I have just finished a rather large plate of millet, dates, honey and pears. My stomach is relatively happy. I shall most probably be late to work again since I am procrastinating that diabolical shower thing, but no-one will say a word when I arrive. They will only place aggrivated glances on my back at poisoned times during the day.

This appears to be the first entry in the brand new, fantastic, orgasmic Fucksheep Blog. May more come with regularity. Ooouh, baby.

In my opinion a piece of music doesn’t “require” anything except that it does what it does because whoever made it did it that way. -Bob Drake

onionist (Ashley Spradlin) on November 24th, 2006 04:58 pm (UTC) I love this quote, and completely agree.

Note: The subject line is a quote from 29/1/2006 by Habosh.

It’s Saturday morning in the semi filthy flat I share with Habosh. He is still lolling and groaning in his room whist I sit in the combination kitchen-everything room scribbling and contemplating the tea, bramborovy salat and tuna sitting before me. My flatmate finished off the perfect Indian Pulan I concocted yesterday after stumbling home from one of his thrice weekly pub nights at circa 3.30 (I was already holed up in my room, covered tightly by my duvet, feigning sleep). The result of this is the improvised breakfast (lunch - it is 13.45) before me. I shall take a few tentative bites now.

Not bad, really. I had no milk for my tea (I’m sure Habosh consumed that, as well - again, I don’t mind), so I citronified it. It’s the first time I’ve had black tea with lemon since - er - well, as far as I know, since the dawn of time.

Now that I am writing in this neglected little journal once again, there are a few issues concerning my life I’d like to address. The first is my rampant alcoholism. My dear reader should know it has been a problem in the past, but it has most surely reached a terminal apex these days, and during the past year or so. The crux of the matter is this -> I usually spend four to six days drinking from my waking hour until I finally pass out ten to fourteen hours later, sometimes with incrementally worse pass-out sessions during the waking time. Then, my body slowly starts rejecting the wine / vodka / beer / whatever and cigarettes and I cease.

The next two to four days are spent in recovery or detoxification mode, where my body aches, trembles, has hot and cold flashes, and has an acute pain around where the liver probably is. Oh - not to mention a very high, erratic pulse rate surely combined with a soaring dyastolic blood pressure (I have not checked this for sure, but assume it is so).

Then the cycle begins again.

Usually this is set off by going to a pub with someone - most often Chris.

I am on the third day of recovery at the moment and feeling mas o menos normal. BUT I see Chris tonight at Yukon to play pool. Surely there will be beers. I need to resist from purchasing any other alcohol, storing it in my backpack and consuming it when I arrive home, beginning once again the binge that will eat away my week and destroy my body, whittle it away a little more.

Basically, if this binge - recover - repeat cycle continues unabated, my body will finally quit. Bob will be no more.

I wonder if marijuana has the same effect on me during recovery. In the past, it has not, but Habosh just spoke of rolling a joint and it worries me a bit. It worries me more that I said yes. I have to say NO to excess alcohol tonight. In a phrase: no more drinking alone at home. It is bad news. It is killing me.

Bob: I read that green and black tea help against high blood pressure.

Habosh: Yes, against cancer, as well.

Bob: And against liver failure.

Habosh: So green tea helps protect against death?

Bob: Yeah. Before a gunfight, you should drink lots of it.

I’m awaiting the completion of Habosh’s laptop’s virus scan so I can play a bit on the internet and especially discover if I have any messages or email from my lovely Lucia. I hear Habosh clearly in his room cursing at the one man shooter game he is playing and has been playing incessantly for hours. It is remindful of Jayson and his ilk and their obsession with such things. At least Christian does not partake in such trivialities, though he has his own irritating obsessions - notably conspiracy theories.

I think I am slowly reviving my own obsession with women, what with the receeding alcohol in my system during this recovery period. There s Zuzanka, the sluttish Slovak from Eva’s long ago cottage Sylvestr party with whom I have intermittently kept in touch and who used to frequent my flat near Andel on Sunday mornings circa 1am. She loves vodka. That’s one bad point: I’ll be drinking with her often if we’re together, as we did for eleven hours last Monday. Uff…

I received books from MENSHEVIK this morning after waiting a week expectantly. I began The Long Walk by Slavomir Rawicz and was impressed from the first page. What a brilliant idea the Soviets had to give their prisoners overlarge trousers with no buttons or ties under the assumption that someone concerned with holding their pants up would be less likely to concentrate on escaping!

Music: Neu! - Hallogallo

Xmas day boredom and Solnitchka inspired this.

1. I am sterile.

2. I have a child that I have never met.

3. I like wearing non-matching socks.

4. I worked in the porn business.

5. I don’t like porn at all.

6. Genmaicha tea is my favourite drink.

7. Very strong English (especially American) accents annoy me.

8. I was baptised twice.

9. I am an atheist.

10. Capitalism disgusts me.

11. The only things I like to do on a beach are smoke, drink wine and be introspective.

12. I try to never order the same thing twice in a row at a restaurant.

13. In general, I like cooking better than I like socializing.

14. Hashish floats my boat.

15. My birthday is the day after the birthday of a girl I was obsessed with.

16. I don’t become obsessed with girls any longer (though I often used to). In fact, I am much less romantic and much more jaded and cynical than in my “younger” years.

17. The only things I am materialistic about are my journals, some books, and objects concerned with music. Everything else is disposable/replaceable.

18. I worked at Microsoft.

19. I attempt to avoid Microsoft products.

20. My favourite programming language is Lisp.

21. 75% of the projects I begin are never completed.

22. Changes (even small, seemingly superficial ones) in my lifestyle invigorate me.

23. I like black metal.

24. I once thought I had genital herpes, but I was mistaken.

25. I bite my fingernails.

26. One of my favourite books is The Unconsoled by Kazuo Ishiguro.

27. One of my favourite films is Los Lunes al Sol by Fernando León de Aranoa.

28. The only thing I am truly afraid of is mortality (see #38).

29. I dismiss native English speakers who regularly confuse their, they’re and there as a waste of sentience. I realise that this is a bad thing.

30. I had my first real girlfriend when I was 22. She was 14.

31. I can touch-type using both the qwerty and Dvořák keyboard layouts.

32. Unless I am drunk, I am extremely reserved in a crowd of people I do not know well.

33. I prefer the timbre of woodwinds to brass.

34. When I was a child, I collected packs of gum with one stick left in them.

35. My preference is to send an sms as opposed to calling.

36. I do my best work after 8pm.

37. I am not a technophile.

38. I am not quite claustrophobic, but close.

39. I have mild tinnitus.

40. I believe that trying to change someone’s behaviour or attitudes in the context of a friendship or relationship is ultimately futile and destructive.

41. Autumn is my favourite season.

42. I tend to flush the toilet before I am completely finished urinating.

43. I enjoy gambling.

44. I have always wanted to own a boat and live on it.

45. I do not drink coffee.

46. Once I felt that lyrics were very vital to my enjoyment of music. Now, except for a few exceptions, I don’t bother myself with them much.

47. I am obsessive about showering every day.

48. I am turned off by cultural pigeonholes.

49. Ingrained traditions bother me.

50. I’d rather eat broccoli florets than potato (or corn) chips.

51. I was only a futbol (soccer) fan once – June 2004 in Portugal. Other than that, I have never followed team sports.

52. Sports I do enjoy include biking, hiking and jogging.

53. People who attempt to push their own ideals, philosophies and/or habits (whether they consider them religious, common sensical, moral or otherwise) onto others annoy me.

54. I am a city boy.

55. One of my ex-girlfriends broke my nose.

56. Another one broke my heart.

57. I have often considered joining a monastery.

58. Once, while I was under the influence of an excess of marijuana (and consequently paranoia), I had to tie myself to my bed to keep from jumping from the window.

59. I shagged a prostitute (actually several).

60. In the past, my online journal (primarily one which was sadly lost due to a harddisk crash) angered or alienated several people (women).

61. I was stranded in Alice Springs, Australia for three days with a crazy person.

62. I had my head shaved in Vienna.

63. I bribed a cop.

64. I prefer command line to point and click.

65. My favourite fruits are avacados and olives.

66. My body reacts badly to intense heat.

67. I do math problems for fun.

68. My favourite card game is Cribbage.

69. I never want to live in the United States again in my life.

70. I rode a bus from Muenchen to Bucuresti. It was completely full. I was the only one on board who was not Romanian. It took 39 hours.

71. I spent the night in a parking garage in Anchorage, Alaska.

72. I’ve gone five days without eating.

73. I like quite a bit of music which makes most other people leave the room.

74. I am also a fan of Balkan and Russian folk music.

75. I travel long distances often just to see concerts.

76. I do not own a television, a car, or a microwave.

77. I was arrested for disembarking from a plane in Newark, New Jersey drunk out of my mind.

78. I also spent the night in jail in Houston, Texas.

79. I spent two nights inside the Vienna aeroport.

80. I ordered a double vodka during a job interview, drank it and still got the job.

81. I played accordian and wine glasses filled with various amounts of water at an avant-garde performance in Prague.

82. My love of adjectives has declined over the years.

83. My feelings about puns has stayed about the same.

84. I don’t answer questions that I perceive as rhetorical.

85. I listen now to almost no music that I did when I was in high school and university.

86. I often have dreams which are set in the town in which I grew up.

87. I tend to write music which is too complicated for me to easily play.

88. Dagmar Krause is my favourite female singer. Robert Wyatt is my favourite male singer. These are subject to change on a daily or even hourly basis.

89. I don’t dance.

90. I write beautiful melodies.

91. I’ve lived in 13 different places in Prague and seven in Munich.

92. When the time comes for me to snuff it, I’d like to know that I am dying.

93. I give money to homeless people.

94. At times I am exceedingly irreverent.

95. I like to not know where I shall sleep tomorrow.

96. I enjoy going to playgrounds and swinging.

97. I don’t normally eat sweets.

98. Routine drains my energy.

99. I believe that the struggle against the fleeting nature of existence and the piecing together of moments in hindsight keeps us sane.

100. I am an optimist.

Music: Daniel Lanois

I have drunk so much green tea that I doubt very seriously if I could sleep even if I wished to do so.

Things progress slowly in this lazy land. The days ooze lethargically from morning to night. They seem to echo each other, yet time still drags. Today was punctuated with one oddity. And a disturbing oddity it was. My parents took me out to the local cemetery to show me where my grandparents on my father’s side are buried. Surely I have been there before, but the wash of bleakness the graveyard presented piqued no recognition. There was a nagging similarity, however, to the one in Pecos in which a certain Lee Tarver rots. They then proceeded to show me the four empty plots they owned. Two for them. I suppose the other two are for myself and for my brother. That was never explicitly stated.

It is wasting to be surrounded by old age and obvious mortality for stretches of time. Their aches and their peers’ pains are often the focal point of discussion. Repeated discussion. As much as I love my parents, Thursday will not come too soon.

I have drunk so much green tea that I doubt very seriously if I could sleep even if I wished to do so.

Things progress slowly in this lazy land. The days ooze lethargically from morning to night. They seem to echo each other, yet time still drags. Today was punctuated with one oddity. And a disturbing oddity it was. My parents took me out to the local cemetery to show me where my grandparents on my father’s side are buried. Surely I have been there before, but the wash of bleakness the graveyard presented piqued no recognition. There was a nagging similarity, however, to the one in Pecos in which a certain Lee Tarver rots. They then proceeded to show me the four empty plots they owned. Two for them. I suppose the other two are for myself and for my brother. That was never explicitly stated.

It is wasting to be surrounded by old age and obvious mortality for stretches of time. Their aches and their peers’ pains are often the focal point of discussion. Repeated discussion. As much as I love my parents, Thursday will not come too soon.

The early bird catches the worm is a phrase which was concocted by people who wished for those who chronically sleep late to feel inferior.

Music: Richard Buckner & Jon Langford

I find myself in Seminole, Texas. All is peaceful. All is calm. All is tentively boring. However, I do my best to entertain myself. Amusement is, after all, the greatest reason for being alive.

My plans to visit Austin are thwarted. My parents do not wish to drive me even a meager half-way to the capital city of the state of my upbringing. I am stuck.

So I read. I listen to music. I scribble in my journal. I win $750 at the casino in Ruidoso (where I was with my parents from Sunday until yesterday). I get a haircut. I avoid the television with its contagion.

I fail to find the lyrics to Amarok’s Tierra de Especias on the internet.

Music: Elend - Wind Devouring Men

I don’t think I’ve ever tried writing whilst attempting to defecate before so I am persuing this bit of multitasking at the moment.

I had a very peculiar dream during the early hours of the morning. There was a huge multi-concert festival like something at a two level club somewhere in continental Europe and I was attending. I don’t recall who the headlining band(s) were, but some of the lesser acts were AC/DC and Harry Potter! Odd.

I was there with Natascha. Myriad other people I knew were there, as well, including old and new people in my life. Ira was there, smoking, with a group of frat-like buddies. They were in attendance for the cheese metal.

At one point, Jonatan and I were sitting either side of Natascha doing that weird humming/singing thing she and I used to perform as we walked the streets of NYC. Houmlesak was there, standing on a chair, cheering on a small local band. I head-banged with him for a moment.

The focus, was, however, Natascha. We leaned in and kissed for what seemed to be an eternity whilst everyone else watched. We held each other. She disappeared when I was examining Emma Watson’s passport. I strode around the place looking for her, finally finding her downstairs in the swimming pool.

She called me her hero.

It is the first night in Ruidoso. I am with my parents but thankfully in my own room at the hotel. Perfecktni. I awoke at 8.30 at my father’s summons and nigh an hour later we were on the road through the bleak flatness of West Texas and Eastern New Mexico to end up finally in the semi-mountainous serenity of Ruidoso.

Our first destination, of course, was Billy the Kid casino. I failed to win a single thing, and in this regard secure the beginnings of an accumulation towards Habosh’s Iriver and rent (and hopefully a bit to sustain myself on, as well). My hopes were set high, as were my insipid expectations, by last year’s winnings (squandered away during my first two months back in Praha). I was shattered.

After sitting around in the hotel room for a bit of, as my parents say, putting your feet up time, we proceeded to the Travel Center Casino. I fared somewhat better at the beginning there, playing a four wheel slot (the forth of which was a bonus spindle) of the Flaming 7 variety. I put what little I won away into my stash. I accumulated a bit more, but nothing too substantial.

Back at Billy the Kid, there was to be a drawing for perhaps $4500. That would be a mighty satisfactory sum for my stash. Of course, I did not win, nor did my father or mother. We gambled and I won $75 playing Wheel of Fortune. I lumped it with the rest in my wallet. So far, it is not thick enough, for sure.

Now I’m in the hotel room trying to decide which channel on the television (O! That dreaded object!) would entertain me most. Or I could continue solving puzzles in my Sudoku book. OR PERHAPS BOTH. YES. UM. YEAH. Fucking bad, boring, stifled writing today. I must do better.