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Cats and the Irish avantgarde

  Tue 21st June 2016

Kim's here for the weekend. Her dog pissed on my trendy G-Plan chair and over the hem of two of her dresses which were draped over it. Kim's meticulously fussy about cleanliness -- she resolutely avoids showering or bathing in my bathroom whilst she's here -- but a dog pissing over my furniture and her dresses is OK. She woofed through a big plateful of spaghetti alla puttanesca, then said she was still hungry, so I made us some drop scones, of which she ate fourteen.

She started wanking again in bed -- or at least, I read something sexual into the way she seemed to be breathing and constantly moving. This turned me on very much. I spent a long time thinking about how what a good state her cunt must be in to receive a proposition: "Kim -- could I put my fingers inside your cunt?" but I didn't: the bed, with Kim, has a border.

We spent last night snorting meow meow off a book called Historical Documents of the Irish Avantgarde. The book was chosen for its laminated cover and size, but I liked the conjunction of the sparkling, crystalline white lines of the most visually attractive of all drugs I know, and the book's title.

It's an invented documentary of Irish contemporary music, written by Jennifer Walshe, an actual Irish contemporary composer; Flann O'Brien's pisstake of the comical forced nobility of Gaelic language preservation contests, in The Poor Mouth, can't be far behind it. I wish she hadn't given the device away in the foreward, as it dulls the joke. Whilst I haven't noticed any indication of a mephedrone habit in Walshe's recent programme notes, I think such a playful woman would appreciate the way we used her faux research. I read a couple of chapters of it in between dancing and re-dosing, but meow meow fucks your reading sight up pretty early on.

I get a phone call from a rough-sounding bird. She's ringing to offer me an interview for a job in a betting shop; I applied back in February. I deliberately sent them a revisionist cv designed to make me sound thick, omitting any education beyond my 'O' levels, and inventing several menial jobs to replace my teacher / signalman / technical author years. It's secured me the interview, but I can't find the cv on my computer so I'll have to improvise my lying. The reviews from former employees on the internet who've worked for the firm are almost universally adverse, but it's a case of co-dependency at the very bottom of the ladder.

Wendy said the other day, "The obvious career for you is staring you in the face. But neither Kitty nor me would want to visit you in prison."

Fuckwit Lodger delights me with a text saying that he's moving out on Thursday. I have never wanted to see the back of a lodger as much as he. His constant presence demands an equally constant tiring sociability. He never has visitors or goes out to meet friends, and his poor cat is kept a prisoner in the house, never let outdoors. He visits his controlling personality on her. She's staying here when he leaves and she doesn't know of the vista of back alley adventures about to be opened up to her.


Comment from: kono [Visitor]

Oh the things used to chop and snort, my favorite back in the day was a CD by the Afghan Whigs, a ep actually called What Jail is Like, funny it never struck me until i read this post… and i once had a good friend tell me he thought prison would be good for me, said i had a lot of thoughts in my head and it would give me time to get them down, oddly enough he meant it as a compliment.

Tue 21st June 2016 @ 14:02
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

I prefer to get those thoughts down in a blog myself :)

One thing druggies are never short of is advice. I get told to take care of myself often. The remedies they suggest would involve me ruining my life through my own willpower. The same people ten minutes later start moaning about their jobs and stress and money, and how “lucky” I am, for example, to be going up the park tomorrow to get stoned and drink Prosecco with Wendy. It’s got nothing to do with luck. You said yourself once that living a life is an art. It’s not easy for poor people like you and me but the rich are hopeless at it.

“What Jail Is Like” made me laugh. Not sure if you will have them over there but there’s a very famous series of books called Ladybird books which almost everyone my age read as a child, and which used to teach children (and adults) about everything under the sun. “What Jail Is Like” is one of the great unpublished Ladybird titles.

Tonight, it’s fast, off a postcard of “Ruth” a painting of a sexy-looking hay-gathering girl from 1884 by Charles Landelle. The profane and the profound together make for the best evenings.

Tue 21st June 2016 @ 23:53

My wife consumes a staggering amount of food. She eats like a longshoreman. It shows, too. But that’s the third rail. I don’t dare say anything.

The betting shop sounds like a winner. You’ll meet a better class of people than you did at the University.

Your comment to kono is a marvelous post in and of itself. What a treasure chest this site is.

Thu 23rd June 2016 @ 12:09
Comment from: [Member]

i am just marginally drunk enough to catch up with looby, and i’m on my way to the Asshat Lounge. i can’t tell you how fascinating it is that the two of you are interacting out here… two brilliant minds, gifted wordsmiths… moving in very different directions now, but completely connecting!

ok. maybe i’m drunker than i thought…

Sun 26th June 2016 @ 03:34
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Now. now, lady, calm down with all that flattery. One of us is English, you know.

Seriously though – thanks! And happy drinking!

Sun 26th June 2016 @ 12:09
Comment from: Dr. Kenneth Noisewater [Visitor]  

I’m new here, and I’m intrigued about this whole Wendy situation. Seems like you two just get together and get drunk, and if that’s as far as it goes, that can be pretty great. Do keep us posted!


Fri 8th July 2016 @ 19:35
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Hello Kenneth, always nice to see a new face round here.

I do enjoy getting drunk (etc.) with Wendy but it’s always slightly tarnished with frustration now that I’m at the limit of what she feels for me. Dare say we’ll carry on, but I’d much prefer it now if I could switch off the other feelings that I have for her, the ones different from friendship.

Will have a look at The Gancer this afternoon.

Mon 11th July 2016 @ 13:35

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looby, n.; pl. loobies. A lout; an awkward, stupid, clownish person

M / 57 / Bristol, "the most beautiful, interesting and distinguished city in England" -- John Betjeman [1961, source eludes me].

"Looby is a left-wing intellectual who is obsessed with a) women's clothes and b) tits." -- Joy of Bex.

WLTM literate woman, 40-65. Must have nice tits, a PhD, and an mdma factory in the shed, although the first on its own will do in the short term.

There are plenty of bastards who drink moderately. Of course, I don't consider them to be people. They are not our comrades.
Sergei Korovin, quoted in Pavel Krusanov, The Blue Book of the Alcoholic

I am here to change my life. I am here to force myself to change my life.
Chinese man I met during Freshers Week at Lancaster University, 2008

The more democratised art becomes, the more we recognise in it our own mediocrity.
James Meek

Tell me, why is it that even when we are enjoying music, for instance, or a beautiful evening, or a conversation in agreeable company, it all seems no more than a hint of some infinite felicity existing apart somewhere, rather than actual happiness – such, I mean, as we ourselves can really possess?
Turgenev, Fathers and Sons

I hate the iPod; I hate the idea that music is such a personal thing that you can just stick some earplugs in your ears and have an experience with music. Music is a social phenomenon.
Jeremy Wagner

La vie poetique has its pleasures, and readings--ideally a long way from home--are one of them. I can pretend to be George Szirtes.
George Szirtes

Using words well is a social virtue. Use 'fortuitous' once more to mean 'fortunate' and you move an English word another step towards the dustbin. If your mistake took hold, no-one who valued clarity would be able to use the word again.
John Whale

One good thing about being a Marxist is that you don't have to pretend to like work.
Terry Eagleton, What Is A Novel?, Lancaster University, 1 Feb 2010

The working man is a fucking loser.
Mick, The Golden Lion, Lancaster, 21 Mar 2011

The Comfort of Strangers

23.1.16: Big clearout of the defunct and dormant and dull
16.1.19: Further pruning

If your comment box looks like this, I'm afraid I sometimes can't be bothered with all that palarver just to leave a comment.

63 mago
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the asshat lounge
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Fat Man On A Keyboard
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George Szirtes ditto
Guitars and Life
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