Sunday

The wife bumped into out old neighbour in Asda today. Slow in speech, he seems like the sort who did a lot of dope in the sixties, ex missile scientist he retreated to being a school maths teacher in the soulless ex-industrial/mine town across the way. he had a wife i think, divorced it think , met Ms Fussy, who taught art. Tall willowy sort of stylish in a brown sort of way. Overly fussy and fastidious they took to ball room dancing, travelled all over dancing. Till they both decided they had ME, conveniently they retired on a pension. We went to their wedding reception, felt odd, marooned amongst the gliteratie. He looked worn down today, like a man punched in the stomach. Ms Fussy has Ovarian cancer and is going to die...

I just feel like im alive just to find out what i die of. Its all so pointless and futile isn't it? There's no meaning there is nothing to hang on to. Some might say , your son, but what is he, i love him i want him to be happy, but he's going to feel exactly like i do some day and that's unbearable to think of. At 45 i could have died of many things already, soon, i sort of expect to die.


Yesterday on the way to visit Weezy we met Gaylord. Went to his flat to chat and drink terrible coffee. He's still working as a prostitute. Seems to make some money, he's had his eyes lasered, is getting a tooth replaced etc. Been to Tel Aviv said the surounding Arab nations deserve only derision if they cant overrun the town..."Its like Brighton for gods sake!" he went with some gay friend. he's been painting again flowers this time. Enjoying it.