Mood:
coolNow Playing: Tiredly...
Topic: Daily Doings
NOTHING’S GOING WELL today. For example, I had some fun seeking myself out on Yahoo and Google. In so doing, of course, I did eventually find a “recovering” heroin addict’s blog I’d stumbled upon a few days earlier. I knew I’d left a comment somewhere but it wasn’t there, so under the top post with “0 Comments”, I said hello and directed the author to my blog. I thought it would be interesting to get the viewpoint of another (ex-)user. I send my greeting off only for the old greeting (a couple of days old) suddenly to pop up underneath my new one and I can’t delete either. Now it looks like I’m really hassling this person… So if you are reading this, Micah, I’m sorry about that. I’m not always as crazy as I seem.
Do you know what, even in my life, I feel my dreams from sleep seeping across daylight through my twilight.
If I could be sleeping now…
Let me say what I’m reminded of. In one of my old jobs, “inputting” at a greenscreen mainframe terminal of a huge company. Working nights. (I had poor sleep back then, and that was 15 years ago!) Plugged into our Walkmen, typing to music, my brains became neutralized, floating down the hallway of my dreams, unconsciousness dripping from the mirror of the pool where it had dropped.
Poetess Sleeping
Dumb in a numb tree, wailing gaze,
Glancing glad and mournfully, afire and tired,
She falls asleep and furnace of her eyes
Refracts, a million-fold, the cosmic fire.
If she is two her dream-half falls awake,
Finding one she lost in a rainbow’s eye,
The dewy pupil of a sleeping flower
Ensphered, like evening’s sun in eyes of rain
And raining dreams and pools;
The rain grows trees.
Night writes her book in the words of day
And after dreams her poetry awakes,
A drab aphasiac in this world of words.
One and a half shopping days to Christmas:
Strangely, the shops weren’t as jammed to the rafters as they’ve been in previous years.
I had to “do” Boots the pharmacists with my mate “Valium” Marilyn. (Imagine a Valium’d Marilyn Monroe of pensionable age. Cockney accent and loud of voice.) She had bought someone in her family a hair clippers by mistake; she needed to exchange these for an electric face shaver.
Being oblivious to her queue-jumping (about 20 couples of all races politely packing their perfume purchases behind her) — blustering direct to the front she grabbed a young male assistant. I haven’t seen a shop assistant look so down in the mouth at being accosted by a customer for quite some years. I assisted him by hurrying the conversation along and past the £79.99 Philishaves and down to our three options: Boots’ own (mains-only) £19.99 electric shaver; Braun razor plus clippers one hour recharge green £33.99 or ditto blue £33.99 with neck short-back-&-sides strasightener. So we went for the three-in-one blue.
The poor shop assistant. To a series of inane yet surely stock-in-trade queries, e.g. “Which is the best one?” he rolled his eyes back like a boxer who’d taken one punch too many that afternoon.
Fair enough, what is the guy meant to say to a question like that. We were stood facing three or four shelves full of electric razors £20-£120. If it was my shop, the “best” one would surely be the most expensive. But it was I who had to but in with “how much do you want to spend?” (he was really useless). “What do you need it to do?” (She didn’t know, she’s not a man. But she knew she didn’t want hair clippers.) So we (or rather I) edged her into choosing one that not only disposes of beard but trims sideburns and can do grade 5-4-3-2-1 head shaves — bit of everything: perfect!
I left Marylin at the till. If anyone can swizzle a refund on her unwanted hair clippers, Marilyn can.
Had to dash round to other friend’s. Dealer arrived and sold me a 1g lump of Xmas heroin. (Sorry but you “straight” lot do Xmas as plastered out of your heads on alcohol as you can manage; I’ve been hooked on my stuff for over seven years outright and if there’s any day I “need” it, it’s Xmas Day for sure.)
Sitting here alone — one side of my room lit fireglow red (very drowsy (I’ve heard that red lights make you angry:— not me. The red light helped me sleep when I was insomniac some weeks back. And it’s for my pet hammy. But you can click Chinese Mouse under topics if you want to read about that)).
I’ve no telly, just radio. I was going to tell you about that before but somehow the subject of my TV-free life never came up. It started as an experiment. A broken telly gave me the opportunity to try and live life TV-free. Well I have done for over a year now and have to say, I don’t even miss it now. (I do watch telly, of course; I just watch other people’s tellies…)
My radio is tuned to Radio 4 and BBC World Service — talk radio so good it’s almost like TV for the blind. When I want music I tune into the pirates (the FM dial is jammed with pirate FM stations — one weekend I counted over 50). Every taste is catered for from funky Jamaican dub-ska-reggae to the UK style of 2-step garage to drum-&-bass breakbeat to “old-skool” hardcore rave (imagine a barn dance hosted by aliens at double speed and you have “happy hardcore”, the cheesiest emanation of this drug-inspired music. If you are in London, try Eruption FM for “further details”!)
I once texted in my request “Just for You London” which is an early 90s raver’s track, something that, sandwiched between the most frantic of chainsaw tekno tracks hits you like a breath of fresh air. Because this 19 year-old DJ had actually heard of it, I got “respec-respec-respec” (everyone under 20 wants to talk like they just got off the boat from Kingston these days — even if they’re white).
But the guy couldn’t play my track because he “didn’t have it on him”.
Okay folks, it’s getting later.
Time ticks on…
I’m off!
If perchance I don’t get online between now and then I’ll say this again: here is wishing yous all a Very Merry One Indeed!!!
From Gleds!
