a wopper/ thus we sat, snipering the cack, falling off our seats with fits of coughing and laughter for, fresh and uncured we were forced to microwave a bud/ but i tell thee, lunar fucking trajectory, as welsh has put it/ skunk just seems to get more and more potent (if you are conversant with the correct entities, that is)/ listening to the (according to some guy on youtube) rare and extended 6 minute plus version of how soon in now but i'm sure it's the same as the version on meat is murder/ the other version was merely shortened to be played on chart shows and-set-er-ah/ oh well.../ also 'd dylan covering big joe williams' baby please don't go (though i still think the version by them is the best around)/ 've been playing a lot of brendel playing schubert to the dog and it relaxes him to the point you can hear this low rumble of contentment between pieces/ he is just a great dog/ he also bears a striking resemblance to a seal/

f'n' ace/ few drinks, all 'responsibilities' of the day cared for now drinks and biggie on the stereo/ hmmm..../ yump yump glUmp/ how i loathe the psyche of the typical rapper/ undoubtedly the poise is initially projected for commercial reasons but most i imagine end up believing their own bullshit/ shit, most musicians, painters, writers are just derivative, self-serving pieces of turd/ take nu-folk/ dylan became a parody of himself near 40 years ago (and i do not mean when he went electric)/ honesty is central to good art and no one i know of currently writes, paints or composes thus/ i imagine most are too concerned with being an artist and are shielded by the strength of their convictions (or 'treasured delusions' as old kant said) from facing their profound lack of talent/ i'm not as extreme as plato but please...

i was under no pressure from desire to purchase and consume alcohol this rare sober morn. but acquired two cans of k cider whilst walking the hound/ i am now sipping one as i type/ i have a relatively quiet day ahead, a meeting with my 'key-worker' at the drug dependency unit at 1430 my only commitment/ 've just ordered the artists and writers yearbook as a piece i sent to b- magazine came back because they no longer accept unsolicited mail/ apparently as freelance culture swells and burgeons more publishers insist one uses an agent/ it all seems a bit unnecessary but needs must/ it passed me by as i read kerouac's the dharma bums years before i heard the smiths but it's where moz. got the title pretty girls make graves (shakespere's sister comes from wolff's a room of one's own)/ anyway...

f'n' marvelous/ yester, 12.30, whilst walking the dog whatever alcohol remained in my system expired and i felt like a diseased spirit dragging a heavy, rotting corpse/ thus home where i downed 1500mgs paracetamol, 1000mgs aspirin, 1000mgs ibuprofen and 1omgs codeine tartrate, washed down with a flat 1/2 can of special i'd thoughtfully refrigerated the night before/ began to feel better almost instantly which was fortunate as 'd to make my way somewhere at 1400/ the latter successfully out of the way i, returning with a bag brimming with stella, ran into v- and so we to his for a spliff/ as i'm barely acquainted with skunk a la mo' it blew my head near clean off/ i made excuses and ran to my stereo/ listened in tense rapture to several records before the alba home/ i cooked supper and then my body shut down around 1845/ so i to bed where i slept till 0900 this morn./ eyes sparkling and with only one cup of cafe negra within i feel it may be a good day/ the article on budapest comes well and i've started one on milan aussi...

hmm...feeling shit/ bit of a bender yester.: 8 cans k; 1 can special brew; 4 co-dydramol; 40 fresh magic mushrooms; 70mls methadone; 200mgs citalopram; 3 spliffs/ walking the dog found a small but potent (post-1st frost) crop of mushrooms which i picked and promptly ate, though to little effect (i think that is more a reflection of my disturbing tolerance than the 'shrooms)/ then to the laundrette to use their industrial dryers, drinking the while, pained that i'd not bought a book/ much later i went out for cigarettes and ran into c- and his 4th wife so smoked some weed with them before home and passing out/ fell into a deep sleep on the sofa with the dog in my lap, the alba retrieving me at 0500 then bed till 0935/ i want to quit when i feel like this but i obviously enjoy it all just too much/ well today definitely no booze before 1800...

f'n' good tho' only 'cause i'm back on the booze train/ down to 15mls methadone tho' alcoholism, at least in moi, invariably steps in to assuage the sickness/ a scarred liver and an identity partially based on alcohol and opiate abuse: i suppose its better than being proud to be, e.g., part of a politician's entourage/ id est, there are certainly worse ways to define one's self, and without definition, face the void (you will loose)/ woman a la doc.s, i attempting to write an article on the joys of budapest/ i'm not sure what to report as my visit was little more an orgy of absinthe and whores/ i also had to avoid detection by my parents and father's colleagues/ i'd managed this successfully until my mother, as i quickened my step to get some duty free on the return (absinthe, GBP 0.75/btl), shouted, 'w-, why on earth are you walking like that?'/ a cpl of pa's associates smirked knowingly/ ho-hum, dum-de-dum/ any-fuck...hand healing well, in spite of my heavy drinking through a course of anti-biotic/ dog fine, stereo sublime, several smiths and tricky albums speeding their way to me by post, oh and some hendrix, cohen and talking heads/ do not over analyse your sicknesses or you will compound them (hence the ultimate failure of freudian analysis - just knowing why you feel shit doesn't stop you feeling shit and might make you feel shit-er)/ bye...

f'n' k/ some anti.'s and some k and hours twain strolling avec la streigel in the park of amber and golden falling leaves and i feel markedly better/

stille bored fuckless/ no new music, no money, lassitude has set in/ think i'll take the hound for an extended walk and suck up the sense data/

f'n' much restored for an outing with the hound (meaning we went for a walk, not revealed the true nature of our sexual predilections (or is the current popular theory one of 'hard wiring')) and a can of k cider/ the day is warm and autumnal tho' grey/ tchaikovsky still on the stereo (its a lengthy work)/ sored bhitless and with nothing in the post today (namely a replacement stylus) i'm confined to my cd collection, which i have thoroughly exhausted/ brother down with the flu, no inclination towards weed, no desire even to 'pop' upstairs and visit my upstairs mates/ i think i'll sit here in a comfortably morose state, moping/

f'n' rough this morn./ two cans special brew plus a one-line-two can of k the pre-mid., then house of c- for a 20 w and 10 b the post-mid, smoothed over with 300mls of methadone and encouraged by 60mgs citalopram/ then home where cooked an excellent supper and, rather than eat, consumed two bottles of shiraz and many cigarettes/ hit the sack quite early (0053) but roused by the dog at 0800 and unable to get back to sleep i'm feeling a little damaged/ tchaikovsky's sleeping beauty of the myoozik system/ last ngt sat in the dark listening to tricky's first album/ his voice sounded so realistic 'twas quite unnerving/ must go into town 2-joo-ur, get back a lot of my stuff from f-, then a raid on my brother's house for same/ i only have myself to blame/ when the alba and i separated for a year i trod the byway of the vagrant, leaving many of my possessions, along with skin cells, in many ppl's houses/ then there's my brother: i love him dearly but when he comes over he always needs to borrow something, a cd without which he can't continue, an item of clothing for it has become too hot, cold, tepid, misty, wet since his arrival/ i rarely go to his place but the last time i did a cursory glance at his bookshelves revealed enough books and cds to almost split a standard sized supermarket carrier bag/ the alba's trying to put a limit on my cd/book/philum purchasing as our flat burgeons under the weight of what is in fact a seriously depleted collection/ oh well...

completely forgot about the phenomenal and the noumenal till i read the words near t'very end of glue/ i wish to the gods and minerals and constellations welsh'd stick to writing in 'schemie' scots/ when he writes 'proper' english its embarrassingly bad as he displays a distinct lack of confidence and thus comes across as, at best, inelegant/ it is a shame because the bulk of the book's (unnecessary) 656 pages are written in 'leith-ian' and are largely excellent/ e.g. juice terry lawson - what an excellent character/ welsh seems, i speculate, to have an ambition to be a 'proper' writer, and by that i mean to wield the beautiful, restrained and elegant prose of say f. scott or d.h./ however welsh can write very well, albeit within a limited field/ but as inflexible and narrow as his abilities may be, when he writes in the dialect of leith he is superb/ man's got to know his limitations, likesay/

possessing encore pissed, ekooting the smiths, i know its over (the knife wants to slit me, can you help me - what clever ambiguity!)/ oh fuck, i don't know, what's the point?/ and these are not the ramblings of an alcoholic depressive/ please, tell me, what is the point?/ none of us are gods, none of us is more than a flawed, appalling specimen/ some, through a coalescence of circumstances, do something worthwhile, for example trying to cure aids, cancer, mental illness and-set-er-ah/ otherwise you should fuck off cause you're actions are worth NOTHING...just machinations in a never ending cycle of feeding and satisfying the body till it deteriorates and rots and is absorbed back into the dirt/ then a countless number of other fuckers will bide their time till the big kip, rot and so on/ enjoy, fellow beings...by the way, there is an obvious flaw in my argument/ GBP 0.01 to whomever picks up on it...

srunk as a dkunk, unsurprisingly, since i began at 0930, prompted by reading an old piece of mine containing details of a certain incident, the memories of which i've spent a long time trying to bury/ never head, eh?/ took the hound out for a temporal-slice, visited the pharmacy, the off-license and finally the park/ lower-middle-fi beginning to sound like a middle-fi/ i firmly refuse to be seduced by high-priced equipment when i can contrive a sublime sound for a fraction of 'the cost'/ sipping special brew and feeling those codeine pillules circulate round my boozy, whithered instantiation/ tres under-lime (beneath-lemon? i know, it's just one frustrating aspect of a more profound and far reaching illness)/

listening the smiths, i don't owe you anything, warmed by a cup of strong colombian/ down to 20mls of methadone, the edges smoothed away by this excellent codeine tartrate-paracetamol hybrid/ managed to get meat is murder and strangeways... on compact disk for a penny, thats GBP 0.01, a piece/ yes the smiths are for me in one respect like chopin, in that i could, can and sometimes do listen to them all day without tiring of them/ perhaps, as marr said, morrissey was a tad musically inflexible but nonetheless, i still love just about everything they did/ and how fortunate for everyone they were a short lived phenomenon/ imagine the jimi hendrix experience at 40/ je shudder/ or the doors/ i know jim's poetry ranks with some of the worst ever conceived by man or tree, but then so does ian curtis's, and i adore both the doors and joy division/ and whilst their poetry was utter tripe, that they meant it, were fabulous performers and had great bands behind them meant they produced some of the best 'pop' music of the 60's plus/ god, i'm starting to sound like a rock critic/ i read a zappa quote t'other day i found mildly amusing, which went roughly, music journalism is people who can't write interviewing people who can't speak for people who can't read/ oh frank...

sored bhitless/ woman un-in shopping with associates so i in alone, b-treble-O-r'd, popping spicules and listening to the smiths, the world won't listen, a most excellent complication, though i seriously contest the omission of rusholme ruffians/ writing of which, a friend still has my cd copy of meat is murder/ it can be argued quite reasonably that the smiths are one of the finest bands of all time/ i'm sometimes accused of having a bias towards manc bands but the mondays were phenomenal, more so parce que shaun sensibly destroyed factory before the mondays could be forced to put out any tepid diarrhea/ and what better way than with pounds 250, 000 of w. indian crack cocaine/ fookin nice one ryder/ moreover bummed is one of the finest 'inde.' albums like, ever?/ indeed it is/ also chq. out the re-issue which includes l.d.'s stunning remix of wrote for luck (superior though, to the novice, not clearly distinguishable from vince clarke's remix)/ the boy with the thorn in his side, seen as a departure from the smiths' usual high quality output (a twatting view of the new musical express) is winding gently throughout the flat, morrissey's uniquely gay lilt effortlessly bought out by my new silver-wire interconnects/ if anyone is reading this (ha...ha...ha) doubts the man's flagrantly homosexual (or at very least, 'camp') posturing checkout the studio version of rusholme ruffians set to random images on youtube/ 'tis rather amusing/ or indeed, the cover of their very first single, hand in glove/

listening to boo-coop pavarotti, running in those cables/ just been marveling over some nordost speaker cables which retail at GBP 6229/ fucking disgusting, though i remember 'twas my friend's father's GBP 250, 000 system (that disturbing figure minus the room he had built to maximize it's potential (par the route, my pal's pa was tone deaf)) that addicted me to hi-fi and sent me on this loathsome journey/ i remember gleaning far more enjoyment from a cheap-shit deck and some hash with a cpl of mates than listening to the specifics of every fucking sound one's speakers ejaculate/ h'ever, the 1/4 mil. experience made me hallucinate: i was conducting an orchestra of devils in a pit of fire from the centre of mendelssohn's brain/ nae bad, or rucking femarkable, really/ i was also rather content with a portable cd player, mind-phone amp. (a gift from a fan of my occasional dj sets at the b-), mind-phones and a stack of cds as i languished in a bedsit in nth ldn for a year/ and now i'm back, checking out equipment on mdma-bay rather than tunes having sworn to myself i'd spend no more than GBP 100 on any piece of equipment/ back on the heavy-as-fuck booze too, which is mildly depressing/ h'ever, as chris morris sagely put it in an episode of brass eye 'i shoot heroin on a purely recreational basis, but then, i'm middle class. i wouldn't advise it if you're working class or black'/ oh, and next-to-the-piste, what i mean by heavy-as-fuck booze is 'jakey' booze, super-strength beers and ciders &c./ i cannot drink whiskey or vodka as i tend to drink two 'fifths' at a sitting and then spend days twain in the 'sack' recovering/ as i've iterated numerously, i fucking hate booze, but with a 5 year methadone dependence and no way i can cultivate a nice, safe, clean heroin habit i have to drink instead, and fortify the booze with temazepam, valium or codeine/ heroin is yet another victim of stigma or poorly considered opinion/ in the infancy of my addiction i'd sit in our flat in camden, a GBP 8000 stereo salubriously decanting divine classical from 0900 till 1700 into my cells, a full working day if you will/ i'd then depart to old street to meet my mc-squealer feeling as if i'd been with the gods/ and, in a sense, i suppose i had/ i therefore conclude it a fact spawned of sheer necessity that one should fuck convention in it's ambiguous and foetid ring-piece/

not f'n' trop malcolm/ up reasonably late last ngt 'ving pissed it up on k cider secretly throughout the day, beginning around lunch out with mother time/ hand not hurting too much so've switched from codeine to ibuprofen, allowing me to save the remaining cod.s for a mizzling jour/ am currently selling no articles but running up a fair debt on the ol' cr'd't c'd, vinyl and cables and such/ without meaning to seem dull and thoroughly uninteresting, cable makes a phenomenal amount of difference and if y'r' soothly into y'r music i would suggest good mains, interconnects and speaker cable/ such improvements can make even the most shoddy equipment seem quite acceptable/ reading through my convalescence/ still stuck on glue, ah-ha, ah-ha, though it's quite a chunky tome/ i just seem to spend (rather i do spend) a lot of time bollocking about on e-bay/ i think i'll read schindler's list next/ i've taken a rather long and almost my first departure from what some might term the high brow/ but fuck it, do what you enjoy and screw the consequences/ we live but once/

f'n' grog-core/ got my hand bitten by a dog on sunday, my dog, in an attempt to extract him from an altercation with another hound/ his teeth went right through to the bone and as i wandered the mile home down busy streets not person one asked if i was ok/ the lass took me to a & e where i was seen uber-swiftly and given vast amounts of anti-biotic and some 30 agony-slayers/ the nurse, looking up from my medical history, smirked 'not afraid of needles, are we' as she administered my tetanus shot/ i was also given co-dydramol, a wonderful codeine-tartrate/paracetamol compound which does the job fucking beautifully/ drinking less to allow the anti.'s to work and i'm healing tray fast/ almost finished glue, which i'm enjoying immensely/ hi-fi's sounding great though i keep making sneaky purchases (today some silver-wire interconnects)/ running them in with the sex pistol's only album/ off to see a mate later to pick up some shit from his dad's flat where i lived 2 years ago (i know, regarding-marcus-capable efficiency) and have a few drinks/ apart from that all quiet on the south-eastern front/

checking out the late late late late night/'ving'd an ace day (my life is coursing along with disturbing smoothness a la mo') tripped to house of s-/ whilst waiting i indulged in what psychiatrists call 'deep fantasy', something one is taught whilst practicing transcendental meditation (tm)/ it was a phenomenal experience and yet another reason for me to fork out the cash for the tm course/ it's like a very good narcotic, though leaving on relaxed and in control post-wards/ i can really envisage it as an alternative to booze and drukqs pour moi/ and just think of the money i'd save/ got my new artridge in the post toujour so've been listening to beeth. and schubert for the past four hours/ then when one gets to this point one may as well see the dawn in/ there's always something to write about, music to eh-koot to, books to read/ 'ving broken with glue for a time-slice (to read jay mcinerney's bright lights, big city and a collection of short stories by our pal de mau.) i'm now reading it again and enjoying it almost as much as train spotting/ i'm also fond of the fact i'm 16 pages in and welsh's not broken dialogue yet/ in spite of my misgivings aboot him he is terribly good at what he does/ i have a candle in a dom p. bottle on my desk which looks very cool/ i take the same care of my 'study' as i did my room as an age of teener, a sharp reflection of thine's soothly/ the dog is well and was gifted 1 and one 1/2 hrs un-on the lead in a large park today/ i think he may have overdone it a tad however as he limped home/ he was also very well behaved bar two incidents, one of a bi-sexual nature witha eunech springer spaniel and one violent with an english bull stregiel (and 'twas my stregiel who instigated it)/ man, tiredness is constructing it hard to focus but i know if i go to bed i'll just lie awake/ besides parsley que oy ov bin drinking oym relegated to the couch osi envisage some form of alba-ic confrontation so i wanr to be prepared, excuses at the ready, several cups of santos-java within/

stuffed with honest to bog fare, cornish pasty, chips and beans on a sodden jour/ stereo sounding fanny-tastic/ want to go out but feeling mildly conservative today, desiring calm music, p'hap some reading and an early night/ i even have a bottle of brandy in my draw which i've neglected to open today/ i am therefore led to conclude there's something wrong with me/

f'n' mo' vur-gn vine/ out today to f. jaques, usual table overlooking the thames and the majestic bridge at k-/ 'd the usual: iced kronenbourg, snails, fresh baguettes 'n' beurre a plenty, succulent oven roast turbot, steak frites (bloody as sin, d'course) and strong french coffee with much brandy and a cream wig/ made my final hi-fi purchase (a camb. audio amp.), dirt cheap but a classic/ it sounds fucking great and as per the cabling i'm running into and from it is worth about 20 times more/ the reason i've the cable still is it depreciates considerably once cut and used (tho' i've seen some of the stuff i own go for an attractive dime on mdma-bay) so 2nd dealers won't touch it/ thus i've managed to build a quality set up for next to nothing, cabling making a vast difference to all aspects of sound quality (pace, sound-stage, tonal quality &c.)/ my girlfriend is bored shitless with it all but has developed quite a fine ear/ yester. was mildly decadant/ popped a cital. 40mg around 0130 this morn. thus on auto to b- where ran into a 'friend' and got a nice stone/ came back, smoked it and parce que the b'd worn off'd to drink much them-a-done and van roo-je/ still, lay on the sofa unable to sleep but in a state of pleasant quietude/ then the gf'd a headache so i sat up with her and nursed her till she got to sleep about 0630/ i'm thus running on petit kip (about 2 hrs) and was thinking of an early night but foolishly fell for the charms of a santos and java french coffee (heavy on the martell) and am now pleasantly wired/ may sit up and read with the comforting sighs of the sleeping streigel (that's terrier in german) easing my mind/ i dunno/ anyway...

a day of some small energy expenditure/ first to e- for rx, then to cntrl ldn for hi-fi tweak bits, pins plugs and such, then finding a crisp tenner within my pocket and with the knowledge i'd a travel card i formulated a plan to return to my old stomping ground of finsbury park and locate a 'friend'/ even tho' i've not been there in 18 months this took not long and soon i was doing the walk with a charming couple, the female a prostitute, to see a man named q on a- road/ the transaction was swift and the gear excellent/ sth ldn just cannot compete in the b stakes/ and why?/ the proliferation of turks, arabs and pakistanis in nth ldn/ a few boots and you remember why you sold everything and lost everyone and carried on for a further two years even when all was gone/ oh yes...

all is well/ family took us out for supper yester then home for a few btls rouge and an early night/ got up, jo malone-d my shop front and feel one-line-twain human/ coltrane, black pearls, is currently wearing in the cabling of my super super budget deck/ the cartridge i salvaged from the wreckage of my years of serious addiction is worth ten times more than the deck arm and cart. together (at original typical selling price (tsp)) but together with a budget phono-stage and some 1/2 decent speakers it sounds pretty fucking great/ i had to drag myself away from mozart's cosi fan tutti or i wouldn't've got to bed before the sky cast a glow on the city, it's roofs, it's walls.../ off to fill rx soon, no 'blues' and the to maplin (a budget electronics store) for a kettle lead for my printer so i can sell some fucking articles and get some more vinyl/ my stash used to be around the grand mark but now hovers around 500/ yester h'ever i received iggy pop, the idiot, in pristine condition and so annoyed everyone with repeated playings of nightclubbing/

oh me oh my, my vil-onik purchases are coming in like a tide/ but, much more importantly, having studied 20th century american history i fucking wept with joy at obama's victory / i truly cannot believe it/ from the horrific pictures in cook's letters from america (the 'strange fruit'), jazz musicians not permitted to stay at hotels they were booked to play in the 60's to a black president in 2008/ a phenomenal and deeply beautiful thing/ i feel cheesy saying it but i keep choking back the tears/ i, and i'm sure i'm in the company of many millions, cannot believe such a remarkable thing has happened/ clearly he won because he was the best man for the job (no preference should be given because of race) but the fact that obama is black is hugely significant/ how many more black men and women would have been far more capable of running the country were it not for the vile scourge of racism?/ today is a great jour indeed/

currently eh-coo-ting joy division, transmission, and remembering when i thought the world of martin hannett, a man with a true passion for heroin and booze/ there is an album, compilation rather, entitled joy division, in the studio with martin hannett and on the cover hannett, soaked in red light, looks down demonically on the band/ when i see it i feel sick to the pit of my stomach with envy as i no longer have my own heroin dealer nor do i have the liberty to use (as with most non-using girlfriends its a 'me or the smack' deal, and i've been down the latter route and no amount of brown could smother the pain)/ anyway...nothing to report other than i broke my no booze rule to cope with a cunting headache and tomorrow i'm'ving a soldering iron bought to me by my mother on her weekly visit, which will permit me to either fix or eliminate one possible cause of my current vinyl frustration/ i cannot even bring myself to play any records as i obsess over the crackle so profoundly i hear little else (other's who've heard the system say it's not that bad but then they're not me)/

the compelling saga of the deck continues: is the crackle coming from the right speaker the result of an incorrect anti-skate setting or faulty phono-cable/ it currently looks like the latter/ again it seems i've been seduced by vinyl and am experiencing all the difficulties and frustrations that come with it/ when the deck works well, tracey thorn's vocals on massive attack's protection make the short hair stand, but then there's fitting and aligning a cartridge, scrupulously caring for the vinyl, cleaning the needle and running an anti-static brush ten revolutions over the surface and fucking set er ah and fucking set er ah/ and as an obsessive depressive with the shortest of fuses these minor difficulties have a tendency to consume my entire being/ currently reading jay mcinerney's bright lights, big city which is excellent/ beautifully written and well paced without a hint of pretension/ hummm...no booze yester and i intend to follow up today/ went to b- in a drunken stupor the other 0300 and got taken for 20 pounds/ even with a lifetime's worth of experience one should always adhere to one simple rule: never score when drunk/ moreover in the past i seem to have been extremely fortunate/ friends tell me they've only ever been skanked there and yet in five trips only one's been unsuccessful/ just look for the guys without desperation in their eyes and a stature of 6 five and over/ funny thing is, i wasn't even annoyed/ i fully deserved it/

all is good (as purr...must be the enduring effect of the anti-depressants)/ sipping a k cider and obsessing about my hi-fi/ it sounds fucking amazing but i'm always listening for faults/ currently i'm using a different stylus so the tracking weight is different from that recommended by the manufacturer/ i'm thus having to adjust it by ear, which is an old trial-and-error gig/ i've decided to do no more than buy a new amp., speaker cable and interconnects and then leave well alone, spending my green on records and record maintenance equipment/ otherwise one merely obsesses over sound quality and not the music/ a friend's brother has so far spent 20, 000 pounds on hi-fi (and that's not excessive in the hi-end market) and has been reduced to listening to real-sound recordings (master recordings of say, a drum kit being played)/ i can understand this as i've been there but have no intention of going there again/ good hi-fi makes a huge difference but when it takes precedence over the music somethings seriously awry/

f'n' phine/ sippin' gin and juice and listening, appropriately, to snoop dogg, doggystyle/ hi-fi sounding phenomenal/ got some madd shit cummin thru e-bay/ realised most of my collection is jazz and classical (jazz because when i moved to camden jazz fm were selling off their entire vinyl collection and classical because i teephed many records off my dad and bought the rest from charity shops/ i love both genres and became something of an aficionado but a deficit of hip-hop and reggae seriously grates upon uno/ thus these new additions are extremely welcome)/ ma soeur over for luncheon today/ run out of 'blues' and no money to purr-chase more till monday when 30 shall be mine/ i do rather like them / i also have a mini cohiba box in which i keep them/ cool, eh?/ anyway...

i recall very little of the last phew days/ the 'blues' (diazepam) combined with numerous other pills and potions sent me on a merry-go-round of powerful dream states/ they would occur even when, e.g., i would close my eyes briefly while riding the train/ i also have a habit of loosing entire days, unable to remember actual events as they are overwhelmed by powerful opiate hallucinations/ a good example would be the scene in requiem for a dream where the guy fantasies about taking the cops gun at the ice cream kiosk/ the veracity of such hallucinations can be truly remarkable and eclipse prosaic 'real' events/ today've picked up my rx, 'd a few cans of k, bought a bottle of good gin from a brick-a-brack shop for a quid (thats one pound), listened to my latest vinyl purchases, marveling at the sound quality of my system the while/ whilst some find my passion for scary somewhat heroin my lust for music is almost comparable/ will write again this eve. - must check e-bay for interconnects...

i recall buk saying without the booze he'd've suicided or gone to the nut house/ drug use in the lower echelons of society is seen as vile and depressing in the extreme but consider the situation of a guy working a lift, trapped in a box lit by strip lights, being told which button to press, having to be polite and set er ah and set er ah/ logically he's making the best of an intolerable situation and was it not oscar twat-cunt wilde who said it is the mark of genius to make opportunities where none are apparent/ the rich expect the poor to show, dignity, reserve, hard-work, all that shit/ and what rewards do these bring?/ fuck all, except p'haps they are slightly less looked down upon by those above them and so can feel some sense of pride/ a house nigger/ yessuh!/ a heroin addict who lives in a skip will experience moments of bliss but at a high price/ when sick his situation is unbearable/ the conclusion?/ there is nothing absolutely better/ every thing has its perks and downsides/ the life of a poor junky has flashes of heaven/ the life of the poor staid worker has no flashes of beyond but then he doesn't experience the intolerable hell of being sick on street in the biting cold/ but his frustration translates into other areas of his life/ the conclusion?/ there is no conclusion/ we all are bound to the spokes of the wheel and are gifted and fucked by turns/ but surely josephine bloggs with cash has a better life that joney bliggs without/ no/ hell is relative/ a guy with cash's hell is them same as the hell of a man without cash/ i've known guys on the streets with one leg who impart such significance to acquiring one of each to enjoy after a hard days graft/ i've know rich guys who have it all and bore of it because it's all too easy/ everyones different/ you can't group people into neat binary opposites/ and this is why psychology, drug treatment, psychiatry fails/ over simplification/one guy with red hair and a diazepam habit's treatment may work and another guy with red hair and a diazepam habits treatment won't work/ desperate for salvation people grasp onto the most tenuous similarities to give them hope / take language: philosophy of language is notoriously difficult because when one starts to analyse any simple statement it is found to contain many inconsistencies/ the idea of language is to give people some common ground by which to communicate their feelings/ it is simply an agreement driven by common sense (i.e. an understanding of the flawed nature of human understanding because we are all disparate entities floating in a void)/ because every individuals feelings are so different, because of backgrounds, spacial locations, physical and psychological make ups, a lot has to be over looked to reach any form of 'understanding', which is why language breaks down entirely under scrupulous analysis/ it is human insecurity, a desperate need to feel secure, to feel grounded that a) drives this common sense approach and b) makes people so desperate to disprove this theory/

all is well/ glass of shiraz to my left, 2 dfs within, happy mondays, tart tart on the sound box/ my budget hi-fi is wicked/ never again shall i be seduced by hi-end shit/ although my previous set-up sounded phenomenal there just isn't fucking 8 grands difference between the set-up i'm running now and the one i'd then/ moreover i enjoy my current hi-fi more because i've got fuck all expectations (or very few)/ psychology is the fundamental factor in enjoyment or appreciation of anything/ even the finest works of art can seem shit when one is in a particular frame of mind/ when you've shot your bolt, a pussy can look absurd/ the most trite sentimentality can seem deeply moving when one is in an emotionally fragile state/ nothing is absolutely in itself/ every thing is a subtle interplay of internal and external factors and one must be mindful of this/ anyway...the dfs are kicking in nicely/ must to the local booze outlet for more/ i need to do some fucking work but who am i kidding?/ i never fucking work/ i'd love to be a workaholic because i'd achieve so much/ as it is what ever talent i may have flounders, flaps and spasms, a fish out of water on a baking deck 'neath an imperious sun/ a charming thought but that's just how my 'talent' feels/

all well/ intake: 1 can special brew, 500mls, 9.0%; 2 cans k cider, 500mls/can , 8.4%; 3 rox; 4 dfs, 10 mg/pill; 1 can stella; 200mls methadone/ feeling deliciously smoooooog-uh/ yes/ all is delicate rubber and space between objects of sound/ i like...will scribe l8r once my gouch's been enjoyed/ can't beat pharm.s/

so, you reap just what you, eh?/ well considering i'm on the back end of an all day-night-dayer and feeling pretty good puts paid to that pessimistic view/ h'ever must type later as focusing's a bit of an effort...

a damned fine eve./ backed by day wine (also imbibed by the alba) we ate a phenomenal willy and wine (cock-oh?-van) accompanied by good chardonnay, merlot and shiraz/ then i on automatic to b- for dubz twain which, for fucking once, was almost near exquisite/ then unable to sleep tidied and cleansed my 'study', drinking k cider and ekoohting thoo-bag (tupac?) and others the while/'m also glad i've rediscovered the aural successful-ending-of-e.g.-cock-greeting-fanny-s (organization-asams) which explode throughout one's brain matter as one listens to that sweet shit the ubiquitous 'they' call 'vinyl'/ muking finted, reader, mucking futher mucking finted...bizat/

a fine day yester./ to k- for a phono stage pre-amp., then f- for an excellent meal of snails, entrecote-frites, much kronenbourg and cabernet-merlot, strawberry pannacotta with strawberry compote, finished with lava-like rich-black coffee with brandy topped with cream/ then a stroll down the river as night crept in, the water reflecting the black vault of heaven/ finally home but 've made the most fatal error/ my hi-fi, till recently, 'd been a modest affair and i'd been enjoying it very much/ t'other day i resurrected my shure v15xmr cartridge, some russ andrews reference power cords and then bought this phono stage/ now all i do is listen for imperfections, making listening to it a hellish experience/ the psychology's obvious but i must do something about it/ some ppl heavily influence every aspect of their lives with powerful imaginations (i am one of them) and in this fashion can reduce a stereo worth 10s t'sands to below one found in the street and given a wipe down/ this can't be good/ h'ever by that same token i c'ld elevate my current set up, if i can break out of this trap/ aim low and you'll often be pleasantly surprised/

tho' i was exhausted and my girlfriend made repeated attempts to get me to bed i stayed up till 0300, drinking and music-ing/ thus exhausted/

doing alright/ v. little sleep last night (about 2 hours)/ consequently feeling a tad left of centre/ just fell asleep at the keyboard/ parents took alba and me for lunch today/ they then dropped me at my pharm./ sipping a k and.../ shit, passed out again/ was doing 'k' till about 1 hr ago when waves of exhaustion started to pummel me/ tried lying down but that didn't help/ will scribe ag'in l8u...

a fine eve/ 'pon the wings of an impulse i to b- where at in mo.s acquired a 20 saxifrage (well, rather that which the saxifrage splits, but indeed this particular item flowers intensely, although for a brief spell...as ezra say: saxifrage...splits the rock...yeah?...i know, cheese supreme, no? why not make you work for it?)/ so yes, 'twas fine fine fine and now i reside at home, blissed indeed/ the writing is going well/ the times literary supplement replied they do not consider such material/ it seems that neither concept nr craft matters: subject is all/ to mock the absurdity of conformity may sound lime a teen rant but it's not without substance/ who do you think a better writer: fucking dreiser of selby jr?/ i lay my case down to sleep/ well, not quite...as usual, any area are grey hued...e.g. there is plenty writing out there dealing with 'difficult' subject matters that is self-indulgent and badly written, riling against an admittedly fucked system but for the wrong reasons and badly, hence the reason, 'burroughs-esqe- lit. tends to have a bad name/ however, what is tantamount is content, clear and elegant mode of expression, perspicuous psychological observations, &c./ dreiser does none of these but he was published and lauded where selby jr was ignored or derided/ this is a clear example of 'educated' ignorance/ i attended one of the finest university's in the world, attained a first and concluded i'd never had my thinking more stifled/ it has taken me three years to recover and restore my mind to the flexible, questioning state it was when i began university/ one of the main difficulties with 'intellectual' subjects is something known as 'organic metaphors', e.g. hegel advocating a unity of minds, to achieve absolute knowledge, the peak of human capability/ now some of the more obvious difficulties with this are 1) it's impossible to quantify and2) when you cook it down you get totalitarianism (but reasoning within the system it seems anything but totalitarian)/ i suppose the point i'm trying to make is one can get lost in a logical morass which, whilst perhaps internally consistent, bears no relation to anything one could possibly explain/ and in it's application, it can be lethal/ one thing academia and spending 10s f thousands on hi-fi has taught me is, question and grasp everything which you think or become involved in/ otherwise, forget it/ logic, like religion, is just a form of human desperation with a different mask/ as fritz the cat said (roughly) 'since i gave up thinking, i'm much less of a cunt'/ gra-see-ass, fritz/

all is reasonable/ feeling much healthier/ drinking right down (2 cans special brew/day, 9 units), off anti-depressants (tho' i'll pop one if t'ings possess a tad tense), sweating a lot less, no more switchblades to the liver in the young morn./ nice/ listening nwa, 100 miles and runnin'/ writing going pretty well tho' avoiding paid work/ hummm.../ there is not any memory with less satisfaction than the memory of some temptation we resisted (or failed to fulfil)/ the secret: kill memory, rational thought and just...shit, i dunno, but definitely kill memory and rational thought/ give up control and life gets a lot easier/

again the dog defecated in the house considerably last night though having confined him to the kitchen it was at least contained/ calmed now, coffee at my side, methadone smoothing round my flesh and bones, eminem, ass like that on the stereo/ it was the truly twisted lyrics of this song that allowed me to laugh through the horror of fuck-mas '05 with only a 'fifth' of cooking brandy and a bottle of 30mg 'DFs' (codeine)/ the horror...i remember my brother putting on bo selecta as the sickness became really acute and the reality of two days away from london and no B sinking in/ i suppose i was lucky to have 'DFs', left over from a failed attempt to detox though a private clinic/ i was coming off 6 months of 55mls methadone plus much use atop/ they give me lofexedine for a week (pounds 112 for a one week script) and then fucking temazepam and codeine!/ even though i was allowed both in unlimited quantities (i was paying pounds 35 for the script post-all) i remember drinking bottles of those pills and not even getting a moments sleep, mice burrowing in the bones, screaming in a despair and exhaustion as the cold morning lit the dirty sky/ reform drug policy puh-leeze!/

feeling somewhat restored/ woke with a sense of clarity which was quickly molested by my discovering the contents of the dog's bowels and stomach in various nooks of the house/ i wrapped a towel round my face and got down with the bleach, comforting myself i was not on omaha beach, july 2, 1944/ one can put up with quite a lot if one bears in mind the opening scene of spielberg's saving private ryan/ truly soul shattering stuff/ listening the strangeloves, i want candy/ oh that diddley beat.../ off to pharm. soon for rx/ written a few more chapters/ getting there though it takes time to get it right/ as someone who has never worked in his life (with the exception of the final few months of my degree) i'm learning this at 29/ well, never too late...

doing ok/ went for a lengthy spin with the mutt yester., cans d'k twain en route and, feeling sur-fine returned home/ then blam, puked prolifically, spraying lav. seat, rim, floor, wall and-set-er-ah/ started to feel insanely cold so to bed at 1700, shivering and hallucinating/ slept on and off till 0900 this morn. waking regularly with numb limbs to drink a 'pitcher' of water at a time/ jus' taken the dog for his daily and, shivering and weak, 'd a can on the way/ i gave up strong booze a while back (well, cheap strong booze) but since attending aa a cpl of times i'm right back on it, recalcitrance and all/ listening to no fun, sex pistols/ so yeah, bit of a shitter really/

all good/ bizarre dreams, one involving my working at an office two miles above the north sea/ i had to climb a thin string ladder to get there and from the top could see only the sea drop over the horizon, storms and such played out in the mid-distance/ i managed to escape and flew around an interpretation of soho which has occurred in several of my dreams but them compelled to return started climbing the ladder again/ about half way up i met my mum who started babbling about what sort of job i had before i climbed away from her/ abruptly the ladder ended and i was left suspended, surrounded by freezing gray atmosphere, terror rising in me/ no idea wtf that means/ been listening to a bit of sidney bechet this morning and now the wolf is howlin from the speakers/ nice...

all is well/ wrote 3 chapters yester., which is nice/ to bed early la nuit d. (2300 hrs) and slept till 1200 today/ took the hound for a long haul this early post-1200, the park and quieter roads of a devastatingly beautiful aspect, carpeted with multi-colored leaves which stir gently in the breeze/ currently sipping a guiness original and contemplating plans for the eve./ as per i shall probably stay local/ to see any of my previous associates requires some degree of effort and i expend mine recovering from the previous days delights/ 've been trawling through my record collection, astounded by the sound quality of a deck i picked up for pounds 14.99/ today has seen much tricky, some chet baker, eric b and rakim, the cure, the beat, schubert, chopin and bee.'s piano conc. no 1, giels at the keys/ the second movement reduces me to a sobbing heap/ nice/ anyhoo, must crack on...

um yum gouch-ity um/ 60 mgs codeine; 200 mls methadone; 20 mgs citalopram; 1 btl mow-ey; 1 bag heroin; 1 rock crack; now 1 guiness at my right/ i feel yUm...hm hm/ needless to pronounce potentially paid graft is on the back-burner/ fats navarro is on the stereo/ i do not wake up intent upon hedonistic pursuits...i just regularly become involved in them, rather it seems they regularly involve me/ but ah, i'm certainly not complaining, nah mean?/

doing masta ace/ a fine time yester./ twas my brother's b'day/ held it here so ppl flowed through la maison throughout the day, as did much booze and music flow through the ppl/ i also finally bought a record deck and so've been exorcising my vinyl/ monk and navarro till near dawn, swigging champagne and eating rich food, then the dog and i saw in the sunrise with a viewing of china town/ must to e- for rx soon/ also must try and sell some articles/ i've not sold one in a while and only have 1 check owed/ add to this my penchant for liberal spending and it bodes ill/ oh well, i gave up worrying as well as thinking many summers past/ listening autumn leaves, 'cannonball' adderly/

all is well on the home front, the rest sent to falkirk/ these days my nightmares occur in their correct place, viz. in my sleep/ we all know how memory cheats us and this was apparent yesterday as i read an old diary/ the autumn or 'fall' always brings a nice fuzzy feeling, it having been my favorite season of the year to score heroin/ the many years i lived in f-p- my route to the spot was across the park, which always looked devastatingly beautiful as the leaves turned/ moreover i find the beauty of scenery more profound as an adjunct to some course of action/ a walk in the park is pleasant but purpose pisses on aimlessnesses (or slender aims) hence the profound impact the autumn weather has on me/ it even overshadows memories such as this - 05.10.05: phoned bank this morning and wept/ parents gave me pounds 1600 four days ago and i have pounds 140 remaining/ this'll keep me well for 2 days, if i'm careful/ tested curtain wire as i may hang myself -/ oh memories...

doing fine/ only one can en route to acquire rx/ drank it in the graveyard next to e- station and read over an old diary/ got home and the bug fuggered me, so consequently to bed where slept a vivid dream sleep for about three hours/ if i've been using large amounts of methadone for a couple days i invariably get a couple night's vivid sex and scoring dreams, though the latter is never consummated (discuss)/ now drinking guinness orig./ alba cooking supper, chicken chow mein/ dog asleep on the 'study' arm chair/ all quite comfortable/

doing good/ out for chinese last nuit then my mate from upstairs returned from a sojourn in the country so we'd a wee weed smoke and a bottle of red/ still managed to get to bed before ten and then woke at 1100 this morn., p'haps b'cause f'n' a touch of the flu (of which there is apparently an epidemic in londres)/ thus sustaining the self with flagons of water, black coffee and aspirin, ibuprofen and paracetamol tablets/ have to make the flog to the pharm. to fill my rx before 1830/ i could switch to a pharm. closer by (there are about 3 within 5 minutes walk of my flat) but i seem strangely attached to this inconvenient routine/ it is a chance to read and write in peace and sneak a can of three in the early to mid-after./ well, must press on...

f'n' evun aser/ bin tekken un-in for sashimi and sake by d- and now sit ekootin to master flow(s) doom, el chupa nibre/ many have thought, felt and/or said that most famous are so because of the ignorance and/or bad taste of others/ i would tend to agree with this/ thus one must pursue art for it's own sake and to indulge one's vanity/ more of the good red, the bad red, the mediocre white and songs of the fathers and bastard daughters till the dawn of an age we can trust!/ razors at sunrise, bitches/

f'n' guurd/slept h'rs 13 la nuit d. and rose feeling well/ out for b'fast with the alba and then a phenomenal tread with the staff. thro' s'th l'nd'ns green acres, can of k at my side/ the scene was idyllic, the trees painted by van g. and after the can gaugain/ now home and planning a quiet post-1200/ may get some reading done/ if i'd one wish it'd be to switch my holics for work/ any holic is left of but at least workaholism produces more lasting rewards/

g'd day/ marathon walked the chien/ drank v. little, a cold superbok around 1134 and now a can of k/ inthend to acquire an early night this night, regarding-cuperate and-set-er-ah/ sleep is the finest thing in the world and as an ex-insomniac i covet it/ take wing, wing by wing, brokenly/

hum...well, dollah ewd (owed?) for an article tempted me to maison d's. (with which regular reader's'll be familiar)/ thereat purchased 2&2 or 'two of each' and entertained a most interesting smoke (i say interesting because the 'b' was heavily cut with novocaine thus numbing the cheeks and causing a slight jittery feeling in your dear author)/ upon leaving i bought 20cls high commissioner whiskey to assuage, which it did, but also caused profound sweating, inviting some attention on the bus/ the driver'd filled the bus and it could barely move, prompting some loudmouth to vociferate/ this distressed the driver, in turn prompting a nearby vicar to remark 'do you have no compassion?'/loudmouth replied 'what tha' fak's compassion?'/ there was no laughter but at the next stop a stampede ensued/ an almighty crunch was heard as the horde dislodged the floor beneath the doors and, when the doors tried to close they got stuck/ the driver shut off the engine and restarted it but the doors would not slide back into position/ an obese and hysterical woman lunged at the them, another CRACK was heard and the floor sank further/ in perspiring fury i pressed the emergency button, barged past several tonnes of delirious flesh and hit the street/ iced air smoothed my drenched back and i post-piss-quivered in delight/ the doors whoosed shut behind me and i stalked away, mindful of a poor girl getting on through the front doors/