30 August 2005

It's a hard knock life

all is a daze. Woke up this morning 8ish, had to use the toilet, rolled a one skin on my return. Now it’s the afternoon and I’m stuggling to think straight; not wandering from thing to thing without rhyme or reason. It’s always like that, waking up after you’ve had a spliff to put you back to sleep. Chris calls in “stoneover”, somewhere between a hangover and a stopover I imagine, and it leaves you spaced out for a good couple of hours. A shower usually helps, as does coffee. I’m on my second mug, full up with thick cut toast and pain au chocolat, scraping together a resemblance of a plan for the day. I’ve left my mobile phone at my mum’s place in cardiff and I really do need to pick it up but I really don’t feel like I can be bothered with that mission today. Maybe tommorrow. I also need to drop a Kenneth Anger video back to the uni library as it is already accumulating a fine. I got fines in county libraries the length and breadth of this damn kingdom; from Plymouth to Ripon and back down south again. I burnt Cardiff library and can’t ever get stuff out again without facing up to a huge bill of fines and lost books. You’d think I’d learn my lesson but I don’t. Right now I’ve got fines in Cardiff on Gavin’s card, fines at Newport on my own, and lets not forget those lovely university library fines waiting for my student loan to pay them off. Like a sick wordjunkie who keeps skipping out on his hotel bill, going from hotel to hotel until the proprietors catch on. Thanks to bureaucracy though they’ll never catch me. I could do it forever, wandering from county to county, a temporary residence in each, borrowing and stealing literature, before skipping again, disappearing like smoke, the most well-read ghost to ever hit the road.

I’m reading Cain’s book at the moment, another find assembly of syllables from Alexander Trocchi. His novel, Young Adam, was turned into a film not so long ago starring Ewan Mcgreggor and [?} I forget her name. It was rather good. So was the book. Cain’s book is also good, once you get past the junk thing, which features heavily. That’s just a smoke screen though to shining insight and other worthiness. Definitely worth reading. Even more so if you’ve never read Burroughs (even more so if your squeamish – Naked Lunch could destroy your fragile sensibilities).

Yesterday was rather fulfilling. I did housework and listened to music. I watched Kenneth Anger and read about Underground film. Then I went to see my friend Jo and we both scraped together enough for a bag of grass. We sat chatting with the dealer, a performing art student with fine dramatic prospects, and listened to Tool. I lent him my Lone Wolf and Cub books and borrowed a few videos, blew two spliffs and were gone. We watched Polanski’s cul-de-sac at Jo’s, finally enabling me to enjoy his work. Before my regard for him was rather low, afterwards really quite high. Sometimes your opinions are out of whack with everyone else’s because your right. Other times it’s just because you haven’t been exposed to enough.

I’m gonna go shower/shave so I have time to go post this at some public net point and pick up some root vegetables for a soup I’m making.

And now I realise, after walking 5 minutes in the direction of town, that it’s bank holiday Monday and nowhere that gives away internet access will be open, let alone the market. After putting myself in the right frame of mind to be productive I’ve had the stool kicked out from underneath me. A little death. Guess I’ll just have to smoke weed, read, and watch films. It sure is a hard knock life.

Except now it's tuesday.