Friday, June 20, 2003
British Incomprehensiblogs. I am tired. I am very very tired of Mille Plateaux. Chalie Blake says, with his wizard's beard and acid past and manchester home and children who he gives into once a month and let's eat in M's, Charlie says "I don't understand it but I know it's genius." Nick says "oh for fuck's sake." Don't even try.
You don't you don't you don't you don't.
Even try.
Mille Plateaux is sitting on my bedside table and I am studiously reading The Amazing Adventures Of Kavalier & Clay instead because it moves me and I am enjoying it. Fire little stem cells, fire! Gorge, medula oblongata, cerebral cortex, gorge. Cerberus Cortez. Three heads and NO DOOR. I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHY I BOTHER, DO YOU?
I don't even FUCKING WATCH television. I've got one album by the band. I quite like it. When I remember I like it I play it and enjoy it. Dress me in a kaftan. Photography exhibition. Job application. Deputy UK Editor. Size nine shoes! I love what we've become, you and I and me. With our pages. AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...
It's only, it's only, it's nothing more than, it doesn't matter that, that's not relevent, it's only... it's a broken heart. It's having it broken a thousand times and each new time you realise that the last time meant nothing. It's not it's not it's not. It's a smile and a breeze and (rhyme this now bitch) endless possibilities... Oh yeah. It's pointless it's pointless, we don't mean anything and nobody cares. Nodboy would care if we did mean anything.
Sack it all off and go and get drunk. All this stroking and weeping and odd punctuaion, this... It wears me out. No no no, the words are wrong, that's what it should be, what I always thought it was.
No, you fucking imbecile, we've just got all the things to watch and nothing to watch them on. Because that makes sense.
Clutching.
At.
Straws.
All I wanna do is let you know how I feel so maybe you can understand and we can feel the same. Because I'm lonely. Not alone.
6/20/2003 04:15:00 pm
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