I woke up around 2 pm. I am so used to seeing the dawn rise lately that I have had to stop saying I have insomnia and just fucking accept that I am nocturnal. My first moments of waking are always achingly repetitve: I stagger out into the living room blindly looking around for my glasses and my slippers, all the while holding my thin robe closed like the dog and the cat give a damn about seeing my dick. Once the glasses are on, I roll myself a cigarette, or find a long butt... once this smoke has entered my lungs and spread the upper effect through me brain, I take the few steps into the bathroom, grab the small brown teddy bear that hangs from the string that turns the light on, give the old boy a jerk and blink a bit against the onslaught of bright, white light. My hand appears in the mirror above the sink as I reach up and slide open the cabinet to reveal my stock of pills. First two from this bottle, one from that bottle and that bottle and that bottle, another two from this one... etc.
Then comes the coffee... and then, should the green gods be smiling at that moment on my domicile, I put a little bud into the bong and hear the merry bubbling of a soon to be crackling buzz. The dog is usually pawing at me by this time, begging me to take her outside to releive herself by coming up and asking me to shake. Her last owners taught her this.
After a walk along the lake front beach or a few blocks to the store, I sit down at the computer... today, I pulled up Kill Bill volumes 1 and 2. I had wanted to see these films at the theater, and am now glad I saved my money. They are kind of a waste of time, unless you like to watch karate fighting minus kill shots. He does this over and over... until it just seems stupid. Tarantino may not be over-rated, we'll see... I hate to say anything bad about someone whose films have been pretty fascinating to me in the past. I mean, I would have only good things to say about him if I knew him, instead of just being some boof in chicago who can just say whatever the hell he wants in his blog, because no one takes him seriously.
And that my friends, is how the life of the artist usually goes.... well, the marginalized, not so great artist at least. Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...