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[23 Dec 2003|11:09am] |
Saw Zoe last night, as she was appearing out of the night on her way home. Looking fantastic as usual, and we walked to Ben's, had a quick chat. Got two hugs as well. Blinding.
After that, the usual holocaust of beer with Graham Burton. I really should stop doing this.
But its fun.
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[23 Dec 2003|02:21pm] |
"Shaking with anger now, i descended the stairs, fist clenched into a ball. So tightly that the very fingers seemed to merge.
He was sitting on the floor, enveloped in the darkness, staring at a small television set. I kicked the can of beer he had on the floor next to him, and he started.
"Jesus! You scared me! What the fuck do you want?" he said, swinging his legs round and looking indignantly at the can.
I kicked him once in the face, and threw the empty can at him. Then i left to look for her."
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[23 Dec 2003|02:25pm] |
You see, it doesn't matter what i make of things, things go on around me and ruin my work for me. I seem to be missing a few pages, possibly they are floating the oceans in bottles, waiting to wash up on the shore when i need them. Well i need them now.
Sorry, i'm being odd. I like writing little asides that ooze from the mind...they are every bit as meaningful as the coherent type, but so buried as to be like the dead of Pompeii.
Think about this though...i am a man, but not at all like one. I curl up sometimes when i should be forthright; i should take chances and fuck my subservient attitude to everybody else. But i don't. Pretty soon my dams will burst and i'll be all things at once. Maybe like an imploding star, too much too soon. Something however, has to change.
More about Zoe. I'm going to fucking miss her over Christmas, especially New Year. She'll no doubt be home with her wonderfully allowing husband. Jesus Christ, so many sinister underbellies lurk in this small town...enough to power a star. You see, you just don't realise how many doors you see conceal desperate situations and you walk past and miss them all. But i know of several. In the same road.
The road is not important, but it is true. The village only works, because everybody fakes it. If everybody's face was the same as the one indoors, there would be civil war localised in this village. It's a very odd place. At least in cities you can fade into black, here...everybody knows you.
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[23 Dec 2003|02:33pm] |
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Anyway, yes...Zoe filmed her television part. She is a nurse that says "Over here", and that's it. However, she should be proud and encouraged that she's going to be on screen. Every new part she attains is bigger and better.
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| The state of Barry's cranium |
[23 Dec 2003|04:16pm] |
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Barry's cranium is now getting so large, that Jupiter has been sucked into his orbit. We'll keep you posted. Fuck off!
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[23 Dec 2003|04:21pm] |
I'm really sorry about that fuck off. It's simply because the way it looks at the end of a normal paragraph just makes me laugh my bony little mind off. Fuck off!
See? Bloody hilarious. Fuck off!
Oh god.
MINDLESS BARRAGE.
I supposed repetition renders it rather blunt in the end. Cunt.
Christ, i'm losin' it, son.
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[23 Dec 2003|04:25pm] |
You know, this is what Santa will be doing this year:
1. Shooting reindeer at dawn.
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[23 Dec 2003|04:27pm] |
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I predict that next year Beyonce Knowles will decide her destiny is to give up music, and concentrate on the time honoured art of making anabolic steroids.
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| Christmas in Farley |
[23 Dec 2003|04:29pm] |
The animals of Farley gathered around the old Christmas tree, that had been in Farley Wood for years. It stood proud and bold, with it's luxurious branches and leaves stretching across the meadow, casting stretching shadows, that the animals gathered underneath.
Carols were sung, presents exchanged....and even Mr Fox did not murder a chicken that year. Instead, he tore the throat of a nearby turkey out, and the animals buried their shock at this by singing louder and heartier. Inside, they were all screaming.
Towards the end of the evening, the animals sat around the tree and got hammered. By the morning, many heads were pounding, and many animals had discovered the true meaning of inside bestiality. Fox had gone, and so, had the tree.
The animals were appalled.
Cat sniffed the air and mewed softly:
"This truly is terrible...i can't smell the tree anywhere on the breeze"
He sat down and licked his paws.
"Well, we need to search. Everybody split up! This is Farely's oldest tree! We must find it!"
The animals all fucked off to look for their tree. Mr Fox, was hiding and watching from behind a paper cut out of Jim Davidson.
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