Blind dead, sad and stupid after the death of cupid, harrow. Follow the furrow, chasing the fucking ploughlads out of the field. Wielding a gun, son, threatening to shoot everyone. No nose, no eyes, no mouth, no more. MORE! Had a crisis last weekend, in case you couldn’t tell.
In brief, I collapsed in the pub in the early hours of Saturday morning. Woke up at 7a.m. and didn’t know who I was or what I was or where I was and I’d pissed the bed. Felt drugged, felt like I’d been spiked, Steve and the Geez had to help me upstairs and put me in one of the guest rooms. Turns out someone was buying me drinks and making me drink quick (I drink at my own pace, learned to, remember the days of me swilling ’em down and doing the collapse calypso) in a stupid ‘I can drink more than you game’. I can drink for 12 or more hours solid at my own pace without getting drunk or daft. I got up at 1p.m., went downstairs and started on the piss again til about midnight when I had to get my mate out ‘cos he was kicking off. Oh, on Friday night I had to have a heart to heart and comfort cuddle with Charlotte (Steve’s fiance) ‘cos she was in bit of a state. Sunday had to take Keith to hospital after the pub, turns out he’d fractured his left heel dancing/showering in the rain. So I’ve had to get my head in shape again so I can go out of the box again, again, again.
Listening to The Pogues. That Austin is a fucking babe man, wouldn’t mind tongueing her cheeks, easy now, don’t get jealous, she’s not real, or is she? I only fucked Ruth/Bowen Fife up the arse twice, she thought she was a dirty bitch but she wasn’t really, she was just a fucking bitch. Mind you I had my finger up her arse plenty of times, esp. when fucking her, she was a pretty little thing though wasn’t she, pretty fucked-up though and d’ya remember when she left that time I said “Why do I get the crazy ones”. Yes I’m naming and shaming ‘cos it’s diffusing the anger a bit, and if anyone reads this stuff that knows her (she’s in Lincolnshite somewhere) give her a fucking slap for playing her stupid fucking middle-class games with a poor peasant like me. Sing-song. Ping-pong. Bing-bong. Wing-wong. Oops-a-daisy, I’m fucking crazy. I’m crazy and so is my wife. Welcome to Barbados have a nice day. WY. You fucking fucking lucky bastard. And you still believe in djnnis? Three punchlines. Will tell you the jokes sometime but yer’v prob heard ’em. Worship me whistle and flute. Weird Fish nice green top. Cash-gash. Hole-Ole. What watch? Melting metal. That was inedible muck and there wasn’t enough of it, Sir Henry. Washing brain, body and soul in glistening silver rivers of vodka.
All daylight had disappeared. Busy doing nothing. Just letting it all flow through, in and out. That stupid bitch thought that she could leave me a little note saying ‘Sorry’ when I went to collect my stuff, fucking thick cow. She could have / did have all the sex she wanted to and more but had to consort with my inferiors, welcome to her, no going back, ever, ‘cos I don’t know where she’s been. Not even one off the bottom, of the pile(s). Ask Aspel. Beyond sanity but not insane, unsane. Yeh! Bring it on home. My spider needs a fly soon or it’s gonna die, don’t know how long they can last without dinner and don’t know what I can feed it with. Be Jesus. Whap. Ping-ding microwave meals. Nuke ’em. Puke ’em. Sputum. Futon, spit ’em. She swallowed my cum. Violent chin, in a spin. Swapped vest, blue for green marks. Wicked sparks utensil potential. Potent ate. The wizard. Shamen. Eye, I. Don’t know. Do No. Don’t no. Do Know. Well she’s dutch. Going. Second piss, third piss, rolls again. She thought she could buy me off but hasn’t seen payback time yet. Probably Knot, sire. He Zeus. Laze. Hazy zenith, zero option. Blue slimey, blimey, pot/kettle. Fish. Wish. Cunt-re-chicken. Whoops. Exhale yer smog bath into ground. Means abusing yer body noddy. In toy town.
Got bluegrass tape on. It’s all meant for a porpoise. No longer need to get washed and changed before I go out ‘cos it’s no longer summer and I’m not wearing shorts etc during the day so can go out rough ‘n ready and stinkin’ thinkin’ (cheers Shawn) as I am, not. Fun kwot. The bath is in yer bucket sire, horse. Shittle, spittle, shuttle, shuffle. I am a man of constant sorrow. Banjo break-down. Born in a state of worship, you parsnip, greens. Chuck it away. Round the (w)hole. O.K. Frottage away. Hi-Ho Silver. Cut. Grip yer guts. I’ve got them muddy waters levee breaking blues. Tell me how long do I have to wait before the water rises and the levee breaks. Have to get to the stage where I don’t want a woman and that’s when they appear. As if. Ate it. A tit. Four lawn. Mowing my grass but I haven’t got any. Bits and pieces. The world is spinning too fast but not as fast as my brain sometimes/all the time.
Up early to clean the sump at the pub, shite, we’re both working but it’s good, it’s good, ya can’t beat it unless ya get a big enough stick, we’re both working? Working the shite off our minds, got to be a good thing, roll on rubber leather. No more tears.
Things are building up and we’re working towards the Musicport Festival ‘cos its now the second biggest World Music Festival in the country and people are starting to call it the Whitby Womad, which it is, only better.
Flip me flue you and I are the knew new. And I won’t let you down. Fond of lobsters both raw and boiled (thanks Nic Jones). They wouldn’t call themselves Chinese would they? I’m a bit barmy and I couldn’t give a damn. I’m radged. Gis a job, I can do that. I couldn’t care less/more. Those durations will be extended. People are prepared to get arrested for this. Milk for cheese, so they can get more. Rubber tits. Dairy fairy. Cut my costs. Oh what a happy whistler we have in our midst, it’s about fucking time, aint it. Relaxing with bloody mary, Ultramagnetic M.C’s on. At the speed of thought. Norbert thoughbut, Roger Anything, martini init. One tit, Wiggly wacks.
On Thursday I had a few drinks and was gonna go out but fell asleep about 9.30p.m., awakenend 10.30 by doorbell, it was Steve and Charlotte. “We’ve been really worried about you, I’ve rang twice and was going to kick the door in if you didn’t answer,” says Steve. “Oh sorry, I was fast asleep,” says I. Charlotte goes “Get your shoes on and a coat, we’ve got a taxi waiting,” so they whisked me off to the pub were I got a right telling off by all and sundry who were worried ‘cos they knew I was on a downer at weekend. Nice to have friends who care init. All I could say was “Sorry but I was asleep”. D’ya know how to make chicken wine? Torture the cunts. And make sure the cider barrel is lined with pork fat as you levitate, blame david, ha-ha. Pigs will be turned out. Take me higher, you too.
Had a shit’n a shower. Pob-Boiler on, then Bentley’s Gonna Sort Me Out then I’m off out. Ta-ta for now. It’s all on the up, thank fuck, makes the downs bearable. Fuck it all in a different, better way.
My mate has got two cocks, and lots of hens. I told him no wonder his wife was always smiling. They once built a concrete boat in Preston and the fucking thing sank! If I loved her with a passion I guess I’m gonna have to hate her with a passion too, until it all goes away. Another thing about stupid Ruth is that when I was with her I never spent a period in my life before when I took or smoked so little drugs, and since it all finished with her and I came back here, my drug intake has got back up to normal. She was scared of drugs, scared even of smoking really. Ball aches. Silly moo. Got the Orb on, home to The Orb (thanx Alex) and loads to smoke and drink but back on track again, have to be on top of it, so not up too late and get on with it tomorrow. Do you remember Max Miller, music hall chap, suit and trilby. I watched a great programme on T.V. about him when I was living with the beautiful Bernie. It was the night of Simmo’s leaving Do and we were all silver flowing on ONE and I pissed in/on the bosses’ desk, ha. One of his was ‘The sort of girl that says she doesn’t but looks as though she might.’ But this is the joke that ruined his career on T.V. ‘cos they warned him not to tell this joke so of course he did…..
There is a guy walking up a steep and very narrow mountain pass. A very attractive lady comes walking towards him. He doesn’t know whether to toss himself off, or block her passage…..I thank you.
I’m fucked. And a little bit of magic. You cheeky monkey. I’m joking/I’m not joking. When you twist my ear my tongue comes out.
Peek-A-BOO man is strolling about upstairs, I think he’s stabbing things that are hung from his ceiling. I couldn’t care really but if he comes over the thresh-hold of my dwelling, I will lay the cunt out. Nail bits to the floor. When i get bored with that, shoot bits off, then bury him or better still get a real Tazmanian Devil imported and on the job ‘cos they eat the teeth and all.
Had a good night last night, Sunday, Dave had a running joke about his ‘Leather flute’, we were off our tits and kept putting it into as many songs as we could. Cleaned the sump with Steve, the smell was that bad I was gipping (borking) when he took the hatch off and thought I was gonna throw up into it. He had a broom handle with a ladle taped to it and was scraping the stuff off the bottom, we were laughing ‘cos the smell was that bad, we’d started on the beer at 8a.m., all of a sudden Steve goes “It’s like scraping Satans’ Arsehole.” Ooobie dooobie man.
There was a guy playing bagpipes in the town today, he was really good and played Scotland The Brave for me, nearly brought a tear to my eye stood next to the blaring sound of it. I listened to him for an hour, stoned and hungover and met loads of people. I wasn’t looking forward to another Whitby Winter a few months back but I am now. What goes around comes around. Smoking some nice weed and decent solid too, woo. Having another Cobblers Monday, that’s the name of a group some of my friends have too. They were talking about perverts the other day and one guy was accused of shagging anything… “As long as it’s got a pulse,” he said “but that’s optional as long as it’s still warm.” That’s when Mick said “I’ve got two cocks.”
The Leather flute! Oil yer optics. Grease both barrels, I’m surfacing. Ian Dury. In the brewery. Fool moon again. muckle madness. Not a drop in the ocean. One of my mates has gone on, looking for trouble. I know which side my bread is buttered, especially as it keeps falling on the floor all the time. Alien language is trying to break through. Again. Pod. Queasy git. Grow yer own grit. Apologise for the trough. get their fucking snouts out. One way or another. The Situationist International. I got sacrificed on the altar of confusion, out of her life, out of the game. Silly games. Join the dots. Simple really. Dr. Dot. Wiped away, along with most of your personality – The Orb. I’ve got another friend called Mary, she’s 76 and says it like it is, fuck, cunt’n all.
Oingo boingo. Bingo fudge. Budgie fridge. Fido. Bluefinch’n bullfrog hanky-panky with Widow Twanky-spanky-turquoise turban. recent monkey. Ganesh. Tweed suit. top flat. Rigorous dock. Third worlds. Of the minds. Eek-A-Mouse. Kazoo girls! Dig weed. Wig deed. Curves. Gripping bottle. Banana on head. All falling. Guzzling. Spiky chin. Help meat. Ditto
Kling-klong. The crack of dawn, the stranger on the white charger. “What are you doing?” And an apple pie, bad breath, cake, retail; plucking roses out of the barrels of yer guns, have you got it yet? Doo dah, doo dah. Waiting for a response from ‘How to create your own music! Jelly and wine. Nice Chicken. Sly. Stone. Must have gone out like a light….Plankton vest. Blood sells. Aquatic noises. Sound around. Barely audible voices, amphibian dynamite attics, now. Boing. Mr Sandman. Magic beam, a dream. Seen. Bring us, bring us, Hoopla! Backwards/Forwards at the same time when I shut my eyes, so leaving them open for now, until it goes away. Straw, breeze. Eno. Black pudding, sprouts, cabbage, mash; free of time, you get what you give, cauliflower. Boiled by the sun. Pirates welcome. Suppose we boil him in oil or we could just let him walk away with a small umbrella instead. keith’s real name is – Ricky Ticky Tembo, No Sa Rembo, Cani Beri Rucci, Perry Perry Pembo! I should koko. It’s getting darker earlier and earlier. Blip. Blueberry blue balloons. Mrs Marples’ Fun Bags! Bookends. Yes it does. Now you can create yer own dumb music. Rockin’ Rhythm Machine! Marsupials. I’m dreaming of a white Xmas, ha. Staying here this year, no doubt I shall be able to tell you (almost) all about it. Frank Zappa. From – ‘Return of the urban warrior’ by ‘Barefoot Doctor’ – Turning The World On It’s Head. ‘Simply reverse the up-down spacial poles so that the ground is ‘up’ and the sky is down. You are now as a bat hanging down from the floor, your head pointing down to the ceiling. I’ve tried it and it works and it’s good. Upside down. Bob Dylan. Izzy Wizzy Let’s Get Busy. Cantankerous. Jethro Tull. Singing about lost love and loneliness. In Brief. Bananas and books. LTJ Bukem. Shaven eye. Take a while, think about it. Kung-fu’s given pleasure to millions
Got The Crystal Method on, many thanks, it’s very nice, had to wait till the silver streams started flowing, got it this morning, waited till now. Nick and I serenaded a woman to the bog last Saturday and she did sexy dancing for us when she came out while her husband was in the front bar. Think I’ll stay in and self-medicate, like I did last night, worship oblivion. Parsnip. Unless I get summoned to the bar. Elbow. Turn your soul protector on. Access random memory banks. Activate player. Up another level.
Dr. www. Whistler….X