Thursday, 23 October 2008

Ma heid wisnae sare anymare but ah felt a wee bit sick. Shouldnae huv taen them painkillers after aw that booze and a near enough empty stomach anaw. I got decisively to ma feet.
"Well, it was nice meeting you... Louise." I waited for a moment. I had the impression she was angry. Why would she be angry?

The streets were glistening, slick with a rain that had thankfully ceased falling.
That lassie, Louise. Nice enough lassie. Seemed a wee bit dim, like. We had aw been at Sear's house. Louise had been regaling us with some mundane anecdote about HMV at Livingston centre. Except she'd meant H & M, no HMV. She'd got the two muddled up. And Sear, he'd said "Aye, wan's only a place that sell's clathes and the other sells CDs and that..." He spoke really slowly with a really exagerrated broad Scottish accent. He was pretty pished. And oor pal Murray says "What's with the accent?" lookin' around at us all, raisin' his eyebrows, all incredulous and amused.

We were all snickerin' at that. I keep thinkin' aboot it, walking doon the street tae work say, and ah chortle tae masel, ah hae a wee chortle.

I was given to the impression that the wee Louise lassie might possibly have a wee fancy for me. Then again, that could be just a figment of ma inherently narcissitic imagination. She wisnae bad lookin', as ah says a wee bit daft though, in both her demeanour and appearance ah mean like her facial expressions and mannerisms etc. Ah dinnae want tae come across as an elitist cunt.
Also, what would a lassie like her see in a dude like me, an eccentric cunt who fancies himself as a writer or artist or some fucking thing, a cunt who is intae like Burroughs and all that bohemian avant-garde pish.

Burroughs was a radge cunt, like. Ah wis intae him in a big way in ma teenage years, read maist of his works including the notoriously avant-garde cut-up novels, where he applied the technique of slicing up the pages of the manuscript anf then reassmbling the pages in such an arbitary fashion that any narrative or semantic cohesion was rednered completely defunct.
Ah wisnae so much inta all they other beatnik cunts. Apart fae a little known fellow by the name of D. A. Levy, a poet fae Cleveland, USA. Cunt wis intae like zen and pish like that and it shows, it definitely shows in his poetry.

Ah play in this noise rock band, we're called Playground Meltdown. Ah play guitar. Noise music. It's like a contemporary equivalent tae the likes of punk and that in the 70s. Punk got co-opted by corporate pimps, real souless faggots. Punk became conservative and staid, pish bands that aw sounded the same.
Same thing's happenin' wi' noise now.

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