Middle class art-threat

[hirez]

I have two Saabs and I wandered our tabloid-reading street with a rather nice bottle of merlot in one hand and a corkscrew in the other.

(The aged P's turned up for lunch. I bunged Kraftwerk on the stereo and talked about Kropotkin and typewriters.)

My parents number among my best friends. Apparently that's not right. It makes my counsellor's job... Different.


I guess I apologise a bit to the people who've recently pitched up here, presumably expecting scandal, erudition or at least the odd nob-gag... But right about now I'm quite startlingly drunk and idly wondering (in a 'not that I really care because I've tried being metropolitan and rural and goth and trannie and whatever the hell else and shit I didn't really fit in anywhere because there was always this other stuff going on that involved Landrovers or jazz or techno or John Woo films or The Fall' manner.)

At least I would be if I could remember what the hell I was thinking when I started this sentence.

Buggeration.

Tomorrow I'm going to Sharpness to look at the canal. There's this whole wedge of county (it's the bit bracketed by the M4 and M5) that's flat and strange and has roads that just lead off into nowhere.

Though they probably all go to places I can't see because I'm looking at them wrong.

(Some people post daily and that's not enough. I post about about monthly and that feels like too much. You work it out.)

[ Any questions? ]

Comments

[hirez.livejournal.com]

Indeed not. And indeed they do.

I think it takes a while (some people longer than others) for anyone to work out that being themselves is... More attractive than attempting to fit into some notional ideal.

[ramble]

If LJ lasts long enough, you could maybe saw a section out of it and count the rings of people growing up.

[quercus.livejournal.com]

If LJ lasts long enough, you could maybe saw a section out of it and count the rings of people growing up.

But don't trust the rootstock - we're all grafted CIXen.