Tuesday, 23 September 2014

Tuesday 23/09/14

Hello,

Last week my new book was released. It's out in book stores in the UK now (it will be out in book stores in the US in November) but it's also available on Kindle everywhere right now.

I guess here's a blurb:

Highlights of My Last Regret is a satire focusing on the lives of privileged young Americans from the West Coast. It's primarily an account of the turbulent relationship between 24-year-old Parke (the beautiful but cruel offspring of Maine and Sadie from Exit Through The Wound) and his girlfriend Ryan (a smart, vulnerable girl from small-town America) and the effects its ups and downs have on each of their lives. The story is written from Parke's perspective with the intention to give a jarring, uncomfortable to read, but hopefully captivating insight into a character with an unusual moral centre

This is a picture of the book in a book shop, as proof that it really exists.


And here are the links to buy it online.




Ever since I started writing this blog it's had 274,313 unique visitors come and read the posts that I've written, visiting a total of 1,457,767 times. I expect this book to sell at least 274,313 copies, because, you know, it works exactly like that. Anyway, thanks very much.

Monday, 22 September 2014

Monday 22/09/14

On Thursday afternoon I get on a flight to Atlanta and this, I suppose, is my first time in the American South. I have a very romanticised version of the South, primarily via Tennessee Williams, but also the South and particularly Atlanta causes me to have this very tight grip around my stomach for personal reasons, which are best left unexplained.

On Friday night I go out with my friends that I’m staying with and I suppose the one thing to say about the Atlanta gays is that fratty is the main look and there are more people wearing boat shoes than not. Also college football is an actual thing that people are interested in. Everyone is masc musc non-scene, even the people who are not musc and definitely those who are in the scene. My feelings about masc musc non-scene fratty bros have been extensively discussed and they are very, very mixed, so let’s also leave this here. I think if I lived in Atlanta I would probably fall for every second person just by virtue of them wearing backward baseball caps and long-sleeved button down shirts and having a sports obsession and I would have my heart destroyed about twenty-five times as frequently as I do now.

On Saturday I go to this music festival called Music Midtown, where the only act that I want to see play is Lana Del Rey. My friends that I’m at the festival with don’t want to see her though, so I end up splitting away from them and going to watch her by myself.

As the last song is playing, which is National Anthem, even though you already knew that, and I’m stood there alone in my little spot on the grassy field, this group of straight guys and girls come up to me, tell me that I look badass and that I shouldn’t be standing there by myself, and should instead go hang out with them. There are four guys in the group and maybe three or four girls. It is, in fact, one of the guys that comes and has this conversation with me and by “looking badass” he means that I have muscles and so do they.

I join their group and two of the girls throw themselves at me and start flirting quite blatantly and take about ten pictures with me and generally act like they want it really bad. Then one particular girl starts putting her arms around my neck and more or less trying to make out with me, so I tell her that I’m gay. This results in her squealing with excitement and increasing her body contact and taking more pictures with me, because I am now her gay BFF.

We continue talking for a while, me and a couple of the girls, then one of the guys comes up and mentions something about me being a fag. I tell him that he probably shouldn’t be using that word. He laughs and goes up to the other guys and tells them what I said and they all look at me dismissively, because I am now not badass anymore, just gay. I ask the girls if this particular guy is a bit of an asshole and they say that, yes, he is and they don’t know him that well anyway. They continue to hang out around me and talk enthusiastically.

Then the guy comes back and says that I should just go and fuck some guys in the ass, or whatever it is that we faggots do. In fact, he doesn’t come back, he just shouts that from a few feet away. I then shout back asking him what the fuck his problem is and he retorts by calling me a faggot a bit more and a bit louder and I’m sure some other insults that I can’t remember anymore. I scream back that he’s a dumb redneck and should fuck off and this infuriates him, so he tries to physically attack me. At this point we both have people holding us back from trying to punch each other and we keep yelling at each other, before I start walking away with one of the girls.

I go and buy her some freshly squeezed lemonade and she takes my number and invites me to the house party she’s having later, but I tell her that it might just not be such a good idea that I attend, seeing that her friends are violent homophobes who want to beat me up. Then I walk her back to her group and the guy who tried to attack me is still there and making eye contact with me and flexing his arms, because this is his way to intimidate me (which is ironic, because having muscles is what brought us together in the first place, now he wants to use them against me) and then I say goodbye to the girl and go see Bastille who finish with a cover of Rhythm Of The Night, which is pretty gay.

Thursday, 11 September 2014

Thursday 11/09/14

Sometimes I get so lonely that I sit in my living room having left the front door and all the windows unlocked, waiting there, hoping that somebody will break in and I’ll have company for a short while, before they proceed to stab me, rob me, or whatever else they are planning to do.

This week is prime opportunity for this sort of thing, because not only is my front door open, but also the main entrance downstairs is permanently unlocked, because they’re installing a new door and they haven’t connected the security system yet. Anyone can basically walk in. This is the second mistake they’ve made when it comes to this renovation, the first being that they’re replacing the old, wooden, sturdy doors that have been there for at least thirty years with a set of retro post-modern glass doors that I doubt will take the impact of my bike as I drag it in and out every time I leave home with the same resilience that the scuffed wooden doors did.

On this Tuesday night I sit and wait but no one comes, and then I go downstairs myself to check the mail, seeing that I’m starting to get cabin fever.

As nothing has arrived for me, I steal my neighbour’s New Yorker, only to go back into my apartment, google his name and realise that he’s a family therapist, which makes me want to go next-door and seek help.

I text A Girl to run my idea by a second, more reasonable person, and A Girl eventually replies.

A Girl: I would be very tempted to do that.

Me: I don’t even have a family. Should I make one up just for my family sessions?

A Girl: Say your family refuses to go, what else can you do to better yourself, wait for them to come around whilst you waste your life away? I think not, family therapy for you. If you like, I can be your estranged wife or sister on conference call.

Me: We are doing this.

A Girl: He will be so confused (as my own issues / family issues will inevitably seep into the talks).

Me: “Let me get this straight. How many husbands do you have?”

A Girl: “That’s beside the point.”

Me: “This is more confusing than the time my New Yorker subscription suddenly stopped arriving.”

A Girl: “Will you please stop interrupting, we are paying you by the hour. Now back to where I left off about London Preppy always making me feel my time is not worth as much as his time, that I’m somehow a failure for not having a job or career I love.”

Me: “Wait a minute, London Preppy doesn’t have a job or career at all and his time is literally worthless. Where are you getting all this? How many of us do you see here?”

A Girl: And this is where he starts to compile his case study on us, excellent.

Then I get tired of waiting for an intruder, so I go to the gym.