The Johnny Cash Scooter

kelvingrove Skatepark

Getting Sunstroke By The Kelvin

Lovely weather up here in Glasgow. A lazy meander through Kelvingrove Park resulted in some of my best and favourite photos. The place was mobbed, mainly because the novelty of sitting in the sunshine has yet to wear off after the long winter months. I kept moving. Glasgow city centre is a different beast though. Thousands milling about like zombified cattle in the precincts, and more thrillingly, in any shops I was foolish enough to enter. The worst of it is that the slightest hint of sunshine has the fuckers out in next to bollock all clothing wise. I just wish those with deeply unappealing figures would realise that the sight of their grey, flabby beerguts, mis-shapen lycra clad arses and knobbly knees are the last thing anyone wants to see. Christ, even the eye candy gets boring after a while. I speak as a man with a junior beer gut. I know about dressing to cover my faults and not to buy t-shirts from Top Man.................... Or Gap. What a bunch of fuckers. The other day, I found a long lost Gap voucher in a coat pocket. Not unreasonably, I decided I wanted to spend it. So there I was, in this Gap place and looking for something to spend my £25 on. Nothing. Absolutely fuck bloody all. Are these cunts for real? They had a sale section full of ghastly jumpers and rather vile t-shirts and jackets. The rest of the shop was full of the stuff you might just have bought if it was about a third of it's marked price. Then again, you might not...................Do you see what i'm getting at? crap clothes at pocket shafting prices. Eventually I swallowed my pride and decided against auctioning the voucher on this here blog..........I bought a nice-ish shirt but I had to add an extra tenner to the voucher to do so. Defeats the point of the voucher somewhat, but there you go...................

Hallo Zu Meinen Deutschen Lesern

Ill man has been translated!!!! Into German. It's a start I suppose. It would seem all Blogger stuff has been translated but I have to admit to a feeling of bewilderment and maybe a little pride as I read my latest dribblings translated into what Babelfish tells me is probably pretty ropey German. I apologise for my distinct lack of decent posts over the past few days. Work has been draining every last ounce of life from me. I usually resent bank holiday mondays for the fact that they just add another sunday to the week, but i'm genuinely looking forward to not being in that fucking hole of an office this monday. Right, that's yer lot. Turn out the light when you leave please............... Look!!

Go To Bed!!!

I'm bloody fuggin' knackered. Can barely move. I'm off to watch my 'Day Today' dvd from the comfort of the old wanking chariot before I pass out. Something to say tomorrow, promise...................

Slow Day

I'll have to let this one go. I'm tired and it's late. I'll be back to my incoherent best tomorrow, I promise. Cheers Further Reading The Beautiful Rush The Curmudgeon Tabloid Whore Owl Pellets Miss Snark Random Smiths Lyric Generator Link nicked from This Moment. Cheers Alan.

Bukowski

That old bum................Anyway, I like his poetry. It reads like condensed prose most of the time.............. Full of shit most of the time. Except when it's not......... The History Of One Tough Motherfucker he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and terrorized a white cross-eyed tailless cat I took him in and fed him and he stayed grew to trust me until a friend drove up the driveway and ran him over I took what was left to a vet who said,"not much chance...give him these pills...his backbone is crushed, but it was crushed before and somehow mended, if he lives he'll never walk, look at these x-rays, he's been shot, look here, the pellets are still there...also, he once had a tail, somebody cut it off..." I took the cat back, it was a hot summer, one of the hottest in decades, I put him on the bathroom floor, gave him water and pills, he wouldn't eat, he wouldn't touch the water, I dipped my finger into it and wet his mouth and I talked to him, I didn't go any- where, I put in a lot of bathroom time and talked to him and gently touched him and he looked back at me with those pale blue crossed eyes and as the days went by he made his first move dragging himself forward by his front legs (the rear ones wouldn't work) he made it to the litter box crawled over and in,it was like the trumpet of possible victory blowing in that bathroom and into the city, I related to that cat-I'd had it bad, not that bad but bad enough.. one morning he got up, stood up, fell back down and just looked at me. "you can make it," I said to him. he kept trying, getting up falling down, finally he walked a few steps, he was like a drunk, the rear legs just didn't want to do it and he fell again, rested, then got up. you know the rest: now he's better than ever, cross-eyed, almost toothless, but the grace is back, and that look in his eyes never left... and now sometimes I'm interviewed, they want to hear about life and literature and I get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed, shot, runover de-tailed cat and I say,"look, look at this!" but they don't understand, they say something like,"you say you've been influenced by Celine?" "no," I hold the cat up,"by what happens, by things like this, by this, by this!" I shake the cat, hold him up in the smoky and drunken light, he's relaxed he knows... it's then that the interviews end although I am proud sometimes when I see the pictures later and there I am and there is the cat and we are photo- graphed together. he too knows it's bullshit but that somehow it all helps. Now If You Were Teaching Creative Writing The Worst And The Best The Insane Always Loved Me More.....