In terms of band activity this is a fallow patch. So I have been entertaining myself by staying up late and drinking the booze then going to work. Last night was my first night for a while. And I feel wretched. I have a brute of a hangover and all I want is some curry and a nice cold bottle of beer. And I would like to watch the Magnificent Seven on a big telly. Smoking my pipe. IN MY PANTS!
Now I am pretty sure that everyone who shared in the booze is snuggled up in bed safe and warm right now. Where is the justice in that? Then again I am getting paid to drink tea and have blood-shot eyes. Grand.
Songs songs songs. I am on the verge of finishing the last batch, and it seems to have taken far longer than I thought it would. But the final song, Planet of Groans, is nearly done. So, in order for you to imagine what the songs will sound like before you hear them, a synthetic a priori judgment if you will, I will give you the song titles. If your imagination conjures up the same tunes as I have created then we can suppose that we can have knowledge of things we have never experienced.
Not giving any prizes though.
1. Lucky Shoes
2. Fear of the River
3. All my life I give you nothing and you want more
4. I don't know
5. Slam the Door
6. Grip Grab Grasp
7. Planet of Groans
There you are. Flash ass gas pants.
Up yours.
3 comments:
I wish to complain in the strongest possible sense about the 'frictionless man'. Although I have never actually seen the band or met any of it's members, just the very thought of it has left me feeling cheap and dirty. Before now I was quite happy going about my daily business safe in the knowledge that I was leading a clean, respectable and morally descent life, but now because of the 'frictionless man', I have been forced to sleep with members of the same and opposite sex, not knowing where and with whom I am going to wake up from one day to the next. Also I have taken to sneaking into restaurants and eating leftover food from people's plates.
If I ever actually see the 'frictionless man', I will kick him squarely in his frictionless testicles.
Morriston you old tart, of course you've met me. Remember that time we fought Nazi's in a Burlesque house in Bavaria? Or the time we got drunk at the source of the Nile? Or the time we taunted the Baron of Westphalia about the poor quality of his whiskers? How soon you forget. But then, you were out of your mind on Old Spice at the time. Still drinking it?
I don't remember any of those things, but that's probably got something to do with the old spice. Anyway, I've moved on from old spice to the altogether more sophisticated tipple of rum and Hactos, which I choose to administer through the time honoured method of the 'speedball'. I learned this method from Miles Davis during his wilderness years of '75 to '80. Of course, he was still using the traditional combination of heroin and cocaine, but I suggested that this was not really going to have any lasting effect so why not introduce the rum and Hactos to liven things up a bit. He agreed to give it a try, being a rather weak willed suggestible fellow as everyone knows, and proceeded to inject the thick, dark concoction into his leg. He found it to be a most pleasant sensation and remarked upon feeling 'a little light headed'. Unfortunately, the net result of this experience was that he didn't pick up his trumpet for the next five years, so we ended up parting company rather acrimoniously.
Now, I have been told that I was something of a 'lad' in my youth, so I may indeed have taken part in some of the activities mentioned by Mr Frictionless, but unfortunately the dreaded cough mixture has erased all memory of these events.
Nowadays, my only pleasure is to sit in my bath chair before the open patio doors, with a nice cup of milky tea in a beaker and a soft blanket on my legs to stave off the chill.
God damn you, Hactos.
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