so the bastard got home last night an into bed around 1. such as life this time of year. so after 5 or six pages of 100 bullets, i turned in. around 2:30, i wake up from what felt like a dream and my knee felt out of wack so i bent my leg real quick only to hear a resounding pop and then after the initial shock, the pain kicked in. OW! it felt like something popped it the wrong way as if it had been sat on. i get out of bed to look for the knee brace and it's freezing in the apartment. so in the bastard's surreal half sleep/pained state, i start wondering why it's freezing in my apartment considerring how it's been in the 60's all day in new york (yeah, i don't get it either) and then it hit me. i might have ghosts. yeah it's probably the delirium but it was totally freezing just like one of those scenes from the sixth sense.FAST FORWARD: i get off at lexington and the verve is on again. apparently my randomizer has a love that dares not speak it's name for richard ashcroft. who cares. it makes for good walking
FAST FORWARD: in the office. things are already starting to go wrong. we don't have copy for this gun. we won't have a road map until tuesday. we need to have the issue to the plant by thursday. the bastard fixes them or learns to deal. i feel so serene. i'm a fucking razor.
—the bastard
8 comments:
I've seen this before...what you got there is either 1) Ice ghosts, 2) Ghosts with ice cubes under their armpits, or 3) The ghost of Richard Ashcroft's career.
I go with number 3, although he got on stage with, I believe, Coldplay and tried to resurrect itby doing Symphony. HIs attempt failed and he is back in obscurity.
well what can you say when death incarnate starts singing pop songs?
Wait, when did this become a conversation about Barry Manilow?
well.
you know
richard ashcroft
barry manilow.
it moves pretty fast here on a sunday
i thought tom waits was death. I always thought of him steering the boat over the river styx singing torch songs over and over until you ripped your heart out. The fourth circle of hell I believe.
Manilow doesn't look like death, just that the life has been sucked out of him and he is now just a lifeless corpse.
Don't know if I ever mentioned this, but I went to see that Coldplay band play this year and some unknown band opened for them. Their lead singer sounded familiar, and when they busted into "The Drugs Don't Work" as their second song, one of my all-time favorites, I knew that I, too, was witnessing the ghost of Richard Ashcroft incarnate.
tom waits isn't death but he did play renfield in that awful bram stoker's dracula movie
"And all the rooms they smell like diesel
And you take on the dreams of the ones who have slept here
And I'm lost in the window, and I hide in the stairway
And I hang in the curtain, and I sleep in your hat...
And no one brings anything small into a bar around here
They all started out with bad directions"
you know, when the bastard was last in vegas, manilow was hawking his own wine. i think it was made from the blood of washed up vegas lounge lizards
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