SpiderWebbed - 02/21 November 2003 / part 3
The Circus. The Circumference. The Rubber Zoo. Oh yes yes. It's 5a.m. Sat. and I've just got in, my head is floating around all over the place, I can hardly write. Blue. Red. Green. yellow. Blue. Sat. 5p.m. - just repeated the same combination as yesterday except I had two big dabs, so billy is taking longer to come on. Hoping to see charlie at xmas. Big lump of Bob sat in front of me. The medication takes 2-4 weeks to kick in, when I took 'em 6 months ago I was really bad, engaged on an intense life or death struggle, they took a couple of months to start working and the side-effects were a lot worse and lasted a lot longer. I've got quite a bad tremor but nothing like last time, I could barely roll a cig first thing in the morning and only then with the most intense concentration of formidable willpower.
My mate is creating quite a legend about me and among the things I've done are:- being a hit-man and gangster, I used to nail peoples hands to the floor in laundrettes in Hull, and put a bloke in a spin-dryer but couldn't get him in so I had to break his legs. He got Wobbly Bob really scared about me one night and kept saying "He's ok mate, until he starts laughing." Bob's companion sussed straight away and had her head turned away from Bob but facing me, she hid her face with her hand and was pissing herself. So everytime Bob looked at me I burst out laughing and my mate kept saying "Don't laugh, don't laugh."
If I'm in the pub and Chalky comes in he goes "Get yer guitar out then." If I get it out and play a slow blues he'll go "I don't like none 'o them slow 'uns," and keeps up a constant banter as you're playing, in fact a few of us are quite adept at throwing in a "Shut up Chalky!" at salient points of a song. I will finish, there will be a bit of applause and Chalky will say "That was fucking rubbish!" Then people will say to me later "Chalky said you were brilliant the other day." His favourite saying is "I'm too classy for this dock-side boozer."
One of our friends was back from working in Saudi, he'd got a load of grief and quit the job. He had a stopover on his flight in Amsterdam and stood there and thought "Ive just had a load of grief, I'm gonna get grief when I get home, I've got 4 grand in the back pocket, fuck it." So he went off into Amsterdam and blew the fucking lot in 4 fucking days, he looked rather haggard when I saw him and he had to borrow the taxi-fare when he got home.
-++- Haggle-waggle. Bloop eater. Blu loo. A skipping contest. The moon shines down on me. And highly intoxicating meat. Out of the owl. Howl. Or elf. Kind tissue. Fore. Chasing billy round the vicinity. Wob wob wob. Wobbly Bob. Sneezy Cheese. Chester's chest. Wheezy fish-cakes. It's his birthday. A trout. Underarm. It's a joke. Vin diablé. Satan's bathchair. There's an imp on your roof-rack. Real.
The spider on my lamp is gone, it's dead I think, it hadn't eaten for a while and started looking a bit transparent and wasn't moving about much. I woke up the other day / afternoon / evening (delete as neccessary) and the spider had gone, never to be seen no more. No more, no more. Never to be seen no more. That little spider was part of my life thru such harrowing times and some euphoric moments and now it's dead and gone. Actually I think it crawled into my mouth in the middle of the night and will live inside me and make me shit spider-babies for the rest of my life and for a long time after I'm dead.
Live-fish. Had a bit of a nightmare time, everything's so unreal and the only thing that's getting me thru it is vodka, hash and sheer fucking bloodymindedness. Therapy and self-help books and medication till it's coming out of my fucking arse, but at the end of the day it's just gonna take a long stretch of time. Sometimes I just feel so shite (most of the time at the moment) and everything is such a fucking struggle and I'm still getting used to being on my own. But I'm not doing very good at it and I'm still trying to find me inside myself and trying to re-discover my dreams, my hopes and my life. Lost soul. Ah. Haven't cleaned the spiders-web away yet, I might leave it to gather dust as a monument. Normally I hate spiders and kill the big 'uns on sight but this one was different and strange too, 'cos Ruth likes spiders...
Things are starting to get out of hand with America, this could be the start of the Third World War and which side are we on, wrong or right, which side are you on? Sex for drugs from her dealer. She didn't care what she had to do. My stone for free. Off the radio. A human foot and a charred pistol amongst the rubble. Clerics and militants. The Archers. Fish diseases. Aqualculture. Blood and bones. Snot and gristle. Throbbing. Fuq nosé. P'raps. Passed out for a few hours with Radio 4 on. Missed 3 calls, 01482 number, was it you? just burned the spiders web. Cremated. Tesselated. Thugs. Rich.
