Reading Time: 13 minutes

Hello boss,

What about wormy meat then, eh? Meat with worms in it. Lollipops children. Peek-A-Boo-Man has complained about my ‘incense’ again (I told him it was incense), very nicely and politely though (he’s softly spoken and has a ‘posh’ accent), so I might have to deck the cunt. No, violence isnt nice, so I will just fucking ignore him.

Two chickens. I’m not seeing with my eyes, I’m seeing with my mind. Had a beakfull of charlie, it’s very nice, rock, it’s a cunt chopping it. Gray day, fine drizzle falling. Shining in my head, I need it ‘cos I can feel the intensity of my ‘X-mass experience’ coming and I’m going to have to charge through it like a fucking bull and not come up for breath till January. Off your face. You forgo-it to put thee wordes in. Oblique beak. The Beta Band. Must try and eat some Kung Fu Putty. Jim Beard Three has no beard. Hello, I’m crazy… Black Sabbath – ‘Your’e Gonna Go Insane, I’m trying to save your Brain’. Alien Brain. I’ve pissed my jeans and quilt and it’s soaked the bottom sheet and the mattress too.

Oh Shite, found my spliff on the floor that I was smoking in bed last night, it’s still last night now, P-A-B-M is still walking about the sod. So I’ve had to sit up and have two big rails of Charlie up my conk. And got vodka + orange on the go and finished that spliff. Oh. do the hokey cokey, rah, rah, rah. It’s Mad Cyril, I like that, turn it up. Although our drugs and our music stays the same. O.K. Shaun. Happy Mondays. Although our interests stay the same. Even though I’ve pissed the bed big style and I can’t sleep in it ‘cos it’s too wet I don’t/couldn’t give a 7 metre shite, splash, from that height, at that angle. Iron. ‘I should have told ya, that the things that you love start to own ya’…. Judge Fudge. Just disagree. Yipee yipee yeh yeh yeh, I had to crucify some fucker today, cheers big-ears. Can’t sleep in my cold, wet bed tonight, I might have to try and sleep on the floor. ‘You talk so hip man, your’e twisting my melon man, he’s gonna step on you again, he’s gonna step on you, your’e twisting my melon man’ whistle, whistle, whistle. Can’t believe that I’ve pissed the mattress, the sheet, the duvet and cover and my jeans, oh well it all needed washing anyway. P-A-B-M is still walking about upstairs, he’s doing my fucking crust in. Mushy Peas and Gloves. Don’t you ever leave me Ethel, never believe me either. Mad Fuck. Still walking, maybe a bit of banjo might be enough, or a finger of fudge (is) just enough to give yer kids a treat. Peas + Gloves on you all this season, you what? Got more billy but not tried it yet, looks a bit watery but is more yellow than the last lot and can’t get anymore skunk so will have to try and save what I’ve got left, ha! And an eighth of pollen from the chap. Titty titty plu plu barumba!

Banana. Cleethorpes. John Cooper Clarke. Sex and Drugs and Rock ‘n’ Roll. What a jolly bad show if all you ever do is business you don’t like.

Got plenty of drugs and rock ‘n’ roll but don’t fucking know where the fucking sex is coming from. Fucking Wedding Cake Again! Just got in and had another beakfull ‘o charlie. Had to leave the pub where it was nice and comfy and two nice ladies from Leeds to talk to and walk in high wind, blizzard, hailstones to ******’s flat ‘cos he rang me in the pub and was freaking ‘cos he’d lost his stash. Told him straight off “I will find it and when I do I’m gonna roll a big fucking spliff.” I found it for him and rolled one and smoked it, nice grade Morrocan but not pollen tho’. Cocaine saliva snot running down the back of my throat. Am suffering thru this by getting totally off my fucking map.

Thinking about slitting Peek – A – Boo – Man’s throat. Painful shit ‘cos of last X-mas, getting dumped on Xmas morning via a text message isn’t very nice is it. I’m going with the intensity and it’s going very deep and the message is:- put your finger horizontally on your lips, move it rapidly up and down and go “Blrrlrr brrll brrll” etc. Stitch that. Silly Paul. Nah nah nah nah nah. Hello Willy! Looking at the old chap to see if he’s still there. Kissing (his own) reflection in the mirror (there’s no mirror in the gents bogs in the Black H.) That was what he was accused of and I had a scream with his woman in the pub today. He was on about his friend who plaits his hair for him and we started laughing about him pulling his todger out and saying “Can you do anything with that?” It was funny at the time, you had to be there I think but there was much mirth and merryment wrung from the concept of the incongruous hysterical impossibility of him getting his cock and balls plaited. Ho ho ho. Bah Humbug. Beans. Ah, stop your nonsense-eeze, yer worse than a wee bairn. Piglet lost in the forest. Keith has several piercings in his cock, I’ve not seen ’em, don’t really want to, but they are there. Davy Graham – Watermelon Man. One, Two, Three, fatman in the stew. He’s Red. The wife’s chewin the fucking carpet. She’s a carpet-muncher.

Nice people in the pubs today, was totally off me trolley like, but nice people around, and friends. Lots of visitors here for the week over Christ-mass.

I want intense, passionate anal sex with a really gorgeous woman for Xmas but I’m not going to get it so will just have to get so drugged-up and pissed that I stagger and have a right fucking tilt on and be the idiot-boy, I was an idiot-boy then. Now then, now then, now then. OlĂ©. Asparagus. Saddams first words when he came out of his hole were:- “Did I beat David Blaine?”

P-A-B-M sounds like he’s enjoying his recreational activities with another victim up there. I might have to strangle him. I’ve had a totally drugs and alcohol fueled weekend and had a great laugh with Cheryl on the phone last night, I was in the Endeavour, off my tits, she’s got such a fucking amazing infectious laugh, One Love to you and Stephen. The belly of joe, nah. M8. Oh Fucking Bastard Bollocking Hell! Cobbler’s Monday, needed vodka, charlie and billy to get out of bed and up’n about today. I’d been gutting turkeys all morning. They’re coming for you Barbara. Stupifyingly boringly on walls. You’re not listening to the finished article. Van Gogh’s Moonrise. X-mas my arse! Billy God. No, he can’t be called that or a number, boo hoo, u got the horn? Tw. At. Darwin’s Bulldog. A male donkey (handsome with a torn straw hat on w/it’s ears sticking out Mrs Nice?). Fish pap. Halibut-t-t-t-t-t-t-t. Was it? Billy arse.

Got a Punk compilation on, ****** is coming round soon and we’re going out for a few beers and I’m off my fucking face. Was shaking like a cunt earlier on ‘cos of the medication and Ruth Shit but am ok now, maybe it was just the fucking D.T’s. I still believe in Father Christmas you know, so don’t try and spoil it for me this year with yer josh ‘n muck ‘n old rubbish about him not existing and it just being yer dad ‘n that ‘cos I know what you’re like! Just because you don’t believe in him doesn’t mean that he doesn’t exist! Yeh I know I’m fucking warped mate, no-one said it would be easy, it’s an awful job but someone’s got to do it.

Jilted John. “Not that puff” I said, dismayed, “Yes but he’s no puff!” she cried. I was so upset I cried all the way to the chip-shop. She is a bitch, he is a puff, yeh yeh. Shuttleworth/Appleton. John/Brian. Wank. Nod. ‘Wet, Weird and Smeared’- ha, that’s a T.G. title and it don’t get much better ‘n that, do it?

Had a great laugh with those two ladies from Leeds last night, one had just had an operation on her ankle and was on crutches. I heard ’em talking about having another drink and her friend said “I’m easy.” I couldn’t fucking resist it so I said “Oh, can I get you a drink then?” and it was really rather jolly until ***** rang and I had to hike up to his in fucking Arctic conditions to find the missing object, which I knew I would find and partake of as a reward. Hippopotamus. Lump of tough gray lard w/horn, like mud. Has he got Tiger Feet? No, it’s just the way he walks. Kiss it, no, not the fucking Blarney Stone you monkey. Geordie maggots. Fucking Wedding-Cake Again. Robin Hood and Friar Tuck tried to fuck my aged corpse, but the bamboo masks that they had on, the rain had warped. Meanwhile, back on earth, my head it did explode within the beautiful voices of The Orb on F.M. (Fucking Magic) frequency.

On the edge of the edge of the edge, absorbing much pain, waiting to confront the evil dark imp inside, when I can find the little cunt. It’s 09:47 a.m., 23rd dec., I’ve just washed big lump of billy paste and a roc ‘o charles down with a cup of tea and am just finishing single skinner with some hash in. Waiting for it to kick in and get me up and about.

I AM VIBRATING! Need to go out and eat. But hark! I hear the temple bells, they’ll all be open now. Need to get – worcester sauce, tabasco, tomato juice and lemons so I can have some bloody mary’s later and watch my head implode. It’s fucking pissing down outside, washed all the snow away, it must have warmed up a bit. Wow! Electric neon vibro-wobbles coursing thru me being. Chalky visits Mars a few times a week and occasionally lands, says “There’s no point sending a fucking probe up ‘cos there’s nay fucking life there.” He could hardly fucking stand up when he came into the pub yesterday about 4p.m., he’d been up since 1:30 a.m. drinking scrumpy! Every other word was ‘fucking’ or ‘cunt’ or ‘twat’. He said to ***** “And you’re fucking shite, you are.” Oh I do like to be beside the seaside. Just gonna go and drop some kids off at the pool. Yo ho ho. Then get dressed and brave the fucking weather and see what delights Whitby has to offer to-day. Cafe. Shopping. Black Horse… dot, dot, dot. Dash.

Trying to break the cycle of repetition is not at all easy, wheels within wheels within wheels. FACKING WEDDING CAKE AGAIN.

Feel better than yesterday even tho I’m almost transparent and off my fucking titties, matey-pops, trying to mask THE FEAR. I’m shit-scared of the air and molecules, separating everything out as it’s falling apart. Waiting for my head to implode as I collapse in on myself. Boo! Who? fickle sheen, sweat trickles electrical. Shock Therapy. Stick it in, twist it, pull it out. Big fish, little fish, cardboard box. Bayonet practice. Would you like ice in that (glass) please, or a bit a’ lemon? Aid. This really is one of the hardest, most painful things that I have had to do or get thru in my life, if you’ve ever wanted intensity, phew, you don’t want any of this, can you imagine how fucking blood-shot my eyes are but it’s ok. ‘cos I don’t need ’em to see with anymore, I can use the radar to get around this town with. My cat, Ronnie, who I left with Moira, Cap + Cobweb, had to be ‘put to sleep’ a few months ago and I’ve only just found out and it’s gutted me to the core of my being, I’m too numb to fucking cry about it now, I’ll cry for Poor Ronnie tomorrow, fuck you, fuck me, fuck every stupid fucking thing. Arseholes, bollocks and cunts to it all, the lot of it ‘cos that’s the way it is (PAINFUL SHITE MAN) and if you don’t like it, fuck off.

And when I go, the lot tumbles, it all falls and FUCK. I’m crying so much inside for everything but I’m so fucked I can’t get any tears to flow. Am tottering on the brink and skating on the bit of thin-ice that is the thinnest. Trying not to cry, being as bad as being homeless in Scarborough when the vale of tears was in suspense, saying to myself “don’t cry, don’t cry” and I still had the vestiges of waders on (in slivers) to try and cope with wading thru’ the Slough of Despond, but they were so tattered that I thought ‘Fuck it’ in the end, took the cunts off, barefooted it and was so sad I cried and raised every pool, pond and brook, streaming from fucking here to fucking oblivion and the tip end of that for a start off (you twat-arsed-cunt-fish-chicken-fish) (by a couple of inches – 2″) with my fucking tears and I’ve forgotten the rest of it and I’m so full of Cocaine and Whizz that I couldn’t give a fucking flying fucking, fuck, fuck me, twist on top, oh shit, I can’t bear it anymore, and I’ve wonderfully managed to self-medicate myself (‘cos for fuck’s sake, I know what I fucking well fucking need don’t I) that although I feel that dropping teardrops would be great relief I’m so fucking drugged and Alcoholed-up that I’m numb and tear-ducts are dryed-up and all this cocaine is inhibiting my pissing and it is so debilitating and dehydrating and I’m Wobbling/Vibrating. Can’t focus anymore. Fuck off. I’m…. I’m playing games with P.A.B.M. before I strangle (him) and dangle (him) from the ceiling. I’ve had enough / in the jar and Ian Craven (the 40 year old Johnny Rotten), died without poetic justice but had enough of it in his bones, sinews, tissue/fibre/muscle etc that he will never be forgotten.That guy was fucking poetic justice itself wasn’t he. Arse. D’you remember him bent over that microphone pouring his heart and soul out and we couldn’t hear a fucking word of it but provided the soundtrack anyway and then later listen back to it (on cassette tape) and all be totally blown away by listening to his amazing stream of conciousness wordartistry in total perfection with the musical rubbish we spewed out of our guts, one eye, fuck it, bollocks, it’s fucking^^^^^^^^ Oh Shite, the billy ‘n charlie show is almost over for another day. I’m going for a piss, slightly tweaked P.A.B.M’s wotsits, if he sticks his head round the door I’ll twist the cunt off and impale it on the spike but no. Take a moment, get a grip, give your head a shake, the cocaine and amphetamine violence come creeping back in, give it a rest. Why can’t i stop loving you Ruth you fucking evil whore, I’ve had enough/in the jar. I’m fucking sick of it and I can’t take anymore Crying about not being able to cry properly about RONNIE, he was my black cat, he was beautiful and I loved him so much even though he was a little thug but…. Moira the fuck bitch SHITESHITFUCKARSECUNTYBOLLOCKS BASTARDHOLE. Sick of evil cold-hearted bitches and whores, don’t fuck ’em, theyre not all like that. Are they? FUCK OFF. FUCK OFF FUCK OFF FUCK OFF.

Lunar orbit planned for friday afternoon. ***** put me onto putting a bit of charles in a spliff, I didn’t think it was possible ‘cos of the hydrocloric acid, and you can taste it attacking the back of the throat but what the fuck, it’s a mega – irie – wow, man. WOW. TREMBLES. Wow trembles, shaking the dog, what’s up with you. Oh, it’s ok. I’m dying, it really fucking feels like I’m fucking dying. It’s a good job yer balls are in a bag. FUCKING WEDDING CAKE AGAIN.

I’ve let myself go somewhat, greasy unwashed hair (wearing a hat), beard, greasy unwashed me watching me falling to pieces. Shit The Fucking Bed. Pentangle. I fucking stink and I don’t fucking care. Bream. This is fucking madness and I am fucking barking mad. I know that you’re not really in the bath, I know you’re really doing yer Alien Brain research, oh really… how did, you know that?

Wowee, what a fucking night! ‘Cos of my Ronnie somewhat and stopping Charlotte from killing Moira. After a talk with Charlotte in the street I said “Please let me do it, I really, really need to do this.” So she agreed but walked behind me to enjoy what she couldn’t really legally do. So I walked back thru the door and gave it fucking rock but didn’t lose it ‘cos even I’m scared of that, so I mislaid it! Grabbed Moira’s chin, not hard but just so I could look right into her eyes. Now then, I can’t remember exactly what I said but it was approx – “Ronnie was mine you fucking bitch… blah blah blah (can’t remember that bit)… so why don’t you just fuck-off!” Then I stood at the end of the bar and shouted “If anyone doesn’t like what I’ve just done and said, come and have a fucking go now, here I am.” And stood there ready and waiting but there were no takers.

A really, really hard friend of mine helped calm me down thru eye-to eye-contact and love ‘cos all I was doing was aggressively challenging him to go have a dance outside and once he realised that I wasn’t scared and that I knew he knew that, we were ok. Fucking hell brother, I don’t know which way is up, yeeeee-hah, champion, that’ll do me, done it, achieved it. Let’s go further. You chimp. I was ready to take on all-comers, bite their eyes out, noses, ears and lips off, rip their fucking heads off, shove ’em up their arses and shit down the stump of their fucking necks. “Ooh, a volunteer,” he says smiling, rubbing his hands together and licking his lips “lovely.”

Me mate came in the pub with a woman last night, they sat down and being polite I asked what her name was, he goes “Oh it don’t matter mate.”

Amphetamine, cocaine, skunk, vodka, beer and a complete fuck-up who’s angry don’t really mix very well do they! I don’t lose my temper ‘cos when that goes, I see red and the fucking lot goes but something snapped last night. I let somebody get under my skin and she let me down, you have a lot to answer for Ruth. This is fucking killing me, my psycho-therapy sessions go on till summer next year. I wish I could just snap my fingers and feel better, and I worry that I might never be well again but I have to serve out this period of incarceration. Time is the great healer they say and I can vouch for that but it’s gonna be a long time before I can offer a woman the real me again. Had a great night out tonight with the firm, we were all on fine form. I’m a loony tune.

We’re all fucking lunatics.

We were in Golden Lion and one of my female friends elbowed one of my male friends quite violently and goes “I didn’t know you’d shagged ***** ya mucky cunt.” We’ve had a fucking mental drunken laugh tonight, I’m trying to save whats left of bill and charlie for New Years Eve but there’s not much left. Started to stop today ‘cos I’m so fucking tired and need a rest. Shaking really, really badly, whole body vibrating like being plugged into the mains, and that’s from me fucking prescription medication! What a bastard eh? And these things are supposed to make me feel better? I should fucking Coco! I’m between the fucking devil and the fucking blue sea here matey-pops and I fucking tell you what, it’s a fucking rough voyage captain. According to Chalky “It only takes 4 muscles to punch some cunt in’t gob.” Or was it 2, I can’t fucking remember, I was off my fucking trolley.

In a minute I might have to go upstairs and shoot Peek-A-Boo-Man’s fucking legs off ‘cos he’s at it again, whatever the fucking hell it is that the cunt is fucking doing and he’s doing my fucking head in man. I’m gonna have to fucking torture the cunt in a minute. He never stops fucking walking up and down and I’m gonna have to have some sport. Or might just twat the cunt. He’s fucking at it again! What the fucking hell is he fucking well doing up there, I’m gonna have to go and stick a very sharp implement right through his fucking scope in a minute. The fucking twat’s gone quiet now my C.D’s finished, oh, no, he’s started again. Back in a minute.

It was like the Wild West tonight, we were all fucking off our tits and winding each other up and if we’d been tooled-up we’d have ended up fucking shooting each other. Oh dear. The cocaine train and the dream nightmare. Beautiful. Savage. Strange. Painful. Hilarious. I’ve just been promoted in the firm in a temporary re-arrangement, we’ve had to evolve to solve the problem of our absent friend, until…..

Mind yer bugle.


Leave a Reply