Friday, 28 October 2011

It's all right for Claus Skrumsager, ain't it?

How do they sleep at night? / Claus Skrumsager has just been promoted or given extra duties or something. That must mean more pay. It's got to mean that! I'm struggling to make ends meet - living on hard street, I'll have you know; while Mr Skrumsager is living on easy street. Now, I'm not normally the envious type, I'm not a big champagne drinker, and I've never voted Labour, but, oh, how I would love to work at Morgan Stanley. A global co-head of debt derivatives?! Jesus! He must be on at least £30,000 a year. He probably gets luncheon vouchers as well. Me, I'm living like a fucking tramp (but in a house, obviously, though you haven't seen the house) and ... never mind. My only consolation is that I'll be immortal one day. Yes, immortality: it makes up for the terrible hours and the lousy pay and the insecurity and the ...


I'm all joyful. So, we'll forget about the first paragraph, and we'll forget about Mr Skrumsager. You may not believe this, dear reader(s), but I am feeling so ooo ooo happy to be alive. It's not just that I sense my angel's love across the ocean, pulsing. That would be enough on its own, believe me. No, I have a new attitude now, this last week or so. God knows where it came from! Do thoughts and emotions travel through the great cosmos (like love across an ocean?) with the sole purpose of infiltrating our minds, and our hearts? Probably not. I don't know what's going on! But I'm not complaining, I'm making hay while the sun shines.


Does the sun shine at night? It must do, somewhere. / How do I sleep at night? With the light in my mind, and all those incredible dreams, it's not a real rest. Oh, how I envy the people with no dreams! It must be very peaceful, like death.

What's the eternal joy of death? Sleeping forever in astral landscapes you’ve made for yourself? Possibly. A sort of heaven. 'Are you aware, as in dreams?' Why are you asking me? What do I know? I'm still with the living, thankfully.

Astral landscapes? Aren't they banned? Ha! The people I'm thinking of don't make anything, anyway. I should think these "people" are heading straight for hell. Satan has beds ready for them, I'm sure. Beds of red-hot nails. It's not something that excites me, particularly. I've just got the truth-telling bug.


I'm all joyful. [The more I say it, the more convinced I become.] I'm all joyful. So, I'll forget about the last three paragraphs, and I'll forget about death. But you won't - if you know what's good for you. The "people" are animals. You're reading this, my child. You either know something "they" will never know, or you are learning something "they" will never have enough soul to learn.

As for Mr Skrumsager, I haven't forgotten him - yet. Let's pray for him. I will not hold his promotion against him, if that's what it is. He doesn't know any better. He was hardly going to refuse, was he? 'Stuff it, Raj Dhanda, sir! I don't give a FIG! It's not for me. I've got the future of my soul to consider.' Oh, hardly.