Kind of sick of mediocrity. Want to fast. Water and cigarettes only, see how long I last. I never was of a mind to care, about your stress, your hair, your pipe-cleaner-pint-but-still-debonair.
Wee man, kid. You think that you are better than I, bloated and wretched as I float on out to die. This is not my epitaph. I will try to give up luxury, the last time you will ever hear me laugh is as I stand in full view, long overdue, the camera crew only have eyes for me, and not for you.
It’s a new format, a possibility, experiment. I will go easy and enjoy, no mistakes like before. But let’s not be so unsure, let’s be truthful – I just want to do something useful. I am so sick of wasting my time at my own behest, hypnotised by too much booze and unproductive rest. It’s difficult to see what I should do to work this out. After all, there’s not much I’m about right now, no ongoing mission, I need to find a new regime.
Fuck it. I cannot do it. I’ll just mix myself a drink and refocus my dull eyes back to the TV screen.