ARBORICULTURE AND COMBAT CHARLESTON

Has no accurate hits on google.
Is All I've been doing all week.
IS Fucking awesome.

This week I wandered into plumpton college, full of fullsome chinsome pierced cave dwelling monsters (all mounted on horseback, a peta crusade in the making, and sat shaking with some nervousness in a room in the agricultural buisness centre. Here I learned that I know nothing. NOTHING at all about trees. Then I found out some. After this Deadly dull part I spent all week climbing trees. Climbing trees with nothing but my bare hands. Bare hands and harness, harness and rope and carabina and more ropes and strop and so on.

Then I went dancing.

BANGERANG!

Over stimulation.

My chest aches, aches and aches and twinges. With each cigarette the vice tightens and I sprawl about not able to lie down from discomfort. I think that stress is giving me excess stomach acid. or I am dying. Either is unpleasant.
More unpleasantly is tonight, a fright where a girl from back when comes down to see me and meiner frenden and my recent ex her birthday is. So with the inevitibility of sod the place of residence at which two independant parties and my third will collide will be the same. And with one girl close another likely to be explosive and a boy I brushed off cowardly it should be a rare giggle.
Especially is all I want is my italian girl but she is long away. and unlikely to get closer. Balls.

Dancing by the light of the lights.

Would it be wonderful, joyful and bitching if each and every girl and boy and boy that totally looks like a girl and messes up your head danced completely freely, without the constant need to check how the people round them pogo. Every pretty girl can dance well. Its impossible not to.

And if everyone could say what they wanted no matter how offensive and no one would take offence because after all its only a snippet of gutteral fluctuations out of a mundane stream of conciousness. I find it bizzare when people fling what I once said back at me, as after all I barely remember what I've just written and doubtfully a full sentence from the million or so times i've opened my gob. All I know is that I doubt I know shit.

Identity theft.

i've stolen my identity just by getting my hair cut and glasses, to fix the glaring inconsistency between my eyes, leading to my lovely nickname at school of quasi. Not that i'm bitter, nah I like it, if my eyes were different shapes I couldn't sing mis-shapes to them. Still The geezar in the corner shop wouldn't believe my passport was me. moment of identity crisis reckoned that perhaps i couldn't prove i was in fact myself. Still only pondered the possibilities of non existing till i was thrown out the shop.

joy o.



Work clothes sorted, boots and jeans and t-shirts, Harrington jacket and hair cut. working cutting open boxes and lifting things so I can day dream all day and spend my meagre pay check on clothes and booze. better than the dole and just drink.


reading about radiation sickness cos of a day dream whilst at a party if all the glass was blown in. windows smashed and grass on fire and having to fix it. turns out there aint no cure for irradiation aside from potassium iodide. the worst thing is gamma radiation burns. which like basically burns you from the inside out. which is horrible.


and completely ruins my day dream, how would I be able to send the second year medical student to the university lab to mix up a semi antidote while i patched up all the broken glass victims and then there weren't enough so we had to decide on who was worth while to survive?


and then steal a yacht in the ensuing chaos and sail to the Scillie isles and wait till the nuclear winter stopped in to sail off round the horn on a flotilla?

Life is unfair!

God bodged his job when he made me.

Didn't quite fix all the innards. Reckon gabriel nudged him when he was sorting the brain, a quick slip that means I can't quite function without stimulants. Or migranes hammer me. This has something to do with stigmatism. What is the point of stigmatism? where does it come from. Eyes that are different shapes so your optic muscles or whatever have to constantly strain to actually see anything. Do elephants and sea turtles and other long living creatures go blind? or at any rate have misshapen eyes so they get headaches?



Bought my yearly clothes today, aertex shirt and harrington jacket, plain black and white t-shirts and a columbian petrol station attendant shirt. natch. life is sweet. money doubly so.

The Beat Begins.

To be me. Actually I'm over optimistic. After all I ain't dead. I could be dead. But I ain't.

I'm walking talking around. well walking in self enforced silence like a monk or a dumb parrot. My back doesn't break so much against the weight. After each shift I'm simply sore rather than in stiff agony. If the repeated strain runs over the bits that make up the bits that make up my backbone I'll end up spineless. This is hilarious. I feel less agoraphobic. but I'm still in general phobic. I need a drink but it clouds my thoughts worse than not. And takes a few days to brighten up. I wish i could speak french so I could hear.

blergh.

Electro swishes while my wishes get subdued by the endless cyclical day dream. My fingers flicker and the sticky labels adhere to the product over again. I walk home half in and out of traffic intermittently feeling fucking sick and in ecstasy. My arms inflate and my belly sags and i stand stooped to reach the desk. When I'm home I look up girls I used to know on facebook. This is not a healthy pastime. Then I get as much new music so the next day slips away smoothly. but what exactly am I achieving? The doctors glad I left my dads the temporary haven. As i was simply shut up behind my eyes again.
Now i'm better, brighter fitter though the days passs endlessly and pointlessly. the sun shines and passes right the way through my eyes to the back of my skull. as it's empty.