The old confused brain goes on a bit of a wobbly again, thinks the government along with American billionaire’s are in it together, slowly killing off my friends one by one. What is the use of poor artists and musicians these days, in an overpopulated world? But then I suppose this was the basic plot of the still not yet finished spletzer-martin story, so no new thought there then.
The devil has also come back in the form of a very nice sophisticated man who takes me on long walks around London, to see art exhibitions and drink martinis. He wears a red shirt sometimes, looks good in a waistcoat and says he would like to be the 18 stone wife of a wealthy banker…
I am of course very sane, in so much as I write this blog as a way to present the ridiculousness of my thoughts and therefore diminish their power over me.
What if Everything originated with the circle.
The circle that is hand drawn, a stick on a rope scratching through the mud.
The perfect circle cannot exist in time, for time instantly makes it imperfect.
Life is wonderfully imperfect
Last Friday I experienced the pain of being the kitchen door, I don’t know what to do with that pain now. They call this epilepsy.
I’m tired, my cat wants feeding and it is time for bed. Tomorrow we shall talk about potential sins over wine and bubbly. Tomorrow I shall try to avoid another spider’s web. Tomorrow is a gig in Deptford, London, at Sister Midnight records, where I hope some of the spirit of Screaming J Hawkins will scream through me. Tomorrow will be today very soon. Goodnight.