Ra Last Time I Got Arrested!
Thursday 9:30 p.m.
I got arrested tomorrow. It was while I was doing my boxing training routine. Sometimes your thoughts drift into the murderous maelstrom of menace. Kind of puts you in character. The routine involves dancing about to Waiting for the Man and throwing about 1500 punches in 18 minutes. You'll moida da bum, Hotboy. He doesn't stand a chance, Jack. And I was feeling very fit tonight. Really fit. I've been doing stuff like this several times a week now for thirty years.
Wouldn't it be great to be in solitary confinement! Wouldn't that just be brilliant! You wouldn't have to worry about going out then, or leaving your seat. This is a common volitional problem for prospective hotboys. Bang me up! Three meals a day and they could throw away the key!
You could put fifty pence pieces between your fingers, put a bit of scotch tape round your knuckles, the put on those big black gloves.
So I backtracked from the statscounter thing and someone has put a link to here from my work's site on Wikipedia. What do you think, Jack? Take a limb, Hotboy. Take a limb.
This morning I started my meditations in the hut at eight and came down the road just as the one o clock gun went off. I had a break to eat a piece and read a wee bit of The Book Of The Three Inspirations, and weeded once for quarter of an hour. This morning was very good indeed! Bodes well.
I spoke to the agent, that man of great taste and perspicacity, Mr Adrian Weston today on the phone. We talked about The Real McCoy. It's about integrating parts of your life. The boy in The Real McCoy spends six years in a cave and starts floating about like St Joseph of Cupertino. I can count sitting in the hut as research, which it is anyway. Since yesterday I've become dead keen to re-write this book. Just the perfect time for it. I'll re-write it seventeen times and make sure it's good.
We're going to be rich! We're going to be rich, Jack!
Well, you'd better not go to jail then, Hotboy. What about the Wikipedia thing? Bugger all to do with me, Jack. I'm not liable to hear from the hut the fevered cries of teenage girls shouting: We want Mr Hotboy! am I, Jack? Only in your dreams, Hotboy. Only in your dreams.
I had a wee lie down on the couch this afternoon and went into ra bliss. I really like doing this these days. So you go into ra bliss and fall asleep. Somehow it seems as if you haven't fallen asleep because almost seemlessly you come awake and are still in ra bliss. These are very nice sensations indeed. You shouldn't really expect anything of course, but I could easily have the best time of my life over the next six weeks. It's just a matter of calming down really.
I got arrested tomorrow. It was while I was doing my boxing training routine. Sometimes your thoughts drift into the murderous maelstrom of menace. Kind of puts you in character. The routine involves dancing about to Waiting for the Man and throwing about 1500 punches in 18 minutes. You'll moida da bum, Hotboy. He doesn't stand a chance, Jack. And I was feeling very fit tonight. Really fit. I've been doing stuff like this several times a week now for thirty years.
Wouldn't it be great to be in solitary confinement! Wouldn't that just be brilliant! You wouldn't have to worry about going out then, or leaving your seat. This is a common volitional problem for prospective hotboys. Bang me up! Three meals a day and they could throw away the key!
You could put fifty pence pieces between your fingers, put a bit of scotch tape round your knuckles, the put on those big black gloves.
So I backtracked from the statscounter thing and someone has put a link to here from my work's site on Wikipedia. What do you think, Jack? Take a limb, Hotboy. Take a limb.
This morning I started my meditations in the hut at eight and came down the road just as the one o clock gun went off. I had a break to eat a piece and read a wee bit of The Book Of The Three Inspirations, and weeded once for quarter of an hour. This morning was very good indeed! Bodes well.
I spoke to the agent, that man of great taste and perspicacity, Mr Adrian Weston today on the phone. We talked about The Real McCoy. It's about integrating parts of your life. The boy in The Real McCoy spends six years in a cave and starts floating about like St Joseph of Cupertino. I can count sitting in the hut as research, which it is anyway. Since yesterday I've become dead keen to re-write this book. Just the perfect time for it. I'll re-write it seventeen times and make sure it's good.
We're going to be rich! We're going to be rich, Jack!
Well, you'd better not go to jail then, Hotboy. What about the Wikipedia thing? Bugger all to do with me, Jack. I'm not liable to hear from the hut the fevered cries of teenage girls shouting: We want Mr Hotboy! am I, Jack? Only in your dreams, Hotboy. Only in your dreams.
I had a wee lie down on the couch this afternoon and went into ra bliss. I really like doing this these days. So you go into ra bliss and fall asleep. Somehow it seems as if you haven't fallen asleep because almost seemlessly you come awake and are still in ra bliss. These are very nice sensations indeed. You shouldn't really expect anything of course, but I could easily have the best time of my life over the next six weeks. It's just a matter of calming down really.
posted by Hotboy at 9:27 PM
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