Thursday, 5 January 2012

Are you coming with me?

Off the top of my head? Out of the blue? Whatever. Call it whatever you want. Any way you want to have it, baby. All I know is that the news has been fucking pathetic this last week or so. What am I supposed to write about, eh? Fucking journalists. You would think they would have a bit of self-respect. If I did my job like that, well, it doesn't bear thinking about. Imagine the chakras! And my intern? My intern turned out to be an absolute arsehole. I had to let him go. I won't even give him a reference now. He thought working for me would be the easy way into Goldman Sachs, but I've already phoned Lloyd to tell him to watch out for this wanker. I should have gone for a girl. At least I would have had something to look at. And touch occasionally, near the photocopier. I know what goes on. I've heard the stories. However, I don't have a photocopier. I'll have to get one. Then I'll get a female intern! I'm feeling more positive already.

So, did you have a nice Christmas? What do you think will happen this year? Got any holidays planned? You don't say much, do you? Are you the strong, silent type? Or just weak and unable to say anything interesting? I'm not judging you. I'm just trying to understand. What's the deal with you? Never mind. You're all right. Thing is, I get so lonely sometimes. All the voices have gone, the ghosts, the money gods. Yes, it was my way, like it's always my way. Still, I do get lonely. Now I know how Zarathustra felt. He didn't have an easy time of it either. It's psychological, a lot of it. I've always known how Picasso felt after painting Les Demoiselles d'Avignon. The isolation. Even Matisse didn't have a clue. It is very frustrating. But you have to keep going, I suppose. What's the alternative? Suicide? No thanks. And don't let anyone tell you it's painless. The worst of it is on the other side, I'm sure.

Maybe there'll be some news tomorrow. Who knows? I don't know. No! But I know there'll come a time when I'll leave the news behind. Pure money - the essence - could be pure literature with the right method, and the right spirit. However, it's not something I can do with adverts on my blog, and it's not something I can do as a poor man. One day, I'll cut loose. After my ship has come in, I'll be loose and free. Yes! That's what I'm working towards. That's why I need those songs. I'm not going to be murdered by secret police, like Lautreamont. I'm not going to have my leg cut off, like Rimbaud. I'm going to be like Picasso, rich and successful, the ultimate artist/shaman!

Let's go beyond! Are you coming? Do you have the guts? I've alienated more squares than Duchamp with his urinal - look at the hits! - and this is only the beginning! You don't have to do what I do, child(ren). Not unless you want to. I'm merely asking you to keep up, as an observer, that's all. A witness, as it were. Your soul is safe. At no time will I place it in danger. That's my personal guarantee, or your money back. The same goes for your reputation. I know a lot of you [is there more than one?] value your reputation more than your soul. Whatever, eh? Yes. I'm actually so proud of you, that you've made it this far. Alienation is where all the action is, all the achievement. You're here with me on the edge of literature. So, just a little taste. Over the edge? This is a classic toe-in-the-water situation. Just a little toe, eh? Yes, go on! I'll look after you. I'm very protective of the ones I love. And I love you, (wo)man, I really, really do!

Let's see what we've got. Clear, cool water, nothing - Jesus! A fucking shark! Watch it! Oh, the vicious sod! No, you're all right. What a close shave! Hang on, are you ... ? Was that the FSA? Oh my God! Will they ever leave us alone? 'We all live in a dead shark, dead shark, dead shark.' They love it, don't they? You've got a bloody toe! Let me ... Reader, where are you going? Stay with me!

All right, all right, I'm with you, child. Dry your eyes. It's no big deal. We'll try again, one day, one far off day, after my ship has come in. It's too soon now, anyway. You're not ready yet, are you? And I've got my advertisers to think about. I'm not disappointed though. We've had bare excitement, as they say, or might say, the kids on the street. Yeah, you've lost a bit of blood. But worse things happen at work. Cheer up! Haven't you got any charts or spreadsheets or anything to be getting on with?