"As I write, highly civilized human beings are flying overhead, trying to kill me."
George Orwell
As usual it starts with the rumble of noise somewhere in the distance, like the sound of jungle drums greeting explorers in the head hunter forests of the hinter-land, and build with menacing doom to a crescendo of pain and panic. 'Into the valley' still ranks as one of the worlds best songs - inspite of being written by Fifers.
Every morning wading through the social waste is made more bearable by the same, badly recorded, compilation tape on a cheap walkman. Even when it rains Lou, Kim, James and Mary keep me warm in their embrace.
Its a gauntlet, day by day becoming more running man, and every day the Goth chicks continue to erase the morning for and the Crusties litter the streets, all with dogs on string, and cause liberal giggles of delight.
Walking through syrup is like this - trudging through the wastelands of small town Scotland and driving rain away from the wars and back to normality - must be Monday, or Tuesday - can't tell as that bit on the watch has stopped working - due to some unconscionable actions of some punk (this is not yank slang - they had a mohican).
As the trudge becomes bearable through the liberal application of Sonic Youth to the soul I realise that all around -highly civilized human beings are trying to kill me.
Read the previous chapter Chapter 1 - Ever get the Feelin' you've been cheated
Read more about the indie wars with the next chapter Frustrated Incorporated