The guy at my fav caf has started growing a moustache.
Why? Was it something I said? Was it something I did?
Was it something I didn’t say? What?
Why can’t people just leave things the way they are? I was perfectly mildly happyish before, and now my whole world has been thrown into turmoil. I can’t think straight. I just sit here worrying.
For a reasonably long period of time, this was pretty much my only friend:
He used to sit on my window-sill and scrounge buns. I would give him one bun a day, and that seemed like a reasonable arrangement. After a while he took to pecking the glass to get my attention… this wasn’t quite so reasonable because he would dribble and wound up spittling all over the place. Bit of a hassle. Bit messy etc.
Eventually he turned up with a load of his rowdy mates, so I was forced to ward them off with a water pistol… and that was the end of that.
The next year though he was back, and this time had learned not to bring loads of interlopers. One bun a day. Reasonable arrangement.
One day he turned up with a load of cactussy little flower things that he left for me - I planted them and they grew into a fairly big pot-planty thing, so that was cool.
Anyway - Birdy Num Num - named after the one in the Peter Sellers movie. If you see him, say yo.
PS:
After a while I kindof befriended the guy in the video shop as well… well, I used to say “how’s it going” whenever I went in there, which was a couple of days a week. That’s more than I talked to anyone else around that time.
When I left that neighbourhood I thought I’d go and say bye etc… it had be seven years afterall… so I went and rented my last video… and said “This will be the last one, I’m off to New Zealand in a couple of days”…
“Don’t nick it” he said.
And that was that. Birdy Num Num was actually the better friend of the two I think.
An intro : Item 1 :
Item 2 : Stealth Bombers.
These are the sort of planes that good-guys fly :
(from this most excellent site - if you like that sort of thing)
And for a long time, that was the general design direction that our own planes were taking. Recently though, they’ve started looking like this :
Does that look like a good-guy’s plane to you? No. It looks like a Hollywood fantasy from an Evil Empire. It looks like a cylon raider off Battleship Galactica.
And our police have started looking like this :
They’re dressed like the ones in Terry Gillam’s 1984-esque Brazil. They didn’t look like that when I was a kid. They were friendly then. Now they have their faces covered up, and the whole point… is theatre. They’re deliberately trying to look frightening.
The reason I wrote all this of course… the thing that set it off was this :
Which is a new prototype UK fighter pilot helmet… and looks like something that would give Darth Vadar nightmares.
Personally I tend to go for jeans and t-shirt, and I need a haircut - badly… so I’m still a goody. Not sure about these other people though. They worry me. No good can come of dressing up like this. It isn’t healthy - I mean why can’t they just get their kicks by dressing up as women, like normal people?
I don’t have a cave exactly - I’m too transient, but I kindof create one with headphones… headphones are absolutely vital, and the purpose of them… like 80% of the purpose, is to shut out irrelevant information - which tends to be the people around me… which is a terrible thing to say, and I apologise etc - but alas it’s true. At any given time I’ll be multi-tasking about 8 things at the same time - a number of them being raw information feeds. People randomly adding to the mix makes me feel insane. I’m already dangerously over-clocked.
Douglas Coupland describes this very well in JPOD… which is a book I read once - about nerds. He describes how nerds don’t really like being hugged - they don’t experience it as a sensory thing so much as a type of information overload… because they’re all slightly autistic. They’re not terribly keen on being touched at all - hugging them is like yelling into their ears with a loud-haler.
I didn’t used to be like this. I used to live in a squat… and at one point I was living in a transit van. I used to get drunk every single night. My accupuncturist (who lasted all of one session… wtf? No one told me they were going to stick pins in me!) told me that I’ve got a constitution similar to Lemmy’s when it comes to drugs and alchol - and I have. I know, I’ve tried it.
Things used to be different. For a while there I was the regular client of an unbelievably beautiful silver-blonde high-class call-girl from Finland. My finest hour… the pinnacle of my achievements was out under a glittering Australian night on (the balcony of) the Balcony-Suite of the Hyde-Park Hilton in Sydney… completely pissed out of my head, wearing only boxer shorts, listening to christ-knows-what on my laptop via headphones (singing I should expect) throwing ice-cubes at the cars 20 stories below while a $1000 an hour hooker who I couldn’t quite get around to shagging (too busy) lay watching Pirates of the Carribean on TV in the room behind me.
She was a very sexy chick - she was wearing these jeans with slits in them like sharks gills - and before I went outside to throw icecubes at the cars, I spent a happy couple of minutes chasing her about trying to draw on her legs through the slits with a biro.
I was happy then, and now I’m a nerd. What the fuck happened?
I don’t understand it.
Today I found that my favourite cafe has changed all its chairs. They’re now all orange.
Suicide?
Nah. Not really appropriate. I will increase my medication slightly though. Just to be on the safe side etc.
It’s been an on-going calamity at Taylor Towers this evening. The folks have gone down south to buy a car, and have left me to fend for myself etc. There’s nothing to eat… which is to say there are two massive fridges and a (full) walk-in larder etc… loads of stuff that’s probably supposed to be food - but it hasn’t been processed properly. It’s all too complicated. What are you supposed to do? Everything’s in bulk. Nothing’s in the proper packages.
They left me instructions etc but it’s all too confusing and high-tech, and now I’ve set the smoke alarms off and the cat’s done a runner.
So I’m sitting here trying to eat raw pot-noodle - which isn’t as bad as you might think actually.
