That's a radical idea, ain't it? Let's tell Sir Martin Sorrell: 'You had your chance, pal, but you blew it. We don't want your tax money. Stick it where the sun don't shine'. You see, he thinks he can come crawling back now. Corporation tax is being cut. Marty reckons he's looked at the small print and the releases. He said: "Subject to draft legislation and enactment we will recommend a return to U.K. to board and shareowners". Well, there's no rush, son. Take as long as you like. Actually, why don't you stay in Ireland? We'll survive without you. You're not all that. Don't do us any fucking favours, will you?
I'm in a devilish mood. I feel that things have slipped a bit the last couple of days. I'll have to make one of my infamous fresh starts next week. I'll tell you what's difficult. Isolating yourself from dumb humanity is difficult. We all have it inside us. You see something in the news, like this Sorrell prick, and you get all fired up. Or maybe a **** on a **** has annoyed you. So you lose your focus. But I'm not giving up. I'm going to do what I said I would do: reach for the Kafka/Beckett level. Right on the mountain top. That would be the final victory. Don't you see? No one would be able to touch such an achievement because standards are so degraded in today's world. There aren't any writers any more. Just a bunch of cretins and whores. Someone's got to make a stand. Someone's got to say: 'This is serious'. Someone's got to risk everything for glory, rather than settle for a comfortable grave to lie down in unto death. I'm sick of reality. Even words make me sick. Where are the blank spaces to soothe me? Where are the silences to take away my pain? Where is my ... I could forget it all in my angel's arms. (That's not on the cards, is it?) Warning: high consciousness can kill you. Ain't that the truth! But I'm still breathing. I'm a walking miracle. And I am the burning shaman. I live the illusion. I've made it real. I believe in it because you've got to believe in something. A little transcendence. Not too much to ask. I want to wash away my sins. Yes, I'll do it myself.
[- ---- -- ---- ---, -------. - ---- -- ---- --- -- ---. - ---- ---. ---- -- - ------. --- --- -- -----. - -- -------. ---- -- --- - ----. - ---- --- -- ---- --. ----- ---- --. - ---- --- -- ---- --. - ----- -- -- ----- --------. -------, - ---- ---. --- --- -- -----. ---- -- --. ----- ---- -------. ----- ---. - ---- -- ----- ---.]
_________________________
I'm in a devilish mood. I feel that things have slipped a bit the last couple of days. I'll have to make one of my infamous fresh starts next week. I'll tell you what's difficult. Isolating yourself from dumb humanity is difficult. We all have it inside us. You see something in the news, like this Sorrell prick, and you get all fired up. Or maybe a **** on a **** has annoyed you. So you lose your focus. But I'm not giving up. I'm going to do what I said I would do: reach for the Kafka/Beckett level. Right on the mountain top. That would be the final victory. Don't you see? No one would be able to touch such an achievement because standards are so degraded in today's world. There aren't any writers any more. Just a bunch of cretins and whores. Someone's got to make a stand. Someone's got to say: 'This is serious'. Someone's got to risk everything for glory, rather than settle for a comfortable grave to lie down in unto death. I'm sick of reality. Even words make me sick. Where are the blank spaces to soothe me? Where are the silences to take away my pain? Where is my ... I could forget it all in my angel's arms. (That's not on the cards, is it?) Warning: high consciousness can kill you. Ain't that the truth! But I'm still breathing. I'm a walking miracle. And I am the burning shaman. I live the illusion. I've made it real. I believe in it because you've got to believe in something. A little transcendence. Not too much to ask. I want to wash away my sins. Yes, I'll do it myself.
_________________________
[- ---- -- ---- ---, -------. - ---- -- ---- --- -- ---. - ---- ---. ---- -- - ------. --- --- -- -----. - -- -------. ---- -- --- - ----. - ---- --- -- ---- --. ----- ---- --. - ---- --- -- ---- --. - ----- -- -- ----- --------. -------, - ---- ---. --- --- -- -----. ---- -- --. ----- ---- -------. ----- ---. - ---- -- ----- ---.]
