Spider Webbed

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Hello Matey-Pops,

Keith’s daughter, Emma, is here, she drove down yesterday after working a 130 hour week, nursing in Edinburgh. It’s 5pm Sunday and she was tired so Keith and I came down here so she could crash out for a bit. She’s crashed out on keith’s bed and he’s crashed out on mine ‘cos he got arseholed on White Lightening all day. I’ve not been having a good time, felt shite about not being able to stay in touch with Lucy, plus the usual crap. It’s really horrible to have painful thoughts and feelings that you can’t control. I was really tired after all the hard work for the festival and instead of taking it easy, the flow was in the opposite direction, an upwards velocity, burning, burning, and I was burning the candle at all three ends.

I knew it was all coming to a head and it did, last night, we were all off our tits in the pub, they wanted us out, even though it was 12 o’ clock closing again, for Goth weekend this time. Called last orders about 11:20 and the next thing I knew we all had a couple of pints and doubles in front of us, some of the chaps had done it on badness so that there was no way they were getting us out in less than an hour.

I don’t know why I didn’t go back to my mates with them but I ended up wandering all over the shop, up to the abbey n’all, out of my fucking nut on speed, alcohol and hash like a lunatic in the rain.

I eventually got back here in agony from my right foot, Emma reckons I’ve broken a bone, I can hardly fucking walk and it’s agony when I do but i’m being philosophical about it because something was needed to slow me down and as these things go it’s not too bad. I’ve got Keith’s nice stick with the horn on it just as his heel’s getting better and Emma was laughing at us both. Can’t get it X-Rayed or treated today so will go to hospital tomorrow and see what the damage is. Having haggis ‘n tatties later ‘cos Emma brought a haggis down with her. I feel quite good because I knew things were hurtling into oblivion ‘cos I could feel it and the amount of vodka I’ve drunk and hash ‘n skunk smoked in a week is fucking unbelievable even for me, I’ve been totally off the fucking map, stumbling blindly along like a complete idiot.

Sonia told me to get a shave the other night. I said “I don’t care anymore, nobody wants me,” and she said “I don’t fucking care, just get a fucking shave!” So I did. So now that things have crashed and I’ve done this to my foot I can deal with it and it’s gonna slow me down for a while. Keith’s just woken up and gone for a pee, ta-ta for now… Emma has just been down and she’s gone up with Keith to do some food but she wasn’t totally happy about the fact that he’d got so wankered by 4 o’clock Sunday afternoon.

Eeeee… self-medicating with hash and vodka to the max, just gonna go and have some food with Keith and Emma. +-+-+-plus, minus. It’s Friday evening and my foot is almost back to normal, fucking strange considering I was in such pain from out of nowhere and only needed the stick for a few days limp. No limping now, just a few twinges. I started taking my medication again ‘cos I’m thinking ahead to Xmas (No Xmas for Donkeys) ‘cos it takes a while to kick in and I’m gonna need it come Xmas.

Ruth started fucking me about big style over last Xmas and New Year so I’m taking precautions to get thru. I’m going thru the side-effects of them at the mo, it takes a while to get thru them.

Shall I list them? Yes, ok. Got that Crystal Method Mix CD on you did for me. I don’t have all these side-effects by the way. Plus minus. -+-+-+ Dry Mouth. Feeling sick (nausea) or being sick (vomiting). Upset stomach. Diarrhoea. Tremor (shaky feeling). Sweating. Changes in sex drive or function eg ejaculatory delay. Dizziness. Sleeplessness. Excessive sleepiness. Indegestion. Abdominal pain. Loss of appetite. Sudden wheeziness. Difficulty in breathing. Swelling. Rash or itching. A vague feeling of being unwell. Joint or muscle pain. Convulsions. Uncontrollable twitching, jerking or writhing movements. Mania/hypomania. Hallucinations. Abnormalities in liver function tests, jaundice, inflammation of the pancreas or liver. Liver failure. Effects associated with depression, such as :- anxiety, unable to sleep, crying, confusion, amnesia, skin rash and sensitivity to sunlight, agitation, aggression, tingling or numbness. Minus plus.

Fucking hell, taking these cunts are supposed to make you fucking better? So I’ve had my daily dose, two big lines of billy whizz, vodka and a big spliff, and billy is just starting to kick in. Lawks! Lummee! I get the tremor and the trembling quite bad but it’s a bit like playing Russian Roulette with your body, kill or cure, death or Glory. Apocalypse Now. Tulips from Amsterdam. I like bananas, no bones, I smoke marijuana, gets me stoned. The Soft Boys. Chicken Lickin’. Nice Chicken. Drool and Dribble.

No food today.

I get sleeplessness and excessive sleepiness too and that’s fucking weird. Working on the banjo, sussed a technique that I’ve been trying to get, could hear it but not get it, now I’ve got it, just need to work it up. Take The Red Pill, Take The Blue Pill. You Take The Red Pill And I Show You How Deep The Rabbit-Hole Goes. This Is Your Last Chance. Take The Red Pill, You Stay In Wonderland. Take The Blue Pill, The Story Ends, You Wake Up In Your Bed And Believe Whatever You Want To Believe. After This There Is No Turning Back. The Voices Of Kwahn.

Playing the little game of chasing the speed around my system with vodka, not to over-ride it but just give it a little tickle and just take a bit of the edge off Herr Toothgrinder. Then a little spliff to introduce a bit of centrifugal force into the equation. And another drop of vodka + orange, this billy is old but it’s been kept in a fridge so it’s still o.k., more than fucking ok. I’m off my tits. But it’s the last of it for now and was only a bonus found in a fridge but shared as we do, what goes around comes around mate.

The Circus. The Circumference. The Rubber Zoo. Oh yes yes. It’s 5a.m. Sat. and I’ve just got in, my head is floating around all over the place, I can hardly write. Blue. Red. Green. yellow. Blue. Sat. 5p.m. – just repeated the same combination as yesterday except I had two big dabs, so billy is taking longer to come on. Hoping to see charlie at xmas. Big lump of Bob sat in front of me. The medication takes 2-4 weeks to kick in, when I took ’em 6 months ago I was really bad, engaged on an intense life or death struggle, they took a couple of months to start working and the side-effects were a lot worse and lasted a lot longer. I’ve got quite a bad tremor but nothing like last time, I could barely roll a cig first thing in the morning and only then with the most intense concentration of formidable willpower.

My mate is creating quite a legend about me and among the things I’ve done are:- being a hit-man and gangster, I used to nail peoples hands to the floor in launderettes in Hull, and put a bloke in a spin-dryer but couldn’t get him in so I had to break his legs. He got Wobbly Bob really scared about me one night and kept saying “He’s ok mate, until he starts laughing.” Bob’s companion sussed straight away and had her head turned away from Bob but facing me, she hid her face with her hand and was pissing herself. So everytime Bob looked at me I burst out laughing and my mate kept saying “Don’t laugh, don’t laugh.”

If I’m in the pub and Chalky comes in he goes “Get yer guitar out then.” If I get it out and play a slow blues he’ll go “I don’t like none ‘o them slow ‘uns,” and keeps up a constant banter as you’re playing, in fact a few of us are quite adept at throwing in a “Shut up Chalky!” at salient points of a song. I will finish, there will be a bit of applause and Chalky will say “That was fucking rubbish!” Then people will say to me later “Chalky said you were brilliant the other day.” His favourite saying is “I’m too classy for this dock-side boozer.”

One of our friends was back from working in Saudi, he’d got a load of grief and quit the job. He had a stopover on his flight in Amsterdam and stood there and thought “Ive just had a load of grief, I’m gonna get grief when I get home, I’ve got 4 grand in the back pocket, fuck it.” So he went off into Amsterdam and blew the fucking lot in 4 fucking days, he looked rather haggard when I saw him and he had to borrow the taxi-fare when he got home.

-++- Haggle-waggle. Bloop eater. Blu loo. A skipping contest. The moon shines down on me. And highly intoxicating meat. Out of the owl. Howl. Or elf. Kind tissue. Fore. Chasing billy round the vicinity. Wob wob wob. Wobbly Bob. Sneezy Cheese. Chester’s chest. Wheezy fish-cakes. It’s his birthday. A trout. Underarm. It’s a joke. Vin diablé. Satan’s bathchair. There’s an imp on your roof-rack. Real.

The spider on my lamp is gone, it’s dead I think, it hadn’t eaten for a while and started looking a bit transparent and wasn’t moving about much. I woke up the other day / afternoon / evening (delete as neccessary) and the spider had gone, never to be seen no more. No more, no more. Never to be seen no more. That little spider was part of my life thru such harrowing times and some euphoric moments and now it’s dead and gone. Actually I think it crawled into my mouth in the middle of the night and will live inside me and make me shit spider-babies for the rest of my life and for a long time after I’m dead.

Live-fish. Had a bit of a nightmare time, everything’s so unreal and the only thing that’s getting me thru it is vodka, hash and sheer fucking bloodymindedness. Therapy and self-help books and medication till it’s coming out of my fucking arse, but at the end of the day it’s just gonna take a long stretch of time. Sometimes I just feel so shite (most of the time at the moment) and everything is such a fucking struggle and I’m still getting used to being on my own. But I’m not doing very good at it and I’m still trying to find me inside myself and trying to re-discover my dreams, my hopes and my life. Lost soul. Ah. Haven’t cleaned the spiders-web away yet, I might leave it to gather dust as a monument. Normally I hate spiders and kill the big ‘uns on sight but this one was different and strange too, ‘cos Ruth likes spiders…

Things are starting to get out of hand with America, this could be the start of the Third World War and which side are we on, wrong or right, which side are you on? Sex for drugs from her dealer. She didn’t care what she had to do. My stone for free. Off the radio. A human foot and a charred pistol amongst the rubble. Clerics and militants. The Archers. Fish diseases. Aqualculture. Blood and bones. Snot and gristle. Throbbing. Fuq nosé. P’raps. Passed out for a few hours with Radio 4 on. Missed 3 calls, 01482 number, was it you? just burned the spiders web. Cremated. Tesselated. Thugs. Rich.

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