So, an hour ago I started this update, wrote, like, 800 words, and I sent it,and somehow that fucked up, so I shall write it again. I am in Maryland rightnow, and we just feasted on burgers and hot dogs and beetroot and potato salad,and I am showered and fresh. Phill and I stank of sea shit earlier, because I managed to drop my glasses in the sea slash lake slash river. I swam and dived,
or attempted to, but the water is so thick with algae you can’t see shit. Or you can see shit, but little else. My feet sank and stank in mud pie, and were eaten by weird sea animals, but that is OK. We had fun in our quest, and even if we never found the glasses, and I left my contacts in Englandland, that is OK. Stuff is OK.
Stuff is fucking lovely, really, here. The Dogg and I returned to Englandland for 24 hours on Thursday, to pack out flats up and to tie loose ends. The sight of the place, blanketed in cloud, depressing… but worse was the sight of the faces of my country folk, stony, grey, spiteful. I had gotten used to smiling at people and them smiling back, and vice versa, which is what people do in U!S!A!… in Englandland they look like they are about to twat you. Or call the police. The English are a strange, sad, self defeating breed, in some great part, but I am fortunate to be able to count a handful of inspiring and beautiful Britishers as my friends. I was also foolish to waste a great deal of my time on ninnies, narks, narcissists… And assholes, but we all suffer fools in our youth. I shall endeavor to avoid such swine in future. There are a few truly beautiful people in my life, and I’ll hang on to those. The rest can hang.
As Dizzy would say. >
So, yes. We flew to Miami on Virgin on Friday, with tiny sleep, and it was the fucking shit. We had three seats each, and an incredible amount of excellent entertainment to choose from, from a dope Woody Allen movie with Christina Ricki and that div out of American Pie, who was surprisingly excellent, to an animation about an “unlucky” Polish man, that made me cry. I fancied most of the staff. The plane was roomy and well lit, and arrived on time. They gave everybody a bag with socks and toothbrushes and paper and pens and stuff. That was amazing. American Airlines are fucking shit.
Birddogg lost his drivers license, and we had no insurance, so our plan to pick up Robert’s silver Buick and aim it up to Baltimore was scuppered. And so we had a bonus 24 hour holiday in Mimai, and this time I got to spend a whole day on the beach, swimming, tanning, caning, copping cellulite and silicone. Birdd didn’t burn, and I got an approximation of my old style on, with a cream cowboy hat and some Flyboy throwback shades, tiny white shorts, porno vests, platforms.
That night we flew back to New York on Spirit Air, the US Ryan Air equivalent that shits on American Airlines, and it felt like coming home. Smiles tore apart our weary faces, and the lights warmed my soul and my ass to the core. Wade and Spiky were thrown off their own night, but being professionals saved what became that AIDS carrying dude from Kids’ night, turning up the volume like, duh) and inspiring the usual hysteria and dancefloor turbulence. Meanwhile Birddogg continued to prove my “for every good is a bad” theory when he got his bag robbed outside the apartment on Rivington Street at 5am. He lost his passport, cards, money, clothes, my Flyboy Throwbacks, all the music he’s made, and all the underpants he owns in the whole world. But he is a Ninja so he didn’t even stress that shit. Two hours later we were on a coach to Baltimore, home of Cex, with hilarious evidence of Daniel O Dwyer’s genius and a load of dirt poor black people. You don’t seem to see many black people on planes. I haven’t. Maybe three? Four? The bus, a sorrier vehicle I had yet to witness, reeked of poverty and creaked along the highway like some great stinking hearse. Bill Cosby says it’s their fault. James Brown thinks Colon Powel would make “a great president”. Every time I catch a minute or two of CNN, or Fox, or ABC, or whatever, I choke and scream out in disbelief, and fat people eye me with hate and fear. The Christians are still winning. It fucking baffles me. But when people like Pat Buchanan are calling for the Administration’s resignations, you know something is up.
I didn’t see Cex in Baltimore, but Amy picked us up in a big red van car, and drive us the delightful and flat hour long drive to her parents’ wonderful home in Queen’s Town, on the east side of the Chesope Bay. Tomorrow we return to New York to pack Spiky and Amy’s flat. I will see if I approve of this paperwork, and Tuesday we move into our fortress in Woodstock. I shall get some glasses too, eh?