Breaking Bat

So, Autumn arrived, and with it my first Cold of the new era. My bones contracted, my throat swole up like a frog under pressure, and a little door opened up where my third eye ought to be and flooded my head with goo. Joy to the future! I feel like I'm encased in moon-atmosphere. Everything is slow, and the air is thick and heavy. But never mind that. With every cloud, a golden fleece. It might have been stupid to help BK move house on Friday, or it might not, but once that was done I went to bed and I only emerged this morning, out of necessity, for self employed men cannot stay in bed for more than three days without seriously impacting their family's futures.

Ah, three days in bed. Amazing. I might have created a mountain of tissues you could mistake for an autumnal leaf pile and hide in, but I gorged on entertainment in a way I have not for a long time, and it was time of great joy for me. The three days in bed, aside from a few hours here and there working on the raptop, where spent staring at a projected image on the wall opposite, alternating between episodes of Breaking Bad and missions of Aarkham Asylum, both of which we started from the very beginning. Two days in I was starting to think I was a 50 year old chemistry teacher turned meth dealer whose parents were killed when he was a boy and cab hang upside down off of gargoyles.

Being ill was always a double edged whatsit for me. When I lived alone, I got ill once, and spent three days in bed watching a Fear In Loathing VCR, suckling on the teat of a bottle of liquid acid, chain smoking, and carving brilliant and savage cartoons into a notebook. I keep those things in a disintegrating cardboard structure I call my Box Of Life, and one day I will be publish them, and be damned. When I was a small boy, I remember being ill in bed with a cold on a school day,  doodling in a scrapbox and listening to radio one, and being filled with a great feeling of joy and excitement when they played Carter USM's Glam Rock Cops. Some of the doodles I drew in bed that day are also in my Box Of Life.

Somewhere in Great Britain yesterday, a young boy was ill in his bed on a school day, listening to 6Music, and was overcome with the same feeling of joy when Steve Lamacq played my song Babydoll for the first time. If you are that young boy and you ended up here as a result, I bid you good day, and recommend you juice some raw ginger root and drink it out of a shot glass. It will not cure your cold, but it will make you feel like a god for roughly thirteen minutes, and that should be plenty of time to achieve something dope.



Meanwhile, in New York...

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