yesterday i got so bored, i kept dowing glasses of white wine, until i was too
drunk to pour and started drinking from the bottle,getting all maudlin
again, listening to sad songs,longing,achin' to be,calling past lovers and
old friends, i'm such a self-indulgent cunt, no fucking dignity, no pride, get a
better job, stop shagging around, don't hide, make eye contact, should have
gotten a degree, should have been married by now, get a new haircut, seize the
day, buy some new clothes, visit your mother, eat healthier, work out,stop
reading those cynical novels, don't listen to miserable morrissey, clean up
your apartment, take care of your skin, dress smarter, don't be so fucking
scared, go out, be bold, be rash, be happy etc etc etc.

but i'm stuck here,in this body, in this bloody bedsit, in the grim
supermarket under those cruel neon lights, in this warped ambitions, deluded
visions of success and recognition, self-loathing to narcissism, always
broke, still ugly, no friends,no masterplan, stuck in this class, all the
working class caricatures parading in front of me, the unemployment,the
boredom, the booze...they think it's very clever to be cruel to me, my
friends, my neighbours, these vicious streets, the ramshackle buildings; and
although i read and write, i'm just as stuck as all these poor sods.

all the people in my life are men, and all the men in my life are pimps as
well as johns as well as fathers as well as teachers as well as idols as
well as idiots as well as rapists as well as employers.

the only man i trust is a coke-snorting, auto-mutilating boy with small
hands, a girly voice and big brown eyes radiating innocence and
vulnerability, he may as well have "kick me" fastened on his sleeve.
his name is maff and despite his glass-eating, suicidal tendencies and his
urge to get beaten up;he's pure,he's sweet, he's a gem, he's my island but
he's sinking; i want to save him, i could be saved by saving him, but the coke
is great and his saviour all too weary and grey....

i am weary and grey, but my body and mind are tingling, i'm about to
burst, explode into joy? violence? genius? insanity? fire? water? burn? drown?
look into my eyes, do they look dull to you? no, they fucking don't...i'm
buzzing, my heart's racing, i'm liam gallagher, i'm on cloud nine, i'm fucking
talented, i could be in love, i've got so much to offer; but where are my
spectators, i need an audience, i crave for applause, a pat on my head...love
me, oh please love me, and if you can't love me, then at least notice me.

i want to be as smug, as handsome, as witty as my morrissey, only he isn't
mine, he's just a picture on my wall, just a voice i listen to every bleeding
day, just an idol; and if he knew how ugly i am, how i deliberately surround
myself with ugliness, he'd scoff at me, he'd loathe me; but i love him all the
same and i need to hear him longing and despairing: "oh mother, i can feel the
soil falling over my head/see,the sea wants to take me/the knife wants to
cut me" oh yes, i see, and i feel so blissfully miserable right now, and
somehow i know that i'm useless without my idols, i'm a fan,i'm a groupie, i'm
a whore.

the retarded flemish cook came round again yesterday, i said i was willing to
give him a blowjob if he'd pay me,and he agreed, so basically i'm a whore
now, nothing new to me, only this is different cos the retard claims he loves
me and i have to play along, and i ask myself why, though i try not to think
about it; i'm shagging a retarded flemish cook with a pocket-sized head and a
smelly crooked cock who drivels on my tits and arse and slides callous
fingers into my ever throbbing cunt, and why?

so i can buy twenty cds by twenty obscure indie bands who mumble about
cold-hearted women and cold war? so i can buy fancy lingerie that only old
despicable perverts will wank over? so i can buy chocolate and cheese that i
will binge-eat in an hour only to throw it all up again? bah....

well it's no surprise to me that chafik, my new best friend, the muslim
fundamentalist, looks down on us; he only has to take one look at my life to
realise renouncing the western world was the best move he's ever made, ha
ha, no really, i do feel ashamed and guilty, but i'm never gonna change my
ways, tomorrow i'm sucking another anonymous cock and i'm getting
paid, afterwards i'm going on a shopping spree, then in the evening while i'm
getting drunk in this sleazy bedsit, i'll listen to the smiths and i'll feel
so miserable, i could almost smile.