Monday, 12 October 2009

The Dubious Journal of Jonathan Marks - 12/10/09

The main man, Carver, gazing at me studiously or else accusatory, I cannot tell which. Is the ambiguity of his expression studied? A studied ambiguity?
There was the pale, pasty disco zombie last night, with her cancelled out eyes and minimal, jerky dancing. Her was haunting, kid.
And then my harrowing encounter with the luscious wee lassie. I oozed copious quantities of desperation like an odious ectoplasm. It was disgusting, some real shameful shit.
This morning Joe gave me some tattie scones which I politely accepted despite the fact that I'm no fond of said comestible.
Last night I wore a kilt for the first time ever and performed a handstand in the middle of the road. Puerile asshole that I am.
I was eager to copulate with a luscious young lassie. Walking home from the pub we encountered some teenagers carrying their uncomfortable shoes. I removed my slip-ons and mimicked them in a demonstration of solidarity.
P noticed my 'I <3 New York' badge and wondered where I got it. Intuitively told her my mother gave me it which isn't strictly true.
It is 4:06am and I am wide awake. The two large mugs of tea I just consumed may be a contributing factor to this state of affairs.
I have no money and I like GX-Jupitter Larsen.

Clocks, dogs, the colour grey, electricity
Fridge drones
American horses

People who are exceptionally self-effacing are merely setting a low bar for themselves as a defence. That was today's epiphany.

The puerile, asinine boy had a malevolent grin constantly flickering across his face, eyes that evoked cruelty and mischief.
The phone just rang.
My dad got up to answer it, poked his head thru my door to see what I was doing with the light on at this ungodly hour.
'Ah, writing the novel,' he commented sardonically. I think. It was hard to gauge his tone.
The novel's still a long ways off dad. This is merely the dubious journal.
My parents are discussing my habit of staying up late writing and sleeping all day. An unpalatable habit it seems they regard it as. Ach well. SORRY FOR BEING SUCH A DISAPPOINTMENT, OKAY! he screamed, his eyes welling up with tears of indignant fury.
I hear me dog grooming itself, making various sounds. Exhaling deeply, it sounds as if he is sighing. Perhaps he is bored or has contracted my insomnia. I wouldn't mind more tea, he whispered meekly. No, that's just self-indulgent, really. I'm no that self-indulgent! Psshhhhhh.
4:24am. I wonder who was on the blower? They hung up after a couple rings. One of my drunken friends more than likely.

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