"you're not in the right frame of mind, you're a deluded tosser, you're a hippy fag, you're a moody cunt, you're a one trick pony, you're a frustrated dyke, you're a fag hag, mancunian scum; surely your parents have disinherited you by now, you should go back to the loony bin, i hope you get bludgeoned by that russian cow killer, that is, if he even exists at all? !i'm sick of all your twisted concoctions, all your vulgar rantings about gang bangs, flemish cocks, sucking seventy year old cocks, taking E, liam gallagher in a pink girly dress, getting shagged by muslim fundamentalists, prussian dance leaders and danish ice cream makers, you crazy fucked-up bitch, do you even leave your room at all? i loathe you. and by the way all oasis fans are obnoxious pigs...." aaaah, my friends, couldn't live without them.

i've got bad taste, i'm an alcoholic, i'm undernurtured but overfed, i'm a slut, i'm bored, i'm a liar, i'm a fighter, i work at the supermarket of death, i've got 300 cds, a great stereo, a stuffed seagull, a tv, a bed, a table, some clothes but no closet and a tacky armchair, it comes with the working class background, i read that in some textbook, i'm supposed to take pride in my class, i'm supposed to go out every night, get pissed, get shagged, get impregnated by a hard working plumber, let him take me out on sundays in his flashy car, don't dream, no aspirations, no plans, no escape; domestical violence, bootleg clothing, pub brawls, embroidered cushions, day time television and debts.

this train is taking me to the place where i was born, raised by my atholic/alcoholic/neurotic/violent/totally unpredictable grandparents from hell, chirpy folks, no really, used to give me some fair beatings but were always cheerful about it, and they weren't vindictive; unlike my crazy, slutty, heavily made up teen mum who used to beat the shit out of me just for the sake of it, but backfire it did, and did i gloat? did i fuck? The bitch is in jail now for trying to rob a liquor store, hahaha, she miserably failed, the silly cow. anyway, my companion is ranting on about "the third man"...what the fuck??!! the third fucking man...go fuck yourself, pedantic little prick, go wank over an orson welles picture all you want, but let me drift away, let me sleep, dream, i'm gone, we pass hideous coastal towns, meadows, scorched earth, waste land, container parks, sheds, cows, deers, crows, liam gallagher headbutting that slimy middle class blur geezer, morrissey gyrating and throwing daffodils at me, the family dog violently farting, the first time i saw the sea, the dunes ever so comforting, scavenging through school's constant lulls, soul mates i had so many but i never told them that i have no soul,and now i'm cutting myself and the blood is dripping on the white blankets and i'm sure i'll never get out of this isolation cell, but then i'm at the front row of a REM gig and i'm singing but i got the words all wrong, it disnae matter love, and there he is now, michael fucking stipe, utterly vain, shamelessly sexual, and i'm caressing his belly and all is bliss, the taxi takes me home but i've no money so i give the driver head instead, i'm lying on the freshly mowed grass, its smell almost smothering me and i'm listening to the smiths, oh how i love my life. "sorry, i dozed off, do tell me about david lynch and roman polanski...hang on, isn't he the perv who got thrown out of the states for humping some under aged starlet...aye, i wanna hear about him."