issue 18
august 2006
�The 9-to-5 is one of the greatest atrocities sprung upon mankind� � Charles Bukowski
This is the zine for people who know that, behind the perfect smiles of the TV ads, lurks a lifetime of concentration camps. DON�T BELIEVE THE LIE! There�s no Tooth Fairy, no Easter Bunny. Santa is an anagram of Satan� Evil is a lot closer than any of us think. RIP Syd Barrett. Raising a glass this issue� Mark Ritchie (who�s responsible for most of this shit) and the delectable Mr Gary Simmons. Read us on the web at geocities.com/sniperglue. Do it at work. They�ll never know�
THIS NEW DAY
Opening your eyes
is every bit as terrifying
as putting the shotgun
in your mouth �
the terror of this new day
every bit as real
as the taste of cold metal
and the uncharted pathways of death.
This day could kill you,
leave you bleeding
underneath hot, squealing
tyres.
A thousand dark assassins
are waiting in the shadows.
They wait for you.
Patiently, silently, they wait.
DERRY
�Most Christians are bastards�, he said,
after telling me he�d just been thrown out of a church.
I had to agree.
He said he was 41 and his name was Derry (or maybe it was Derek).
He asked if I was religious and confessed he was �a bit of a Jew boy. You could be too, with that beard!�
He laughed and put his hands upon my face.
All he wanted was to talk to someone, to feel some human contact for a while.
A form of communion, perhaps.
I told him I�d always thought churches were places you could go for that kind of thing.
After a minute or two I said I had to go back to work, shook his hand,
gave him the rest of my can of Irn Bru and went around the corner for a pint.
Some people need religion.
They need to believe that God will shine some light into their burnt, black universe.
Me?
I�m just looking for some calm, blue stillness away from the centre of everything.
UNTITLED 1
This place is so small
it'll suffocate you
given half the chance.
A walk in the park
provides momentary escape
but look at the flowers
not the empty beer cans
and imagine you're
far away.
You grow to love places
almost as much as people
and you can see good in them
regardless of their faults.
Stop at a shop
and buy a paper,
go for a walk
in the park.
You're back.
UNTITLED 2
lost at tables
spinning like dominoes
knocked from here
to some endless road
colours, shapes, voices
turn as mad equations
till nothing but moonlight
is left in our eyes
CHESS
We move around this room
like chess pieces
trying to remain in
the game.
We know the rules
better than most.
Kings, Queens, Pawns, Rooks �
but mostly Pawns.
Not even hoping to win,
just trying to survive
a little longer.
It�s all we can hope for.
It�s all that we have.
CDS, TAPES & VINYL
Lambchop � I Hope You�re Sitting Down (City Slang)
I walked into town. It was threatening to rain but still rather warm. �School�s out for summer� so the city centre was overrun by brats. Skater brats, goth brats, ned brats, but all of them BRATS! I bought the first Lambchop CD for the bargainous price of �3.99 in Avalanche (after �testing� the copy I bought for Andrew�s birthday the other week). It�s a fucking classic, maaan! �Soaky in the Pooper�, �Under the Same Moon�, �I Will Drive Slowly�, �Oh, What a Disappointment� � all 17 tracks are winners! Got it on vinyl YEARS ago but CDs are just SO much more convenient. And this was a double album so you don�t have to change sides four times, either. Had a pint in the gloom of Black to calm my shot nerves after several days of boozing and last night�s �party� in the kitchen (which I stayed well away from). Sounded like EVERYONE in the flat was there, drinking with some new foreign cunt. I felt mentally unwell. Had a look in the HMV sale but it was all SHIT. The only DVD I want from there is �The Days of Wine and Roses� and THAT ain�t cheap at ALL, so FUCK it. Had another pint in Times Square. Found a �1 coin on the floor, although it may have fallen from my pocket while I was getting my money out. Who knows? Kept rubbing my eye as I hadn�t taken any antihistamines. Splashed my face with water before I left. Was handed a free can of Irn-Bru 32 (the new caffeine-laced drink) in the street by some promo girl. The guy from the ad dressed as the cuckoo was there, too. Had a third pint upstairs in the Goose. Full of ned scum, as usual. Then I went to the Horseshoe and had three pints, sitting at the bar. People (including Drunken Eyes) were watching �Deal or No Deal� on TV when I went in. I was only there for over an hour but it felt like AGES. The day was going REALLY slowly, which is always a bad sign. I went to Waterstones and read some Bukowski poetry for ages, till after 7pm, then I went to the Brunswick and had a cider in there. Then I had a pint in Nico�s and walked back, stopping off for two litres of Summerdown cider on the way. Didn�t bother with food. FUCK food. Watched �Big Brother� and �Mastermind�. Some guy on it (whose specialist subject was Bruce Springsteen) was a �job seeker�! YEAH!
Drive-By Truckers � The Dirty South (New West)
Been hearing good things about this lot for a while so, after hearing a few impressive tracks on various compilations, I splashed out a whole 6 quid on this, their second to most recent album (there was NO way I was paying the full HMV/Virgin rip-off asking price of about �16. Fuck THAT! This was 2nd hand!) It�s hard for a band to be consistent when they have three full-time songwriters operating all on the same disc, but this lot manage it better than most. The main stand-outs for me are all written by Jason Isbell and are �The Day John Henry Died�, �Danko / Manuel�, �Never Gonna Change� (which has been on �repeat� here for days) and �Goddamn Lonely Love�. Isbell�s rockier numbers had me jumping around my room drunkenly, reminding me of that greatly underrated �80s band The Smithereens. The other two songwriters come up with the goods too, though, and �Tornadoes�, �Puttin� People on the Moon�, �Carl Perkins� Cadillac� and �The Sands of Iwo Jima� are all excellent. However, coming from Alabama, these boys can�t resist occasionally slipping into some Skynyrd-style guitar workouts. Nothing MUCH wrong with THAT, though. I�ll need to check out more Drive-By Truckers records�
Drive-By Truckers � Southern Rock Opera (Lost Highway)
� and I DID! This one seems a little TOO enamoured with Skynyrd at first listen (both lyric-wise and riff-wise. Oh, and the little fact that it�s �dedicated to America�s Greatest Rock and Roll Band Lynyrd Skynyrd�). It�s also a couple of years older than the album I reviewed above (from 2002) and Jason Isbell isn�t on this one. It�s a double CD concept album about growing up listening to 1970�s heavy rock in the Southern US States. Weird. But good, actually. I don�t know why the term �concept album� always horrifies me so much � there are LOADS that I really like (Husker Du�s �Zen Arcade� and The Beatles� �Sgt Pepper�, immediately spring to mind). There are so many pretty damn GREAT songs here, it would actually be quicker to list the NOT so great ones (�Cassie�s Brother� is the main culprit, with some Janis Joplin wannabe yelping all over it). Disc one is the weakest, for me. It seems to be just a BIT too full of bombastic rockers, with less light and shade. Best track here is the spoken-word �The Three Great Alabama Icons�, which attempts to explain the prejudicial view of Southerners as racist rednecks. And succeeds, actually. But, if disc one is a slight disappointment, disc two is pretty near perfect, including as it does �Let There Be Rock� (which name-checks everyone from Blue Oyster Cult to Ozzy Osbourne), the brilliant Uncle Tupelo style drinking song �Women Without Whiskey�, the catchiest song about a road traffic accident you�ll ever hear (�Plastic Flowers on the Highway�) the Springsteen/Wilco-esque rocker �Life in the Factory� and the poignant we�re-all-gonna-die-in-a-plane-crash closer �Angels and Fuselage�.
Tom Waits � Bone Machine / Big Time (Island)
I firmly believe that you�re only meant to �get� certain music at specific moments in your life. I don�t know why but I do. Take Tom Waits, for example, I just didn�t GET him until a few years back and, even then, it was only his very early albums that I thought were any good (good? They are sodding BRILLIANT!) Then, last year, in the midst of my call centre job from hell (though I�m SURE they�ll be plenty of MUCH worse jobs to COME before I croak), I found myself buying up lots of his CDs. Again, it was mainly the earlier stuff I concentrated on, as I�d always been a bit wary of his late �80�s-onwards output, thinking It would be too tongue-in-cheek �mad� for my tastes. Most of what I�d heard up till then sounded like someone trying their best to get committed to a rest home for the mentally unwell or something. Anyway, my mate Joe gave me these found-in-a-cupboard-during-a-clear-out tapes, which was jolly nice of him, wasn�t it? I was so grateful, I bought him a pint! �Bone Machine� is from �92 and, despite my reservations, it came as a really pleasant surprise. Maybe I�ve opened my mind to the �mad� because even shouty, weird tracks like �Earth Died Screaming� (which, strangely enough, I�ve actually had on a tape for YEARS, recorded off the John Peel show) and �In the Colosseum� are pretty damn good and there are also BEAUTIFUL �normal� songs called �Who Are You�, �A Little Rain� and �Whistle Down the Wind� (the latter two of which feature PEDAL STEEL GUITAR! Swoon!) that are every bit as great as his older classics. In fact, once you get into the Waits-ian groove, this begins to sound like a really good album, with songs like �Dirt in the Ground�, �Black Wings� and �I Don�t Wanna Grow Up� (which I KNOW I�ve heard someone covering � I just can�t think WHO) revealing themselves to be, like, REALLY good and now I�m probably going to go out and buy up every last one of his CDs from �the later years�. �Big Time� is from slightly earlier (�88) and it features live recordings, from a film (I think) I�ve never seen. There are rough, gruff versions of gems like �Train Song�, �Cold Cold Ground� and �Time� (one of the gorgeousest songs ever written) and songs I�d never heard before, live or otherwise. Of these, �Falling Down� and �Strange Weather� are the most lovely, the latter sounding a bit like Leonard Cohen doing one of his sophisticated European caf� numbers. I�m glad that I�ve come to love the music of Tom Waits at this stage in my life. It feels RIGHT, somehow.
Edith Frost � It�s A Game (Drag City)
I never thought she�d do it, but Edith Frost has made another album as mesmerisingly great as her 1997 debut �Calling Over Time�. That record will always have a special place in my heart, as it�s songs stayed with me and held my hand during a tough period of depression I was going through at the time. Ever get the feeling that your soul has left your body? You just feel like a shell. You can touch objects and you don�t REALLY feel them. You can talk to people and it feels like a dream. EVERYTHING feels like a dream, for weeks and weeks on end, until the feeling leaves as soon as it arrived. I used to go through periods of that about two or three times a year, for nearly ten years of my life. It made me want to kill myself and NO ONE understood. I thought I was going mad. I think it was just a chemical imbalance in my brain. A form of depression. Anyway, the songs on Edith Frost�s first LP really seemed to connect with me, when nothing else would. Slow, sultry songs with minimal accompaniment, just the odd piano tinkle or violin or cello here and there, lightly colouring her sepia-tinged thoughts. Her subsequent albums couldn�t help but disappoint, really, but I saw her perform a great set at Glasgow�s Riverside club in 1999 (supporting Willard Grant Conspiracy). After her set, I passed Edith on my way to the toilet and I told her I thought she was great. She gave me a really sweet smile and said �thanks�. Well, it�s taken a while, but the girl has found her muse again (not meaning to �diss� her other albums, but they didn�t do much for me, which is a shame). This could be the sequel to �Calling Over Time�, it sounds so sonically similar; very sparse arrangements and BEAUTIFUL songs that could comfort you in your darkest hour. The titles tell their own tale � �What�s the Use�, �My Lover Won�t Call�, �Stars Fading�, �Lovin� You Goodbye�. Sounds like Edith�s been having a hard time of it, and THERE�S the thing � sometimes you NEED to go through the mill to be able to write the best stuff. I�m sorry for her troubles, but I�m grateful as hell for these songs. Stone cold classics, one and all. I never thought she�d do it, but Edith Frost�s made another cherishable album. God bless her for that.
Green On Red � Gas Food Lodging / Green On Red (Mau Mau)
Woke at about 9.40 and ate some cold pizza. It was really sunny and warm again (the hottest day EVER, apparently), which only seemed to make my dread worse. Showered and dressed. John knocked at my door at around 11. He had just washed his hair, I think, and was topless and seemed a little pissed. He asked if I wanted to go out for a drink, but I told him about my interview at the job centre at 2.50. Said I�d get him in Curlers at around 3.30. Went out and sampled the joys of Byres Road. Got a Green On Red CD for �5.99 in Lost In Music (two albums on one disc!) and a Murakami novel (�Kafka on the Shore�) in a charity shop for �3. That cheered me somewhat but I was still worrying myself SICK about my interview. Got some microwave pasta from Iceland, which I made when I returned to the flat. There was a card from the Royal Mail saying to leave the door open tomorrow �as I will deliver four days worth of mail�. That explained why there had been NO mail all week! Listened to my new CD. Good, it was, especially the very first track, �That�s What Dreams Are For�. �I guess I�ll be poor for the rest of my life�. TELL me about it, mate! The singing reminds me of a slightly less hysterical Jad Fair. Walked around the leafy streets to kill time before my interview. Got a can of Coke in Tesco then went to what FELT like my own execution. I went in five or so minutes early, went to look at a job point instead of sitting on the couch with all the OTHER plebs like I was TOLD to do. Got called over almost straight away. �Got� a NICE guy called Bill, who just said I was there �cos it�d been 13 weeks since I started signing on, etc. He said there aren�t a lot of retail jobs �on offer� from the job centre and I said I�d been going into shops personally and applying, etc, etc, load of old shit, really. He said there will be postal jobs coming in this September and job centre �customers� will have priority! Oh great! We had a chat, like HUMAN BEINGS (I overheard the woman at the next desk being a right BITCH to some guy, too, so I was LUCKY!) and I was out of there at 2.56pm! Felt GREAT as I walked to Byres Road to meet John. Saw him having a smoke in the doorway of Curlers at about 3.20. He had shades on (which he KEPT on, even inside. �It�s Bono day�, he said!) We had many drinks and moaned about the messy Romanians in the flat, bitched about Craig and all that. I switched from lager to cider after a while and John�s mate (ANOTHER John) came in at one point and sat with us. He lives in a bedsit just round the corner from us, used to live in the Far East, etc. Seemed like a nice guy. I left at about 9.15. John had disappeared to the bookies, I think. Went to Somerfield and got cider then got some chips and went home. Watched �Big Brother� and was tired and drunk so went to bed at about 11pm.
Richmond Fontaine � Live at the Doug Fir Lounge, Portland, Oregon, September 23, 2005 (El Cortez)
Loads of bands are doing tour/internet-only releases now, and this isn�t the first one from Richmond Fontaine (see issue 5 for a review of their LAST one). This is like a superior live bootleg and mainly contains tracks from their amazing recent albums �The Fitzgerald� and �Post to Wire�. The cover�s great too, lovingly hand-drawn by Nate Beaty (who also did the drawings for RF singer Willy Vlautin�s novel �The Motel Life�). It�s fucking excellent, of course. Well, what did you EXPECT me to say?! The version of �Casino Lights� (the only track NOT recorded live at the Doug Fir � it�s from a radio session is Seattle) at the end is simply stunning.
Leatherface � The Last (Domino)
Well, feeling like shit after an up-till-3am vodka binge with my flatmate, how could I RESIST this �3.99 CD of, actually, NOT Leatherface�s �last� album (�cos they reformed a few years after this 1994 release)? I only had it on tape before and NEARLY paid a Queen�s ransom for it only a few months back in Virgin. Now I�m glad I held off, of course. It�s got great songs like �Little White God�, �In My Life�, �Patrick Kills Me�, �Shipyards� (which showcases a surprising new, gentler element to the �Face�s trademark buzz-saw guitar sound) and the bizarre, Tom Waits/Louis Armstrong-esque closer �Ba Ba Ba Ba Boo�.
Velveeta Heartbreak � I Shot The Invisible Man plus Secret Beach Boys Fans parts 1 & 2 (Semper Lofi Recordings) c/o Bowman,PMB 111,144 N. 7th St, Brooklyn, NY 11211, [email protected]
Wow � VINYL! Not had seven inches of THIS in my grubby little mits for a LONG time now (seven inches of OTHER things, but not vinyl!) Even more thrillingly, this is seven inches of vinyl by Michael J. Bowman, a legend in home-taping circles and someone whose music I�ve adored for years. This thing here comes in a tasteful black and white punky/DIY sleeve, while the label on the disc reminds me of all those Half Japanese/Shimmy Disc records of yore. The actual MUSIC took me a little longer to �access�, however, because both my turntables only work when THEY want to work (a bit like ME, in fact. Ha ha!) Well, you can strap me to a lie detector on one of those tacky talk shows if you don�t believe me � I have NO FEAR � because this record is GREAT! A swinging, stomping, piano-tinkling, groupie-bonking rollercoaster ride of pop bubblegum that makes the sky seem bluer and the air smell sweeter. The A-side segues into a mellow ending of melancholic meandering and, over on the B-side, there is instrumental action and acoustic guitar strumming (and lyrics by KD Schmitz). Get a copy of this (it�s a limited edition of 1000, which is actually not THAT limited) and Mike�s cool art zines.
GIG
Animal Collective � King Tut�s Wah Wah Hut, Glasgow, 10th July 2006
Woke at 8.40, just as I heard mum leaving for work. Checked my emails, made breakfast, watched 'The Wright Stuff' and had a bath. Copied a video for a guy in Northern Ireland. Went next door to say bye and be kissed by Mac for the last time for a while. Made my lunch (rice and leftover madras) and went for the 1.45 bus. There was a female driver. Oh! Got the 2.15 bus to Glasgow. Andrew rang, to tell me what time his train would be in tomorrow, etc. I posted that video in the Bothwell Street post office then had a pint in the
Edward Wylie (thus avoiding the only downpour of the day � the rest of the time it was hot and sunny) then went to the Horseshoe and had a few with James. Grant rang and asked if I wanted to go to see Animal Collective at King Tut's, so I said yeah. Why the fuck NOT?! He's looking after his sister's flat this week. So, he arrived at the pub just as James had left (in the oh-so convenient manner of a film or TV sitcom) and we buggered off, seeing James loitering in the doorway as we did so. Had a couple of pints in the gloom of the Brunswick then another in the Circus. I was pretty drunk. Grant gave me a tape he'd made for me and some Richmond Fontaine and GG Allin cuttings. Nice. Went to King Tut�s and found Alan, so we could get our green 'Santa's Kingdom' wristbands (thus avoiding paying to get in). Some guy playing flute was the support act. Everyone was watching and listening to him intently, but we were trying to stop ourselves from laughing. Turns out this guy was the avant-garde 'legend' Richard Youngs, who plays with Jandek sometimes. Wow. He was still shit. Animal Collective were better. Rock mixed with electronica and a bearded guy with a light on his head. It�s a bit boring when you don�t know any of the songs, though. I had another couple of drinks and was pretty zonked by this point. Grant left early, but I stayed till nearly the bitter end. Walked back and was in after midnight. Passed out almost immediately.
FILM
Superman Returns
Woke at about 8.10am and ate some tasteless biscuits. Walked into town and got a coffee from a vending machine in Buchanan Street bus station, where I�d arranged to meet Tom. He showed up at about 10.50 and we went and sat outside on a bench in the sun. Some young urchin asked Tom for a fag and he gave him one �even though you�re not 16�. The guy went mad, saying �I�m 24, mate. Look, I�ve just signed a lease on my hoose. The electric�s getting turned on today..� and he had all this shit in a plastic bag that he wanted to show us, but thank God he just walked away. We went over to the cinema where we were meant to meet Kenny but he texted us (after we�d been waiting 15 minutes) to say could we get him in HMV instead, so we went there and Tom bought a Ramones DVD. Then we went to Lauder�s so I could get a pint of lager. Took an antihistamine too and Kenny was going on and on about his ex-mate Vinnie, who he now �hates�, apparently. He got so worked up that he very nearly decided not to have lunch with us. He walked away and said he�d see us later, which was VERY silly but thankfully he realised this and changed his mind. We bought our tickets for the 2.40pm showing of the new �Superman� film then went to the new Chinese buffet place on Bath Street. It�s the same as all the OTHER Chinese buffet places we�ve been to, but was still enjoyable. The ice cream is divine! Afterwards, we had a look in Music Zone and I got �Days of Wine and Roses� on DVD for only �5.97 (it was actually Kenny who spotted it) and Leonard Cohen�s �Greatest Hits� CD for �3.97 (had it on vinyl for years but WANTED it on CD). Then we went to see the film. Could�ve probably got in for free, considering no one was there to check our tickets. Oh well. Good film. Great effects. Some quite funny bits. Reminded me of all the OTHER �Superman� films I went to see as a kid (and �Supergirl� too!) Tom and I had a strong painkiller each before it started, which made me feel slightly funny for a little while, but that was all. It wasn�t like a hit of CRACK! After the film, we sat outside the bus station (no urchins around THIS time) and then Tom went to get his bus at 6pm. Kenny walked me down to the Horseshoe, where I had a pint of lager. Then I had a cider in Failt� and read a paper someone had left lying on the bar. Then I had a third pint in the gloomy Brunswick. It was STILL really humid when I was walking back home, even though it was evening time. Bought six cans of McEwan�s on the way and was in at 8.25pm. Played some Seam and my Cohen CD and watched the vacuous yet addictive �Big Brother�. Again.
DEAR DAD by Gary Simmons
Wednesday 7th June 2006
Dear dad,
I am writing to you to apologize for what I said to you the day you evicted me from the house. I also would like to try and hopefully explain, if that is at all possible, why I said it.
It was obviously a terrible thing to say but I said it in �the heat of the moment�, if you will excuse the clich�, when I felt that I had had enough of everyone and everything. There are people who sometimes, when they find themselves in seemingly desperate and impossible situations and feel pushed to emotional limits, say things which they don�t mean and I am evidently no different to them in this respect. It is not something I am happy or proud of. On the contrary, I am ashamed of my weakness for it is not how I want myself to be. I have never said anything like that to you (or mum, come to that) before in all my, at that time, 45 years, so I imagine it is reasonably clear to anyone that it was said under hideous and abhorrent circumstances wherein I had reached the very end of my emotional tether. I have never ever wished or wanted you to �drop dead�.
It goes without saying that I cannot ever completely repair or erase the upset that I have caused both you and mum over the past 13 or more months for what I have said and done. I know that, as we have both got older, we no longer seemed to get along as we once did and I realise now that it was really a huge mistake on my part to have stayed living at home with you and mum instead of trying to make it on my own. Everyone told me for years I should move out but I honestly believed that I could, in some way, build a kind of Heaven-on-earth by constantly updating and modernising the house and, in it�s time, the flat. It is clear to me now that I have wasted the best part of my life by stubbornly pursuing this unrealistic fantasy that was inevitably doomed to failure. I am a dreamer who has been living in a world of my own and I became unable to accept the plain fact that, as time went on, the whole fanciful concept was gradually falling to pieces around me. I think that my disappointment and frustration with all this may have possibly contributed to my depressions and I am sure that they played a big part in my antagonistic and uncompromising attitude towards you and mum, for which I have nothing but shame and regret. It is not the way I ever wanted to live my life. I remember when I was young and this was not part of the dream.
I hope you will please take into consideration all that I have written and that it will at least be the first step toward some kind of reconciliation between us.
Yours sincerely and with love,
Gary
MY FRIEND DAN
My friend Dan worked on the front desk of a hotel. I would hang around in the lobby drinking beers he�d pour me for free if the place wasn�t too busy (which it never usually was). Sometimes he�d let me pass out in a vacant room and wake me up to leave at the end of his shift.
One night, around nine, after several hours of boozing on an empty stomach, I reached the momentous conclusion that I was inebriated and unable to make it back to my place. To have done so would require feats of quite unimaginable bravery, such as negotiating with traffic and people and my wallet and keys.
�Do you mind if I crash out somewhere?� I asked Dan, who nodded sagely and led me into the lift.
When I was alone in Room number 14, I spread myself out on the flower-emblazoned bed cover and closed my eyes.
Just as I was about to slip into a dreamy reverie, a place where the real world would fade into a sweet nothingness, I heard a sudden crash emit from the bathroom. Of course, this startled me and I immediately sat up on the bed, attempting to focus my eyes in the general direction of the commotion.
Then, what I couldn�t be sure wasn�t a hallucination appeared in the doorway. It was a female-looking creature, wearing a black bathrobe and a towel wrapped around her head.
�Hello,� I said. �Are you real?�
�I think so,� the creature replied. �Who are you and what are you doing in my room?�
�I�m Ray and I�m here because I didn�t want to be out there,� (I pointed towards the window at this juncture) �crawling around like all the other worms in the rain.�
I forgot to mention that, outside, it was raining like several Dalmatians pissing onto the heads of many Peruvian midgets.
�I�m Lily,� said the creature. �Worms? Is that what you think of people?�
�Pretty much, but I may be prepared to make an exception in your case.�
�Maybe you won�t think so when I phone down and tell the front desk there�s a strange guy in my room.�
�Oh, go ahead. The moose are charging the ramparts, I know. Everyone�s the same. No time for their fellow beast.�
�What the hell are you talking about? What are you on?�
�I�m not on anything, dear, unless you count the ample quantities of booze I�ve consumed over the course of this pointless and glorious day.�
At this moment, I decided to stand up, thinking it would make me look more authoritative.
�I�m standing here practically naked and there�s a drunk guy talking shit in the room I paid for,� Lily said, but then she smiled and dropped her gaze several inches downward, toward the shabby shag-pile.
�Well, as Dostoyevsky said �What the intellect regards as shameful often appears splendidly beautiful to the soul�,� I said, looking around the room for a mini-bar.
�God, a piss-head who quotes Dostoyevsky. That�s all I need,� Lily replied, making her way over to her suitcase, which was laid out at the foot of the bed.
�To be honest, my friend let me in here. To sleep it off. He must have thought the room was empty.�
�Oh God. Do you know Dan?� Lily asked, pulling some clothes from her case. �He�s a cunt!�
�Now, now, I refuse to let you cast aspersions upon my friend like that. He�s a simply charming fellow who would do anything to help a colleague.�
At which moment, the door of the room swung open and Dan was standing there, grinning from ear to ear.
�Enjoying yourselves?� he said, walking into the room and swinging his chain of keys in time to the Beastie Boys track which was no doubt at that moment playing inside his head.
�Come on, Ray, let my sister get ready for her night out. I�ll find you an empty room to sleep in this time.�
My friend Dan. What a cunt.
CLOSING THOUGHT by Gary Simmons
God, they�re going on about the bloody Olympic bid / win thing as if God himself is involved in it PERSONALLY! Football, Olympics� I�m SURE space research and the like are FAR more important than THIS shit? Maybe I�m wrong and winning bits of metal for sticking a ball in a net or being the fastest cunt out of a whole bunch of fast cunts is much more significant than finding out WHERE I AM and WHY THE FUCK AM I HERE and, most �interesting� : WHAT and WHO am I?!?! Obviously I think too much and this is why I�m in the state that I am. DON�T think. I wish I was brain dead. Dead-dead would do. Look, I just don�t want to BE here, OK? I dread the long, dark years ahead (�The Dark Light Years�, a book of short stories by Brian Aldiss). Christ�s saggy tits!! They�re doing a dance routine for this Olympic shit!! Can�t the cunts SEE how fuckin� utterly STUPID and crass it all is?!?! Well, I can! Kill me NOW, I do not belong! Where is Al-Qaeda when you need �em most?! And THIS is on fuckin� News 24... it SHOULD be on Saturday fuckin� Night at the London Palladium!!!! Maybe I AM dead and this is Hell.