Hamell

i haven't seen the daylight. the sleeping is, at best, incremental, and emphasis on mental, tempermental, experimental, and for my sanity, detrimental. my computer crashed last night depriving me the ability to write the valentines day prose piece i had so intended to write to my wife, which meant i had to go out at 4am and the soho area that i'm housed in was rockin', but they were drunk, crazy drunk, not drunk like you see in nyc drunk, no, not tipsy, or silly, or staggering, we're talking people wretching, heaving, puke on every corner, this was a committed drunk, a serious effort to leave a part of one guts on a staked claim not unlike terratorial pissings... simon, that's MY corner, don't you see my bile there? sniff it, it's mine!...now i've had three great shows in a row, houses full hanging on my every word, new material, songs about tasers added and going over gang buster, so i can't complain, i've never been one to sleep worth a shit anyway, and if i never saw the daylight again it'd be no great shakes, although it means that i can't get into book stores because they're not open then, and if you know me you know i NEED my bookstores... but it is wild to see these 20 something year old girls with their short skirts and their 300 pound, (that's 600 dollar) boots, and their hair with the latest mod cut sorta nestled in their main guy's arms and just at one point lean over and fucking HURL, major league projectile vomiting, then go back to snuggling with their honey...i was ankle deep in semi-digested meat pie from my doorway to the payphone...why? you might ask was i using a payphone? well...the cellphone i have over here is mucho expensive to call home, (the usa), and there's no phone in my flat, so the theatre, (who couldn't, by the way, be any nicer, see? theatres now! not them nasty rock and roll bars i've been doing for years where they say, hey, turn the fucking lights out when you leave!),lets me use their phone prior to the gig but of course the wife wants the gig update after the gig, or at least i want to talk to her about it whether she wants to hear it or not, poor thing, and so there i was, wading through porridge like streets to get to a phone booth and thinking wow! you don't see these things in the states too much anymore, and look how cute! little red, english phone booths, and look, no one's puked inside that one, i'm going to be safe in there, and i stood and made my phone call and the urine like stink permeated my nostrils as if someone had wrapped me in a week old ammoniated diaper...it was unbelievable, see the usa is a relatively new country, i know we like to think we're king shit and all, the world's laws don't apply to us, but we're babys man, history will tell the tale, they might yank george bush and his daddy out of bed, haul them downtown in a rickshaw and hang them for war crimes, you might see it in your lifetime, but anyway back to my phonebooth...they have had centuries to piss in this booth, churchill probably took a whizz in this sucker, the queen squatted and blasted one out, but, it's valentines day and all and i was bound and determined i was going to leave a message, told the wife how much i loved her and needed her and then sloshed back to my apartment...you gotta hand it to these english, they know how to fucking party. happy valentines day! burp...