Friday, 1 October 2010

Second Extract From The Journal Of Gant Ericsson

It hit me very hard in the face. The Frisbee that is.

As I stood in the park enjoying the warm weather and admiring the delightful sight of two dogs fucking, I was knocked back as it whistled into my face cracking hard on the bridge of my nose.

I staggered back and felt blood began to trickle down onto my top lip. It was a bit like the time I pointed out to one of the doormen at a club in Worcester that, no, I wasn’t “looking for trouble” - I genuinely had slept with his mother once and paid for the privilege. I was merely commenting on the quality and value she provided and hoped he would pass on my regards as it was some years since I had seen her.

As the pain began to rise from my nose into my forehead I began laughing. I’m not sure why, but I laughed quite intensely.

I carried on laughing - harder and harder. The teenagers who owned the Frisbee had begun to approach me to retrieve their toy and check if I was alright, but as my laughter increased in volume they started to slowly back off.

And then I realised what I had done. Quite by accident of course. It wasn’t the laughter that caused them to back off.

Must remember to put my cock away before going to the park.

It could be misconstrued.

Diary Of Gant Ericsson

I found an old notebook at a second hand stall on the market at the end of the Portobello Road in and amongst a tressle table load of old tat that I am guessing came from a house clearance. It was 25p and I have no idea why it was for sale rather than binned but scrawled inside the hard cover was "My Words" and it appears to be a journal or diary of sorts. You know - before they invented "blogs" - when people wrote it on paper.

I don't know whether he ever intended it to be public or published or shared with a single soul.

I wonder if it is right or wrong for me to even blog about it, but it intrigues me so I have (as best as I can, with the scrawly writing and frequent scribbles and crossing-out of words) typed out some extracts here for you to have a gander at.

Based on the writing on the third page in, his name is (was? I don't know if he is still alive) Gant Ericsson.

These are some of his thoughts:

People say they recycle. But they don’t do it properly.

Sure, they recycle newspapers, cans, bottles - some even mulch their food scraps and tea-bags in a compost bin. But they don’t make use of everything they can.

They don’t recycle themselves.

I’ve been recycling myself for approximately four years now.

Much of our body is wasted and we can re-use our own by-products to great effect.

I shave my head and beard every seven weeks and have done so since I began my bodily recycling programme. So far I’ve stuffed eight pillows, two cushions and am halfway towards my first duvet.

My ear wax has been collected in pots and provided several large candles in a rather attractive earthy orange/dark brown speckled finish.

If ever I find myself sobbing uncontrollably, I collect my tears in a small jug and use it to water the Aspidistra on the window sill. Much of my wallpaper is affixed with mucus. Unfortunately this does mean I can only put one strip up every six to eight weeks.

Toe-nail and finger-nail clippings are kept in a large Tupperware tub in the garage. I haven’t determined what I shall use them for yet.

Now, it may seem unsavoury to some but in my flat there's a bucket instead of a toilet. Some of the faecal matter I collect is dried and used in the stove and the rest is used as fertiliser for the garden.

The human body produces so many useful substances from every region, but by far the most versatile has to be the penis - which regularly produces two entirely different substances which most people simply waste.

People may say it’s somewhat unpleasant to collect and keep my penile fluids - and they may be right. But every visitor that’s ever been to my flat comments on my home made lava lamp.

Football Match

"You're goin 'ome in a fackin' ambulance" they chanted.

I scoffed...."Surely, you foul and foolish young fellows, I would be going to hospital, not home, if I were indeed in an ambulance. Your daft little ditty makes no sense - if you actually took the time to think about it".

The stabbing I got in response did however result in me going in an ambulance shortly thereafter.



How I laughed as I proved them wrong.

Pink Or Brown

We had an argument the other day as to what was the best colour.

Yes, we had been drinking and no, it wasn't actually a debate as to our favourite colour but a debate as to which colour reflects the largest number of things that are awesome.

An early nomination was pink: boobs, fannies, strawberry milkshake....erm - and that was about it.

I scoffed at the suggestion and went straight for brown.

Booze is brown. Yes - all the best booze is bronze, nutty or amber. Rich bourbon, fine cognac, peaty single malt whisky, real's all brown. Even Pimms is brown - which I know is a girl's drink and/or a toff's drink but it is quite nice with all that fruit and bits of nettles or whatever they put in it.

Chocolate is brown. That's a pretty heavy candidate for brown being the best colour right there.

Nuts are brown.

Leather is brown.

Mud is brown. The very earth that gives life to all plants and in turn to all living creatures is brown.

Coffee - oh sweet caffeinated boiling (well, ideally 90 degrees celsius and no hotter) nectar - how brown you are.

Tobacco - very brown and very lovely. Of course.

I could go on.

The Torrent Of Blah Continues Unabated

2007 saw the bullshit factory that is my brain continuing production at a steady rate with consistent levels of juvenility and impotent rage.

In 2008 more stuff fell out of my mind onto a keyboard and got soaked up by the internet.

In 2009 I still had the occasional thought that had no particular relevance to anything nor any great importance - yet I still had the audacity to think it may be worth posting it on a blog in case someone who has run out of things to do or indeed reasons to live has exhausted all possibilities for mental stimulation and decided to be one of few lost souls who venture onto this page.

Now it's 2010 and I have found the Twitter where I can spew my mind-dung more quickly into the consciousness of strangers. Still, I occasionally have something I need more than 140 characters to sum up. Occasionally....