OK. I’m addicted to Coke.

But only the soft drink variety. Soz! But my habit is large enough to attract attention, so I was taken to account this afternoon and u would have thought it was the real thing sometimes, but there was a sense of coolness throughout my collar being felt. I need it to keep going, it’s a mood stabiliser, kinda, whatever, I like coke. I like the sugar rush and caffeine buzz 🐝 but I don’t know why I was made to feel like the worlds only coke addict. Man, I can feel my teeth dissolving. If you ever see me in a bad mood, maybe offer a coke then everything will be ok, just for a while.

I am up all night two out of three nights now, then I crash and wake up at a healthy 5PM. I’m recording again, not being able to express myself thru painting at the moment. I tried Water Colours, man, it was like Jimi Hendrix attempting to play the Sitar, as legend has it. What happened? He was rubbish. Yup.

Man, it feels like a man has to justify his life in modernity. Justify his existence, so what if nobody understands quite why we’re here, or what happens before or after our pitiful ish human ing time. We’re lucky if we are given one chance to make it, one chance to make it big, and, well man, we’d better be on it, we’ve only got one chance for fame. Or so we think. The noted professor Hetfield, J. claims Advantages are Taken, not handed out. Well shucks. Maybe if you live your life always looking for opportunities, you’d be so stressed, u wouldn’t enjoy anything and u couldn’t relax.

I, for one, have seen a litany of chances, opportunities, and suchlike pass me by, but the ones that are foremost in my troubled, addled, occipitally challenged little giant mind are the ones in which I failed to Score, either with Girls or sometimes in football. Scoring? It’s true, I’m rarely so…coarse. The item? Is held in modern life too, women are weird because if a man doesn’t take every chance to sex up a lady he must be Gay, some think. No matter what.

Fuck. I’m fucking lost here. Just sitting here…it’s like a comedown. Watching shit tv , though the tv would surely be safe from any violent advances if things got that far. I’m going nowhere. I’ve got a home I can’t go to, I have ballerinas ankles and I’m sitting around getting old. Also I’m wearing a wife beater, but that is of little import.

My next move could be up Pompey way. By The Way. Near the sea, loads of like minded people, who knows, anyway gotta go.

oh, I injected heroin in a dream.


later, y’all, R


Author: Roger Francis AKA rog@littleandromeda.com Android

Musician, Artist, Writer. Telepath. Psychic. Schizophrenic. Auteur. Cat Lover. Cheap, Seedy Quality. Undiagnosed For The Truest State. Happy. Free. Poor. Weird. Eccentric. Single. R. That’s R Hippy, in a PICU

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