I think it’s been about a week since anything but water or coffee has lit up the tastebuds that once covered my tongue. Possibly it’s been a bit longer. The only way I can tell is by the length of my facial hair. It no longer itches as it did at the beginning. Now its just generally irritating. I woke up around 9:30 tonight with the phone ringing. It had been almost six hours since the guy had said he was on his way. I won’t go into detail of the meeting tonight because it has nothing to do with my fast, but suffice it to say I am still breathing.

One of the keys to surviving on a diet of nothing while in acute withdrawal from several drugs, including an anti-depressant, is not to count down the hours on a thoroughly well done, proper check-off list, where you can cross off each and every single one of the 168 hours in a week. I have tried this before. My handwriting is totally illegible, but when I sat down to construct my little check-off list with its complex series of perfectly spaced boxes (all of them perfect squares, not a rectangle among them) –loss of attention seems to be a symptom of this fast. Where was I? Don’t drive yourself mad by counting out every second of the day and crossing them off. It’s something I think you’ll hate yourself for doing when you’re on your deathbed–remembering how carelessly and disdainfully you treated time, healthy time, time where you could’ve gotten dressed and gone out and for a walk and done handstands to celebrate the feeling of having what seems like an infinite future ahead of you.That came out quite a bit more muddled than I had intended. Maybe it’s time I eat something?

Fasting stresses your body and supposedly, at least in lab rats, that very stress causes the body to compensate for the horrors of not eating by releasing endorphins. Mmm. Natural feel good dope. I’ve found moments like that, when for no apparent reason my mood is lifted and I feel pretty hopeful about my life despite everything going on around me and inside me which to be honest is begging for an intervention, at the very least. Perhaps I should be sectioned. But I’m not in England, and not on a TV show, so very little chance of that.

I used to imagine that I was on TV when I was younger. Everything was being recorded, or so I imagined. It was a great way to make yourself crazy. It’s similar to the kind of crazy the church wants to engage you in, but at least God doesn’t put out Neilsen ratings as to the watchability of your life. Whether your life is well-written and well-performed, which I’m not going to lie, it really isn’t much of either. Very few people find themselves able to suspend disbelief in my life. It’s hard enough for me to do it.

Does he really flush the toilet with his foot? Yes, he does. I don’t know why but he does. What font would the title of my reality TV show arrive in? In today’s episode, Peter thinks about food and tried to immerse  himself in soul-crushing sports on TV while waiting for a guy to arrive who might try to kill him though probably not. “I spent all day growing my beard.”

In the afternoon I listened to a thunderstorm slowly approaching, rumbling through the valley getting closer and closer. Lightning is thunder. The waiting between when its seen and heard is the essence of the human experience.

Is “expiry” a real word? If I were learning English as a second language, that might be the very last thing I learned.

“Englush” will be the title of a truly horrible rom-comedy about a cheeky American girl on holiday in London who meets and falls in love with  charming Brit who turns out to be a drunk. I googled the term to see if it’s shown up in the culture downstream that runs down the side of every littered street. No sign of it yet. Though, NOW it’s out there to be appropriated by Somebody Who Matters, somebody who draws a lot more water than me.

In The Big Spanish Lebowski, The Dude is called El Fino. And Donnie is still out of his element though you’d have to speak and understand Englush to get it because in the subtitled version, he’s just out of his.

Cue the “I Feel Good” song used in every movie trailer since 1985. Montage of an instant Vegas marriage in a wedding chapel, one dressed like Elvis. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but sometimes… In a world waking up to the reality of a drunken mistake marriage… Woman wakes up next to an ageless Hugh Grant who is drinking his breakfast per usual and the she screams. Who are you? How did you… then she notices the ring on her finger. Oh! My! Cut to scene where she says “I do.” Her scream can be heard all the way down the Strip and you can tell it can be because the Strip is shown and people seem to be able to hear her, how freaking hilarious! The movie almost seems to write itself. I’d say the same thing about the jokes but they were already written 50 years ago.

I feel good…

Nominated for two People’s Choice awards! Englush, from BAFTA nominated director Ainsley Carr with production assistant Rutle Wainscott. Is Ricky Gervais in this movie? How is Ricky Gervais NOT in this movie? Cameo? I’ve read good things about Rutle Wainscott’s work. And maybe her name could be Lisa so we could listen to all the English people call her “Liserr” the entire 78 minutes of the movie, including slow closing credits with get this… BLOOPERS! during the final credits. Sandra Bullock is Liserr? Sandra Bullock, Hugh Grant. Those are not exactly A list names any more but they’ll cost a few million dollars a piece, I reckon. Perhaps a Vegas property would sponsor the thing. It wouldn’t be a top tier casino. I’m thinking more of Sam’s Town or the Sands in Reno. A casino owned by a gas station perhaps.

I’ve made it to the 28th of August. That’s something. Speaking of “something,” have you seen “Englush 2: Sort Yourself Out.” Sandra Bullock is the wife of a reformed drunk who turns his life around after hitting bottom thanks to her steadfast loyalty and something something hilarious sandwich. LOL. And then she gets pregnant and the baby turns out to be a bottle baby. The result of Hugh Grant’s abnormal mutated drunk sperm. Like Kerouac’s kid maybe. the damage is permanent. She begins to drink. Now HE has to play the straight guy and help fix her life. For the kid. Which after nine months turns out to be half black. Which sets the table for Englush Part Three starring Queen Latifah as Sandra Bullock’s one true steadfast friend. All the others have left her side. Sad, indeed. But plenty of room for semi-racist jokes and comedy. Like one of those comedians who comes out and says, we’re all the same, but we’re all pretty different, right? See, a white guy will do this but a black guy will do that. Hilarious. Perhaps I can get an advance for the entire series and have enough money to eat? Fuck. The soundtrack will almost certainly be based around a Blink-182 track. Maybe something retro by Def Leppard. Put Bullock in an MC-5 t-shirt and watch the magic make itself disappear. Hopefully.

 

 

 

 

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