g'd day/ marathon walked the chien/ drank v. little, a cold superbok around 1134 and now a can of k/ inthend to acquire an early night this night, regarding-cuperate and-set-er-ah/ sleep is the finest thing in the world and as an ex-insomniac i covet it/ take wing, wing by wing, brokenly/

hum...well, dollah ewd (owed?) for an article tempted me to maison d's. (with which regular reader's'll be familiar)/ thereat purchased 2&2 or 'two of each' and entertained a most interesting smoke (i say interesting because the 'b' was heavily cut with novocaine thus numbing the cheeks and causing a slight jittery feeling in your dear author)/ upon leaving i bought 20cls high commissioner whiskey to assuage, which it did, but also caused profound sweating, inviting some attention on the bus/ the driver'd filled the bus and it could barely move, prompting some loudmouth to vociferate/ this distressed the driver, in turn prompting a nearby vicar to remark 'do you have no compassion?'/loudmouth replied 'what tha' fak's compassion?'/ there was no laughter but at the next stop a stampede ensued/ an almighty crunch was heard as the horde dislodged the floor beneath the doors and, when the doors tried to close they got stuck/ the driver shut off the engine and restarted it but the doors would not slide back into position/ an obese and hysterical woman lunged at the them, another CRACK was heard and the floor sank further/ in perspiring fury i pressed the emergency button, barged past several tonnes of delirious flesh and hit the street/ iced air smoothed my drenched back and i post-piss-quivered in delight/ the doors whoosed shut behind me and i stalked away, mindful of a poor girl getting on through the front doors/

f'n' fahn/ ekootin william e holliday, fine and mellow, V-ur thou-tube/ sipping re-oh-jah (correct pro-nun-see-ay-shn 're-o-kuh')/ all guurd fur d'sun is out, the air soft and warm and whatever chemicals make me feel happy are attendant/ tanned staffy by my side, hommez best friend indeed/ chq yooz l8r...

well f'n' passable/ alba down wit' a kyller bug so off w'k/ thursday night, well it went thus: i was not waiting for the click (not the hot tin roof click) but dutifully it came, propelling the self to b- at 0100, where i'm unknown but rousing some dormant skills managed to 'connect' in minutes, in spite of the fact i was wearing a tailored linen suit/ hmmm/ moments later i was in a lower middle-class television junky's nightmare, sat on a step in the stairwell of a high rise teeming with people heating foil and glass pipes/ i thoroughly enjoyed myself and, when the cash ran out, walked the not inconsiderable journey home/ the unusually sensitive and paranoid moi occasionally tore the membrane, causing me mild strife but this was not to last long as upon my return i guzzled gallons of sur-meth and popped 200mg citalopram, pouring a ree-oh-jah the while/ i then gave in to taxi driver, easy rider and get carter till the dawn purpled the east/ now caressed by the first strains of morn. song, sipping a cabernet zinfandel and awaiting the 0830 to c- to fill my 'rx'/ how divine purpose and routine (in moderation, of course)/ such was thursday night/ i then navigated my way through friday sans kip till collapse became inevitable around 2100/ i rose at 1000 this morn., took the dog for his constitutional and now sip a chilean cabernet merlot/ nice...

so corks by six yester., electric blue billowing from lung via gobb to hang potently in the air, as is it's want/ how physics says yes even when we say no/ and when will it be bought to justice?/ shit why don't you ask your fake god, man, or better yet s-lave for the man, man, drive around in your metal coffin, man, not even knowing you're alive man!/ if i ever genuinely think thus i've an arrangement with the alba for an assisted passing/ would not thou?/ any-path...

a reasonable jour, mother attendant, dog a wonderful regarding-tard and i, the norti fukku, drink'n' evil skol thrain, wun stelluh and now a b'tl' ree-oh-juh and a jazz-cigarette/ may down some of my sur-meth. and a few ag'in' depressants for a soothly bien eve./ band-with-a-phaedo-guitarist (the whom?????????) kens?/ ekootin tv eye, yiggle bor-b-h (uh-geh-porp (iggy pop)) hum yess, jazz purist and all that trash/ fuck literature and boring plots and simulacrums of reality and watching from the corner/ too active to be a writer/ well one needs to be active to have something to write about but sickening the culture of splitting open one's (imagined) innards to attain notoriety/ surely now to be notorious one must be clean, a non-drinker, 've'd an idyllic childhood...boring fucking twatting bollox oh i've got track marks, skid marks, fucking marks every-fucking-where...another trend exhausted since the 50's...who gives a fuck if you had to get a leper to inject petrol with a hose pipe into the end of your cock for a fee when the money should've gone to fund your deranged grandmothers colostomy replacement...any cunt...soon to be replaced by similar...addition-E-os/

i was well behaved yester./ no surfeit, excess, indulgence without surcease...a well behaved young malchick was i/ i committed one act of self harm, viz purchasing irvine welsh's glue from my local charity shop/ other than that my mind concentrated on fine things.../ so, vivid dreams la nuit d. and from each only an abrupt awakening allowed release/ some were truly terrifying involving flying, locked doors, bars, childhood insecurities played out in scenarios with ppl i've not seen in 12 years/ oh the wheel!/ well, fuck philosophy...