Hey Zeus! by Albi Vinehart

To see the sun set, sure he’ll rise to-morrow,
Not through a misty morning twinkling weak as
A drunken man’s dead eye in a maudlin sorrow,

From Beppo by Lord Byron

Islam is the most misunderstood religion, Buddhism the most misspelled. Thoughts came easily to me. It was like playing chess with an infinite amount of pieces, but it seemed enough that I had chosen white; I had the first move. It was time for some female company.

I always felt uneasy waking at her place. Her pillows had the consistency of my dead mothers’ fake tit. Especially off putting along side the Nazi horrors; the extreme terror of coke and booze withdrawal. Monday morning on the wrong side of weird.

Sleeping with a beautiful woman is like having a good wank, but all-beautiful-women-go-insane. The moon pulls rip tides across their souls. Sitting in the bath, razors in hand, a redemptive vision came to her; her very essence, squeezed in too tight for years, sprang forth, like a bar of soap between the fingers into the morning rainbow light; eureka.

I too seem to have lost my core belief that laying waste to ones beatific soul, if done with style, is the epitome, the very reason for existence. This will save me an awful lot of time and money. The joys of Fear and Loathing had become the seriousness of The Sorrow and The Pity; still enjoyable, edifying and not to be missed; but you laugh a lot less. Addiction, I may add for the uninitiated, can make things like being kidnapped and raped a passing comment during a rehab conversation; a regrettable side effect of a life lived in a bad direction.

Unless the girl wants a drink at breakfast, why fuck her; that used to be my mantra. Let’s not worry about that now though, no need to pour that big bowl of Prozac and Nytol, not just yet; it’s amazing how soothing it is to cut out that bottle of vodka at breakfast.

It’s the fall that hurts, not the landing. When you hit rock bottom there’s always a springboard down there; if you’re not dead already. You can make it back, but for the jaded, it’s a steep climb up there. There are many ladders to the light, and even more snakes for the slide back down. The world is simply a reflection of your mind, reflecting the soul back to its self. From Henry Miller to Kim Katral the truth is hard to publish.

I no longer worry about meeting a girls parents; I worry about meeting her kids. Music wise, every decade or so, something really good comes along, and it’s usually The Fall. I’m happy in England, it’s such a great place to be depressed and uncomfortable with ones self; no one even notices .The best place in the world to be is next to a 22 year old topless Israeli girl, on a empty South Indian beach at mid day, with a half bottle of vodka, listening to Billie Holliday. And I was still depressed then. A true Englishman.