city of the dead

until i came here, i'd only seen real cemeteries in films or books or in photos other people — mostly Europeans and Brits — had taken. so imagine my surprise (as well as the neighborhood's after hearing me scream my fucking head off in delight) when i found a real one (actually a few) within a five-ten minutes' walk from my flat here.


the two pics above are when you're on the walkway in the middle, facing both ends. here's just a taste of what's to come cause i spent hours and hours bopping around taking pics before i found a cool spot under a hugeass tree to read and try to come down.


i'll prolly post the rest once i recover from the lost last weekend when TPFKAPM finally got his ass over to visit. ATM i'm glomming down his leftovers as i type here and it's the only real food most delicious food i've eaten in a long time recently. but do i care? nah... i adore eating tubs of ice cream for breakfast, lunch and dinner when it's Summer. anyhoo, i need the calcium and fat or so they tell me even though i never believe anyone who tells me anything.

hmmpf... this is one of the last photos i took with my Razr before it died last week. i seem to remember wiping the drool off it after each and every pic i took. hmmpf... that could actually be why it died. uh... my bad.


in other news, i don't have the words to express how fucking envious i am cause when we used to take acid and trip in NYC graveyards, we were forced to do so in like granite cities after climbing ten-foot high barbed-wire protected fences enclosing millions of headstones that were literally on top of each other, making the hallucinations all crowded and shit. and the ghosts were totally pissed that there wasn't much room to really freak us out. which's why we spent so many nights sneaking into cemeteries and dropping acid there in the first place. sump'n should totally be done about that cause i missed out on some really great stuff, dammit. we all did, actually. it's sad.

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fuck-ups — a series. maybe.

editor's note: i shall surely be changing shit editing my ass off here once the drugs take effect and i remember salient details i've purposely somehow failed to mention. just a friendly warning so keep watching this space. or don't. *shrugs* and now, onto some-a my fuck-ups, all in the interests of wasting time Denial:

how badly have i truly fucked up? lemme count the ways... no, not just now but throughout my life but shit, no damn way can i count that high; it'd take way too long and be boring as hell so i'm gonna do one fuck-up atta time, y'know? OK, *cough* here's an unhelpful hint — one might call it 'cryptic' — in the guise of this image:


if i find the stamina balls nerve or whatever, i'll be continuing this, actually making a series of sorts; a series of my lifelong fuck-ups. but as for now, this is it (enough to remind me of that which i don't wanna know but for the sake of what might remain of my sanity, i can't afford to forget). cause, y'know — y'never; i mean, i'll never know when i might need these reminders in future in an 'it's all about ME' kinda way. :-)

but let's get back to that word 'cryptic' a few 'graphs up: i know this dude (and y'all know him too) who's actually argued with me about that , tryna convince me i'm doin usin it wrawng and should be saying 'esoteric' instead. *snigger* but outta respect wait... Can't. Quit. LMAO. At That 'Outta Respect' Crapola i'm not naming names (although i'm fucking dying to). what makes it truly teh funny is he's totally convinced he's always right. and when i say 'always', i mean always. *snigger* moron!

hang on, i shouldn't really be posting this even though it's a major-league fuck-up but in the interests of honesty (sump'n i wouldn't know if it bit me on the ass), this is a variation of how i go out in somewhat butch-mode whenever i decide to frequent gay pubs.


onto yet another fuck-up: this next should speak for itself. what the HELL was i thinking? *sigh* i'm SO ashamed! *whispers* nah, rilly — i am. :-(


last one for now (taken in my Blonde phase) *smirk*, a time in which i got to learn firsthand that yup, Blondes have more fun (see link for Darwin's take on that shit).


oooh, *lightbulb on* i can do my very own alphabet. *preens* notice me clumsily change the subject but where to begin? OK, 'A is for Arrogance'. no, wait: 'A is for Asswipe Asperger's'. use it in a sentence for clarity's sake? sure, why not?: 'A is for all the arrogant assholes i've had the misfortune to know especially those in bands apart from those kindred spirits who enjoy their Asperger's'. christ on a dildo, that so failed to make sense but now on to the Bs. 'B is for Ballbreaker' frequently defined by those having a penis as those having vaginas, all of whom, thanks to their quick wit, totally shame whichever dude's given offence. no wait; 'B is for Bitch Butch'. ahhhh, thass better. :-)

whoa, please notice how i deftly turned the focus of this post from the beginnings of a series of my personal fuck-ups to a semblance of some bullshit alphabet made up on the spot so thank you, ADD. hey! look over there: it's Hunter and his face's all blurry cause he actually had the audacity to move when he saw my camera-phone in hand. bad, bad kitty!


ps, another fuck-up depending on how one might see it: 'You quit doing heroin, you pussy!' (with thanks to TPFKAPM and Anal Cunt). :-)

BTW, if anyone can make sense of any of the above, seek psychiatric help and fast yer a better man than i am. just sayin'. and with the sun setting majestically into the West my self-imposed daily quota outta the way for the nonce, it's time to practise my seriousity writty pass out again, so hoorah!

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♥ Dave & Miriam ♥ forEVar

editor's note: alternative title is more accurately: 'better late than never'. anyway, the very best of luck and love to Mr and Mrs Electric Landlady Mr and Mrs DaveG73. the lovely photo above as well as the last, way down below, were taken in Nottingham, 29. may so i'm like totally late for a change. please notice that all members of the wedding party were in their Doc Martens, sump'n like a prerequisite for snagging one of their exclusive invites. the Double-Decker bus has a rather special personal meaning as we all know — we all from the old FreeA3.com — and especially as far as Dave's concerned but we won't go there now. :-)

a bit of history: Dave is amongst the group of my Very Bestest Friends, those whom i met on the first day of my first trip to England, lo these many years ago. within a few minutes of our first meeting, he gifted us with this lovely collector's item:


and what a surprise it was cause being crass crude Americans, having neither good manners nor good taste, we arrived totally emptyhanded but that was more than seven years ago and by now, one would hope everyone's forgotten 'everyone' being the rest of the fifteen or twenty we first met that day, most of whom brought us fantastic presents and shit whilst we had nothing to give em but the faded glories of our own bad selves.

the thing of it is, over the years, Dave and i remained very close — one might say 'intimate' but without the sexual connotations — until the night (i believe it was in Islington) he and EL first met up, a night that shall live on forever in infamy i shall never forget cause up till then, he was a rather frequent and always welcome visitor here at Hotel Hunter but afterwards, i've considered myself lucky to even see his ass be it alone or with her. i mean, damn, there's a very good reason she's known as SWMBO but i ain't gonna elaborate (and you can thank me later, Daaaaaave). ;-)

moving right along, things have changed for the betterer and not just cause Dave and EL are no longer living in sin. this next photo was taken that first day we all met, back in 2003 in Manchester. amongst other things, it documents Dave's charming social skilz, demonstrating not only his conversational eloquence but proving without a doubt that he's always the life of any party:


the pic was taken by ChrisM who called it 'Gone' and it's the third of an hilarious series, the first two of which are both titled 'Going' and 'Going...' but outta respect i won't post those somehow i can't seem to find em anywhere which's totally an outright lie. anyway, yup — things're much better since he and EL hooked up: here's Dave awake and aware and Miriam at that huge anti-war demo a few Winters back:



more photographic memories: Dave took this next of EL Miriam and me in the lobby of the Astoria in London after a typically wild Alabama 3 show. always the most sensitive of souls, he titled it 'Edited for my safety' (and very considerately and wisely covered our faces with that PhotoShopped sign). good doggie boy, Dave! :-)


i know i'm really lucky to have such lovely, generous and thoughtful friends. here're Dave, EL and Lazybones Darren at Trowbridge Festie a few Summers back, showing exactly how much they all missed me:


finally, here're Electric Landlady's Mrs G73's Post-Wedding Words Of Wisdom that just might return to haunt her some day:

'It wasn't the ass-fucking, it was the technology'. no wait, i'm getting my words of wisdom or whatever totally all confused; that sentiment shockingly came outta her face one fine evening whilst drunkenly chatting in The Old Purple Tin. oh wow, i really miss that place; i so loved to attention-whore in real time with all our friends, especially in fronta Alabama 3 noobs more than half of whom never came back, i guess cause they were appalled by our behaviour. what was really great: it was almost like a guaranteed given that at least once a week, EL would come out with the most *wack* shit (e.g., first sentence of this very 'graph), made even more so cause she looks like such a sweet little grrl. *admiring* wait — i went off again so blame the ADD, not me. um... i torry. *snigger*

OK, these next were Miriam's post-wedding words the silly grrl: 'It was soooooooo good to finally get hitched...'


Dave and Miriam, i love you, dudes. :-)

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scene in Clifton Wood II

editor's note on 13. july @21,48: *snigger* thanks to Leisl who inadvertently hipped me to sump'n totally unrelated below, i made a few changes having to do with the suicidal infant. *cough* This Is Not A Threat, It's A Promise.

editor's note on 11. july @10,39: i totally forgot to mention the added baby-gun photo which i finally did just now as well as thanked the dude responsible for it below... Brian. *smirk*

editor's note on 10. july @12,21: this is about the most convoluted, confusing piecashit garbage writty i've ever committed to pixels or whatever so let that be a warning to youse to read at yer own risk. OK, before i begin tawkin about my total enjoyment — wait, hah! that's about the limit of any Brit-imitations i can muster: a poor mockery (and with me, there's no other kind) of an originally feeble attempt to be all understated and shit and believe you me, it don't come easy. anyway, it occurred to stick this particular bit at the start of this my next journal entry or post or whatever these are.

mostly cause y'know, after the stained glass window that follows — the ones i've seen for weeks but one wouldn't know it cause they totally didn't gimme any 'a-HA!' moments and the self-satisfied haughty superiority that inevitably follows when others are around until those poor 'a-HA!' realisations finally penetrated through the drugs-induced haze in and outta which i've been drifting these days — wait... haze? days? hey, i maded a rhyme! lost my train of um... thought (?) yeah, thought. but HA-ha! no i didn't rilly lose any train of thought or whatever; i fucking lied and as usual, everyone believes my lame ass.

OK, in re: the top editor's note way above: last night when i added this next image, i failed to elaborate or whatever. ATM, it's called This Is Not A Threat — It's A Promise but that could change whenever the drugs mood strikes. and dunno about you but IMO, it says it ALL. anyway, thanks to Brian/Psympleton for sending it to me lo so many years ago, but damn — the years have not been kind — if i started on that shit again, i'd never STFU, so let's move on. but not before this (which's totally not a threat — it's a promise):


do i have to go 'HINT!?!' huh? do i? anyhoo, continuing from before, yeah, as i tried to say, i lost my train of thought (but doesn't that indicate that i like, actually entertain thoughts in the first place? nah? Ja?) rather, i mean, I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT I'M TRYNA SAY and i ain't tryna be all cute and shit for once. what's more, i'm totally done with the 'thinking' stuff; it's like i give up and it's about damn time already. back to my original theme, the thing of it is, when it first occurred, i figured sump'n like 'better to stick this into whatever i'm tryna write ASAP before i forget about it again'.


so OK, without further explanation cause i don't wanna, i'm gonna go 'thanks to an early birthday present which unexpectedly and shockingly came from the most unbelievable source, those whom, in future might actually see me in meatspace will no longer be given nightmares by my naturally ageing physicality' as has been the case since i totally began to lose the looks i never had get visibly older finally grow the fuck up. the thing of it is, if i take up my benefactor's most generous offer, no longer will anyone be visited by those unspeakable horrors resulting from the sight of yours truly ageing naturally. *shudder* and now...


BOO! did i skeer yiz? i sure as hell hope so but hmmpf, now if we were in Europe... *sigh* rather, if we were born here and had European or (as the Americans laughingly say) Old World values, wait — see chicks like Charlotte Rampling and Judi Dench and Vanessa Redgrave; didja ever wonder why actors of that calibre don't give a flying fuck about things like plastic surgery? huh? huh? didja? cause if y'all didn't, maybe you should give it a serious think... y'know, just to see what'd happen. if you actually thought. um... like, shit! Q: where am i at again?


A: dunno bout you but i was just making prank phonecalls, ringing ex-BFs long-fuckin' di$tance, whilst in the throes of many an orgasmic jihad thanks to light brown and sepia-tinted and beautiful Black strangers. :-) to makes things more intristin', i shouted out 'Suf-fer!' 'i'm coming, actually!' in a crap English accent and then, the inevitable 'guess who, dude?' *snigger* no one got it right — SCORE! shit, if i had the brains i was born with before the drugs did their worst, i would've totally remembered to maintain my tradition and charge plenty per minute, but i forgot. :-(

in all seriousity, if we all were born in Europe cue *snotty, snarky, smug* 'IF ONLY!' or at least, if we somehow remained untouched (read: used our critical thinking skilz) by American culture and didn't worship sex and youth above every other goddamned thing... ah, what's the use? fuckin' forget it (mainly cause once again, i totally forgot my own point). i mean, i'm mostly tawkin to Americans here and if i bothered to take the time to explain, just knowing i have to explain in the first place... well, damn, i know i'd totally forget lose my shit and end up in prison for murdering teh stoopit. fun-fact: did you know that more people watched Big Brother than voted in the last presidential election? the one Obama won? true story. :-(

but hey don't think about the implications of that shit, look over there — get a load of the rack on the new weather-girl! yep, that's my country. y'know, they used to go, 'America, love it or leave it' — thing of it is, never in a gazillion years did i ever think that i'd actually leave, so let's move on and fastly. *snigger* :-)

what was i tawkin about before i so rudely interrupted myself? yeah, right: back to the love i have for my country — or was it plastic surgery? or American values or prank phonecalls? or Charlotte Rampling i would so totally do her, in half a fucking NY minute... no, rilly — what was i saying again? shit, even after tryna reread above i haven't a fucking clue what point i was wanting to make. this is not good... i mean, y'know, we're all proud Americans, secure enough to force our shit — as much as we possibly can — onto everyone else in the rest of the world but as for me, thinking along those lines're totally the direction in which madness lies not that i'd ever know the difference cause since my way fabaroo bullshitting skillz've been honed to perfection over my lifetime (and not for purposes of deceit but for reasons of self-preservation) nobody ever gave a shit what was in my head or came outta my wordhole especially after i turned 70, but hey, your my their loss, so suck it up, people — nyah.

hmmpf... i know i had a point somewhere but then i got diverted cause i didn't wanna just forge ahead and say sump'n i might regret oh god, please don't make me reread upwards cause knowing me, sump'n'll set me off again and then i'll be sorry cause i won't be able to STFU and then i'll be running off at the mouth again on yet another nonsensical tangent with dozens of sideroads and ADD-shit, stuff i'll be sure to regret. oh wait... i think i remember sump'n dear lord, please spare me and anyone else who's made it down thus far; i'll be good. i promise.


not only did i vomit all over three stalls in the Ladies' in this hugeass venue in Manchester waiting to get into the Afterparty for United Against Racism, but i did so in glorious technicolor and i ruined it for everybody cause that was it for any more of my shenanigans that night. what did i used to say? right: '1, 2, 3 — Poor Chris!'

but whoa — i think i remember what i started out wanting to post: so the other day i'm at my GP's over at Pembroke Road Surgery, killing time like, when i was told i hadda wait for sump'n or another (results? don't remember and wouldn't care anyway) and that's when i first noticed the stained glass windows in the entrance hall. now, in all the weeks i've ever been there, these are sump'n i've breezed past so many times, it's pathetic, never really seeing em or seeing much of anything as i'm always pretty much ripped offa my face and that's the way it should be. but oddly enough, the other day i actually noticed, admired and started freaking out whilst thinking 'again? it's like nobody thinks this's special apart from me — WTF and WHY?'

but as usual, i don't expect answers to those questions — not EV-ar — so here's the outside of my GP's with the hintiest of stained glass glimpses, a place i ran by dozens of times but never noticed anything that tickled my aesthetic quotient before. fuck, i'm SO ashamed. :-(


in the interests of time constraints and my own habits cultivated over a lazyass lifetime, i shall leave off any descriptors and shit and just post the bestest photos i managed (no small feat) cause i just know that if i live i'm able to stick around, i'm gonna wanna be reminded of this shit, that things like 'stained glass' are common fixtures in all kindsa dwellings here in England and along with so many other mundane details, totally thought of as boring, every-day givens having absolutely nothing special of note and as such, i should STFU and maybe people'll quit staring and thinking i'm mad.

hmmpf... there's a fine line between my (let's call it) 'enthusiasm' and others going way overboard verbally and truth be told, i haven't mastered that shit and neither do i wanna nor do i intend to but hey, all in good time. *smirk* i so dig adding 'all in good time' cause in my vasty experience, it seems to give people hope, the hope that things'll change in future, change for the better but little do they know. *giggle*


oh god, Oh God, OH GOD... i'm coming, actually nobody looks twice at this window; i know cause as i took what seemed to be multitudes of pics, i watched each dude bop in, watched his or her eyes and they were all like 'no biggie' but simultaneously, stared at me strangely, i guess cause i had my camera-phone out and kept continuously clicking away. i assume this is cause they're all natives and used to seeing shit like this, but i can't be sure. i mean, these people couldn't be that blase' about every-day things like this, could they? cause damn, they sure act so fucking cool and unperturbed, whilst all the while i'm totally freaking and acting like England's most uncool tourist. which i totally am *wack* and the thing of it is: I. Don't. Care. :-)



i can't stand it — like, really. i mean, tawk about taking shit for granted and all but who am i to complain? no one but that shit never stopped me.


mother-FUCKer! — i'm so totally gobsmacked that there're shitloads of details in this one hugeass window and it kills me that nobody gives a shit it a second look (or a first, actually).


at this point — after i'd taken upwards of fifty pics — the nurse had already called my name (twice — i ignored her the first time, pretending i didn't hear). after the second time, i actually went 'wait — i'm not done'. being all Brit, she smiled indulgently mockingly? pretty much impatiently (or at least, that's how i read her). *shrugs*


y'know, i could look at this window all day long and never get tired of doing so. *whispers* in related news, my knickers are getting all moisty again.


hmmpf... i wonder if there's an as-yet undiscovered mental, emotional or spiritual disease that some — but not all — Americans suffer, people who've always suspected — nay, assumed — they were missing out on sump'n crucial in their lives but had no actual evidence as to what they believe they were lacking. these'd be people who're historically, culturally, spiritually, intellectually and/or aesthetically starved to the point at which it pretty much physically hurts* whenever they actually get to see or be near stuff in meatspace about which they've only read or spotted in old films or whatever. *sigh*

*in my own case Q: i mean, who gives a shit about anyone else? A: 'not i', said the Little Tiger-Striped Kit-ty, whilst i never experienced physical pain when seeing these things in meatspace, they're i was always filled with an overbearing sense of dread and a hopeless longing like i'd felt so many times before i came to live here and see for myself. hah! i remember my first day in Germany when spotting this centuries' old fountain in the middle of one of Bonn's narrow cobblestone'd streets. i could've just cried, seeing that shit and in all actuallity, i think i did.

but hey, y'know? fuck it — the thing of it is, i always knew that was me, even when i was a little kid and fell in love with the entire idea of Living in Europe (in general) and Living in the UK (in particular), all thanks to my love for escaping boring American reality voracious, unstoppable reading and what made it worse, when i was at Uni (the first time) and my wealthy friends returned from their Summer hols in EU, i hadda hear em go, 'You owe it to yourself to live there...' well, that shit didn't help me any (cause i totally knew it already).

moving right along, check the next pic: it's the original *gasp!* tilework from at least two centuries ago and i found it in the loo in a pub near Victoria Station in London so whenever i'm in town, i go up there anyway even if i don't need to pee. y'know, just to drool see. yeah, Just To See.


one day, i was all agog and forgot to shut the door and this cleaning person barged in on me and i was all 'i'm sorry' and she was all weirded out cause i was like standing there, just staring at the tiles on the walls and shit with my camera-phone in my hand but enough about that — OK, last pic of the stained glass window. i pwomise. no, rilly i do.


right, at the point at which i took the photo directly above, i could no longer put off my appointment so i made up some bullshit, yes'd Doctor to death as fast as i could, then returned ASAP so i could continue photographing stained glass but there were a group of kids seated in my way on the bench below the bottom of the window on purpose? and that put 'paid' to any further plans i had to take more pictures of the myriad of details i hadn't had the time to capture before i was so rudely called into my GP's office.

hmmpf... i had yet another point but now it's long gone. i think i remember it was a continuation of the other day's; sump'n about things that're 'givens' in general and stained glass in particular cause never have i seen so much great shit treated so matter-of-factly. damn, in the old days when i had a real memory, i'd have gone 'it'll come to me' but now i know better so i won't even bother. the fact that this is fucking killing me, that i forgot the goddamned punchline is driving me crazy but hey, nothing i can do about it (apart from taking it out on myself, as always).

hmmm, good thing i'm not a 'cutter'. y'know, if i knew exactly who was reading here, i'd write the foregoing sans the strike-outs and then write ROTFLMFAO! like i just did before i struck it out cause i think that shit's hilarious but i don't wanna hurt anyone's feelings or make anyone feel worser i.e., those who're actually cutters. hey, sorry, but i've splained this like hundreds of times though not lately: my lifelong thing about humour's always been 'nothing's sacred' including when i'm dissing myself, y'know? especially when i'm dissing myself.

mother-FUCKer — this is so not the way i wanted to post this shit, but-but-but... but hey, y'know sump'n? fuck off, why don'tcha? — let's see you do any goddamned betterer. i mean, i put my rep on the line whenever i write here, y'know? bloody fucking hell, and now i'm in an even fouler mood than before — YOU did this to me, goddammit — you absolute and totally useless FUCKS...

*snigger* wait, i just remembered sump'n so thank you, ADD: 'Look what you're making me do!' *in a Tony Soprano voice* that as he's beating the living shit outta whichever degenerate gambler. *smirk* i love the way they blame everyone else for when they get all violent and stabby and shit. *giggle*

but damn, i just remembered the pathetic life i've led solely due to being born on the wrong continent, on the wrong side of the Atlantic and whoa, it's like one of the major tragedies of my miserable existence. fuuuuck... and thinking of that again, whoa — what i wouldn't give for a coupla bags of dope at this point. or a Dilaudid. or even a Percodan — i'd even accept that 'hillbilly heroin' shit even though Rush Limbaugh totally gave it a bad name, the hypocrite paedophiliac still-closeted self-hating gay-boy.

wait — here's a fun-fact: Did You Know? Rush Limbaugh's been like the guest of honour on so many sex-tours of the Dominican Republic's underaged boys so many times for so many years, it's pretty much uncountable at this point in time. and always with his illegally-obtained Viagra scrips (he got his fuckin' maid to score for his lame ass!) and funnily enough, always sex-touring without his wife. *cough*

but enough with that for now and back to more pleasant things set off by my recollection of dope above: all i can think of now say is, 'mmmm, morphine derivatives...' *in a Homer voice* 'ghlurghll drooollll...'

HA-ha — joke! and just like i posted at bottom of my FAQs:


ps, suck it up, loooo-zers — kid-ding! ;-) note to self: shit! now that i'm back, i totally hafta fuck with my FAQs, update em and stuff, goddammit to hell.

Q: 'Why, oh why do i do this to myself?' / A: 'The name of the game is Self-Sabotage, stoopit'. / Q: 'Oh'. :-(

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scene in Clifton Wood

editor's note @21,30: i dashed this off a few hours ago after i got stoned and once again, hit 'publish' by mistake so it's out there now but there's more important stuff: today i accidentally invented this great new combination of relaxing shit, you mix up 10 mgs. ground-up Valium, a quarter grain of Nepalese hash, a half dose of MDMA and you wash it down with Vodka — hang on, i got a little ahead of myself... uh, what was i saying? before i went off?

right, the thing of it is, i'm totally not gonna change any shit here cause i've actually got better things to do tonight so if i don't make sense later or if i come off as not only *wack* a trifle too imaginative and maybe criminally insane a bit odd, well... *shrugs* i don't know... do whatcha wanna, y'know? but in all fairness, remember: i love to tend to get really stabby when i don't get my way i'm happy.

hmmpf... once upon a time i was forbidden all pointy objects (if y'all need proof of this, ask Chris. or my mother), but now, for the first time EV-ar, no one's present to enforce this moronacy. LOL, you should see my collection! in fact, i'm planning on insisting people see it cause i really want yiz to but later for that. *evil* anyhoo, this's from before:

they say 'normal' is a state of mind but i wouldn't know cause i've never had anything with which to compare it and as i've said so many times before, to Brits, this — having this kinda shit in their 'hoods, totally untouched by human hands and left to grow however — is their 'normal'. amazing to a lifelong NY-er like me, y'know? the thing of it is, i see sump'n i dig and then spend like shitloads of time taking pics from every which angle and when i finally come up for air, i'm gobsmacked when i notice whatever small crowd. the braver ones'll ask me 'What's so interesting?' but ages ago, i learnt not to bother tryna splain em cause i'll go on and On and ON and they still won't geddit. anyway.


too bad Mommy's not here cause in her admiration of same, i'm sure she'd be so impressed and distracted, she'd take yet another 'flop' (her word), hopefully possibly The Flop To End All Flops but hey, i totally didn't say that, no way, no how, not EV-ar. i mean, what kinda grrl d'ya think i am? anyway, let's get back to what's normal here: ooh! pret-ty flowers! freely growing all the fuck over stone walls, slate sidewalks, hanging gardens and shit; they're like givens, FFS! and they look at ME like they think i'm crazy — tsk!


fun-fact/Did You Know? way back when in the late 1980s, the PTB in Manhattan attempted to dress up the median strip running down Park Avenue one Summer, most likely for the benefit of the tourists cause believe you me, no NYC government fucks have ever added to the City's aesthetics for just us natural-born and bred losers. i remember this well cause when i emerged from the hell of Grand Central Station on a typically 95-degree morning, i gasped in delighted surprise, seeing that shit.

fast forward to the very next day when i looked forward to once again seeing the pret-ty flowers on the median but it wasn't to be — cause they were allllll gone — totally stolen the night before by persons unknown who were never caught. which is prolly at least partly why i get such a kick i can haz Stendahl Syndrome? seeing flowers and natural-born greenery and shit left to grow unimpeded — as they should be.


although i was never a flower-loving grrl (UGH! just like i never had any dolls, i always termed em too goody two-shoes, dainty and frilley girly-girly), i find myself flipping out near-happily every damn time i see this floral normalcy displayed all the fuck over. or maybe it's cause i'm old? aren't old ladies supposed to dig flowers and shit? fuck that! dunno, don't care. but lemme tell yuh, if yiz ever catch me wearing pastels (or ANYthing with a flowers-motif), you can betcha fucking ass, i've lost it. i mean, worserer than now. y'know and if y'don't, don'tcha bother fucking asking cause i'm like a cunt-hair away from descending back down to my own brand of 'normal' — my typically really bad mood.


OK, next up is one of the many sensuous stone walls i'm so gonna fuck have sex with make love to as soon as i figure out logistics. Totally. Not. Kidding.


here's another, both taken within twenty metres of each other. um, let's move on and quickly.


last but not least, i left a lit-tle 'present' (let's call it) within the greenery below. i'm totally not gonna go 'can you find it?' cause that'd be a fruitless endeavor but believe you me, they're not gonna forget me for a long, long time to come. :-)


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reality: my own private hell

thanks for the sentiment and image, Trollcats d00ds. damn, my life and writty would be so fucking boring if there weren't sites like Trollcats from which to steal ideas and shit. but this post's supposed to begin with a note to sel- wait, was anyone else awake to see the Sun come up this morning?


once the damn thing shone straight in horizontally, instantly heating up the LR and kitchen like it does every day, i'm forced to strip down, shirtless and trousersless, due to my way-too-sensitive Comfort Zone which has the vasty range of only two degrees Fahrenheit, not Celsius, and that makes it worserer. *wack* and then, there's my generally arrogant impatient demeanor which any temperature change immediately enhances, but hey, not my fault — blame my totally favorite role model, Mrs Danvers, '...one of literature's most infamous female villains...' *sigh* true story: she and Iron Mommy taught me everything i know about being a cunt and at such a young age — amazing. fun-fact: it was thanks to the bothuv em i learnt the meaning of 'precocious' before i was like eight, but hey :-)


anyway, just like every AM, Hunter was all happy cause in his new-found demonstrations of loving kindness towards me, he seems to dig licking my tits as, shirtless, i bend over him to swap spit, another thing he likes. this — the tit-licking — is an improvement over his prior behaviour cause apart from like over three years of me walking around with bloody gashes all over my upper bod, arms and feet, he used to dig sucking on my silver cross, the one i always wear, with the skull centred on. since my pics came out like shit and Google didn't help, this is the closest to it i could find that basically resembles the one i'm wearing, what Hunter used to love sucking on. before the tits.

it's sterling but doesn't look it above and i got it for Chris when last i was in Germany collecting the final three months' worth of methadone from Dr Pieper doing my annual Christmas shopping at the glorious Weinachtsmarkt in Bonn. however, above pic shows a much heavier, more masculine cross and after a year or so, Chris admitted he felt gay funny wearing it so it's totally mine now. your loss, d00d! *all shrieky*

back to the Sunrise this morning, i was glued to the wrought-iron railings on the balcony, gazing down whilst tryna determine exactly how much time i'd have if i leapt off to regret the error of my ways before deciding i'd fucked up royally but enough about that cause it's one of the many fantasies i entertain whilst i worship Ra first thing after i come to every day.

OK, before i got waylaid a coupla 'graphs ago, i went 'this post was supposed to begin with a note to self, so, OK: *cough* Note To Self: this next is a bit of this poem i've been tryna write for what seems to be ages. it was started on my iPod like late last month, whilst i reclined, drunk totally wasted on the sofa. hmmpf... i think i wrote it the day i decided to take a bit of everything i had left in the flat and then take notes for as long as i could see, recording the times and my reactions and stuff. y'know for Science, so others won't have to in the case they find emselves with the same disparate combination of extra-legals as i had here that day and they're curious to discover what'd happen if they took it all but whatever.

just to Make Sure, after i wrote The Line in question, i copied it over to my Drafts here at my desk. and since my memory's teh suckiest of suck, i even sent it to myself in emails from my iPod, both to my secondary Y! addy the one i give to people i don't really like and to my reg'lar mail (at) rimone (dot) org. but *sigh* the thing of it is, not an hour after opening both mails, marking em each 'unread' (in order to draw my attention at some time in the as yet undetermined future) and even filing copies away not only to my Journal file, my Writty file and the one i laughingly titled Poetry way back when in 1997, i immediately forgot about em. rather, immediately forgot about 'it' — the damn line i wanna work into my next poem-to-be.


paging Jeffrey Zeldman — yup dude, i'm about to take your advice to 'kill your darlings' mostly cause i'm a lazy fuck and this shit's turning into much too much like real work and more important than that, it's totally cutting into my Getting Baked time. shit, i mean, rilly! priorities — i haz em. but be that as it may, for whatever *wack* reason, i'm still totally drawn to the damn line, goddammit to hell.

and one guess why: a) cause it's way so descriptive of yours truly and the pallid imitation that passes for my life; b) cause it's terribly personal and we all know how i love to spill just for the pity and the attention; c) cause it's totally true as well as d) it — scuse the damn hackney'd phrase — fits me to a 'T'. and so i'm posting it here in the hopes i'll be reminded to try and finish the fucking poem or at least expand upon the thought.

on the other hand, maybe if i read the damn thing enough, i'll see it for what it truly is: a totally self-indulgent piecashit throwaway line that any third-grader would be too ashamed to include in her damn book report, even if the bar were set so low, it was totally My Pet Goat again. and if that shit ever goes down, maybe, just maybe, i'll quit tryna fool myself into believing i've actually got a talent for writty. that, or trash the line and what's left of the poem, whichever's easiest. hey, would you mind putting that straw down and fucking pay attention to what i'm saying?


shit, after that hugeass build-up, i can just hear yiz thinking 'This better be good!' *mirthless laughter* sorry to get yer hopes up, but it ain't; it's just a thought, one of the oh-too-many-on-a-daily-basis that pop into my head without a speck of warning and in neither any logical nor linear progression. anyway, without further time-and-space wasting ado, here it IS. :-)

FUCK! no, wait — i totally forgot to add the prologue or whatever, one which should be self-explanatory without indulging in any goddamned, very much-hated spoon-feeding of information for those too lazy to think and who somehow accidentally landed on this very page so get offa my lawn, goddammit. whoops — sorr-reeee! *cough* on to a bit of background info and then, the seriousity:

Solipsism: '...the philosophical idea that only one's own mind is sure to exist. Solipsism, often considered a variety of idealism, is an epistemological or ontological position that knowledge of anything outside one's own specific mind is unjustified. The external world and other minds cannot be known and might not exist...'

hah! that pretty much always described my reality, y'know? and very unfortunately throughout my life, that word has always set me off (and not in a good way) so i'll leave it up to youse and won't even attempt to color your opinions. OK, quick-quiz: which is real? choose only one:




right, almost forgot: please ignore the bruised remains on R-side of my face. i suffered em when i walked into a lamp post on the Thames the night before the middle pic was taken and the less said about that shit, the better. OK, back to the original reason i began this here post, so here's the line that popped into my head, totally unbidden and frustratingly taunting me cause though i wanna use it in a poem or sump'n, i've so far failed:

'Reality is a nightmare from which i can't wake up'.

*ducks* hey, i'm sorry — really! but yeah, after all that bullshit build-up, i'd be like totally pissed off disappointed as well, so sue my fat ass. *shrugs* in truth, at one point i added 'it's the Rimone flavour of hell but as per usual, your mileage may vary'. hmmm... it was one of my heroes, Philip K Dick, who so succinctly said, 'Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away'. damn, don't i know it. *weeps* and then, there's this from John Lennon: 'Reality leaves a lot to the imagination'. finally, here's TS Eliot, my Fave Poet EVar: 'Humankind cannot bear very much reality'.

damn, don't i fucking know it, dude. and then there's one of my oldest fave mottos: 'Reality is for people who can't handle drugs'. yup, truer words an' all, especially since i'm a fervent proponent since like 'Nam. but wait — i almost forgot this, one of my fave demotivational posters. why? one fucking guess. (unhelpful hint: starts with 'D'. not 'death', 'drugs', 'dope', 'destruction', 'desire' or 'dream' and totally not 'despair' but close. and no, not 'Delirium', I WISH.)


moving right along, and despite not being able to use my line which started me off on the tedious road to writing this shit in any acceptable manner, i'm totally giving myself the Last Word — as it should be.


hmmpf... in other news, dunno where this next bit came from but it just occurred like two seconds ago: i wish i could say 'all's right with the world' but it ain't. and if y'all think it is, not only am i convinced yer all brain-dead but, being so, i'd be pleased to offer myself up to you in whatever mode you might care to have me, for the sole reason being some of your amazingly moronic positivity might wear off on me like via osmosis or sump'n and i can practise my long-lost but never forgotten sticky-finger'd ski£z. so here i be if the price is right, of course.

hmmpf... y'hafta ask me why? damn, haven't yiz been paying attention? cause only filthy lucre and the powerful narcotics i want — nay, need — to buy would delude me into thinking things're fine — 'all's right with the world' — so hey, think about it; i promise you, you totally won't be disappointed. :-)


oh wow, cranial connections are such weirdass things. i was just about to click on 'Publish' *smirk* who are they kidding? when for some strange reason, i thought it a brilliant idea to once again show the two fave photos i've taken of D Wayne Jake. this one was taken early one morning at Jamm and part of my vasty collection of Alabama 3 dudes giving me the finger:


and this one's my total fave, taken a week or two later, up at Chris' flat in Brixton the night we all tawked films and coke and Brompton's Cocktails and shit and laughed our asses off for hours and hours. *smirk* ah... good times, good times. :-)


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