arthur’s stars

Spring starts to today I declare, right here. Now. Today. I walked under a canopy of fucking pink blossoms in the cool morning sunshine this morning; I was using my legs to get me to the place where one catches a bus. What of the black bitch I hear you cry?! She is just fine, resting under canvas while her master manipulates the means of municipal machinery to make money, or not as the case may be. Work has died.

Such is my desperation for some sort of remuneration for my supposed employment I’m forced to meet a person in town late this afternoon in order to secure some sort of funding for a project. It’s a loathsome task meeting up with unknown people for the purposes for work, I’m a misanthrope at the best of times so being invited to have contact with a human when deliberate drinking isn’t on the cards doesn’t inspire, it annoys.

Yesterday was hellish; my new phone arrived (no idea why I upgraded, it’s more expensive, it’s the size of a bar of fruit and nut and has lots of stuff on it which is of much use to me as a forty foot wide vagina, and you need a fucking PhD to operate it). It doesn’t work properly I swear but I don’t understand exactly how to explain this. A vast swathe of my day passed with me virtually in tears trying to figure out how to backspace when texting and how to get rid of the ‘droplet of piss in the puddle’ sound every time I so much as thought about picking the cunt up. I combined this futile waste of time with trying to sort out the re-mortgaging of my godforsaken property which, and I mean this most sincerely, I find terrifying. Vomit inducing figures are bounded about and my dyscalculiac brain fizzes and pops with percentages, rates, interest, disinterest, equities, negatives, all with lots of ££££’s attached.

I needed my drink with Harry last night. The pub was empty save he and I and a couple of piss pots, and we conversed about the fundamental aspects of existence leaking sweet beer into our flat stomachs before toddling back to our respective dwellings. The evening ended with me swearing at my phone and unsuccessfully trying to inject some fucking music into the bastard, god knows what it wants from me.

Speaking of god, a fond farewell to Arthur C ‘My god it’s full of stars’ Clarke. I remember watching 2001 when I was quite young and, despite myself, actually enjoying it. It certainly had an effect on the young P I can tell you.

Now I’ve told you please enjoy this, it’s not music today but it’ll fuck your head. I reckon Arthur would’ve liked it, as he said ‘any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic’.

Ooh Arthur.