I’m tired of being lied to. I’m bored with being the odd one out. Being the outsider isn’t always what it cracks up to be. Being on the inside is even worse. My heart is heavy and sad, and it’s hard to carry it around with me.
I’m too late, as usual. Too late for all of it, all of them. I can’t find the joy or the inspiration in any of the usual places, not on the records or up on a cinema screen. I couldn’t find it in a Picasso jug or scribble, I couldn’t find it in the gargantuan canvasses and I couldn’t find it in the chopped up cow. I couldn’t find it in HMV and I couldn’t find it in Starbucks. It’s not to be found in my own back pages and I looked for it in the writing and it wasn’t there. I’d try the easy life of an automaton but I couldn’t stand the hours. I’d like to subscribe to the accepted way of life, but I think it would choke me. I’d like to find the way to peace but I think I’m allergic. I’d write more, but the keyboard sticks and the computer is slow. I’d write more, but it’s all the same just the same. 

The snake-hipped long haired bastards robbed me of my life and now it’s to be like Gollum in the dark, twisted out of all proportion by a bigger, darker, malevolent power. It’s tiring to watch the worst of us succeed when I’m languishing, fallolloping into the same of mire of nothingness, not-even-trying and apathetic silence that I’ve tripped into a hundred times before. I don’t mind humanity, it’s the people I don’t like. Lowest common denominators were never this low before, were they? Was everything better in the Olden Days, or is deja vu just not what it used to be? Stuck inside a cloud over here, no way out that I can see and a bunch of spectres pulling at my ankles, the cheeky bastards. 

I’d like to live my life instead of imagining something else, tired of wishing I was anywhere but here. Here’s where I always am and it’s never been where I wanted to be, except for a handful of days in August 2005 and a clutch of moments dotted here and there, a ten minute chunk of time when the world made sense and I was who and where I wanted to be doing what I should with people who agreed, or seemed to agree and then before you know it, it’s gone and Cinders has got both glass slippers with her and no chance of getting back to where she was. No, all gone. No chance, no hope, no way. Whatever, man, I’m easy with it. I think I’d like to have seen New Orleans before the flood, and the World Trade Center before either terrorists or the American government destroyed it, depending on who you believe.

Don’t believe anyone. Look for the truth in your own ways, listen but don’t believe, read but don’t believe, see but don’t believe. Make up your own minds and realise that even if you don’t have a motive for thinking something, someone else probably has one to want you to believe it. Don’t believe the lies, don’t believe the hype, don’t give up the fight, don’t start a fight, don’t go looking for a fight, don’t do nothing, don’t do anything, time to sleep now, time to dream now, if you get lucky. Don’t listen to the bastards, don’t listen to the saints, listen to your own head, listen to your soul, ask God for the answers that he won’t give you, but ask just the same. Dpn’t follow leaders all your lives, don’t lead the pack, don’t rock the boat, don’t sink the boat, don’t follow the crowd, don’t stand out from the crowd. Fuck this, bugger that and don’t copy Dylan cos you’ll always come off worse. Don’t copy Morrison cos you know where that gets you. Sad and lonely and pretentious and wishing for whiskey after the shops have shut.

And his eyes were brown.

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3 Responses to

  1. I’m coming to london next saturday. i’ll meet you at tower hill tube station at ten.

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