28.9.05
For my people
What, but what - and speak honestly, friend - can ever compare to the needle hitting the vein, the blood billowing in the barrel like a blossoming rose, pushing in the plunger, the warm chemical mixture pouring into warm rich pumping bloodstream?
After that, what else is there, once you've touched god and he comes in a ten-bag?
Some of you will never understand fully the question. Some of you never get to laugh at the ultimate gallows absurdity of it: is it the only way out, relinquishing your soul to a Higher Power, like the 12-steppers or Christians do it? Or to die a sad stinking travesty of humanity, lost all control?
There is a thing that equals and defeats all highs, and that is Doing Thy Will. When you are right, when you are in space and time exactly where you are meant to be and everything you do is right and you are reaping the reward for your courage; when you are unstoppable and your energy inevitable, when you connect with the universe and Do Thy Will, when you fulfill thy dharma.
That is the one thing we must seek for, brother, otherwise we may as well end it here and now.
(Thank you for reminding me, my friend. Sometime, the right word at the right time can save the universe. Although maybe just not now.)
Lessons of today
1. When in Rome, do as the Romanians (Paula Daunt)
2. Never combine valium and alcohol and then talk to anyone, at all
3. Life is really quite simple when you know what you want.
Rain returns to London. I dig out the long dark coat and unavoidably dark thoughts enter my mind. I am meant to be somewhere warm and sunny.
There was one thing we forgot to ask the Nestle people. If you combine Nescafe with cold milk and pour it on a slug, the slug dies instantly. This sounds brutal. I forgot to ask them whether there would be any way to revive such a slug. I would have told them it was my pet slug, but I was too drink-sodden for deadpan.
2. Never combine valium and alcohol and then talk to anyone, at all
3. Life is really quite simple when you know what you want.
Rain returns to London. I dig out the long dark coat and unavoidably dark thoughts enter my mind. I am meant to be somewhere warm and sunny.
There was one thing we forgot to ask the Nestle people. If you combine Nescafe with cold milk and pour it on a slug, the slug dies instantly. This sounds brutal. I forgot to ask them whether there would be any way to revive such a slug. I would have told them it was my pet slug, but I was too drink-sodden for deadpan.
An experiment in drunkeness, and a question about Nescafe resolved
A close friend (who you will know as Doc O) arrived back from New York yesterday so I went over last night to hear the stories of the Englishman in New York and drink most of a bottle of Smirnoff (is it Blue or Black, the 50% one?)
As you my faithful readers all know, my drug of choice is completely different, and I haven't been drunk for as long as I remember. Instead I have found a very good doctor who is curing me of my heroin addiction by the use of morphine sulphate and diazepam. I will explain the idea behind this later.
Now, in summer time, you can make a lovely iced coffee shake sort of thing by putting instant coffee, sugar and crushed ice in a milk bottle and shaking until it goes frothy and sludgy. Late in the evening, when the tonic and lemons had run out, I thought rather than drink raw alcohol in the manly Nordic manner, I would make alcoholic iced coffee.
Before continuing with the story, I must explain a little about Dr Otter. He lives in a dank repulsive hole of a flat (yeah, so hit me mthrfckr) which he rarely cleans and the kitchen of which lacks the most basic implements or civilised amenities. Yet, the man can put together a delicious sharkfish steak with sauce, with rice and a vegetable dish on the side. When he drinks, there will always be lemon, lime and ice-cubes at hand.
The alcoholic coffee sludge that I had produced deeply insulted Dr Otter and sparked a vicious and dangerous situation which could have ended badly. He held out with religious conviction that Nescafe must first be mixed with some boiling water. If one is making iced coffee, one then adds the cold milk or ice afterwards. I took the position that it is perfectly alright to mix the coffee directly with cold milk.
The argument escalated dangerously. Dr Otter and I are neither what one would term well-balanced people. Horrible violence, probably to my detriment, loomed. A solution had to be found.
Aha! I had it! On the side of the Nescafe jar, there is a Consumer Helpline Freephone number. We must call them and ask which one of us was right.
Doc O wouldn't give me the phone at first, knowing he would be proved wrong. Finally I managed to wrest it from him and telephone the number. A recorded message told me that, since it was 2 am, the line was closed, but in emergencies, the security at the Nestle office could be contacted on 019xxxxx whatever.
I telephoned the security and did my best to maintain my face in my shameful (yes, this combination of drugs is shameful) state of vodka and valium-sodden soddenness. He was very concerned and told me that, while he was just security, someone from the Consumer Help department could phone me back if I had a concern, so I gave him the number.
Several minutes later, someone from Nestle called. Doc O answered the phone and spoke most of the time. This made it possible for him to use his typical cheap sophistry to word the question in such a manner that he would be proved right. Apparently, the person he spoke to told him that Nescafe is, indeed, designed to be mixed with boiling water.
I took the phone before Doc O hung up and spoke to the Nestle Consumer Help Representative. He told me it was perfectly fine to mix Nescafe with cold milk and that, really, it came down to a matter of personal preference.
I expressed my admiration that Nestle had Consumer Help Representatives awake at all hours of night to answer important questions about their products, thanked the gentleman, and hung up. The man had, after all, spent some 20 minutes in the dead of night talking to two people who must have sounded like complete drooling idiots. He spoke calmly and soothingly and his concern for the consumers of his company's products was palpable.
Inevitably Doc O then began to crow "Ha, see! I was right and you were wrong!"
I was too far gone to care any more. I'm tired of arguing with people like him who can never concede defeat like a gentleman. I'm exactly the same, it must be said.
"History is written my the victor."
No, history is written by the one who has the blog. This has now become the established, recorded truth of what transpired that night. The following instant recipe for ice coffee was also validated by a Nestle representative. It is very nice on a hot summer day.
(As for Doc O, I have tried to help introduce him to the world of internet and computers because I think he should start a blog and suffered untold verbal abuse because of it. I finally managed to impress him with the new technology he so scorns when I found out how to extract morphine sulphate for injection from Zomorph slow-release morph capsules on Google.
If this were the sort of blog that commented on current events, I would heap scorn and contempt on the way the media have treated Kate Moss and her "cocaine shame", and pointed you all to this very readable Guardian article.)
(Note that important features of the story which I missed have been added to the comments section.)
As you my faithful readers all know, my drug of choice is completely different, and I haven't been drunk for as long as I remember. Instead I have found a very good doctor who is curing me of my heroin addiction by the use of morphine sulphate and diazepam. I will explain the idea behind this later.
Now, in summer time, you can make a lovely iced coffee shake sort of thing by putting instant coffee, sugar and crushed ice in a milk bottle and shaking until it goes frothy and sludgy. Late in the evening, when the tonic and lemons had run out, I thought rather than drink raw alcohol in the manly Nordic manner, I would make alcoholic iced coffee.
Before continuing with the story, I must explain a little about Dr Otter. He lives in a dank repulsive hole of a flat (yeah, so hit me mthrfckr) which he rarely cleans and the kitchen of which lacks the most basic implements or civilised amenities. Yet, the man can put together a delicious sharkfish steak with sauce, with rice and a vegetable dish on the side. When he drinks, there will always be lemon, lime and ice-cubes at hand.
The alcoholic coffee sludge that I had produced deeply insulted Dr Otter and sparked a vicious and dangerous situation which could have ended badly. He held out with religious conviction that Nescafe must first be mixed with some boiling water. If one is making iced coffee, one then adds the cold milk or ice afterwards. I took the position that it is perfectly alright to mix the coffee directly with cold milk.
The argument escalated dangerously. Dr Otter and I are neither what one would term well-balanced people. Horrible violence, probably to my detriment, loomed. A solution had to be found.
Aha! I had it! On the side of the Nescafe jar, there is a Consumer Helpline Freephone number. We must call them and ask which one of us was right.
Doc O wouldn't give me the phone at first, knowing he would be proved wrong. Finally I managed to wrest it from him and telephone the number. A recorded message told me that, since it was 2 am, the line was closed, but in emergencies, the security at the Nestle office could be contacted on 019xxxxx whatever.
I telephoned the security and did my best to maintain my face in my shameful (yes, this combination of drugs is shameful) state of vodka and valium-sodden soddenness. He was very concerned and told me that, while he was just security, someone from the Consumer Help department could phone me back if I had a concern, so I gave him the number.
Several minutes later, someone from Nestle called. Doc O answered the phone and spoke most of the time. This made it possible for him to use his typical cheap sophistry to word the question in such a manner that he would be proved right. Apparently, the person he spoke to told him that Nescafe is, indeed, designed to be mixed with boiling water.
I took the phone before Doc O hung up and spoke to the Nestle Consumer Help Representative. He told me it was perfectly fine to mix Nescafe with cold milk and that, really, it came down to a matter of personal preference.
I expressed my admiration that Nestle had Consumer Help Representatives awake at all hours of night to answer important questions about their products, thanked the gentleman, and hung up. The man had, after all, spent some 20 minutes in the dead of night talking to two people who must have sounded like complete drooling idiots. He spoke calmly and soothingly and his concern for the consumers of his company's products was palpable.
Inevitably Doc O then began to crow "Ha, see! I was right and you were wrong!"
I was too far gone to care any more. I'm tired of arguing with people like him who can never concede defeat like a gentleman. I'm exactly the same, it must be said.
"History is written my the victor."
No, history is written by the one who has the blog. This has now become the established, recorded truth of what transpired that night. The following instant recipe for ice coffee was also validated by a Nestle representative. It is very nice on a hot summer day.
1. Drink or empty about a quarter of a plastic milk 1 litre packet (use blue, ie full fat milk. of course)As a mixer for vodka, it is not to my taste. Large vodka tonic if you want to buy me a drink.
2. Add Nescafe, sugar and crushed ice to the rest of the remaining milk.
3. Screw milk packet top on securely and shake until frothy and sludgy.
4. Pour into glass and enjoy.
(As for Doc O, I have tried to help introduce him to the world of internet and computers because I think he should start a blog and suffered untold verbal abuse because of it. I finally managed to impress him with the new technology he so scorns when I found out how to extract morphine sulphate for injection from Zomorph slow-release morph capsules on Google.
If this were the sort of blog that commented on current events, I would heap scorn and contempt on the way the media have treated Kate Moss and her "cocaine shame", and pointed you all to this very readable Guardian article.)
(Note that important features of the story which I missed have been added to the comments section.)
27.9.05
Computer stuff
I would love to be here with you but I must occupy my time with other things for the time being. [redacted]
"Duuh I don't understand explain to me"
The computer will explain to you, it's easy. There's a whole new world of information out there.
The computers are taking over. Learn to communicate with them now. New Labour and the banking system will collapse, but don't worry, your funds are safe with us. And always and always new things to learn.
"Duuh I don't understand explain to me"
The computer will explain to you, it's easy. There's a whole new world of information out there.
The computers are taking over. Learn to communicate with them now. New Labour and the banking system will collapse, but don't worry, your funds are safe with us. And always and always new things to learn.
25.9.05
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves: "Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?"
Actually, who are you not to be?
You playing small doesn't serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people will not feel insecure around you.
As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
(incorrectly attributed as being from Nelson Mandela's inaugural speech, 1994...)
17.9.05
A story with no events part 2
Part one here
Edward Shah was the youngest son of a doctor, who had been the richest man in the district. As the youngest son, Edward had inherited none of the wide property (the rape-seed and sunflower fields, the mango groves, the sterling silver Raj-era pocket watch) amassed by the patriarch. In fact, he had inherited only a vast collection of cheap plastic wall clocks emblazoned with the emblems of forgotten pharmaceutical companies and medicines. The clocks covered the inside walls of his high-ceilinged mud-brick dwelling, an expanse of clocks stretching in every direction, none of them telling the right time.
Outside, the parched breeze still whispered over the plain, and second by second, the old men got even older.
Nothing happened yet.
Edward Shah was the youngest son of a doctor, who had been the richest man in the district. As the youngest son, Edward had inherited none of the wide property (the rape-seed and sunflower fields, the mango groves, the sterling silver Raj-era pocket watch) amassed by the patriarch. In fact, he had inherited only a vast collection of cheap plastic wall clocks emblazoned with the emblems of forgotten pharmaceutical companies and medicines. The clocks covered the inside walls of his high-ceilinged mud-brick dwelling, an expanse of clocks stretching in every direction, none of them telling the right time.
Outside, the parched breeze still whispered over the plain, and second by second, the old men got even older.
Nothing happened yet.