With my brain all crumbled now I'm not sure I can manage saying anything more than yeah, yeah.
'Don't be ridiculous, Mikey!'
Shut up. It's the way I am now. Maybe only a few weeks to go. That will be all right. Then I can concentrate on poetry, yeah?
'Yeah.'
Yeah. It's for the best.
I've been thinking a bit with my few remaining brain cells ... it might not be possible or desirable to put more than one big poem in each volume. / I've got that 156-line one, obviously. There's no point in going that BIG unless you really need to. Or it will just be a waste of words and space. / So, if I had say, six volumes, that would mean six big ones. / I'm thinking more about a VERY BIG ONE. Maybe 20 to 30 pages. I don't know how many lines or words that would be. But it could be published on its own.
Just ideas, man.
While me brain crumbles some more ...
I'm always changing my mind, or getting better ideas.
Anyway ...
I was going to go out, but it started raining. Then it stopped. I could go out this afternoon, I suppose. But it might start again. I don't know what to do.
Listen ...
I need the world to go away soon because I want to focus. It's absurd all the stuff I have to put up with. People saying stuff, asking me stuff. Seriously, what is their problem? Can't they tell I'm not connected? Would they walk into the sea and start laying their bullshit on a dolphin? No, of course they wouldn't. So why do they think they can try it with me?
'It's because you look like a human being, Mikey. They see you with your arms and legs and head and all that. Then they hear you speaking some regular English, when you're forced to, like, by circumstances, like. And then they make their mistake: "Oh, he's human like me. I'll go and talk to him about utter shite. Maybe I'll ask him to get involved in some absolute nonsense." You see?'
Yes, I see, Voice.
It's the "circumstances" thing that really gets me though. Without "circumstances" I could probably live my life the way I wanted to.
Never mind, eh, kooks?
Laters.
'Bye!'
ENDS
ENDS
ENDS
