as paul butterfield once said, 'ahm, drunk ageen' (to wit, 'i'm drunk again')/ started far too early but it is a disinhibitor and as such reveals one's genuine thoughts/ i cannot be fucked with bullshit (unless it is my subtle form of dissembling)/ i'll sleep in cardboard in a fucking graveyard rather than suck bitch dick/ watch me/ and i ain't gonna go the suicide route/ let them win?/ FUCK that...

as h l mecken once said, any poet aged over 30 needs professional help. the analysis of burgess' enderby, a poet of forty, was one of arrested adolescence. enderby attempts suicide and is placed in a home where he is programmed to be 'normal'. the thing is the old enderby is likable and interesting, but his latter incarnation pitifully dull. i don't think it is valid to discard the idea of writing because it is in part based on a sense romanticism which seems to wither in most by the end of adolescence. in fact it is a harsh and rather predictable criticism. the childish romanticism of which some speak should be cherished, and can co-exist (indeed be an integral part) of a mature personality. look at romanticism as spirit whose attributes change with age. a loss of this spirit i see as a consequence of personal let downs and failings, not one of positive maturation. write as much as you can, i say. if nothing else writing is cathartic and i don't think analysing the notion of truth to it's logical conclusion devalues it. just being able to write your thoughts down systematically is helpful. and beware the path of logical analyses. it will see you barren and drive you utterly mad.

so, feenin' scene-in/ good wknd then la nuit d jus' cpl of cans and a few resin spluphphz, culminating in my retiring very early (before 2200) and sleeping till 1100 this morn./ i would not survive my punishing reigeme were it not for my remarkable ability to sleep when and f0or how long i wish/ take sun. ngt. e.g.: 1/2 g/chaz; 10 cans stella; 3 pints kronie; countless z-bluvz; lots of happy mondays and talking shit with my two best mates/ i then awoke to a sniffle and barged my way through the day till collapse became inevitable)/ so as you can see, without sleep (the most restorative thing in the world) i would either be extremely ill or dead (or both...)

Never sleep with a woman whose troubles are worse than your own

Algren, thou fucking genius thou. And he adds: The book asks why lost people sometimes develop into greater human beings than those who have never been lost in their whole lives

so here i sit the ultimate bohemian jaeger jacket cashmere scarf sipping fine wine from a black corner shop back listening to ornette coleman...don't you wish you were me?? best is i'm not afraid better i sleep in a field on a rock than have to put up with hell for bricks and morter...

woke late after last night's debauchery, made coffee, snaphphl'd vino and now sit in a blissful shroud drinking shiraz and listening to black randy and the metrosquad/ he and the mondays make me very very happy/ randy is closer to me in character than ryder or hannett/ the latter two i identify with in addiction, tolerance, intelligence but randy was also a sensitive chap, as is your humble narrator/ back to blissful shrouds...i recall getting a massive erroneous payment from x university and at the time was staying with my arets while anther storm calm down/ i went ot x bank on s-, with drew a cpl tunne and purchased a beautiful cohiba robusto/ i then strolled accross l- to a mroccan tea shop, puffing lesiurly on my cohiba, before reclinign divan wise and watching the oil light dance on the black waitressdses multi tone, shimmering skin/

the greater (rather diverse and 'quantious' (a work devised in best faith by a disciple)) the intake the more erratic my behaviour (and the less i remember of it)/ e.g. la nuit: several cans k follwed me to the spot where at Bz twain i procured and the obligatory over priced dubz/ then home for encore B, citalopram and then i flipped, before canvassing the neighbourhood for bottles of wine, an enterprise at which i was very successful/ i remember little else, but what?/