Ey Up Chupa Chup,
Dream and reality are merging and I can no longer distinguish one from the other. Mind at the end of the tether! Can’t prise last-night apart from itself to discover what was dreamt and what was not. I was rigging a vacuum-cleaner up to P.A.B.M’s door handle and he opened his door, saw me and shouted, I ran upstairs laughing. I was warming up rice-pudding in the nude when Keith knocked and walked in, I put a towel round me. All that is real, it happened. It’s the next bit that’s shaky, trembling like. Did he try it on or try to pull the towel off and did I grab him by the throat and say “If you ever do anything like that again I will fucking kill you,”? Or did he just go up to get some beers and fall asleep, or not come down ‘cos I was manic on the amphetamine, ale and smoke? I will have to wait till I see him again to ask. To ask and find out. Find out, fido! Bow wow (wow). I dunno. Nowt. I dunno nowt. I Got Me Babe. Gotta go out there and pretend that I’m normal again, the veneer’s wearing thin. And something about an ostrich, but I’ve forgotten it.
Yes, ok, I did get Keith by the throat and I did kick-off tonight in the Black Horse but fucking bollocks to it all. I’m not looking forward to this day (Valentines Day) passing, but it will pass. Pigs are very clean. Pig food is very expensive. Get on with it, yeh, get on with it. FUCK YOUR MUSIC. Shouting and screaming about my soul, I still think a lot. Take it away. Ever in Hell? We’re all going to heaven ‘cos we’ve already been thru Hell, Todd. I’m Sick, I’m Sick. I went to my doctor’s, but he never gave me anything that helped. You go your way, I’ll go my way. My way’s… my way’s… my ways… I’ve had my eyes opened. Lie on the linoleum one more time. None of them would go away. Go Away! Go Away! I’m on my knees. Valentines Day Hell. Soul Almighty, We’ve Got The Rhythm. My Soul Is Raw Too Bob! Too many dead already. The dead should come back and lose their cool and go to pieces, it’s pointless looking to anybody else. Joviality, midget gems and a pair of shoes. If you don’t piss off I’ll kick you all the way to the beach. Now look, I say, wait a minute, don’t start taking liberties with me. Without a bite to eat, go round the corner, get something to eat; when you’ve had yer meal, piss off out of it. Don’t fuck me, I’m only the Caretaker.
Wowt. Abstract what? Wot? Would you like to see it? I’m trying to cope with fucking suicidal depression. Listening to a What Katy Did Next compilation tape I made that none of you cunts have heard ‘cos you not been up here since I did did did it but it’s a fucking Good-un. 1983-1993, Work, Sin, Progress. I was just listening to a bit of ‘Turn On Yer Flesh Spoons’, and it was like “Fucking Hell, Did I Really Play That? Did We All Do That?” I’d like a train-set please. Burp, burp. I don’t want to touch it thank-you. No. Not. Know. Knot. FUCKING BLUESMEN, I FUCKING SHIT ‘EM. I’m gonna wring P.A.B.M’s neck, thank-you very much, I’ve banged on the walls enough times. 1,2,3,4. Fucking Bastard Hell Fucking Shite-Spawn. Tadpoles up the giraffe.
Lots going on behind the scenes.
DEAFENING, THIS FUCKING SILENCE ISN’T IT, WHEN I SHUT MY FUCKING BIG GOB! DONKEY SHOUTING. So Quiet I can’t hear it, so loud I can’t ignore it. Another Girl, Another Planet. The Only Ones. Listening to 25.10.90 Thursdee, The Adelphi. I’ve got the poster on my wall. Boy, we took some chances, fucking tight as fuck, you can’t really hear the vocals but ‘Identify Me’ fell apart, sort of, never really came together. Try To Define Me. La Dee Daa. And All The Things You Were Doing Brother Were Fabulous! I Hear All Songs Running Together. Combined. I Was such a crazy cunt, still am. But I was the Leader of the BAND (Banned). The Fucking Grand Wazoo. And you never followed me where I wanted to go, you should have. Trust me, I’m A Doctor. If you’d all followed me where I wanted to go, we’d all be dead by now. Champion! Fucking Magotts! Has the cat got your toe? The colours on the bathroom wall all want to see your face. Do It Again….. But I Know How Intense and Scarey It All Was. Of Course I Do. I Created It All! Earphones please. It wasn’t that scarey. I’ve been thru worse. Without a nurse. Where Is She When it Helps So Much and there’s only the seagulls giving it Rock and P.A.B.M Upstairs strolling around and killing. Members of the dirty trouser brigade. What Are You Doing? Nowt.
Nothing is ever the same anyway. I’m obviously a wanker and if I don’t go out soon on a Whitby Sunday I’m gonna strangle the stupid little cunt (P.A.B.M.) ‘cos he’s really trying my patience. I was never gonna mention her name again in these letters and I won’t, but you know her name and she’s still killing me. Begins with an R. But does not and didn’t have a lot to do with the TRUTH OF IT or anything. SOMEBODY, ANYBODY, ROCK ON RINGO, PLEASE HELP ME. DO IT AGAIN. MY HEADS ON FIRE. I thank you, godverdomme. NAKED SUMP.
Trevor, where did you find that note on your slide guitar? The rough male kiss of grainy-wood. And the old smell of clothes and blankets. Would 60 gallons be sufficient? The harmony of the universe. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. FX. Waitress!
I know you don’t want me, I’m far too old for you, but you are so beautiful to look at with yer shoulders bared like that, you know you are, thanks so much for being able to laugh like that about it with me! Shame that you will never break in my room, does that give you a clue what her name is? I’m out of my skull on amphetamine (better, even, than the last fucking lot!) and vodka and it’s not quite midday (12) on Sunday (15.2.04) and I’m going down. (I wish). No, Up. (I wish 2). Na, na, na, na, na. I’m bored with crazy pavements in Beasley Street. Need it, need it, need it. Kneed it? Frayed knot. Sorry, but i’m a 4 no-caterer. You food. Will you please go away. Monkey see, monkey do. It’s just a bad dream. It will all go away. I’ve got nothing but you can have everything I’ve got. Havent dreamed about you yet. Think. You spat in that twat’s sandwich that day. Remember. Crazy times. Remember me Dad coming in and watering down the tomato-sauce and mayonaise. I could have killed him ‘cos he did my brains in so fucking much but it’s ok ‘cos he’s better now. Bless my fart. You think I’m rather strange, don’t you. That’s not a question is it ‘cos i don’t know the answer. Yes it fucking isn’t ‘cos i don’t know the question. Tonight Matthew, I’m Black Sabbath. Tonight Matthew, I’m gonna be pissed. Fuck You All. I’m lost in the wheels of confusion, Ozzy. A blip off the old choc. Chock-a-block. Wit wot. Tit tot, I should be so fucking lucky, Lucan. Clack. Cor Blimey, Wot Ha! Matey-UBoy! Since I last put pen to paper, can hardly write, one eye closed, the fucking good eye mate! What? Starboard Bow. Ouch. That Hurts. It All Hurts. FUCKING HURTS. US. Nice weather we’ve been having. Isn’t it. Quat. Come. Eh? Interference. cobwebs. fight one’s way thru them. Only just. Choco-mint. break. Got Skunk. by the tail. Had mad weekend with (*), skunked to the max and coke and doves and we flew, we fucking flew away without leaving the building. or his room with the glowing yellow walls. And i got caught on CCTV (but had no memory of it) kicking a window in, Moira’s display window, replaced window for them. Stomach churning, bowels churning. Waiting to cry.
Much of this epistle has been censored by the thought-police. Shame really but never mind. On and on we go. Onwards and upwards. Trumpet. I should fucking coco! Vespasian in the attic somewhere, been chasing him about for yonks and I don’t even know who he fucking well is. Piece. Putting the pieces back together again. Pushing and pulling. Dragging them out and trying to slot them into place again. Some are so heavy. Not just to lift. trying to put some of the pieces back in place. For today – beer, wine, amphetamine, hash, weed. Not bad, got my mate some weed and he gave me a bag of billy. For tonight. I passed it round; dib, dab, dob. got wine and skunk to try and stave off the worst pangs of loneliness. And still full of amphetamine, and still lonely as fuck.
P.A.B.M appears to have moved upstairs, thank fuck, so things are a bit different here, it’s a lot easier on the head without him stomping up and down his floor all the time. And making noises that I dare not try and put pictures to. Looks like Keith has got it all now, think he’s now in the room above Keith. Oh dear. he’s up in Irwen The Zombie’s domain now so let’s see how well his little Peek-A-Boo games go down up there. But such a difference here in my skull without him pacing around constantly on the eggshells of my mind.
Not been to Hull for nearly a year now and it’s almost the anniversary of the evil whore turning, and me coming back here and totally breaking-down to the point where I could not help myself. Keith and cheryl saved my life for me ‘cos I couldn’t, didn’t want to. She’s been in my thoughts and dreams an awful lot and it’s been a rough, tough old time. And it still fucking is but I’ve got my front to put on when I need it and I can at least try to pretend that it’s all happening to someone else. Goats and horses. I’ve got tears in my eyes. How can it still be so sad after all this time? It is. Went deep. Got infected. Became a complete idiot. Lost the water-wings I won. Stupid rhymes and stupid crap. Privvy. Her I can’t get over. Must. Chair-leg. I let somebody get under my skin. Lots of stuff has gone on, lots of time has passed. Lots I can’t say, but I did kick that window one paralytic Sat.night/Sun.morn. We had an amazing time with the doves and the coke, and had enough skunk in one night to be in a total fucking daze for 7 weeks. got some Morroccan now, not fantastically strong but no shit in it, the best hash I can remember smoking in this country since….?
……………………………………………………………..
As an adjunct to Musicport we have a weekly club up and running called The Compass Club at a local hotel on Fri. nights. Started 26 March with Jah Wobble And The Invaders Of The Heart, was an amazing gig and Wobble was such a nice bloke.
On 16 April we had Arthur Brown, he’s from Whitby and another really nice, down-to-earth bloke. I remember seeing him years ago in Hull and was not too impressed but they were really fuckin’ good. There’s some footage up at Whitby.tv. I met a couple from Norway, Gier and Anya, they were over here to interview Arthur Brown for a magazine they run in Norway called Monster. There is a big demo review section in their mag. and Gier has been known to issue death threats in his reviews of particularly shite demos. We all got on like a house on fire when we hooked-up on the Sat. night. I met them in the hotel bar at 6:30 Sun. ‘cos they wanted to buy me dinner, we drank and talked and never got round to eating. We went onto vodka and orange, at some point Anya went up to bed and Gier and I carried on…and on. John the night porter came over and shouted “Congratulations, lads, you’ve just broke the record,” (for late drinking), but I can’t remember what time that was. We both staggered out of there about 10am Mon. morning and he wanted more beer so we went to the supermarket and bought beer and gin, went back to mine for a while, then went to pick Anya up, get some breakfast and back to the pub. They left at 4.30 and really didn’t want to go but had to be in Newcastle to interview the guitarist from Venom. I woke up Tues face-down on the bed with my coat on.
Little damage for a binge that started 2.00 Sunday afternoon and ended 11-ish Monday night, non-stop. No whizz, just alcohol and skunk. I am going over to visit them in Trondhiem in sept, they are involved in a festival over there and I’m really looking forward to it. I was sat in the pub one night and my friend got a text from another friend, who was out of town, asking if he was o.k. He texted back – ‘No M8 Not Alright Just Shot Some Cunt Who You Know. Kept 2 Of His fingers 4U’.
Here’s some bits from an old notebook (undated):-
squeeze me baby, feed me baby
trying to reduce damage during transition period
I’m a professional incontinent, everyone bled but me
life is a bucket of blood and semen sometimes
poverty struck/stricken
have to take up drinking on a part-time basis
whipped cream and shite
mud, what’s all this mud?
whipped cream and blood
selling everything but it’s not enough
the last beer and Billie Holiday for breakfast
another awful day
scouring the city for money
a million and seven things
that need doing, put off and left undone
memories come flooding back
trying to bugger the sky with a black bin-liner
few posessions left, anything left to sell?
looking around feverishly
dragging me back into the here and now
forget about eating, I can’t afford it
festering with a spinning mind
but when you know everything
what do you do then?
Twit ‘n Twat. luminous burger. Plastic fudge cake. Badger, badger, badger, badger, badger, badger, badger.
FUCKED-UP BEYOND ALL RECOGNITION.
Over and out – Roger the Badger.
