aspartame and acesulfame-k … regardless of whether other people think it “tastes the same” i can instantly taste the absence of sugar above all. even the can it came in feels fake, in spite of it being the only thing that actually is “the same”
contains a source of phenylalanine – this is a warning, not a nutrition tip. is it worth this to avoid the inclusion of sugar? no. sugar isn’t coal you know, it’s not the unsustainable fossil fuel E5 at the petrol pump. several sips into the first can and i can already taste the disappointment waiting for me in the remaining 23 – how long is this phenylalanine going to take dood? i can feel it kicking in already
had that recurring dream again where i’m sat up all night in a factory watching a machine. it never breaks down, always keeps running for a whole shift. the machine in question is a sulzer loom, the verb of this machine is weave. it weaves
at least no one drags me out of it by my hair like a bitch. i keep dreaming about the ginnel down the bottom of the balcony, like an ages ago version of it knocked through all the upstairs bits of manchester road with hand written notes and fake tablets. doors, locked by the owner / leading into adjoining properties but i get into this inner vestibule with a mezzanine floor and a closed-set of shutters where the front door to it all must be – not mattering because i’ve found this sick place that it’s just manchester road once you go downstairs and walk outside
sometimes i go up the steps and stand on the balcony still, and enjoy the view – almost completely untouched by the time – as though it’s not weird to go up there anymore. yeah it’s weird on the way up but the moment you check the view, all the pennies drop into place and no resulting fuck is given – worth it? if you’re family … yeah i would say so. not like it doesn’t look exactly the same as it always did for the better half of a century, one generation after the next
i know why i am seeing old things a lot at the moment. just don’t want to think about it. sometimes it occurs to me that some people who aren’t there anymore turn up for certain shit you wouldn’t think they’d come back for going off the amount of time they’re meant to have been gone. my general way of dealing with the stages of death is this: say everything you would regret not saying ASAP and basically take all your chips and cash them in, because i don’t gamble with shit like that. if there’s an actual thing beyongd this period of mortality, you can deal with that when you come to it. but if this is the one and only number you’re going to have the chance at from the beginning, narry a single solace left behind not taken by the second wind mankind will have once i’m officially dead
fuckin hell they would bring back the haslingden street fair to celebrate me being properly gone, celebrations will ring out every year to the fact that i’m dead. i like to pretend that the people – vast as they are, and i’m not making that up – will tear one another apart once the common enemy of me is no longer there to bring them all together
fail to be an hero, content to be a villain. i never wanted to be the bad guy, there never was a contingency that i could have planned for because truth be told i’ve basically spent most of my life enabling people; so when they all started turning against me i thought it was a piss take, and i felt robbed. fuck the afterlife, there’s a second coming’s worth of time i wasted trying, being there, giving a fuck swivel on this, bergerac you cunt ./.., https://open.spotify.com/track/0S0EOSonmkj7jhNKJQ82lD
looking at it objectively it weren’t a waste because there’s people who know me better and – because they refuse to be taken in by any of it – i’ve remembered them for being here now where no one wants to know. minute that changes, i’m pretty confident that i’ll have a much better grasp of [when / when not] a waste takes place
i don’t miss people giving a fuck. it was just as shallow what i was doing and where i was taking the things that i did. i just miss the beaudiful people, the depth being that there was something under the surface to begin with – not considering the fact that even then it would only have been ankle deep. there’s much more to life now than what used to be – something isn’t even a thing now unless somehow it stands on its own, and it’s too much to give a fuck about so i’m going to get on with where that left me
how do you tell someone that the only role model you ever have is B type self-destructive kindred in spirit? in what way can you possibly convey the only authority figure is the overbearing illuminatrix shining her light on you so hot you can’t see let alone help yourself because she has taken your self confidence and you can feel her becoming entrenched in your thoughts while she gas lights you. telling you what you’re thinking and feeling. better yet surrounded by all of her mates on a saturday night this rowdy cackle of witches, quarrelsome as they are; your hopelessness is feeding their control game, their sense of superiority is feeding the final stage of your acceptance
sounds a bit much when you put it all together like that. https://open.spotify.com/track/54hoWgqeSIk05I79dIPUie
DUE MARK: End of British Summer Time. Don’t forget to put your clock -01:00 https://open.spotify.com/track/0Cg6jLE6eu74rABKcn5WPt [last man standing]
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