Having got tired of googling my own name, only to find
nothing much of interest – and now I can’t even talk about the Mark Wynn as
chairman of the Rochdale Hornets, as he has standed down after ten years; and
the one who teaches philosophy in Leeds doesn’t do much music (as much as me
recently?); and the one in America who often comes up something about domestic
violence, so I don’t feel to good about that - I have decided to take the
advice of the man who takes all the barbs in his back and laughs, and rethink
the boogie in such a way that I may continue to do it.
Apparently, there is a glut - an excessively abundant supply
- a glut. And this means that it is no space for you Markie, we have plenty.
But this I cannot comprehend in the face no. And so I must to the window to
observe it, and say to myself:
‘It is shit out there, sunshine. But in here it is death
also. And no more to that please thank you.’
The point is to now, and the remembering that a glut is not
so sensible a thing as it first seems. A glut there may be, and certainly, but
not of the Mark Wynn. Oh no, the Mark Wynn has not glutted it for a while, he
has not been abundant for some time since he stopped it.
But now it is different; and there are forms to cock your
head at in the corridor; and the food is divisioned well into its requisite
sectionings looking shonky; and the driver drives badly, by the school that got
flattened, so they could put a library in the café – no, a café in the library –
because he is not happy about the wagon, that the man keeps on putting, where
he shouldn’t be putting the wagon, so the bus he drives badly, just to prove
that it is shonky, his parking…
But what about the potatos in the canteen?
Well, exactly.
They seem to get smaller, the later I go down when its evening. Maybe I should go down earlier. But what good would it do to make concessions in this way? I go instead – refusing to be bothered by it – to the other food bit across the canteen, buy a bara granola, an apple and banana. Because I won’t be conquered by this crap you see, Jim. Really, you should stop looking. But you can’t do, can you? Because you’ve a website to update, about a gig you didn’t like, in mood you didn’t make, on a chair you didn’t make.
They seem to get smaller, the later I go down when its evening. Maybe I should go down earlier. But what good would it do to make concessions in this way? I go instead – refusing to be bothered by it – to the other food bit across the canteen, buy a bara granola, an apple and banana. Because I won’t be conquered by this crap you see, Jim. Really, you should stop looking. But you can’t do, can you? Because you’ve a website to update, about a gig you didn’t like, in mood you didn’t make, on a chair you didn’t make.