MY QUEST for ever-perfect grooming goes on... with Elnett hairspray (found months ago on street) sprayed to front of head causing permanent pilo-erection. Paddster says I remind him of Billy Idol.
I've also done this trick I used to achieve with a crusty old washcloth but the cosmetics version is nicer. You exfoliate three times in a row with the grittiest facial scrub you can find and then continue to use this scrub every day in place of soap and if it works on you like it works on me you'll look a good five years younger.
In fact when I take off my dark glasses (I'm wearing them at all hours, to get full money's worth)... then stare at my blond microdermabrasioned image in the looking glass I look like an angel. My old look was something like an extra from a Hollywood bubonic plague epic. That kind of look.
So I'm doing all I can. I even wear P20 sunscreen (expired 2001) the sun lotion I took to Goa and Madras. It's so powerful you exfoliate (very important) then apply just ONCE to unmoisturized skin (why moisturize when nature provides something called GREASE??!) anyway so you put this stuff on once a day. It never needs reapplication and even if you swim all afternoon it only reduces 2 factor points to 18.
Oh and I eat pro-biotic yogurts and drink tiny mysterious vanilla flavour drinks that are so nice you knock back eight in a row, ya know, the type containing bifidus digesticus lactobacillus. That habit originated in India too. I came back glowing with health without my normal two black eyes look. Months of pondering ("was it the food? No. Indian farmers use about twenty times more pesticides"... was it the lack of cigaretttes? No. Ciggies are 15p a packet of 10 in Goa so we smoked three packs a day each... I did catch giargia food poisoning but I don't think that would make me look much healthier. Then I realized my biggest change in diet (apart from barely any meat at all for six weeks) was "banana lassi" morning noon and night. Lassi is Indian drinking yogurt. Live yogurt. So maybe there is something in this probiotic bullen-scheisse. I'm rotating brands to get as many "friendly bacteria" as my body can take.
Having said this I hobble up to my chemist's each morning, drink over 100 mls of pig-sick and spend the next hour wanting to puke. My sleep cycle is all over the place. A couple of days ago I was exhilarated to be dropping off at 5pm and getting up with the nightingale at 11. It meant all the bad films I'd missed while I was a heroin addict got caught up on.
I spent all day yesterday telling myself I wasn't really fighting incoming waves of depression, I was just PISSED OFF AND ANNOYED THAT SOME BASTARD HAD BOUGHT MY PET CANARY. The most beautiful one in the shop. Heartbreakingly, this little bird actually sang to me before I said goodbye. (Rather stomped out in fury.)
And if you're wondering how it sang to me after being purchased: this is the very crux of my irritation. The **** who paid for these birds left them in the cages on display so people like me could fall in love with their royal chirpiness only to be told "nah: the two that look like crash-dieting sparrows are on sale but some bastard's already bought and paid for the proper pair"...
So I'm officially feeling SHIT and it just goes to show, as I always knew, moods come and go. They have very little to do with anything else that happens because I've lived in a pigsty covered in cockroaches and been so manic I literally felt my body turning into cosmic energy. Now that's HIGH MAN!! I've also been depressed as can be when I had everything going for me. I frankly don't care any more. Oh and I did buy heroin this morning. And no it didn't make me any better at all. Best move I ever did was memorize the last arrivals and departures into and out of London. It means when suicidal thoughts strike late at night I know what time to lie across those rails. I give my odds of survival at 50:50. I have nothing worth living for. Not really.
Yeah yeah I can distract myself watching the news, smoking cigarettes, being glad I never bought a loudly chirping canary (recipe for psychosis) but deep down. No, I tell a lie. Barely a millimetre deep under the glowing exfoliated peroxided good health is despair just as black and pustulent as it ever was and I don't think it will ever go away. That's why I wanted to win the lottery. The proper Euromillions lottery, at least £100,000,000 lump sum untaxed. Then I could prove to myself for once and for all that happiness is a mere illusion. In fact when I think I'm happy other people think I'm mentally deranged. So what does that say about me?... More to the point WHAT DOES IT SAY ABOUT THEM??
I will be a national hero - One of my very first blog posts from 0ctober, 2005. Sadly I never did start that campaign. The trouble with Americans is: they can't spell. I suspect this ...
16 hours ago