Much less lyrics

Much less lyrics than a state of vision.

This is for me and only me; written so I can look back in years to come
and remember a more peaceful stage in my life, a remembrance of how I
once felt. When you've hit rock bottom, the only way is up, right?
Dunno and don't particularly care. Somehow I think there's a slippery
ledge at the bottom of rock bottom, and that it is possible to slip.
Guess it depends on what shoes you're wearing.

Bored already? Log off, click onto the next story, make snide comments,
laugh at the knowledge you hold over others! I make no apologies; I am
who I am and I won't, can't and don't want to change.

Some bits are snippets of songs- some a little longer and all have
touched me in one way or another. For those who will laugh at
over-sentimentalisation, I say 'stuff you'. You can keep your
intellectualism, feel superior and gloat at the crassness of what I
enjoy or what really gets to me, what I write and what I say.

Well, guess what? Thank fuck we are all different. How dull it would be
if we weren't.

Waitressing is a fantastic job- you meet people from all walks of life
and, in the lulls between pizza and coffee, you can observe nature at
its sweetness or nastiest. You bring out the best and the worst I can
be. Who wants to be a fly on the wall when you can be a waitress? The
young waiters ain't half bad either. Vastly underestimated job as far
as I'm concerned. Anyway, I ramble. Where was I?

Oh yeah, just about to quote other people so I don't have to expose
myself. Think on!

"There are always many more disordered systems than ordered systems"
The Second Law of Thermodynamics.

One of the first 'quotes' I ever learned, by heart, was when I was
about five:
"I ain't got no mammy, I ain't got no daddy. I ain't got nuffink."(sic)
The Little Red Fox.
I had a mum, even had a dad of sorts, so why did it get to me? I think
it was because a big, fat tear plopped down the fox's face and I
empathised! with his pain. I had, afterall, plopped great splashes of
tears myself not much earlier when I got carted out of the local park
for attempting to set fire to some very plump and temptingly dry
bushes. The carting bit, by the way, was carried out by the
police.

Was the police thing habit forming I wonder, because five years later I
was, once more, escorted home via the boys in blue. My crime? Running
away from home- well, walking if you want to be pedantic about it-
along the hard shoulder of a motorway en route to find a derelict house
in Liverpool in which to kip. Inspiration? Five Run Away Together by
Enid Blyton. My little twist on that was that it was only one and not
five. Clever eh?

So, any among you who think that words don't matter- that actions speak
louder than words and that it is just actions that count? Wrong. IMO,
of course, you are wrong. Running away for me was a consequence of
reading something written by a bad tempered old biddy, but something
contained within those words had obviously struck a chord. Something in
what was said and how it was said. Cause and effect.

Think on.

Good, preliminaries out of the way, now I can get onto the really good
bit. The lyrics.

"But they mean fuck all, Lisa, don't you get it? It's just words.
Slush. Crap. Why do you listen to such fucking shit?"
"I'll turn it off then shall I?"
"Yeah, you do that!"

Only I had wanted it on. Loud. Booming. Pelting and blasting me out of
all existence. Wanted to be had up for causing a disturbance to the
peace.

There's no-one around now to tell me to turn it off, so I think I'll
just do some CD hopping. Loud. Leave me alone now, you can all piss
off.

And shut the door on your way out.