here in crouch end, north london
its midnight on a saturday night and i'm in bed. my right nails are longer than the left, newly cut. i'm newly showered. newly haircutted. ive done the laundry, dishes, shopping here at keith's flat. seen more tv than i have in weeks. seen a good italian youth drama, reminded me of bertolucci's dreamers. i'm hungry but hungover hungry so i can't be bothered to cook more. whir of cars and men's voices outside on the street. north london. fighting. shouting and arguments in foreign accents.
i hate beer. i don't have enough when i want it, and it won't go away if don't want it. every day's an occasion to drink. football. birthday party. finishing job. starting new job. leaving drink. long time no see drink. and i'm starting to get tired of it in my life.
lately ive been trying to record great sentences to start a novel with, but every time i collect one i forget it immediately. so i have a huge collection of great sentences ive forgotten. they're buried in, under and as a result of, purely accidental associations, so its like i'm programmed to naturally forget these crucial threads because they're sandwiched under such blithering piles of other unformed thoughts...
i hate beer. i don't have enough when i want it, and it won't go away if don't want it. every day's an occasion to drink. football. birthday party. finishing job. starting new job. leaving drink. long time no see drink. and i'm starting to get tired of it in my life.
lately ive been trying to record great sentences to start a novel with, but every time i collect one i forget it immediately. so i have a huge collection of great sentences ive forgotten. they're buried in, under and as a result of, purely accidental associations, so its like i'm programmed to naturally forget these crucial threads because they're sandwiched under such blithering piles of other unformed thoughts...