Waves Make The Only Sound

img_2120For Tuesday see last Friday. Except don’t because it doesn’t appear to be raining. Unless it has been and I was too bereft of botheredness to pay attention. I don’t care for Tuesday, Tuesday don’t care for me.

I remember when my life was a whirlwind of activity, gigging and rehearsals and writing and recording and travelling all about the lovely places. Did I dream all of that? Was I older then? Am I so much younger now? No, of course not, that’s not how time works until some clever scientist breaks knowledge into smithereens and destroys what we think we know.

I remember when another of my lives was all about reading and writing and cleverness and not quite existing in the real world because academia is an alternate universe made out of contentment and quoting Foucault. Where did I go? I struggle to read ‘Noddy Does A Painful Poop In The Lavatory’ these days.

I remember when I came down from the mountain with God-given commandments etched onto stone tablets and led my people out of the wilderbeast. Ness? The Nessbeast. Wherever I led them out of it was me leading them, me and my gigantic beard, my hand crafted sandals and my dislike of bacon. Me I tells ya, me, me, me!!!!!

And now? I sleep until gone midday, watch Bargain Hunt over a breakfast bowl brimming with multigrain circles of blandness (all the while hoping it’s an episode with Natasha Raskin in it even though she’s broken my heart by getting married to somebody who isn’t me in recent times), and sleep some more until it’s time for Pointless (all the while hoping Richard Osman will break up with his wife so I can marry him).

I am a faint echo of a man…of a man…of a man…a man…man…an…an…an…an…

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