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Wednesday July 28, 04
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03:45 AM - PS/ Jesus was a Black Man.
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***Well, today He is anyway. Cover: Wyclef Jean/ The Ecleftic.
(And to think he was in my CD rack all that time! Typical.)
(Special HumbleThanks for track 11... which made me see the, ah, red light...)Perfect Gentleman; two sides to a book indeed.
(AND he's handsome! Ah! Knew it.)*** :0)
(@nd...Black and White people get on amazingly well. I'm a living sign.)
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ j'veux pas être seule à kiffer!
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02:17 AM - Jesus wants you for a Sun Lotion
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Bestsongs sees Jesus busy doing nothing in a field of poppies somewhere and runs to him.
"-Hey, Jeez! Been looking for you everywhere, man! Say, can you do you me a favour and kick someone in the eye for me?
-(frowns) Depends, Bestsongs. Who is it?
-(whispers name in Jesus's hear.)
-Ah. No can't do.
-Oh for Fookie's Sake, WHYYYYYYY !!?!!!?!!!?!!!???
-(Jesus looks at Bestsongs in a "Even on holiday! Can't believe this." kind of way): Besty: a) she's a woman. b) she's old.
-But! She looks fitter than me!!
-Yeeeeeh... And so?
(Bestsongs opens mouth to say something, says nothing, closes it, looks down, frowns, and starts kicking lil' stones.)
-(Jesus sighs) Here we go again. Bestsongs?
-...(no answer)
-BESTSONGS!
-Uh? What.
-Has...Has...How shall I put it. Has Almighty Satirist ever used its Almighty power against this woman much?
-Eh? Oh that. Well, Not much, no, has he? Not as much as he'd have LIKED to. (looks at Jesus reproachfully) Cos YOU made me throw everything away, DIDN'T YOU? Big Tissue and all!
-(Jesus smiles).Yes. And God knows what you could have done with all that, doesn't he?
-(sulking) Yeh.
-But you didn't do anything.
-(looking for a big stone) No.
-Because I didn't let you.
-(looks at Jesus) Yeh. You. EXACTLY.
-Well...(sighs). What happened then?
-Well (smiles dreamily) that lil pic turned up.
-How did you feel then?
-Well...It's almost as if, like, well (thinks) I wanted to shit on that woman from a great height, right, and, I didn't do it, and right after I decided I wouldn't do it...(sigh) I saw her covered in shit anyway.
-And what kind of sh...Sh... Shhh.Oh no I can't say this word. What did that excrement look like.
-Well...(Bestsongs thinks for a minute.) It almost looked... Non human. Almost.
-It looked non human to you?
-Yeh. A bit of that and...I almost wondered if she hadn't poohed all over herself too. But without knowing it.
-(Takes notes, smiles) That's interesting. Now, Bestsongs, do you see this woman as a strong person?
-Ha Ha Ha! Good one Jeez.
-(seriously) That was a serious question.
-(confused) Was it? Well... No, then.
-OK. Do you think she's intelligent?
-(Bestsongs opens mouth to laugh, hesitates, looks carefully at Jesus and stops just in time.) Er...Noooo.
-But do you think she's a bad person?
-Well...(grudgingly) I don't think she'd do harm intentionally... But she looks and acts like she REALLY doesn't have a clue. I just don't think she sees the big picture.
-Really Bestsongs. Now, I wonder if you've realized...
-What?
-That that's the way other people might see...
-Who?
-Someone else.
(...)(Bestsongs stares at Jesus for about 51 minutes.)
-You what? Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh! NOW I GET IT!
-(Jesus smiles proudly) That's my Bestsongs!
(Bestsongs looks smug) -No need to look so smug. though (Bestsongs looks like any other person). That's better. We don't want to blow our cover now do we.
-Nah!
-Now (puts arm around Bestsongs's shoulders) that doesn't mean you can't go mad every now and then.
-(excited) Yeh, like, you, when you lost it in that Temple?
-Hm, er (frowns) Yeeeeeh, that was comparable in a waaayyyy
-Ah ah! Rocky stylee! WHAM! You showed them who was the Boss! (starts shadowboxing) THE EYE OF THE JEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESUS!
-But
-Bang! That'll teach you! DON'T FUCK WITH JESUS!
-Bestsongs for Christmas's sake CALM DOWN.
(Bestsongs calms down)
-...When I did that, I was merely educating the masses.
-But (genuinely surprised) So was I, Jee!
(Jesus studies Bestsongs to see if Bestsongs is joking). Yeh. (shrugs) Whatever. Anyway
- Yeh I hear you Jee! I'll leave the big job to you. I won't interfere with the Plan.
-(frowns) The Wha?
-(winks and nudges) You know.
-Well I ain't got a (GOD COUGHS LOUDLY) Oh, right. Yeh. Ah.That. (looks up at the Heavens with a "really Dad when will you stop having them on like that?" kindalook.)
-Yeh. (winks)
-(Jesus shakes head sadly. Bestsongs is looking dead happy.)
-Right, Cheers Jeez, I feel much better now.
-(Jesus is feeling slightly depressed) Yeh. No problem. (distractedly) Anytime.
Bestsongs kisses Jesus on the cheek and walks away.
-(turning around) Oh, and, Jesus?
-Hm?
-"Temple Temple", now! (winks and laughs like people at a Morrissey joke)
-Uh?
-Nah. Nothing. Byyyyyyyyyyyyyyyye!"
(Jesus resumes looking at poppies in a puzzled way.)
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Tuesday July 27, 04
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07:05 AM - Passion and Sandal
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Imagine... if the people who usually write books about Morrissey decided one day to write a book about...Judas. Here's one of them, wanting to leave no stone unturned, knocking on Jesus's door...
-"Yeh?
-Mr J.Holly F.Khrist?
-Yeh?
-Afternoon Sir. Sorry to bother you but I'm, ah, writing a book about Jonathan Judas and was wondering if , ah, you could answer a few questions?
-Well I only met the guy very briefly years ago and I
- (brightly) Well every little helps, sir! Every little helps! (walks in and sits down on sofa)
-Well Er. Come in then. 'Guess. (frowns)
-So, Mr Khrist. I imagine that, when one of my colleagues, in a recent book about Judas, described you as a wet dream, you felt, ah, (leans forward) flattered?
-Well I
-And who wouldn't be! (short laugh) But seriously. We all know that everybody fancies you, but that (makes gesture as if to brush off a fly) isn't what I'm here for.
-No? (frowns)
-No. Mr Khrist, (sigh), unlike so many others, (sigh) I want to write a definitive book about Mr Judas.(In a low voice) My aim...(takes a deep breath)
-Yes?
-...Isn't to make money.
-Ah?
-No, Mr Khrist. My aim is to Unveil The Mystery. Unveil Mr Judas's face so that the world (emphatically) finally sees it in all its resplendent beauty!
-Ah.
-Yes. So, you do understand Mr Khrist that to achieve that, I need some facts. So. (Leans forward and whispers): is it true that Mr Judas once kissed you on a Mount?
-Well, yes, but
-Buuuuuut?
-It wasn't out of affection, or anything! (makes a face)
-Ah. I see. (scribbles "pure lust" in notebook). So Mr Christ, what are your own personal views about two blokes kissing?
-Uh?
-I'm talking about, you know (leans forward)
- (leans back) Uh?
-The H. word.
- (frowns) Hospital?
-No, Sir. (Puts hand on Jesus's knee). No need to be frightened, your views on homosexuality won't leave this room.
-(slightly panicking) DAD?
(God's voice, coming from the bathroom): -WHAT? No need to yell, son, I'm not deaf!
-Sorry. Er, Dad, what are our views on homosexuality again?
-The memo's on the desk, son.
-Yeh (giggles nervously) I know, but I can't look right now Dad.There's someone with me.
-Oh. (sighs). I see. Well. it's simple, son: two blokes kissing is okay as long as it's for betrayal.
-Sorry Mr Khrist, what did your father say?
- He said it's okay to betray.
-Ah. I see. (Scribbles something different). Well, thank you Mr Khrist, I think that'll be all.
-Will it? (looks puzzled)
-Oh yeh. We don't need you for anything else. The book's as good as finished now. (Smiles brightly) Well good bye!"
And that's how the word of God is passed on.
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BTW, before I forget again:
I am
You are
He/She/It is
Bring/brought/ brought.
Bereave/ bereft/ bereft (and not bereaved liked yesterday.)
(Bad grammar upsets Mr Biffo.)
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Monday July 26, 04
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01:50 PM - This song was about Linder.
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Names, secret names
But never in my favour
But when all is said and done
It's you I love
*Cold loving prose
We stole each other's clothes*
But when all is said and done
It's you I love
Yes, yes, yes, oh, yes
Oh no, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes
Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes
Oh ...
Yes, yes ...
Fights for rights
Everyone's oh so quick with advice
And when they've all said their piece
It's still you I love
Now just like then
Then, then, then
Then, then, yes, yes
No, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes
Yes, yes, oh ...
Mmm ...
How do I know? Well. In an interview I've just read, she says she used to sing "I steal your books and you steal mine." about Morrissey. So this one's obviously about her, right?
Let that be YET another lesson, kids: never judge a book by its cover, or a song by its...title.
(Well I can't ALWAYS be clever. Me brain would explode!)
But still...As wrong as I am, (if about this one then about all the others...'cept the mean ones 'f course, cos I deserve them) I think I'm not the only person who has a problem with letting go...And I'm saying that as gently as I can. It's not the first time I've noticed, that need to associate. Maybe somebody should talk to her and explain there's no threat coming from anywhere.
Perso, I've got "lust for blood running in my soul" but I won't kill at random...Hope no one here likes Miss California 1804 too much? No regrets then? Bang Bang.
"What? Shooting somebody's baby down? Uh? Me? But! Mr Devine! I can't even save a journal entry!"
You have got nothing on me.I told you. No one can arrest me. And whenever I try to spill the beans, they are all, one by one, put back into my mouth.
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01:22 PM - Has any of your entries...
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ever left for Planet Smelly Sock? To never ever return?
One of mine, typed this morning, apparently has.
Did I send it there?Did God do it? Did it decide to go itself? Did it feel like travelling? Or like it didn't belong?
Why do the best entries always go first?
The ones with the best titles?
"There's method in that methadone", wherever you are, I hope you're truly happy.
Maybe that revolutionary entry wasn't meant to be read by anyone. Maybe the world wasn't ready.
I feel bereaved.
I mean if I start killing me own entries like that,...I'm probably gonna wake up in the middle of the night to stab my Spathiphyllum. In the back.
Good point though: Now that I am a murderer, people will respect me a bit more.
(Er ; that's the idea, anyway.)
"Aaaaaaaaah! That laughter! The laughter in me head! Please make it stop! Make it STOP!" (bangs head against various brickwalls.)
And yet... Maybe that entry was a definitive step out of the asylum ...
Oh well :0( We'll never know.
(Er...You know, thought you might like to know, they sometimes use me head to destroy bricks. So what else have you got? Nah. Won't work either. Ma used to put dynamite in me feeding bottle. Guess we're stuck here then. Fuck.)
But I miss my entry! It was so much better than this one! I mean this is making me sadder than Dumbo the flying elephant! Which I could never watch in full anyway! (starts crying) I want it baaaaaaaaaaaaaack !
(Dumbo flies into the room.)
Not yooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!
(Gosh.There is just no way to guess what's gonna make you sad,or snap, these days.)
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05:31 AM - Jesus's Dad.
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Well, I was just wondering: did Jesus too roll his eyes sometimes when his dad talked to him? Were there any times when Jesus too was in a totally atheistic mood? Did it drive his dad mad not to be taken seriously, or was his dad not bothered? Was it "Let the little shit die on his cross, for all I care"?
And when he watched him die, did it break his heart into a zillion pieces, oh for fuck's sake kinda pain, like, when you see a sad movie you've seen before, but still, can't help crying because of the tragedy, the mess, the waste? Or was he actually making himself a sandwich at that precise moment?
They keep saying Jesus felt what a human being did; but did God care at all is all I wanna know?
Ain't got a clue.
It's ok there, I'm having a Jesus Moment. I'd better warn you all I'm going to have a big mystical crisis real soon actually, (although I sure hope I'll have enough decency to keep it quiet instead of making me mum cry and a bunch of Romans laugh at me. Hm. Crosses crossed.)
I hope it will be an interesting year for me too anyway, even if I don't actually die and all. (Hey, I'm not that greedy...)
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Sunday July 25, 04
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03:04 PM - Mystic River
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What a brilliant, brilliant book. I read it in a day. I just couldn't put it down.
Fiction lives like these are so much better than real lives aren't they. Because we know so much more about fiction characters we could ever hope, want, have time to know about people, ourselves included, in real life; and to know so much makes it almost impossible to judge. (Which you constantly have to do in real life if you want to establish your identity; which, incidentally, is a right pain in the arse.)
Ah to be an omniscient narrator. What a great job.
Failing that, second choice, yeh, to be God probably, but I really doubt anyone is writing the story, sees any plan behind the individual fates and has any clue about the existence of such sad characters as, er, me, for instance.
That'd be great though, if I could finally turn out as a great story, but hey, how many real good books are there on earth?
As for writing your own lifestory. ...Well you'd have to know everything.
That'd be like, playing God. To yourself. Seeing yourself as a puppet in your own hands...What would be more self-debasing...I can not imagine.Can you?
I mean real lives are meant to be lived, not written, nor sung. End of story really.
You can't capture a real human being in words... (Sorry for writing something so obvious, that's just for any retard that might be reading and thought you could.)
I'm not in them. Not a million words could recreate me.Not if they were my own.
Even what you have before you isn't me.
You can not see me.
(Not that you ever could.)
(Or really wanted to.)
Yes sorry my 2 and a half darling readers I'd love to have a new development to write about, but, very much like other people, I seem to be stuck in eternal repetition of myself... I hope you weren't expecting anything exciting. Oh Gosh I'd hate to think I'm disappointing my readers here. Oh no don't tell me you are only reading because you are still hoping for that, youngsters, you are obviously confusing me with Georgette Heyer (whom I love.) We have already explained why it was not possible!
It's just not possible.
Get used to the idea.
I know, it took me a rather long time to, but now it's done, you know... I dunno, console yourself with hm, anything. But, dear fans please stop hoping. It's not gonna happen.
There can't be that many people who hoped it would anyway? Eh? What?That many? Hm. Are you sure you're not confusing me with anyone?
What's that? My dad is cool?Oh you mean Fonzie. Er. Ssssssure...
I'm unreadable aren't I.
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01:15 AM - The Biker, the Bush and the Baby (and Morrissey)
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And God Excitedly Said to Bestsongs: "Come on! It'll be fun!"
And Bestsongs eyed God suspiciously and said: "Are you on drugs?"
God sighed and said: "No one Ever Understands My Sense of Humour."
To which Bestsongs replied: "Getoutta'ere."
God frowned and said: "a) May I remind you it's Sunday? May I remind you it's not rainy today ? Getoutta'ere yourself."
Bestsongs smiled and said: "Hm...You've got a wicked one I must say. Although I don't get any of it. Makes it even better I suppose. Must be why I woke up laughing today...Has your mum ever told you you were cute?"
(If you hear an embarrassed pleased giggle today: don't worry; it's only God.)
Just when God is feeling invincible... Bestsongs turns back and yells: "Don't push the joke too far, Old Man!"
Oh-Oops.
(Lucky God doesn't have a penis, really.)
(God: "A what?"
Bestsongs: "Nothing, nothing. I was talking to, er, er, that guy getting sodomized by George Bush, over there".
God (interested): "George Bush? Where? Where?"
(Turns back to Bestsongs, but too late.)
"Oh. VERY FUNNY."
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Saturday July 24, 04
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02:00 PM - Slow Day
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************************************************************
"(He) did not understand women. It wasn't the way bartenders or comedians didn't understand women, it was the way poor people didn't understand the economy. You could stand outside the Girard Bank Building everyday of your life and never guess anything about what went on in there."
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I recall, too, this: she sees the boy being seduced on a dancefloor by another woman. I can see her approach the dancing pair with a proprietary air...And then she just says, or rather sings: "The boy is mine."
But in the meantime, the rather mean time, he's danced away with another...Oh.
She couldn't understand, he'd always follow whoever.
Years later. Same nightclub; only, everything is older, tackier, shabbier, sadder. The dancers are old-looking, fake-looking, and not one of them notices they never change the music. It's like an assembly of corpses dancing themselves into tombs.The skeletons are beginning to show. The boy's still there too, but he's waltzed so much, so well, he's turned into a gigolo...Still, he's just happy to follow every hand that wants him. Still happy to follow.
This time, there's no clear owner, no one feels like they own anything, anyone.The strong women are gone, if there were any. On the dancefloor now, there are only a couple of OAP's badly in need of recognition, harmless, brainless, running around like headless hens, looking for their daddy..."Daddy?" And they find each other on the dancefloor: "Mummy?"
There are the usual people sitting by the dancefloor, drink in hand, watching with a knowing smile, the smile that says: "I have nothing to worry about; I don't need to sit on this egg to make it mine. Nothing will happen anyway. I've been watching it for years: trust me it's not about to hatch. I'd be the first to know if it did. And it won't."
That's what best friends are for. Watching your bag. Protection. Foster mothers. Like mothers. (Except you don't have to hate them for what they do. ). And they are everything else without ever needing to be anything. But the knowledge they exist is so comforting.
(His real mother's outside the club. Worrying. He's pretending he doesn't know. he still blames her.He blames her for the confusion; for wanting to follow, refusing to follow, hating. Loving, even. But he won't let her know how he feels. He can't. She's his mother. )
Therefore, meanwhile, the poultry 's having fun on the dancefloor.They know they're not making sense, but it's too late to stop now. Or too early. Sometimes, he gets dizzy. What is to be strong? Weak? Sometimes he feels like following himself. But he's never tried. He's scared. His instinct is telling him things he doesn't want to listen to.
The music, the people...More music, more people...
Death has joined the wallflowers, drink in hand. Soon it will beckon, and whoever it will beckon will follow.
An onlooker, a stranger, someone who remembers past dancers, past dances,self-assured or tentative owners, asks the d.j. to play a song called
silence.
Just like that, not to laugh at them, just to see if they can really dance. Alone.
With Silence.
And they can not.
But Silence owns the club. And Silence will beckon, and will kick the bad dancers out eventually.
But I'm beginning to really wonder: Can you really keep Noise and Company dancing forever.
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Sunday July 04, 04
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03:01 AM - "When life's Johnny Rotten..."
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Well, it's not. Is it Julia? Is it? (Oh my god, she's fainted.)
If Julia makes it to Japan, I'll be so speechless, I'll probably have to do something completely self-humiliating, like, grovel.
Then again,...I might just mail myself some sushi.
Right folks, I've just realized I'm on holiday actually. So I shouldn't really be here. Now if you will excuse me...
Hey, wow, the blokes in Raymonde looked really yummy! In the 80's I mean lol, I don't know now! It's funny cos the name rather evokes a fat vulgar 55 y.o woman wearing an apron... But there you go.
Well, on a more cultural note, are there any other countries where the supposedly feminist Nancy Sinatra song serves as soundtrack to a Coco-Colo add?
America: it brought you the hamburger. And now it brings you the Coke.
Ah, but what about the fries?
Hm.
"You keep saying/ you've got calories for me ...This tummy's made for rumbling
And that's just what it'll do/
cos I'd rather go hungry
than eat at Mc Donald's with you./" :-D
Have fun!
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