And you know I see out of the corner of my eager eyes where the streetwalkers lurk. Colloquially the tarts or should that be hookers.
Ah les femmes. Those extraordinary things. Let's see now I have a mother, big bro has a wife, and also there are the several females I interact with on a daily basis.
And my needs? Only for a sort of reserve stock, ideally a sort of harem if that were not so vulgar.
Someone or ones accepting or that is not too disgusted or able to hide disgust well. Someone with lowish standards or who is able to accept payment for services.
And the curious unsatisfied and vacant faces of the whores. Woman is a temple at which you ought to worship, bringing incense and gold, like mom or big bro's wife.
How mysterious my relationship with Woman, how soft and secret, and how degraded, compulsive, unsatisfying, my relationships with women.
Oh the blonde dye in the shadows, o the glittering lips.
Angry disinterested faces of the whores.
Tuesday 5 November 2013
Monday 4 November 2013
Blue Room 5
I work the stockmarket and I play with investments and maybe I do so rather ineptly. But I've a lot to live up to. Big brother is a big noise in the City.
He's a married man, early thirties, expensive but tasteful suit, carefully-combed fairish hair, mild and expansive demeanour. He often visits the house, strolling peacefully across the carpet, nonchalant hand in pocket.
The prestige attached to him... Because of wife kid two cars flight to Amsterdam on business... makes my rising albeit unstable star dim in comparison.
When he strolled into the livingroom he seemed mildly surprised to see me in my high-chair, my feet dangling down.
He may've wondered what occasioned such a symbolic seat. A judge about to pass sentence could not have looked more grave, or more foolish, than me at that moment. I looked down from on high with only my own unstable authority. And o for a gavel to bang so I could cry order.
We commenced an unremarkable conversation. With a dreadful, sickening eagerness I turned the talk round to my point. Dear reader, I'm afraid I touched him for a loan.
At this he seemed startled, though in a slowish, ox-like way, as though not comprehending the lingo, or trying to look beyond the surface. No doubt the dada has had a word in his ear: "The kid is not to be trusted, notoriously unstable character".
But like a jackal that has scented a fresh carcass I stuck to my point. With what dogged earnestness I pressed it home! I was a picture of sincerity, solemn-eyed and grave of countenance, like a dog begging for scraps. "Look, you can trust me, bro, you know I'm good for it".
Indeed bug bro knew no such thing, and I knew he knew. His loan and I intended it to be a large one would be frittered if not unceremoniously pissed away. Notoriously unstable character sweating in his rickety chair, quite ready to sell big bro and his two thousand pound suit his wife kids and two cars and his business class to Amsterdam down the river if it means a fast buck for yours truly.
He's a married man, early thirties, expensive but tasteful suit, carefully-combed fairish hair, mild and expansive demeanour. He often visits the house, strolling peacefully across the carpet, nonchalant hand in pocket.
The prestige attached to him... Because of wife kid two cars flight to Amsterdam on business... makes my rising albeit unstable star dim in comparison.
When he strolled into the livingroom he seemed mildly surprised to see me in my high-chair, my feet dangling down.
He may've wondered what occasioned such a symbolic seat. A judge about to pass sentence could not have looked more grave, or more foolish, than me at that moment. I looked down from on high with only my own unstable authority. And o for a gavel to bang so I could cry order.
We commenced an unremarkable conversation. With a dreadful, sickening eagerness I turned the talk round to my point. Dear reader, I'm afraid I touched him for a loan.
At this he seemed startled, though in a slowish, ox-like way, as though not comprehending the lingo, or trying to look beyond the surface. No doubt the dada has had a word in his ear: "The kid is not to be trusted, notoriously unstable character".
But like a jackal that has scented a fresh carcass I stuck to my point. With what dogged earnestness I pressed it home! I was a picture of sincerity, solemn-eyed and grave of countenance, like a dog begging for scraps. "Look, you can trust me, bro, you know I'm good for it".
Indeed bug bro knew no such thing, and I knew he knew. His loan and I intended it to be a large one would be frittered if not unceremoniously pissed away. Notoriously unstable character sweating in his rickety chair, quite ready to sell big bro and his two thousand pound suit his wife kids and two cars and his business class to Amsterdam down the river if it means a fast buck for yours truly.
Sunday 3 November 2013
Blue Room 4
Closing credits: List of names rolls upward quickly and without consequence. Impressive rolling theme-music signalling the end of the show.
Ah, the closing theme music! Tumbrils and cascades of sad Manhattan skylines! What memories and emotions you awake in me! Surely the saddest and emptiest sound: The closing theme-song. Minder! Dallas! Dukes of Hazard! How tragic it ever must be when the last note fades, when the last credit has rolled...
The saddest and most emotive closing theme-music of all was that of "Taxi": Mellow, urban-jazzy in an utterly drippy and tragic way, featuring a sad flute and lethargic keyboard, with the yellowcab meandering at night over the Brooklyn bridge. Used to come on in Britain on Sunday nights, and the closing theme-music to me meant one thing, time for bed and in the morning grey doom of Monday morning and school. So that the emotion even today is still waked in me by that dreadfully stirring and complacent bit of lounge-jazz...
But upon hearing the first notes of the closing theme-music I realize suddenly the show is over. And I totally unprepared! In a great fluster and panic I leap down from my high chair.
The show always ends either in a note of resolution (like a sitcom) or on a note of tension (like a soap opera) and I'm afraid I was so bound up in my problems that I completely failed to witness the crucial cliffhanger ending, and/or any decisions that may've been reached about me and my fate.
"I missed that. What happened at the end?" I inquire of Kojak, very concerned, as the closing credits continue to roll.
Kojak, smiling, turns his back on me and swiftly ambles away. Just before he moves out of shot, he mumbles "I'm not gonna tell ya son. That'd be too easy. Some things ya have to work out fer yaself".
Ah, the closing theme music! Tumbrils and cascades of sad Manhattan skylines! What memories and emotions you awake in me! Surely the saddest and emptiest sound: The closing theme-song. Minder! Dallas! Dukes of Hazard! How tragic it ever must be when the last note fades, when the last credit has rolled...
The saddest and most emotive closing theme-music of all was that of "Taxi": Mellow, urban-jazzy in an utterly drippy and tragic way, featuring a sad flute and lethargic keyboard, with the yellowcab meandering at night over the Brooklyn bridge. Used to come on in Britain on Sunday nights, and the closing theme-music to me meant one thing, time for bed and in the morning grey doom of Monday morning and school. So that the emotion even today is still waked in me by that dreadfully stirring and complacent bit of lounge-jazz...
But upon hearing the first notes of the closing theme-music I realize suddenly the show is over. And I totally unprepared! In a great fluster and panic I leap down from my high chair.
The show always ends either in a note of resolution (like a sitcom) or on a note of tension (like a soap opera) and I'm afraid I was so bound up in my problems that I completely failed to witness the crucial cliffhanger ending, and/or any decisions that may've been reached about me and my fate.
"I missed that. What happened at the end?" I inquire of Kojak, very concerned, as the closing credits continue to roll.
Kojak, smiling, turns his back on me and swiftly ambles away. Just before he moves out of shot, he mumbles "I'm not gonna tell ya son. That'd be too easy. Some things ya have to work out fer yaself".
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