Today is my great friend’s last day in the city before she ships off to pastures new. Good luck girl, you’ve been a bad influence on me and i thankyou.
See you in a few months …
So, the new year.
New Fucking Year
I am a lazy cunt. There i said it.
Things never move forward anymore because i’m lazy. I try and blame others but infact it’s me.
So, here we go, lets have a new year’s resolution that could be really beneficial if stuck to, shall we?
In 2010, I will strive to be less lazy and get up off my feeling sorry for myself arse and do soemthing about it.
Yes I think that will work.
If I don’t take a break every now and then and talk to someone
that’s what he said
short stumpy nervously scraping
the scalp under his baseball cap at regular
tabloid rag rolled up into the breast
of his jacket like a spare limb a crutch a weapon
a page 3 tit
out at me like a winking blind
man with an infection
me fuckin social worker Rob - I call him nob-head like -
tried to teach me how to use a fucking
diary fucking gobshite fucking silver spoon
21 year old shitbag
21 fresh out of daddys wallet he can fuck off the cunt
I nod. he probably is a cunt.
and then doctor nob-head - he’s even fucking worse
you wanna talk about cunts - he was doctor cunt
that one right gobshite gave me a fucking notebook
to write down all me fucking fears and fanny-feelings in fuck off
doctor cunt - posh as anything he was - and a right nob-head
I tells him
IM NOT PUTTING NONE OF THAT FUCKING SHIT IN A BOOK FOR YOU TO HAVE A GOOD CHUCKLE
AT WHILST YOU’RE TAKIN A SHIT
I nod. Doctor cunt sounds like the type of person to do that.
He pulls his cap off.
A long deep canyon of a scar runs from his eyebrow to his scalp.
See this part of the ‘ead ‘ere love? He points at it. cold cold cold.
That’s where me brain popped there, love.
Oh, I say.
He’s whispering. The conversation feels illicit.
How did you pop your brain?
Don’t know. Doctor said it just happens. But see ‘ere, girl? He points
at it again. cold cold cold.
That’s the part of the brain that handles identity. Fucked, aint I?
I nod. I suppose he is.
Y’see girl, I’d like to write down me whole life story. I can tell yer what happened
when I was 4 and me mam left me in a trolley outside the supermarket, or when I was 8 and the nuns caned me hand so ‘ard that I bled all over me biro, but I couldn’t tell yer about me wedding day or where I went yesterdee mornin’, you understand.
I nod. I guess. I once got so drunk that I forgot an entire year.
Plus, I haven’t got the patience to write more than a page. Doctor cunt says thats a good thing. He says if I had more patience I’d probably want to do more and doing more might kill me huuhuuherrrr.
Fuck. Why don’t you write it as a haiku?
A haiku? Bloody hell love, I had a brain hemorrhage, not a cold.
I get back to work. Whatever that entails.” —A Man I Met In The Art Gallery Where I Supposedly Work By Amy Roberts (Writer, Rocker and fellow comrade and twit!)
What i love about music, is that it’s not exclusive to any one person. You can share an experience with someone through music. To know that you’re listening to the exact piece of music as someone else can be liberating and intimate all at the same time.
Nothing else does that really…..
TGIF. Anyone want to gMc tonight.
I would but im in my bed shirt already :)