Friday, March 12, 2010

hey stranger;

Recently, I realised my life is flowing along at a steady, yet pretty fabulous pace.
Ten joints of pathetic, terrible leaf, a couple of glasses of warm Jameson and turning noises made by general household kitchen appliances into sexual groans, can really wake someone's mind.
A spray-painted pink cardboard aeroplane, reminiscent of lessons taught by Playschool was mashed in there somewhere, too.

I've started playing guitar again.
I was ready to give in to the idea of never being that great of a gutiarist, and like everything else, bully myself out of ever doing anything about it. But I put my game face on, struck up some bar-chords and realised that I just needed to buy some new strings.

I've remedied my whining with two new bank accounts; an England Fund and a Slush Fund.
Ironically, the slush fund is dry.

I'm going to England.
Everything happens in England; wars, fame, stabbings - you now, the usual.
And I'm a total sucker for a pompous bastard with a cockney accent and a bottle of Jammers.
My real reason is just to go there and hang out at the Boogaloo, in vain hope I might meet someone famous (see Carl Barat) and get laid.
Or try and find some incredible magneti cforce that will fuck with Big Ben and I'll cause some controversy.
Hijack one of those red buses, ride in a black, funny-doored taxi, blah blah blah.

I am the kind of person that does make things happen, I suppose.