الخميس، 27 مارس، 2014

PLEASE please reply!


I went to Brick Lane, this morning, I found it after eating a Turkey and Cranberry sandwich, I sat on the pavement and chewed it groaning...


I have a problem with anything that tastes different, anything spicy or extra sweet, in fact, anything that tastes of something...I gave myself up to eating it, but I had to store the second piece, to have with cappucino, with enough sugar and milk to take the taste away....


Dammit the tea I got later, was Earl Grey!! I had to stave that taste off with two cigarettes in succession, and then I drained the whole cup in one...I was in a 'cool' cafe DAMMIT! I hate anything cool!! I luv it, I lovvve feeling cool, and looking in mirrors more than at women. Bite, bite any women.

Any pretty girls, any gay male couples, anything like your clink clink easy listening dub house chic crap playing in the background, your flyers full of whack whack, white bands with a loser fat middle-aged bass player, in a beret...your damn well-applied graffitti 'paintings' in gallery spaces, your smelly gallery smell, of gay mens feet...the £800 priced pencil drawing copy of a photo next to each other, of distorted unrealistic, 'hobos'...


the big, vintage shops, of over-priced mod military jackets in grey, with BRIGHT YELLOW Hemlines and edging, HSITIT next to cheap crap Pakistani shops selling Leather, things...over-priced Internet Cafes...queers carrying bags of sainsburys shopping into their shared flats together...art school types, art school MIDDLE CLASS DAmit!!


Cools!


I got one one pound book, called Qajar Paintings, that is, DAMMIT, a book full of lovers and dancers, all


looking exactly the same.


Weaing huge birdlike monobrows, a little bit of hair in front of the ears (peculiar to Persians) that curls upwards and long..."Mannie, Mannie, thats mannie...that one her, oh look this couple kissing look the same...me..."


chubby faced puggy black-mono-browed, upper-class freaks...


In the cool caef, which was half, outside?? in a car parking street, sellign beer from fridges at a stall, and upstairs, all in the dark, long leather sofas, and pillows on a bench rolling round a pillar, i dreamt about Persian Royals, I will PAINT, myself in my bandana holding a cigarette, in the manner of Persian Royals...
I storm powered someone I wanted dead. It didn't happen.
I called Allah again.
DICKS, royal DICKS...
He got a divorce and a death at the same time....
DAMIT!! I'm really too...any...
I nearly cried.
I dont know whats next, its not a cool ride. Its full of 'hessians' expecting a ride. Its the death of soul. No-one will suceed. I'm pausing this computer and going out for a cigarette. I'm going to bread, one iced bun, yum. DICKS.

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