I am still making my way through Mark Leirer's biography of Bakunin. A few pages at a time. If you are an industrial worker, as I am, I would not suggest you do the same. Creative destructive urges are frowned upon in the workplace. An old foreman of mine put it this way, "The next one of you stupid cocksuckers who breaks something is fucking fired."
It is only Wednesday but if I had just a little less sense than I do I would have pulled off the main road in town on the way home and got myself a big bag of fucking Afghan heroin. January is a motherfucker. The junkie month.
Got myself a cider on the go. That will have to do. Tomorrow it will be whisky. Beer in the pub on Friday. Looks like I will be going toe to toe with the heavyweight champ on Saturday night. Bottle of Mexican absinthe I have been saving for a night when I need to see shit and not feel a fucking thing.
2 comments:
Ya.
But can you still hear on the green stuff?
Because I reckon 'Song for Jon' will be ready by then.
I am now into my fifth decade of sawmill noise and punk rock sonic attack. Play it loud! Same goes for Jon except he withstood a similar time listening to a bus rumble beneath him and four string Hawaiian Tiny Bubbles Sonic Attack.
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