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….and speaking of Irvine Welsh (that was two weeks ago, but still), i’m thinking the copy of Irvine Welsh’s Ecstasy that i borrowed from my brother(*) is hot. you know, scoobied. yoinked. why else would it activate the loss prevention alarm when i walk into—and subsequently out of—my friendly neighbourhood methadone clinic (actually a somewhat reputable pharmacy)? …why else would i be kindly advised to “return to the cash and complete [my] transaction”?
well, at least those alarms are not presumptuous. at least, they care enough to give you the benefit of a doubt.
i know it’s because of the book, too. how? process of elimination, my friends, through the process of elimination. it’s completely arbitrary, too. i mean, there’s no discernible pattern…when it happens, it’s totally random.
kinda amusing, if you think about it. to be getting my methadone—keen on being inconspicuous, you understand—only to then shatter the trust of the staff by setting off all these crazy alarms (how can you do that to someone with a head full of acid? ever heard of residual effects?), which causes me to promptly shit my pants, all with my trusty paperback titled Ecstasy. WHICH, SINCE YOU ASKED, IS WRITTEN BY THE SAME GUY WHO PENNED ‘TRAINSPOTTING’. oh, joy of joys! how utterly convenient! why don’t i just brand myself with the words “DRUGZ 4 LIF” across my forehead?
* yes. it’s true. i’ve read every Irvine Welsh book, BUT Ecstasy. oh, i’ve read Marabou Stork Nightmares, i’ve read his play that he wrote with Dean Cavanagh on the midgets of Oz—fuck, i’ve even read Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chefs (aye, diminishing returns, she’s a harsh mistress)—everything, save for Ecstasy.
the mind, it boggles.
Talking Heads—Girlfriend is Better
speaking of Talking Heads (that was three days ago, but still), this song is so deeply rooted in my existence it’s actually kinda unnerving. from being waken up as a child to my mother blaring it on Saturday mornings, to screeching along to it at 4AM while on acid.
scrolling through my Tumblr these days…why, it’s all music, music, music! one may be led to the conclusion that it is all i know/care about. and in many ways, it almost is. listening to certain pieces at different points in your life…you just don’t get the same feeling as you do with movies, meals or olfactory sensations. and i hardly ever revisit books, so.
invariably, the music of my past becomes the music of my present. i can never let it go.
As in, Einstürzende Tiketzbauten.
Poppies, probably scanned by Agence Eureka (I didn’t find the set).
Talking Heads - Fear Of Music (Cassette)
I actually own this cassette.