You’d think I’d have a bit more to say but by the time I get around to sitting here I’m phased out – or I think of these elaborate things thru the day then are gone later — or almost gone.
If any sydney people wants to come see me I’ll be at theat sydney airport, Kingsford smith I believe they call it, btwn 11 and one on Monday day. I’ll be signing copies of my book.
Man – what a terrible place – that city sydney has been nuthin’ but trouble for me. Every time I go there something bad happens. I get thrown out of conferences, break up with girlfriends, have fights with girlfriends, get lost while tripped out, forget my PIN number … and those are just the ones I can remember. I don’t know how anyone can live there.
I don’t have much to say. Go read Zellar, he does. It struck me last night that a couple of bloggers before their time are Dylan Thomas and Bill Burroughs. The collections of letters written by them where they continued on spining fantastic shit eventhough they knew the audience for such endevours would be extremely small = sounds familiar. In a different vein but kind of similar is things like ‘Letters from Afar’ – by V.I. Lenin. The old Vlad’s a bit drier, of course.
Since I’m not doing it now it doesn’t matter and I can tell you that for the last five years or so I’ve kept all the money that I at anytime posessed in a copy of the pamphlet, Letters from Afar in a drawer by my bed. every time I went to filch a 50 to break on a bar of chocolate, V.I. would be there, looking at me siliently asking ‘Is this good for The Plan?’. “Shove it, comrade!” I’d reply, “I want chocolate.”