Way too tired to be clever

Oh God.

A hard day. A strange day. My ability to make sense of things has been commuted into an attempt to make sense of other people’s jazz.

I’m fine. It’s hard because I’m hearing about things that don’t make sense to me. Mel Smith couldn’t smoke at Winston Churchill etc etc. “My grandfather on my mother’s side never saw a mobile phone.”

In around 1992 Michael Caine said that 50% of all human knowledge was going to be learnt in the next fifty years. Meaning that we are at a torpedo level of understanding. Or something. What the fuck does that mean? Nobody has a fucking clue what that means. I’m writing this while talking to someone who is fucknutted.  “NO!” he says. “We are in the wrong season.” This means nothing.

So there we are, Batman. We could have learnt twice as much as we already will in the next fifty years. Or we could sit in a cafe drinking fernet branca. “You’ve got this wrong and not me.”

“I will show you something that’s wonderful and involves Fernet Branca.”

“Put That in your right ear”

He’s sent me a video but I can’t share it. It’s nonsense. I’m mostly involved in not making Tanya have to sleep next up a pissed human.

Am I making sense? Of course I’m not, and any attempt I am making to make sense is being shattered by the needs of my dear friend for me to be lost. “Look at it, it’s horrible to look at but it’s a bomb. You have a few seconds of going it’s nothing and then it hits your gut and it explodes and you hold onto something and then … you eventually will be okay… Gods willing.

Bums. How do we make them feel safe? etc. zxxx Drunk humans and positioning. meh

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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