Archive for the ‘Ramblings of a mad man.’ Category

nostril man’s biscuit replacement

March 2, 2007

much like working for fat tony. Some will be duffers, some have been thrashed and look filthy, yet more have had their interiors ripped out, and some just won’t go. But occasionally one will come in that scorches thy nuggins and blates the chong powerfully and it can only be fun..keeping a watchfull and disciplined eye on such beauties.. the worthless stuff is worthless, there is an in-between, but money can not buy the priceless… The narja lords approve of your techniques and repetoire, they just have to switch off sometimes…they watch pondlife usually.


i cycled around an empty building, at speed

March 2, 2007

i did’nt crash into any children but have a good photo of Val, who i work with…. i suprise her with camera as she exit linen-cupboard. Usually she would prevent such capture but i told her she looked like buffy the vampire slayer and she went for it. my akbar is not functioning this morning as much because it was spenspeng for a long time, yes, i’ve used up all my bleh.

Being the Adventures of a depressed maniac and how he got that way.

March 2, 2007

Once upon a time in a land not blessed with the usual green trees, rolling hills or indeed any peaceful imagery at all, existed a forlorn, lovesick hermit who was adept at feeling sorry for himself.Today felt gloomier than usual for the hermit as he pondered futility while gnawing on some rock.With breakfast eaten,he was ready to begin the days’ activity of holler-chanting, a technique he had himself pioneered that involved amongst other recitations, such chants as;”oh god it’s so terrible” and “why me” and usually by lunchtime reaching his ‘favourite’ one;”I am just an utterly useless nob-ratchet”, which he liked to say at least a couple of hundred times or until his jaw ached.
He was careful when walking to the empty well he kept for disappointment purposes to keep his head down and his arms flat to his sides, adopting this posture allowed him to maintain a satisfactory air of hopelessness.Just before reaching the well, he would allow his head to rise a few inches in hopeful anticipation of having his intolerable thirst quenched,then he would arrive and look down into the empty well, sigh and toss one of his precious coins into the dry black void.He never made a wish,instead he used those few silent coin dropping moments to ponder the loss of his savings.

He never made a wish, instead he used those few silent coin falling moments to ponder the loss of his savings, this truth was always punctuated by the sound of coin landing upon coins, somewhere far below and out of reach. He once paid an artist much money to render his face as ugly and self deprecating as possible and the portrait now hangs from his cave wall, although it is difficult to see, even in contrast to the many bat droppings that surround it. It is as he likes to say “testament to my overall bad lot in life” He rarely grants an interview, the hermit, but when he does he goes out of his way to offer comfort and luxury to the visiting journalist, while he sits, suitably juxtaposed upon a jagged rock, beneath a dripping stalactite snivelling and mumbling almost incoherently while the journalist shorthands all he or she can de-cipher. Nothing is elucidated to the hermit, instead, as soon as he realises he is ‘on to something’, he casts as much doubt as he can upon the thought and then puts it in a “dark and confusing place”, his “pot of entropy”, thus he ensures that all his thought energy is wasted and nullified. He is in short, a waste of space, and by his own pathetic admission, too cowardly for suicide. So there he is, in part, the hermit man, incomplete fool, inept idiot, failed crusader of the psyche, the more the monikers mount up,the more he goes down,he likes it that way.