RIP Tony Wilson

it is with great sadness that i write this blog/ whilst this guy obviously had his faults one should be known by one's deeds not by intentions good or bad, as the great pope said (a. pope, by the way - i'm sure the head of the catholic church would hold that the inverse is true)/ i learnt about factory, joy division, mondays, late in the day/ in fact i'd got to a point where i was convinced i'd nothing great left to discover/ and then, as i watched 24 hour party people, a great blinding surge of wondrous light occurred, as i heard transmission by jd / and i became hooked (as i usually do to great blinding surges of wondrous light) / i immediatley went out and bought their four most important albums/comps (unknown pleasures, closer, substance, still) and played them continuously for about 6 months/ at one point i would listen to substance on repeat all day long, mosying over the park to score one of each with a can of k in hand and then, elegantly slumped in my leather arm chair, would listen in slack-jawed rapture/ glorious memories/ through 24hr pp, nay wilson, i discovered the fall, mondays, a certain ratio, vini reilly, joy division, i experienced a renewed interest in the sex pistols, and developed an obsessive interest in the whole punk and post-punk scene/ this film, nay tony, sent me on a musical journey, one i'm still on a year later/ his death, at an obscenely young age (particularly for someone who wasn't a habitual cainer (as so many factory associates were)), is a fucking mocking slash in the face of all that's right and proper/ why are so many bright lights, individuals who do genuinely meaningful stuff which positively affects people lives, struck down prematurely?/ i see wilson's death as another reason to believe in god just to hate him...

A philosophy like Hegel's is a self-revelation of the psychic background and, philosophically, a presumption. Psychologically it amounts to an invasion by the Unconscious. The peculiar, high-flown language Hegel uses bears out this view -- it is reminiscent of the megalomaniac language of schizophrenics, who use terrific, spellbinding words to reduce the transcendent to subjective form, to give banalities the charm of novelty, or pass off commonplaces as searching wisdom. So bombastic a terminology is a symptom of weakness, ineptitude, and lack of substance."

– Carl G. Jung, On the Nature of the Psyche, 1928

thus is one of my favorite philosophers of old battered by cg/ my reason for deciding to study hegel was that he was perceived as so difficult that people would generally shy away from studying him/ i thought therefore that if i could at least give the impression of understanding him it would look good to the examination board/ however after a while i started to fall in love with his ideas (rather his system of ideas)/i was seduced by what is essentially religious longing dressed up as reason/ but i was smoking a lot of skunk at the time...

intake yester: 3 bottles wine/ enjoyed an icy reisling at lunch then a lovely chilled rose, served me by a gay dwarf, saw off the afternoon and a bottle of shiraz kept me company till around 0200 this morn/ went out and saw simpsons movie last night/ twas a good sequence of gags but little else/ hugely enjoyable though/ when home watched my recently purchased godfather dvd/ put on ii after but realised i'd not be to bed till sun up so quit after 20mins/ off to see consultant about my future presently/ should be fun/

so yes reader, as i write this, my hundreth blog, i feel such wonderful happiness (indeed, i smile at my happiness)/ the sex last night had all the wonderous intensity of the first time you sleep with someone really fit/ and to celebrate, as i have the flat to myself for a few hours, i've purchased a bottle of award winning reisling, a stone baked pizza and ten marlboro reds/ divine...

intake of yesterday: 1 bottle shiraz, 50mls extra methadone, usual usuals/ excellent night/ entertained the family alba and then had phenomenal sex, like when you first meet someone/ it was great, nay mind blowing/ that girl has a phenomenal body, perfect skin, an ass to die for (indeed, it is one of the finest butts in existence)/ so, suffice to say it was an amazing night/ today i rose around 0945, went to pick up my script, went for coffee, read the paper and now contemplate brunch and an afternoon of lazy writing/

ripped on caffe/ just returned from nero where i imbibed two treble shot lattes and am feeling the burn/ intake of yesterday: 1 btl table wine and the usual anti and hedralz/ slept ok/ as usual vivid dreams/ so, on waking read some of my 'work' and was very impressed/ amusing how my opinion of my writing oscillates from wonder to deepest despair, and no where does it light betwixt/ getting gym pass today/ must work off some of this mammoth weight/ have conceived a fantastic notion/ when working out i'll listen to classical, as i used to, though a different opera, symphony, concerto, whatever each time/ my workout shall last the length of the piece/ this is both constructive and enriching/ reading improves my writing massively but classical music, i found, tightens the rhythm and meter of my prose/ it becomes bare and elegant/ and i do not consciously try to make my writing more taut and skeletal: it just happens as a result of this practice/ i used to call it subliminal learning/ i would play classical or recordings of me reading philosophical texts whilst engaging in something else/ and the evidence (e.g. better writing) i think proves it works/ so...permit permit permit/ are you permitted?/ self-control/ are you permitted to actualise yourself?/ or are you imprisoned, a victim of your fears and desires?/ i'm the latter/ however i feel when my inevitable release is secured i'll embrace life all the more voraciously/ not in a mid-life-crisis sense, which smacks of desperation/ no, in an irresistible hyde-ian sense/ it happened to me once before, when my antis started to climax/ and it'll happen again/ i cannot wait/ my enjoyment of life became voracious when the antis started to really kick in/ i became what i am anyway but un-immured/ and i flew/ what has been most agonising about my situation is acute awareness of my troubles and their causes and complete impotence to improve/ well, not quite complete/ i am on my way and out of choice/

damn and blast/ just visited the doctors and i'm obese/ at six foot i stand and weigh in at 16 and almost a half stone/ shocking/ the booze has well and truly possessed me/ i found out after that wine and cider (my two favorites) are also two of the most fattening/ cider clocks in at 240cals/can, k possibly more as it is far stronger (i have no evidence to support this theory however)/ wine is also very fattening, coming in at 176cals/175ml glass/

second cup of delicious tea imbibed and i'm feeling good/ need to stop drinking/ this is only because i am vain/ last summer i was lithe and sexy/ now i am fat/ not horribly soft and fat, more manly bulk, but i do miss my lithe physique/ i like to be flattered and one invites little flattery when one is overweight/ perhaps i should start working out/ after all, it would give me something to do/ i could rise at seven and work out till about eight or half eight every morning/ i used to do up to three hours at the gym a day/ mainly weights but i got hooked on running latterly/ i used to run half marathons on the fly/but although i'm not exactly happy at the moment i believe i was even more depressed then/ that level of exertion is tantamount to punishment/ explorers (intelligent ones) know there is something missing (or something that shouldn't be there) and it is this which spurs them on to do great things/ however no matter how great the achievement i find the mind set essential for achieving these things in the first place necessarily precludes any real enjoyment of them/ a paradox, no?/ it seems also that the more capable one in, the greater the price one pays for one's capabilities/ e.g. a vivid imagination can be the most wonderful or the most terrible thing/ this is where a psychiatrist would say one has to start taking control of one's thoughts/ strength of mind/ my psychiatrist told me to repeat that i love myself over and over/ soon the mind becomes accustomed to love as an immediate reaction rather than hate/ one is better off all round for this/ i dunno/ i find seritonin massively important/ i've always veered blue or even blackwards but i can safely say that ecstasy and it's seritonin depleting abilities has had a massive effect on my mental health/ booze too/ i even noted in a diary about a year ago how since i'd taken up the practice of regularly imbibing kestrel super the morning sun failed to ignite a spark of hope in the old soul/ indeed, the glorious morning light after a good nights sleep (which i was getting cos of the methadone) would invariably cause the old soul to flood with golden joy/ but once the hangovers started, no more/ however i drink, nay do all these things, out of boredom/ because i lack strong inclinations in other, less ruinous directions/ whatever i do i do in a thoroughly committed, self-aware fashion/ if i could apply these qualities to say, my writing, i'd excel/ but the natural impulse must precede any such endeavor/ my obsessions are unpretentiously sparked/ i did not set out to get into french cooking/ i simply read and tried a few recipes and was utterly hooked/ i excelled rapidly from a guy who could cook only bolognaise to someone who could cook fine french dishes that made mouths orgasm/ i was shit hot/ same with philosophy, hi-fi, we-hunting, cunnilingus, my various addictions, mathematics: everything i've had the impulse to obsessively apply myself to i've been hugely successful at/ so i'm waiting for the next thing...

hmmm...up early (0630)/ yesterday's intake (my intake yesterday): 1 bottle of table wine, the usual adjuncts/ up early parce que woke and couldn't get back to sleep immediately/ i just lay there torturing myself with awful imaginings so i rise and drink tea and sleep later/

feel i should be writing but don't really feel enthusiastic, angry or depressed about any things/ watching another 48hrs/ about to go and cleanse/ many things are better left alone/ it is not safe to step through the window, door, whatever into one's true self/ my eyes: never have i seen so much hate/ i cannot be the other self, hyde.../ i just can't...

feeling ok/ pretty healthy actually/ these tablets give me an almost instantaneous lift/ bottle of cheap table wine is all i've managed this evening, but it's better than nothing/

good day/ rose at 0930, drank tea, ate boiled eggs with granary toast, drank more tea and then went back to bed/ slept till 1740 and now watch simpsons/ wonderful/ feel as it i'll live to be a million and two/ just had a pot of tea and soon off to shops/ no doubt a healthy supper/ skint till wednesday so booze prospects are bleak/ no doubt a good thing/

feeling ok/ intake de yester: 1 bouteille cava, 4 cans k (or p'haps five...i don't recall)/ anyhow, seem to have slipped again into a many united gridlock/not good/ i imagine my liver swollen and glowing foully/ i will therefore forgo drink ce soir/ the antis seem to be working/ docs claim nothing happens for three weeks or so but i noticed a change as soon as i started to take them/

pu0hukked/ tryed to get aroused in a chat room but it wasn't that special/ no porn does it for me no more/ thus syppin' k/ intake toujours: 1 bottle kava; three cans k/ later i'll imbibe more k and some citalopram (20mgz)/ jubilANT TIME SYSEZ, BROWWWWZ!!!!!!!!!

feel exhausted today/ intake of yester: 2 bottles cava, 1 bottle sauv blanc and 40 mg citalopram, plus the usual homeopatyhic s/ not sure why i feel ropey/ probably the excessive amount ofd booze/ however, on going to bed i dn't feel thst drunk/could have easily downed another couple of bottles, locked ass i was into that state of mind one can acheieve where no amount of drink will get one drunk/ i also topok twice my prescribed medicsation which probably wasnt a good idea/