feenin gurd/ trout mask replica, captain beefheart, arrived this morn., a beautiful 180gm repressing, gatefold sleeve an'-set-rah/ truly i covet such items, tho' my shit-slice flimsy deck is curtailing my enjoyment somewhat/ well rather i am/ i enjoy it to a point and then begin to obsess over minor defects in the sound quality and before the self is aware of it i'm sitting in tense agony, swearing the demise of my system/ however the deck does impair the sound quality, making the bass loose and and the treble somewhat splashy/ however other parts it registers exquisitely, such as the cello on donovan's hampstead incident/ currently listening to simple minds, don't forget about me/ cpl old mates over this eve for supper, what shd bee plezunt/ ovent seen quite a few of my old people since the old smack got a bit out of hand a few years back but, in a frenzy of benevolence, aided by anti-depressant and whiskey, i traced down a few vieulle numbers and've made plans to reunite with several each day from this one/ should be grand/ they've all possessed marriaged or bairn'd or the two, but at our age 'tis to be expected, j'gess/ now old main drag, the pogues/ wot a sung, nope?/ my thou-tube channel, billyshitcheese, grows is size and stature daily/ i am proud of it's bredth and depth, tho' the cap. and the early blues masters take weighty presidence/

doin' g'd'/ n't twain damaged by the new year tho' excess indulged me to some length/ saw in the ny at the flat with much champagne, brandy and whiskey, the alba, a cpl peoples other and many records/ then bored around 0300 and all shops asleep went to our local cafe which was open till beyond dawn and there we stayed till 0530, laughing hysterically at the entire darnce floor desparate to score before sun-up/

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/