Thursday 13 November 2008
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/
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