Thursday, 18 February 2010


When I come into the house Niggerlilly gazes at me imploringly, beseechingly.
Her wants me to take her out walking.
I am too lazy or too busy looking at jackets on the internet.

The jovial, mild mannered Canadian that sits across from me got a new i-Mac. (at work I am speaking about now). I plan to write a story about this incident. He carried it back from John Lewis looking harried and weary. He also seemed bewildered as to why the boss had bought him it. I couldn’t help smirking at everyone in the office. I observe everyone. But I am too quiet. They single out quiet people.
I drank too much at the weekend. I got drunk last night. Today is Friday. I feel good.

I left work at 8pm tonight. I immediately caught a bus.
I want to buy a saxophone. And a drum machine.

I’ve just added another (albeit small) section to the novella I’m working on. It’s entitled the Sad Tale of Stevie and Niggerlilly. Yes, I may change the title. Writing is really difficult. It is such an ineffable art. Good writing is like observing smoke slowly curling on a winter’s morning. Or a hypnotic walk through an echoing tunnel.

Earlier I wrote today is Friday. I was mistaken. It is Thursday. I have been confused a lot as of late. Potential side effect of drunkenness. I was supposed to meet with (NAME CENSORED) this week. But I lack enthusiasm to do such a thing. Isn’t that awful! I’ve been meeting (NAME CENSORED) instead who is twelve years my senior. And who lives with her ex boyfriend. I can’t visit when he is around. No, it’s not an ideal state of affairs.

Went out dancing on Saturday night. It was predictably sucky and shitey. (NAME CENSORED)’s cousin and sisters danced around like lobotomised goons. I had to get exceptionally drunk to maintain. Which was frowned upon for some reason? I theorize that everyone was just jealous of the euphoria I was afforded via intoxication. An absurd theory, aye, mibby. But Ahm entitled tae it.
No idea why I lapsed into dialectical Scots there. Mibby cuz I’m extremely bored? Oh aye, that’s probably it.

I had the mother of all nosebleeds on the bus on Monday night. Me hand and face were wet with gore. Everyone studiously avoided looking at me apart from a sweetly concerned teenage lass. Her wanted to take care of me, methinks. Clean me, soothe me. A tender young lass tender in her years with soft thighs shut up shut up shit.

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