Depressingly I’ve just predicted the future.
After reading about that little berk that shot up 32 people in Virginia I’ve been informed that the University authorities were ‘warned ’ about him a couple of years ago… Oooh, I thought, what have the authorities missed now! ‘Heads are going to roll’ I concluded before I’d even finished reading the article (obviously the NRA are perpetually exempt in all of this) what did he do?
Well, it turns out in creative writing classes he wrote ‘disturbing pieces’.
Has anyone read 120 Days of Sodom? I don’t recall the Marquis De Sade going on a Parisian rampage with a Flintlock Pistol; the only thing he abused was an anal dildo in the Bastille. Does this now mean that any child who writes things that aren’t to everyone’s taste will be scrutinised, compromised, investigated even? Come on people this is 21st century USA we’re talking about here, yeah. So the answer is fucking ‘yes’, then.
I’m feeling a little better today; the malaise is still apparent but somewhat suppressed due to nothing more than ones personal joie de vivre, sort of. I think my angst stems from the annual feeling that I’ve failed in some way; I never spent all those years studying to wind up at a desk with a boss for example, all my friends are either married, or with kids, or both. I think I’d quite fancy that sense of paternity; indeed, I’ve always been keen, even when my peers, now with 2 or more kids felt that the concept of ‘family’ was conventional and conformist. In fact, looking around, despite my family and friends of whom I’m very fond, I’ve got ‘me’. And this is why yesterday was so difficult because that connection with the self wasn’t apparent, in addition to realising that I didn’t just want ‘me’ anymore.
Well, it’s a fucking blog, it’s going to get heavy sometimes so deal with it.
Anyway, last night I had a bottle of wine, a couple of scotches and a few spiffs. I ate roast chicken and broccoli, pate and crackers and all in all had a jolly evening, eventually. I spent most of the evening giggling like a git at the TV, pausing occasionally to order my thoughts in terms of the days disconsolateness. One highlight was a programme on BBC3 called ‘Panic Room’ in which two people are persuaded to overcome everyday phobias by psychologists and the use of BBC f/x, props and resources. The Welsh chap who didn’t like fish (but did a bloody good Robbie Williams impression I hasten to add) vomited at the site of them. In fact, he even threw up in the actual panic room. His case was a lot more interesting than the enormous women who hated snakes, as it was clear as day she feared cock.
Oh, I’ve decided that Family Guy is better than The Simpsons too…
Special treat today my little Pique a Boos. It’s nearly 10 minutes long, two classic songs that, as they are on the album, run from one into the other. Please forgive the silly opening but when it kicks off it’s nothing short of illustrious.
(Best enjoyed with narcotics)