Chow Minge

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My Dear Chap, To Whom It May Concern etc

I’m crazy and so is my wife, welcome to Barbados have a nice day. Damn and blast it! Beauty is in the eye of the bum-holder. I can’t keep from crying sometimes, that fucking bitch still haunts me waking and dreaming but it’s only sometimes not all the time. Serves me right i suppose, I should have known better than to fall in love with a drunken whore but she seemed so nice, love is blind and I could not see it until it was too late. When all of a sudden a great mealy pudding came flying through the sky.

My mate Scottish Keith who lives upstairs said one day – “She was a nice lass but a bit flaky like.” “What do you mean?” I asked him. “Flaky like flaky pastry, loads ‘o layers but nae substance.”

I saw all the layers and lots of lies and got lost in the forest beneath the trees of my mind. Vodka and willpower. Still can’t see the wood for the trees. Things begin and things end, having to invent myself all over again. Rough voyage, captain! Inside-out and upside-down. Blue baccy. All the ducks are swimming in the water fol-de-rol-de-ral-da. Ha ha ha, hee hee hee, I’m the laughing gnome and you can’t catch me. Have to go sideways sometimes if you can’t do onwards and upwards, backwards is no good eh. I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow – up.

Listening to Des O’Conner sing love songs, drinking beer with Keith last week I said “This is as good as it gets, it doesn’t get any better than this.” Oh how we laughed.

Been having lots of really vivid dreams. Trippy one about Phone/TV game that I got locked into and couldn’t turn off, became reality/non-reality etc, woke up and thought I was still in the surreal dream world, went back to sleep, back into the dream, woke up again to surreality. Mark was in one, he had some new rhythms for us to get into in the rehearsal room. I keep waking up and not knowing where I am, what the place is like, where the place is, total disorientation. Chop sewage. Viv Stanshall was once asked in later life by a ‘cultured young lady’ – “Mr. Stanshall, what’s the difference between what you are doing now and what you did with the Bonzos?” He replied in resonant tones – “There’s no minge.”

Fish on the doily, oily boily. That’s gutteral slang for – concertina/knapkin tuna/doughnut/halibut fringe. Beyond story this flannel, sun stroke delirium and stomach cramps. White light illuminating the Window, I could see the room with my eyes shut and white light shining from outside rectangular and intense. Whistling Paranoid by Black Sabbath as I woke up…..and then drifted off again. Lets all be the billowing gut of an aged giraffe. Easy tiger. Poetry crashes to the floor. Supping chicken wine and falling over in a stupor. He’s a very naughty wally. Let me just put my hands in my pockets and wander around the room a bit. “Eee eee eee.” Ah, thats better, ease a bit of tension off the asylum, some of the strange and invisible locks and boundaries of this house, the edges of my insanity curve.

Just finished some nice weed, got some squalid left to smoke and it’s friday tomorrow so I can have a vodka frenzy and go out and get pissed and laff and sniff around.

Would be doing it today but I’ve not been well and my fucking guts have been fucking killing me and I’m only just pulling round at 8.30pm. I dont think I can be arsed and I don’t think my body can take it.

The wigs are gurgling in the ponds. It’s drizzling. Why won’t everything stop wobbling?” I want to get on with playing music and doing art and writing again but the lead curtain keeps coming down and I haven’t been able to get rid of the fucker yet so doing this is good for me. You’ve got to be in it to win it. Think I’ve had a virus or sun-stroke ‘cos I stopped taking the tablets a week ago and have been drinking loads then smoking loads so I don’t know whether I feel better or worse yet, infact I don’t know what the fucks going on. It’s all better than it was a few months ago, Ive had a couple of alarm calls from hell but they’ve been chemically induced just for a bit of jolly, but it was scary stuff having to knock myself out with vodka to stop me doing something stupid all the time.

Had a few bloody nights, one was unreal like that scene in Apocolypse Now where Martin Sheen is pissed up in that room, with the mirror, one was just lots and lots of blood and i ended up taking quite a few imprints. Really thought I was gonna die for a while, much worse than last year, much more frightening shit. Oh well I always seem to learn my lessons the hard way, pain and suffering ho hum, fear and loneliness, bah humbugger. So even if things aren’t 100% tickety-boo I’m enjoying being in Whitby ‘cos there’s no place like it and the worst of the shite is behind me now even though I didn’t think I was going to get through it.

I want to be in one of your Hong Kong films killing 1000/s of people a minute with a gun in each hand and not a scratch. Looking forward to acrobatic gyrations of sensual ecstasy thrusting beyond the unspoken into the spoken action, but I’m not holding my breath waiting for her (whoever she is). I think Mr. Simpson might have some of my old Katy posters and will be nice to see you if you can make it, we can get pissed, wont that be a fine thing! Jug Jug. – The Whistler

(Rev. Dr. Whistler – MDA, THC + Bar)

P.S. (Piss) – The vodka frenzy is upon me, yup. it’s friday now, worked on my tan for a bit, sweated a lot, laid here in my shorts, chilling; gonna get washed and changed and go out and sit in pubs and drink beer and smoke fags (spliff outside unfortunately) and laff and sniff around as usual. Keith’s here so we’re spliffing and drinking and laffing ‘afore I go out on the piss, he’s just gone to the bog and we’ve just been talking about Peek – A – BOO man upstairs, I’m convinced he’s a mass-murderer. Keith’s back. There will be more about P.A.B. man when I can get my act together to illuminate.

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