westid

i would crack open a tennent’s super but if i drink alcohol it would kill me. don’t know how, somegthing to do with the body not trying hard enough to breathe when you forget about doing it on purpose. it would be rude not to come around and see you, since you were the last person to ever come around and see me

all year i carry a bit of christmas around with me these days … so it’s ironic that there’s an hole in this particular part of the calendar. since the last time you sat down in the kitchen and stayed up all night on christmas eve getting into trouble with me, everyone has fucked off their own separate ways and forgotten all about you, themselves, each other – i’m not surprised, we both know what this place is like. well, just in case you had nothin more important to do with the eternity of immortal life … not everyone has forgotten to say hallelujah this year, but now and then somethin will probably remind them why they would have said it in the first place – three hours after you lit your last fag

there’s a metric shiteload of things that make the end of december past its sell by date every time … but we always had a laugh until the last minute and i was getting chased out the house. i hold onto that… and it makes me chill out and stop being a miserable twat. i don’t smoke it any more though, but i do miss it like fuck. remember them pure fags i used to make that would make your face go numb every time you took a drag? as the meter runs the years out, i can remember why i never used to take everythin so fuckin seriously all the time … didn’t know what the fuck was goin on. beard like a tibetan monk made of such smoke. i had never known such smoke. and i dare say i never will again. but maybe i might … someday

i found some letters that belinda used to write for you while i got to spend my first christmas in jail. no matter how things get … i’m trying real hard to make sure it was my last.

there’s no visions of you “smiling down” on us. i know what kind of man you were, and all i know is what you wanted … you’re fuckin outta here and i would be surprised if you even bothered to look back. no one else fuckin did when you weren’t around anymore. but every year i have my gambit in case all that nonsense is true in some way, and it brings me back to the concept of mortality itself, in that you just can’t take chances with that shit. but everything i needed you to hear had been said long before your number come up, and i’ve always been proud of myself for that. makes it worthwhile to me, in a different way – one that i don’t tell myself because i’m afraid of the dark

besides, i’m stayin up past my bedtime havin a laugh with you tonight. and there’s nothing you can do about it because you’re brown bread now and you can’t fuck off out to your mate’s house for the night to get away from me. or that dance everyone did because nobody wanted to take peter up grane road to go and see john this year … it’s strange that now they probably all miss that shit. i went up there to see you this year, but i couldn’t even find where you were

hallelujah paul. gonna make it a late one, but i’m not pouring one into the dirt… i’m insane so you can’t go anywhere else, and you have to stay up; listening to every word that i say

kind regards
theoboldus

p.s. i AM fuckin god