Saturday night feverless

I’m scared I’ll get scared…

I’m going to die alone.

Everything, in the long view, turns to dust; all growth, all achievement, all record, all memory.

There is no God. There is no reason. There is no truth. There is no glory.

I’m scared I’ll get scared and try to nail you back up there…


More power to the J for his stunning victory over the Canon corporation and their institutionalised hatred of customers! More power to him and his continuing pursuit of perfection for the site’s layout (even though the very computers that we view it with, and all the others bits of machinery that comprise the internet, will all turn to rust and dust before long) and even more power to him because of the simple fact that HE IS COOLER THAN YOU. You know that song by Ben Folds, about how no matter how hip the person before you in line might seem, there’s always someone cooler than you? He is right, and that person is the J. If you disagree, fucking e-mail me your address and I’ll go over to your house/apartment/flat/slum/hovel/underpass and beat the ever loving shit out of you. That’s a promise, the kind of solid promise this house is built upon. Motherfucker.

But as for the traffic damage incident, I would have handled it differently. I have to assure the gentle reader here that I am a committed non-driver, that the handling of motorised transport of any kind is strictly the realm of the generic other people in the world – and as such, anything I have to say on this matter is pure theory, genuine fiction and 100% pure bullshit. I’d have just driven off with a squeal of rubber on road, middle finger raised – in whatever direction was viable. So it was a stop light – there’s a time and a place to run red lights, and I say that is the time. Failing that, start punching.

That’s the be-all and end all of it. But my heart goes out to the J, whose recent endeavours on the road and in due course to take down the Canon corporation have highlighted the very factors that I hold the world in contempt for. These are the very real, very innocent dangers that you take with you every time you step out of your house. Nothing you can do but hope – and hope is nil but dust on the winds of indifference that fill our universe.

I’ve had an epiphany. I’ve fucked everything here up – but it’s a case of when life hand you fucked up lemons, you should make things fucked up. That wasn’t very eloquent. But it’s true. Coming back here I realistically had 0% chance of making things work and so it goes, that I have almost nothing to show for my time. So I’m giving up, putting plan C into motion, and getting everything in place to just fucking get out. What could that possibly mean? What’s plan C? What has been going on to push me this far? Fuck you for asking, just fuck you. Easy as that my friends – it’s easy as that. It’s just not as simple as it ought to be and by doing this, I bring the simplicity factor into line with the accepted levels. Accepted by what, you might ask. Accepted by WHATEVER FUCKING MEANS I GODDAMN WANT, you nosy fucker.

So when, and where? And before what? Who goddamn knows. Watch this space, because while some things come and go – the House is eternal.

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  1. the j says:

    I would've driven off (who'd catch me on my bike when they're in a big shitbox?) but as I noted my bike wasn't running.

    Glad to see you getting some motivation about yourself.

  2. Kerouac Cat says:

    I ain't gonna lie to you. I was drunk when I wrote that.


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