This is shocking! Apple is holding on to billions of dollars while I haven't got a pot to piss in. Something must be done. I'll have to sue Apple! 'Hang on a minute, Mikey. I didn't realize you had any Apple shares.' I don't, Voice. It's the principle of the thing. 'What principle?' Apple has billions of dollars lying around, and I don't. 'Oh, fair enough.' I detect sarcasm. 'No, I think it's a great idea.'
I'm listening to Burt Bacharach this week. A House Is Not A Home is an awesome song. The Brook Benton version. / Not much in the mood for writing today, news or any sort of writing. Just going to put down a few thoughts.
These are magic moments, or they can be magic moments - with the right attitude. You've got to catch them, and freeze them.
I'm not meant to live alone. Turn this house into a home.
I haven't played the guitar for a few days. My fingers are getting soft. I'll play later. My ear is all right.
I'll have to learn the piano again. I was always good on the piano, and you don't have to worry about your fingers. (My music teacher at school, Mr Brown, said I made four years progress in six months.) I prefer songs written on a guitar though. 'Bacharach wrote all his hits on the piano, Mikey.' Well, that's nice for him, Voice.
What's New Pussycat? Do me a fucking favour! This is one Bacharach song I can't stand. Or maybe it's just Tom Jones.
Can Burt play the guitar? Quite a few of his songs sound like they were written on a guitar. It's hard to tell. It could be the arrangement.
I wrote one decent song on the piano years ago (twenty-four). It was called Sunset Nausea. (Imagine Jean-Paul Sartre as a pop star.) It had a cool melody in the chorus. Okay lyrics too, but I can do better now.
I'm going to make my lunch today. I've got bread rolls, cheese, cucumber. And a can of Pepsi.
Right, laters, blog fans.