Just a general sort of chatty post, dear reader(s), for the last one of the week. There isn't any financial news I like the look of, and I haven't received any PR emails lately. 'That's a lie, boss. A bloody lie! I've seen them in your inbox.' They weren't suitable, Voice. 'Why not?' Christ! Why are you such an idiot? First of all, they're off topic. I get emails about cat food or something. 'Ha! Do that story!' No. Or ... I get people offering investment advice or even investment opportunities. And that's potentially dodgy, man. 'Oh.' And don't forget I'm a financial shaman. I don't offer investment advice, do I? I'm on the mystical side of things. I'll fix anyone's chakras. 'Ha! How could I forget you're a shaman, boss? I'm your spirit guide.' Yeah, right. Native American, aren't you? 'I don't know. Maybe.' How can you not know? 'It's all rather vague. I'm rather vague.' Right.
Listen, dear reader(s), I reckon he's the old mystical child voice I used to have on this blog. I got rid of him, and then he came back rebranded as the Voice. That's what I reckon. 'Nonsense! I hated that guy!' Really? 'Yes. I still see him lurking around on the astral plane, you know.' Oh. How is he? 'I don't talk to him. He's not in my circle of friends.' Okay.
Yeah, yeah. Okay, let's move on. What shall we talk about, my dear reader(s)? 'Brexit, boss!' Get lost! 'Music, then.' Do you want to talk about music, reader(s)?
Let me put something on. The La's by The La's. I'm still not sure about this album. It's supposed to be an all-time classic, but ... I'm just not sure, you dig? Lee Mavers reminds me of the French poet Stephane Mallarme, who hardly wrote any poems and yet ... he's an immortal genius, by all accounts. 'Naked golds thrashing crimson space, boss.' Exactly! / Obviously, There She Goes is a great classic song. Uh. By the way, yes ... I can understand Mavers' perfectionism. 'Ha! You're just the same.' It's almost a mental illness.
So, I'm not having a pop at anyone. One day I'll finish my new demo. I promise.
I'll tell you, I feel like watching Don't Look Back, the documentary of Bob Dylan's 1965 tour of the UK. I haven't seen it in a while. Maybe at the weekend. / I've said it before, and I'll say it again ... Donovan's singing and playing are much better in the film, but Dylan has got ... [drum roll] ... the X factor. 'The X Factor?! The X Factor?!?!?!' No, no ... the X factor, with a small "f", Voice, FFS! 'Thank God for that!'
Anyway, that's your lot, kook(s). I'm worn out, but there's no rest for the wicked. I'll try recording tonight. So ... 'Bye!' Yeah, bye.
Listen, dear reader(s), I reckon he's the old mystical child voice I used to have on this blog. I got rid of him, and then he came back rebranded as the Voice. That's what I reckon. 'Nonsense! I hated that guy!' Really? 'Yes. I still see him lurking around on the astral plane, you know.' Oh. How is he? 'I don't talk to him. He's not in my circle of friends.' Okay.
Yeah, yeah. Okay, let's move on. What shall we talk about, my dear reader(s)? 'Brexit, boss!' Get lost! 'Music, then.' Do you want to talk about music, reader(s)?
Let me put something on. The La's by The La's. I'm still not sure about this album. It's supposed to be an all-time classic, but ... I'm just not sure, you dig? Lee Mavers reminds me of the French poet Stephane Mallarme, who hardly wrote any poems and yet ... he's an immortal genius, by all accounts. 'Naked golds thrashing crimson space, boss.' Exactly! / Obviously, There She Goes is a great classic song. Uh. By the way, yes ... I can understand Mavers' perfectionism. 'Ha! You're just the same.' It's almost a mental illness.
So, I'm not having a pop at anyone. One day I'll finish my new demo. I promise.
I'll tell you, I feel like watching Don't Look Back, the documentary of Bob Dylan's 1965 tour of the UK. I haven't seen it in a while. Maybe at the weekend. / I've said it before, and I'll say it again ... Donovan's singing and playing are much better in the film, but Dylan has got ... [drum roll] ... the X factor. 'The X Factor?! The X Factor?!?!?!' No, no ... the X factor, with a small "f", Voice, FFS! 'Thank God for that!'
Anyway, that's your lot, kook(s). I'm worn out, but there's no rest for the wicked. I'll try recording tonight. So ... 'Bye!' Yeah, bye.
