I have nothing of interest. Anything interesting was forcibly removed from my body at high speed by all manner of crampings and convulsions. I am almost shiny with absence of interest. Raw, meek and frightened after my ordeal. Any moment now a team of previously invisible holy persons will walk through my walls, wrap me in robes and say I am ready for what lies ahead, this will not be true as I am slightly unsteady on my feet still but I don't suppose they know that. I will of course be surprised at being the chosen one but not a little miffed at being made to vomit and shit all over the place. I see this as an archaic and unnecessary part of the mystical process of which I now belong, historically, as the chosen one.
Spencer popped in this afternoon for a cup of tea which was exceptionally brave of him. I could have been hanging from the rafters ready to vomit and shit all over him the minute he walked in the door considering the last information he had on me was that it was coming out both ends at once. Brave Spencer walked right in through my front door holding aloft a cd and this time it was the rough mix of his new album, not someone who rhymes with Mex Perkins or a band that rhymes with the Trones but Spencer's very own brand new album. It was of course excellent but in my restless listless state I was very disappointed when we got to the end and Spencer promised me outtakes but then could not find them. I am the chosen one and I demand outtakes (and also some assistance with spelling- surely 'outtakes' is incorrect'?).
I am still waiting for the previously invisible holy persons. Sometimes if a person feels raw, meek, frightened and shiny with disinterest the best thing to do is wear silk pyjamas and sit in front of the fire, like Humphrey Bogart.
Spencer popped in this afternoon for a cup of tea which was exceptionally brave of him. I could have been hanging from the rafters ready to vomit and shit all over him the minute he walked in the door considering the last information he had on me was that it was coming out both ends at once. Brave Spencer walked right in through my front door holding aloft a cd and this time it was the rough mix of his new album, not someone who rhymes with Mex Perkins or a band that rhymes with the Trones but Spencer's very own brand new album. It was of course excellent but in my restless listless state I was very disappointed when we got to the end and Spencer promised me outtakes but then could not find them. I am the chosen one and I demand outtakes (and also some assistance with spelling- surely 'outtakes' is incorrect'?).
I am still waiting for the previously invisible holy persons. Sometimes if a person feels raw, meek, frightened and shiny with disinterest the best thing to do is wear silk pyjamas and sit in front of the fire, like Humphrey Bogart.
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