Fast-Acting Cholera In A Bottle
The day before the surgery has not been fun. I’ve been on a fast since 8am that has to carry all the way through until I go into hospital tomorrow. Being hungry is not the problem. The problem is the bowel cleanser. I won’t go into details, but the sensation of your insides boiling, liquefying and leaving your body over the course of several hours is one I’ve got to go through again tomorrow starting at 7am. Happy happy joy joy! The pharmaceutical company should rebrand their product as Fast-Acting Cholera In A Bottle. After this, I’ve no fear over what the food in Africa or Iraq can do to me.
Of course, AM had to contact me again. She chose not to have me in her life and now I’m getting message after message wishing me the best, reiterating the fault and blame as mine, saying it was nothing to do with the Public Schoolboy and saying that she wants contact as a friend. She is without doubt, one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever known, so why cannot she see that I don’t want to hear from her for the next two years? She’s just making the emotional pain much worse at a point when I’m scared and broken in ways I cannot even begin to express. Saying ‘I’ll be holding your hand in thought’ may salve her feelings, but it does nothing other than reinforce the absence of real love and care for me.
Different people have tried diverse approaches at distracting me today. Surreal Girl just bantering on Messenger as if nothing abnormal was going on was probably the most successful. Though, I think sending me a track called There’s No Aphrodisiac Like Loneliness was not the wisest of moves.
I’m saving my packing and the arranging of reading and listening material until tomorrow morning. This is partly out of the hope that a bit of deadline-fuelled rushing about the house trying to find things will help filter out the dancehall fire sense of panic building in my head. I’m also hoping J’s kind gift of CDRs will arrive in time for Bill Hicks to accompany me onto the ward.
There’s a frankly grumpy review purporting to be from Pete Carroll on Amazon.com of Generation Hex. I’d like to believe it’s not really his words, because if it is, he’s become a joyless fucker. I’d much rather imagine him as a magic scene equivalent to John Peel. Given that the review also talks about ‘Louvites’, I suspect the poster has some axe to grind against Jason, probably another of one of the failed contributors. I really regret not being able to submit a piece because I was on deadline for Secrets & Lies - if for no other reason than I’m missing out on being slated by so many bullshit occultists.
Of course, AM had to contact me again. She chose not to have me in her life and now I’m getting message after message wishing me the best, reiterating the fault and blame as mine, saying it was nothing to do with the Public Schoolboy and saying that she wants contact as a friend. She is without doubt, one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever known, so why cannot she see that I don’t want to hear from her for the next two years? She’s just making the emotional pain much worse at a point when I’m scared and broken in ways I cannot even begin to express. Saying ‘I’ll be holding your hand in thought’ may salve her feelings, but it does nothing other than reinforce the absence of real love and care for me.
Different people have tried diverse approaches at distracting me today. Surreal Girl just bantering on Messenger as if nothing abnormal was going on was probably the most successful. Though, I think sending me a track called There’s No Aphrodisiac Like Loneliness was not the wisest of moves.
I’m saving my packing and the arranging of reading and listening material until tomorrow morning. This is partly out of the hope that a bit of deadline-fuelled rushing about the house trying to find things will help filter out the dancehall fire sense of panic building in my head. I’m also hoping J’s kind gift of CDRs will arrive in time for Bill Hicks to accompany me onto the ward.
There’s a frankly grumpy review purporting to be from Pete Carroll on Amazon.com of Generation Hex. I’d like to believe it’s not really his words, because if it is, he’s become a joyless fucker. I’d much rather imagine him as a magic scene equivalent to John Peel. Given that the review also talks about ‘Louvites’, I suspect the poster has some axe to grind against Jason, probably another of one of the failed contributors. I really regret not being able to submit a piece because I was on deadline for Secrets & Lies - if for no other reason than I’m missing out on being slated by so many bullshit occultists.
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