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/