frIDaY THE 11th OF decemBer 2015
part number DEuX (ConTINueD rEEL meTTel dRAMa)
Who needs a mind anyway, with daytime TV? They can keep it and stick it and get stuffed up on it. I’m too preoccupied recovering from nicotine addiction to be side-tracked by the frivolities of the human mind. My perps revere their states of mind above anything else. When they’re not gurgling each other’s blood, or making adult movies to enslave minors, or busy with limb-ripping rituals, they have a fondness for lateral thinking and problem solving as pretenders-to-be of modern day psychological gurus. They sit around my bed all afternoon in their £25k invisible suits from India, asking for my input on the subject of conceptual symbolism. This is when they are not prodding my ribs with knives I cannot protect myself from. Who needs enemies, with violent intellectual layabouts like these for company?
I continue to be tormented each and every day without fail. To soften the blow, I distract myself with a mouthful of reaffirming self-talk. I remind myself of all the places I’ve been, such as viewing my spirit animal, the moose, by Scottish castle remains, or surviving ghostly nights in haunted Essex hotels, or falling off a boat in EuroDisney. I recall all the scenes I’ve seen, such as car crashes, dogs getting run over, armed robberies in the supermarket, vicious attacks in prison, the time I got chased out of town by a White Lives Matter mob, such and such is like. Don’t forget the time I perceived The Incredible Hulk and dinosaurs to be following me in the park!
I’ve met some magnetically absorbing personalities along the journey. These are described in my autobiography, THE MIXING POT, a story of lost adolescence, incarceration, delusions and romance. I would spend a whole page of listing a person’s habitual characteristics in this work, ingratiated with their distinguishments, instead of idea-serving as I do now for the Hollywood industry, when it’s all about boring plot arcs and action scenes. Hold on, be back in a moment – Tom Cruise is on the grapevine.
My life doesn’t amount to much compared to a touring jetsetter, but my nostalgia is very useful to me. I’m developing memory techniques. The one the pros use is to imagine their memory as an architectural property, like a Bishop’s cathedral or a Senator’s mansion, and assign objects or pieces of furniture to individual memories. The pet cat in this structure, if the owner likes animals, might be a specific holiday, its collar might be a sexy waiter, it’s claw might be a certain drink. That kind of thing. The hard part is not getting lost in it. Stick to the sofa and television. They represent TNA* for me.
Archways remind me of keystones. Keystones remind me of key holes. Key holes remind me Keith Lemon. That kind of thing.
What things remind you of other things? I’ve heard that if a person reminds you of someone you were once in love with, you may develop a strong inclination to fall in love with that person also. Does anyone in your life remind you of someone else? Are they endearing, or are they arse holes? It’s special when lovely people remind you of lovely people. It’s nice to be nice when Bruce’s Price Is Right!
With my memory skills, and my tendency to believe that every step we take is watched over by The Lord, I took to becoming a PI (Psychic Detective) in both the Madeline McCann and recent Charlotte Niddam missing persons cases. I use mental connotations ascribed to clues released in the media. For example, the newspaper published a picture of Madeline holding three tennis balls. So I thought long and hard about everything having something or anything to do with three tennis balls. The same goes for every little tell-tale clue they publish. I both kill time with this hobby and arrive at some very strangely interesting destinations. At the moment, I’m getting a curious feeling about Canada, and I haven’t even googled Canada with a Chinese search engine yet, which is a fine way to expose some fresh coverage on anything mundane on Google. Not that I use the Internet for my probing researches anyway, as that’s what typical inquirers do! More tomorrow, God willing.
RANDOM SENTENCE OF THE DAY When the tin ram was exchanged for a gem stone in front of the cartel mafioso, Simon pushed a barrel of oil into the pond, pulled his hair out, and shoved a bunch of rocks and diamonds into liquid fire.
*tits and arse
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