A strange yet amusing friend of mine from earlier
twisted days in the music trade called me at 4:32 the
other morning. He didn’t bother with such mundane greetings as, “Hello,  Hi, or whatzzup”. No, the first
thing he said was, “What day is it?”
This struck me as funny but not that funny
because… I didn’t know the answer.
        I said, “It’s Tuesday… But I was wrong. It was
Saturday. And this is how the conversation
started off.
        Then he asked; ‘ARE YOU FUCKING
          “Oh boy,” I thought, “What kind of insanity
am I dealing with now?”
         “Jesus!” I said. ” What kind of deranged
congenitally unhinged fool are you? I refuse to
answer such questions.  First I want to know
what you’re going to DO with the answer!”
           “Listening to your voice gives me no
confidence.  You’re babbling….You say monstrous things.     You answer yourself in a high
giggle….then I hear gurgling sounds…. 
Then dreadful mucous & snotty sounds of snorting
pig-like…god-knows-what like some kind of African beast, an anteater snuffling around in the mud….
at the edges of a watering hole, someplace
where he has no reason to be… … Here!

        Some people would be offended by such a phone call, but not me. Oh, no, I’m particularly
glad that success has not gone to my head,
and I’m not some kind of twisted pansy
preacher. an upwardly mobile hypocrite!
No! My old associates still have a place in my heart. And the weird representatives of those
past days are still the source of affection and
wild humour in my lizard brain.
I know I need these people in order to maintain stability in my own life. And just to have a few laughs.
I have a few bizarre tendencies in my own life
that need  balancing.

Ah, right. Now where were we?
“What day is it?”
It’s a strange and funny question.
It’s no quite so funny when you have no idea know
of the answer.

Then some more snorting sounds,
and insane laughter to the beat of water dripping
and odd mutterings that echo… as if through
some distant pipe,,, a pipe through which water flow
as well as whispers and  strange gurglings.
Then silences… sometimes quite
long silences… and wisps of meaningless, whispered
imaginary conversations he is having with himself.
Like a tweaker on a fiver day meth binge… who
is now hallucinating wildly – seeing eight more people
undulating in his bed, and spotting a black evil djinn
transported telepathically from a distant land.

This reminds me of a joke:

Q:  “What’s the difference between a junkie

and a tweaker?
                  A: They’ll both steal your stuff. But the tweaker
will help you try to find it in the morning!
2016-01-11 07.56.06-1

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