Lessons for life
Don’t forget to stir the soup. Don’t ignore the burbling of the percolator – listen to what your household appliances are telling you. It is saying; your coffee is ready. Listen.
Don’t take the retards to the zoo and let yourself be distracted in front of the monkey cage. Gorillas who pick noses and scratch crotches. This is not a suitable role model.
Don’t tolerate coffee you can see through. Never add milk. Sugar is only acceptable on 18 hour car journeys and after 3am. Tell it like it is – this is not coffee, this is weakness. Do not be fooled by the bargain of budget apple juice. Concentrate. Concentrate. There are no apples here.
Do not drink beer before 10am or after 6am. These alcoholic hours must always be tempered with spirits.
Do not leave your harmonica on buses. Even if it is still there when you finally flag down the route 37, half way to Stockbridge, there will be spittle gathering in corners from the back seat masses, chewing gum wedged in high octave c.
Do not leave your cello in the sun. Sunbeams are life’s great detuners. You will return to find your instrument melancholy, eternally spewing funeral ditties and maudlin love songs.
Do not fall in love with illiterates. There can be no tragedy in misspellt love letters. All great loves will eventually yearn for tragic love letters.
Do not leave whisky bottles in bathrooms. Do not leave roaches on the rim of the kitchen sink. Your vices are precious to you, keep them close and safe.
Do not kill kittens with your accordion. Use pillowcases and rivers.
Never read anything in bed, except the Russians. Prop yourself up on pillows with Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy and set aside the small hours for penguin classics. Do not cheapen your bedtime experience with Jilly Cooper or Mills and Boon. Do not tarnish the hazy middle ground between varying consciousnesses with sociological journals and periodical back issues. Under feather duvets you need great tragedy. Respect this.
Do not court notoriety in your youth by snorting sherbet fountains. Years from now you will be inhaling the croissant fumes from a Parisian baker, and still experience a burning sensation in your upper nasal passage
Don’t take the retards to the zoo and let yourself be distracted in front of the monkey cage. Gorillas who pick noses and scratch crotches. This is not a suitable role model.
Don’t tolerate coffee you can see through. Never add milk. Sugar is only acceptable on 18 hour car journeys and after 3am. Tell it like it is – this is not coffee, this is weakness. Do not be fooled by the bargain of budget apple juice. Concentrate. Concentrate. There are no apples here.
Do not drink beer before 10am or after 6am. These alcoholic hours must always be tempered with spirits.
Do not leave your harmonica on buses. Even if it is still there when you finally flag down the route 37, half way to Stockbridge, there will be spittle gathering in corners from the back seat masses, chewing gum wedged in high octave c.
Do not leave your cello in the sun. Sunbeams are life’s great detuners. You will return to find your instrument melancholy, eternally spewing funeral ditties and maudlin love songs.
Do not fall in love with illiterates. There can be no tragedy in misspellt love letters. All great loves will eventually yearn for tragic love letters.
Do not leave whisky bottles in bathrooms. Do not leave roaches on the rim of the kitchen sink. Your vices are precious to you, keep them close and safe.
Do not kill kittens with your accordion. Use pillowcases and rivers.
Never read anything in bed, except the Russians. Prop yourself up on pillows with Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy and set aside the small hours for penguin classics. Do not cheapen your bedtime experience with Jilly Cooper or Mills and Boon. Do not tarnish the hazy middle ground between varying consciousnesses with sociological journals and periodical back issues. Under feather duvets you need great tragedy. Respect this.
Do not court notoriety in your youth by snorting sherbet fountains. Years from now you will be inhaling the croissant fumes from a Parisian baker, and still experience a burning sensation in your upper nasal passage
posted by Jane at 1:01 pm
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