Ever since that great Sony BRAVIA ad with that beautiful song by Jose Gonzales in the background started showing, I've had, at certain moments, a strong desire for a soundtrack of my very own. I could always learn to play the guitar and take it with me everywhere I go, like the handsome town troubador in the Gilmore Girls. I could narrate my own life. Yeah, that'd be good. I hadn't realised it, but I am probably thinking about narration thanks to the mighty Stranger Than Fiction movie which you should see unless you're stupid, in which case you won't like it. Yes that's right - I have made the declaration that your opinion on this film denotes your IQ. You'll get used to the idea.
I am plonked in front of good old TG4 at the moment, and I'm frankly bowled over by the standard of music television they offer. "Do you want your old lavey washed down?" they are singing, over and over, in lyrical Irish harmony. Google doesn't even know what the hell this is. Google is sad because I tried to find it. I need more of the words. That one line simply is not enough. It's like those free samples of sausages that they inexplicably give out at the supermarket. Hello would you like an eighth of an already very small sausage? Why yes I would, yum yum, what a nice small portion of free cooked sausage as I am buying my Tesco own-brand deodarant and a packet of binliners (eco friendly). Have you ever tasted anything so delicious and simultaneously so small and UNSATISFYING? Wait now, I've lost the run of myself. This TG4 music is more like a pox on my being, so it is not really much like an inhumanly mean but delicious sausage portion, it is more like a very small knob of poo as produced by a baby who has eaten a lot, and you're like, where's the rest of it? Then you're searching and it's in the babygro and nobody is happy. That's what TG4 is like at the moment.
I had a dream last night that I formed a strange bond with an unusual young girl named Ellen whom everyone had written off, but thanks to my amazing professional medical health skills, I immediately deduced that she was in fact mildly autistic, and I broke this news to her parents. That was about the extent of the dream. I was woken by the alarm clock at what I remember seemed like a crucial moment in the dream, which made me feel angry. That feeling has lasted for most of the day.
Enough!
neuro-praxis -- needs a bosom for a pillow