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.

The auditory cortex remained active even though the music had stopped

As a music snob, someone who at sometime actually said with or without irony "I heard them back in 01 when they were fresh, being played in WHsmiths has diluted the sound and lyric content for me how about you?" To the fairly innocuous question of have you heard of this band. Which I intend to share with you so as we can be music buddies and discuss and or make out.

This seems to be a bizarre intellectual conceit. Of course I wasn't the first person to hear them. They were presumably. I was struck again by the need to be individual when I looked up a line from Goldsmiths's An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog to find out what Maugham was writing about. A comment asked an identical question to my own. We would of course all like to be original. But someone else has presumably written this. So i shant.

Some of us look for the way in opium and some in god, some of us in whisky and some in love. it is all the same way and it leads nowither.

So what are you meant to do?
I read, write, smoke. Try not to drink. avoid all coke.
I try to be good but end up a bigger bastard.
wrapped up neatly with my fingers covered in blue plasters where the cardboard has cut me.
Course I could use the box cutter to cut boxes.

I should've left when the dancing started. But i was full of cheap champagne I got at the middle age bar. The women were women and not girls. Still I'm a boy and not a proper bloke. The music was Muzak and not music. And bunny girl costumes that droop at the saggy bottom of a divorcee called Hayley cause me to well nearly expel all the previous.

We met up with some girls in a horrible watering hole. All the boys with no hair and shirts that don't fit even slightly bawl at birds with breasts stuck on the table top. The barman pours the pint directly down their tops for prospective wife beaters to gulp out.

"this place is cheap, this place is cheap, this place is virtually free, they have to render the sweat off the ceiling to break even"

Why is this a positive. Would you buy food if it were rotten but virtually free? I slip out past the bouncer and suck on a straight cigarette in the busy street with the pavement all garishly lit up by the orange girls. Some one of them follows me from the dank corners. Cadges a cigarette and stares and spits at me. Attempt some discourse but it simply upsets her. Remember this is what normal people are like an sit back an smile at her.

After all how often do you meet someone who smiles back when you smile and doesn't grimace. Or when you say fuckin hell I liked that song it had echoes of the unicorns and even though I don't like folk it really meant something to me. They turn and shrug.

Still it'd be Orrible to die miserable and syphllitic. Might as well have a giggle even if you are the bitterest of fruit. important to ask the proper questions I reckon

Does cutlery have to be put a specific way up in the drying rack? Do people have to eat? Does money spontaneously collect? Are vegetarians horrible and vegans actively evil? Does the landlord have a proper case? Will I get fired if I make a mistake?

The English have a unique way of expressing themselves. In a complex scenario where they are crippled by their own sense of disconnection and disappointment in themselves they go mental at those who don't know the correct method of placing spoons in a drying rack.
Alas.
alack.
Lobotomy patients have it fairly easy. Just like the vast majority. All you have to do is input and out comes excrement with out any fuss. All blood babies jizz piss and phlegm is freely given. Without a moments thought or hyperactive social controller breaking in on any inconvenient thought. to Operate without the frontal lobe. to sit and shit and not give a damn. To loll about an laugh an shout incoherently and endlessly until sedated.

Smoking with aforesaid was considered sacrilege but the drinkers. Being university thinkers not much past previous escapades considered censoring my conversation. Which is improbable and impossible. Perhaps I should have some consideration was the considered conversation that echoed in my ears and leant over my shoulder while she spat lustily on the promenade.

Adventures into the unknown end up excitingly with a battered sausage and quick sing a long in the taxi along to transformers. Each and every street on which I stagger I bump into a previous memory of bumping into someone there which was embarrassing. Once when I was younger I would be harassed by memories of previous aforesaid moments and spasm with a paroxysm of red faced freezing fear.

Easy to switch off now and disengage when control freaks out freak me. The lazy clubs were empty despite the night being Friday. I had the feeling everyone in the world was somewhere else and I was missing out. Not being invited to real life is a real down. Still in my faux universe the music pumped spasmodically and arrhythmic ally . To dance pick a foot and move onto tip toes. Now never move it in physical space. Rather pivot around and up and down and stick out all the bits that should and suck in all those that don't. To dance with a girl make sure you're behind. She can't see you dancing so it ain't embarrassing.

If you can't dance offer her a cigarette outside. There's nothing much more obvious.