I could use some coke just now. Oh, well, alcohol will have to do. Amphetamines would be nice too. Actually, I’d love to sort of chew the coke-cud. Never had it, but I hear say that chewing the leaves gives a fine, settled, even high that doesn’t fuck you up the way the “refined” stuff does. Refined as in cut with borax. Yeah, well, too good to be true. No access and that’s that. Unapproachable.
Listening to Strawberry from Butthole Surfers. Top that, you sons and daughters of bitches.
As some of you may know, or as all of you may not know, I am writing a novel. My father-in-law once said: every fool who has nothing else to do starts to write a book. Well, there you have it. In my defense, though, it should be said that he was referring to old men who write their memoirs. I am not yet what one would call old, and it’s not my memoirs I’m writing. Yeah. What I’m writing is totally cool, so there. You can read the first chapter here.
Oh, and, in case you were asking yourself, I am now listening to Professor Longhair. And, incidentally, I am on my second bottle of wine. I could use some cocaine, but nothing doing. I’m pretty fucking tired, actually. If I took cocaine now, I’d just keep drinking, and if I kept drinking, I’d take more cocaine… dang, would have balanced nicely.