Ah. So the problem is not that I have no wishes left. Just that I consider myself unworthy and will only wish for things I know are far, far out of my reach. Bravo, idiot.
I’m sort of okay until the diazepam trickles from my system and the volume of the world turns up loud and large and ugly once again.
Yes, they happen and they now usually get roughly recorded and shoved here. If you’re reading this I probably like you anyway, to be honest, but I can increase the amount of liking in accordance with how much you go and listen to my songs. Spare a shekel for an old ex-leper. I mean, an old ex-professional musician who is reduced to roughly recording songs and putting them on Soundcloud.
Oh look. Another morning has happened. They just keep on coming at ya, don’t they? Bastard Copernicus!
I’m sorry if I’ve ever upset or hurt you, knowingly or unwittingly.
I’m sorry that because my grasp on normal life is so slender you may never have known which version of me you were about to get on seeing my face heading towards you: the sonically-obsessed one; the entirely self-obsessed one; the fierce ranty one; the…
Hath not an iPod hip-hop, organ recitals, death metal, Shakira and that cuntingly annoying song about the fox? Wordeth!
Last night’s blog came, unusually, directly from the pages of my personal diary, which I had just handwritten. Its title reiterated yet again why I have always identified with the young Paul Simon. Its content is possibly something I should deliver printed out, word-for-word, to…
Are we all such confusions of tumbling complexity? Is this what humanity truly is? Shuffling from one foot to the other, avoiding as much flak as possible yet inevitably failing to dodge it all and ending up battle-scarred and soul-weary?
No, he can’t breathe fire, he’s just another nobhead taking the ‘cinnamon challenge’.
Waves of sorrow, pools of joy, to invert a Lennonism. Some wonderful rock-pool moments today: seeing Tony and Dawn and Darcy the Wonder dog was a real lift and brought light into the day. Prior to that I had brief but delightfully normal conversations with another good friend or two in passing.
But back home the…
Woke early. Checked that my face is still a face and not a sculpture by Henry Moore.