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/