Peek-A-Boo Man - 5/10 September 2003 / part 2
When I was talking to Jerry during Folk Week about what he'd eaten, he held up his pint and said "I'm on a vegetarian diet at the moment." We all were and had to wean ourselves back onto solids but the way he likes his steaks is "knock it's 'orns off, wipe it's arse and put it on the plate." Lovely. Louie louie. I never thought it'd come to this baby. Remember the white trousers with the writing up and down 'em and the package of brick, paper and spittle, the paper hieroglyphs of mimicked gladness, the rest a distillate of sadness and madness. Not even told you about the knobhead, well two of 'em, I was gonna smack with the ashtray have I? Won't. That was last weekend and maybe I'll tell you about it or maybe I won't, I don't quite know at the moment. Been some Strange Things Happening and glad it all culminating with me chilling with a big lump of hash 'cos I was scared that it all was gonna crash. FAUST on now, end of Stooges tape. Beautiful cacophany, something off Faust IV-Jennifer.
Don't know if i should go out tonight, acute angles are forming, re-forming, de-forming and informing. I just sneezed four times in Russian, to oblivion. Blow the man down. Skirt. Skate. Hake. Haddock. Cod. Saw the final squad, dark dominoes diving down. Running out of rope, spliced and played the lot. Jeff had a good one for steak too "I'll stick my head up it's arse and eat it from the inside out, I - thank - you." Thats the position you can find the Whistler of Whitby any time of the day or night, with my head up a cow's arse, Listening to 20's / 30's blues. I wish. It's the pen talking now.
These 78's are scratched to fuck but at least someone had the presence of mind to collect them all together, and it's only like listening to an outdoor concert with rain and hailstone. I'm off my trolley and I can't get my muppet to work. This is before I get washed and changed to go out. I can't even fucking stand up. P-A-B Man is stomping around and I dont know what the fuck is going on. Twat. Twat. Twat. I am a twat, a fucking stupid twat and I am sick of coming back here alone and lonely every night. I know I should be getting into me, who and what I am, but I can't, I just can't and it's so sad 'cos if I can't get into me, who the fuck else is going to want to, maybe I'm trying too hard, I don't know but at least I'm trying I suppose. I'm so fucking lonely and it hurts, it's not just sex, it's someone to talk to, someone to hold, someone to touch and be touched by, I'm such a sad cunt and at times like this I get suicidal 'cos I think 'What's the fucking point anymore?' And when I go to sleep later and wake-up even later it's even worse 'cos there's just me and my lonely little room and I think 'fuck it all'. P-A-B Man is cooking again, I know 'cos he's got his extractor fan on.
Ran out of vodka, I think that's why I'm so pissed off, got a smoke, but no woman to talk to, desperately need a woman to talk to. I've got the nonesenseeze sneeze disease blues.
I don't feel in control of me or my life anymore, it's out of control. Who controls the controllers? Am I me? I don't know anymore. Nothing, ziltch. Zero. Who am I? Where am I? And what the fuck am i doing? I don't know where I'm going but I know I've just been and I don't want to go there again. I was totally incapacitated by it and still am, to a much lesser degree thankfully. Images of her still flood my mind and thoughts fill my head but it's a lot better than it was. I'm just so fucking lonely I could die. And as well as being a fucking total head-case I'm an idiot as well apparently, I am an idiot, I must be an idiot. Donkey-coated alsation bites, no thank-you I'm sitting on the first one. Election. Chinese bites your honky-konky flunky from Saigon. Pink items pickled and dunked in the briney. Drunken and dunked, oh. Hey-ho, hey-nonny-no. A donkey clinic in Ethiopia. Donkey medicine. You are the donkey in the donkey's mouth, based on the weight of the donkey infestation. Where's my donkey gone?
Oh fuck me. Serendipity donkey. Feeling blah, blah, blah.....My soul uncoiling, blah blah blah... Pissing on the blimey, stoned, blah blah blah. Throwing a spanner in the works. Spoon it in, are you in yet? Use a shoe horn or buy a tub of 'U Can't Bend It' off Badger. Or yacht varnish but make sure you rub it well under the flange. On an emotional roller coaster, up and down like a yo-yo but more down than up. Need a sodden gussett to suck the nectar, oh. And the next contestant please....sit down.
-Perce D' Lips.
