I take my dog to the park in a pram and I might even send him on to school
So, we won the Xmas themed pub quiz, thanks largely to Richard. There were far too many questions on Bond films, and I was bitterly disappointed that my entirely made-up list of Santa's reindeer failed to convince (I would call a reindeer Gropius). And Sally Field wasn't Mrs Santa Claus. Nor was Christopher Timothy "Santa Who?" Fuckwits.
My principal new year's resolution is to not write about bar maids who I never speak to.
Portugal produces a lot of turkeys.
I often wonder how different my life would be were I one of the people who spoke to other people. Certainly my life might be a little different. I would no longer be so able to write short stories about uncommunicating people in Hertfordshire. I might be happy and well-balanced and able to chat with cute mid-American bar staff. And it's a bit pathetic to claim that I'm suffering in order to produce art for the rest of you. Especially when (a) I produce little art and (b) nobody buys it anyhow. And (c) you all suffer far more than me, gwah ha haha!
Perhaps I should just concentrate my energies on proposing to Gina Birch. Since even more than Patti Smith I love her. "When we die maybe there's just a dull vacuum, a void, nothing at all. When we die maybe there's just nothing." "You know that life's a bitch and then you die. Is there anybody watching us from the sky? I take my dog to the park in a pram... Maybe when he grows up he'll even be a bit of a rebel like me" (I think I've mentioned before that the previous sentence is the sort of thing that makes me fall in love with Gina Birch, who is a million times more rebellious than Che Guevara just by breathing, as well as considerably funnier; of course it might just be my weakness for artschool graduates).
I was trying to work out tonight if I could make a film of Franz Kafka's The Castle. If you have about $500,000 please send. It might be a disaster, but it would be my career that was ruined.
My principal new year's resolution is to not write about bar maids who I never speak to.
Portugal produces a lot of turkeys.
I often wonder how different my life would be were I one of the people who spoke to other people. Certainly my life might be a little different. I would no longer be so able to write short stories about uncommunicating people in Hertfordshire. I might be happy and well-balanced and able to chat with cute mid-American bar staff. And it's a bit pathetic to claim that I'm suffering in order to produce art for the rest of you. Especially when (a) I produce little art and (b) nobody buys it anyhow. And (c) you all suffer far more than me, gwah ha haha!
Perhaps I should just concentrate my energies on proposing to Gina Birch. Since even more than Patti Smith I love her. "When we die maybe there's just a dull vacuum, a void, nothing at all. When we die maybe there's just nothing." "You know that life's a bitch and then you die. Is there anybody watching us from the sky? I take my dog to the park in a pram... Maybe when he grows up he'll even be a bit of a rebel like me" (I think I've mentioned before that the previous sentence is the sort of thing that makes me fall in love with Gina Birch, who is a million times more rebellious than Che Guevara just by breathing, as well as considerably funnier; of course it might just be my weakness for artschool graduates).
I was trying to work out tonight if I could make a film of Franz Kafka's The Castle. If you have about $500,000 please send. It might be a disaster, but it would be my career that was ruined.