So, no more beard. When he gets out of prison, many people will want to stab Glitter in the balls, and not wrongly. I would like to stab him in the chin.
I have been reading far too much 8-bit Theatre lately. As in all of it. Not healthy.
Then again, I have been not healthy generally lately. Nothing physical, just a combination of a growing sense of grim black unceasing miserableness coupled with an increasing alcohol consumption and a really stupid week last week when I accidentally smoked an eigth of skunk and found that it really does fuck me up much more badly than ever before now, including totally uncharacteristic aggressive mood swings, paranoia and weeping fits, not including actually feeling particularly good during what is supposed to be the 'high' bit. Fucking skunk. Fuck that. It really isn't weed at all, and if that's THC in there it certainly doesn't feel like THC.
Basically the only thing holding me together at the moment is my promise to myself to draw and upload three comics a week, no matter how bad, which I have now stuck to for nine weeks. Over this time I have read the entire archives of a good ten or fifteen or so really really good comics, and the only downside is that reading webcomics now no longer feels in any way like skiving.
I am also totally on the point of booking an actual rehearsal room for an actual rehearsal next actual week which two actual musicians have actually agreed to turn up to. That will be good.
I am looking forward to recording an MFC entry or so too this time. I don't know why I haven't yet.
I have the world's stupidest gig next Thursday, at the Finnegan's Wake in Ealing where the guy has required me to tell him exactly how many people will be coming to see me by 5pm on the day of the gig. Like I'm going to know. I'll be playing all of two ten minute sets, and he wants me to make sure that no-one comes to see me who hasn't told me they are coming first, because it's an 'Industry Showcase', whatever that means. I was going to do printed invites, but then I thought a) fuck it, and b) I am too skint to do printed invites. I am currently waiting for dole money to come through so I can buy guitar strings. I am not doing printed invites for an unpaid gig where anyone coming to see me on the offchance will probably not actually be let in.
If anyone who does come to see me doesn't get let in I will be furious. Perhaps I should tell him that I have 35 people coming to see me and, then, when the true figure is more like 6, tell him that I received a text message telling me that their minibus had broken down.
This guy's musical biography is fascinating, if you like long rambling texts written by musicians, which, obviously, I seem to.
Your good healths etc.
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