A Knievel In Dressing Gown And Slippers

Like most boring people, I haven’t really been doing all that much over the past couple of days to delineate or comment upon. I ate some pizza washed down with fizzy Chinotto. I applied to return to uni. next year, after a ten-year hiatus, to study literature and such. I’ve been reading ‘White Nights’ by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (English translation by Andrew R. MacAndrew) – his description of spring in St. Petersburg is amusing and depressing. I bought Irish band The Fureys’ ‘Twenty-One Years On…’ compact-disc for AUD$1.99 (gee, they must be popular!); this, the band of the recently released ‘Chaplin Sings/ The Fureys Sing Chaplin’, of which I look forward to procuring a copy. And I discovered the first clothing shop that I can confidently say I liked – a boutique above Central Station featuring designer dandy-wear made right here in this fair(ly acceptable) city! As soon as I am well-to-do, I’ll be dead, but I want to be cremated wearing some of this finely wrought silkiness.

Actually, I don’t really consider myself a boring person, if only because I have some exciting thoughts and dreams and am rarely bored (and am going to have sex with superstars someday). I simply just don’t like partaking in the exciting activities that make exciting people truly uninteresting when you get down to bones and regard their sloppy brainwave configurations as evinced through prosaic references to anime and female ejaculate at engagement parties and installation-art openings and the like. Also, I have done some fun stuff, like, in a chemically contortive mind-state, danced low-down to the floor like a crab to a blaring Alice Cooper ballad whilst the male of a couple entering this party is talking to his partner, “…and then the windscreen…,” virtually stepping over me, “…oh, watch out for this weirdo…,” and continuing, “… yeah, the, er, the windscreen wipers were...” And now it’s time for a lovely cup of organic black tea. Ahhh… Where’s mi crash helmet?