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Molotov cocktails for fun…

August 17, 2008

This weekend i’ve been a magazine readin’ jam on toast eatin’ Northcote wanderin’ picture takin’ broke-ass bum.

I don’t know what my obsession is with taking photos of myself but I do know it probably won’t be stopping any time soon.

Today I met a dog. I can’t help but anthropomorphise animals and today, had this dog been a human being, he would have been a middle-aged university professor, probably of English literature, sitting at an outside coffee table sipping on a machiatto and reading The Guardian (or the Australian equivalent). He’d also be a tweed-wearer. He was wonderful and I wanted to take him home.

Some noob came to our house today complaining about Waffles/Rupert attacking her, disturbing her peace and saying she’s had to feed him because he’s been desperate for food. No, miss, Waffles is just an extraordinary fat gunt who will eat his own vomit given half the chance (i’ve seen him do it) and probably attacks you for a good reason. She also said he should be re-homed. Re-homed? How about you re-home your neighbourly concern and go fuck yourself.

I felt like a bit of a lost soul today, inexplicably, I felt stifled by my new sense of privacy. I had to escape my new lodgings and go for a wander. I’ve been so used to sharing myself for the past few months I forgot what real solitude was like and weirdly, I found it difficult to digest. I like being with myself and it almost becomes an addiction. The more time I spend on my own the less I want to spend with other people. I was so bored on my wander that I wanted to make some kind of ‘scene’ so I could take a photo. Aka molotovs.

Back to work tomorrow.

Check out my friend William skating at Stockwell park, Brixton. He’s the one wearing the green stripes and khaki shorts:

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