"You're so vain/ I bet you think this song is about you/"
Every morning I have to remember to smile. Recently the dreams I have been having cause me to wake up with the fear that I am having a heart attack. I went to A and E last week, but they told me I had Post-Traumatic-Stress. They got me to clench my fists and smile as wide as I could. It snapped me back to reality.
I've just returned home from the West End. The mate of mine who texted to tell me yesterday a girl we knew had killed herself took me to see "Looper". I'd already seen it, but liked it more this time round because I wasn't paranoid or drunk. Total Film (or Empire, both are interchangable now) called it "This Decade's THE MATRIX *****" which immediately put me off. I fell asleep during "The Matrix". Also, film criticism is a notoriously unstable artform. Eli Roth called "The Innkeepers" the "scariest movie I've ever seen!" but for this lame attempt at making "The Shining" without knowing how to operate a camera led me to dub this dud as "Normal Activity." I wonder if the fact that Roth was friends with the director had anything to do with his review. Who can say?
It rained today. I love walking in the rain. Piccadilly Circus was flashing adverts for "Skyfall" and Big Macs and brave looking hookers were taking brazen photos of their world with defiant cigarettes clamped firmly between their lipstick grimaces. I had a couple of Budvars in the cinema. It's a nice beer, and almost worth the £9 I spent on the bottles. I'm now back home with my own album "Your Only Friends Are Make Believe" (named after a Bloodhound Gang epic) with a JD and Coke, writing this to put off having to wash up without heating. I have to call the Housing Department to switch me back on, and try to disguise I ripped out all three fire alarms from the flat when they refused to go off, no matter how many windows I opened.
I have a stalker now. I met him in a psychiatric hospital about a month ago, and for some reason I actually thought he could rap. The first three times he turned up at my flat he drunkenly started crying on each occasion, and now brings his hoody mates round because he's convinced I want to "fuck" his "bird". The reality is because I quite literally "fuck" Eminem on my album (possibly the reason for my panic attacks, LOL) I am going to be writing and recording a song about this person. I was composing a catchy hook in my head while we wandered through The National Gallery today, humbled by the Vincent Van Gogh masterpieces and Renaissance depictions of Golgotha. Most wannabe rappers will never understand how I see them. Just more illiterate, ignorant, cowardly and sexually submissive fools.
19/10/2012 Andrew Moody