Gary Glitter

I remember watching the movie in cinema studies class. Much of the imagery were very old school seventies. Mod and all.

Apparently Ziggy Stardust was also the implied true stories that Velvet underground got round to telling. So how did it pop in my head? Conversations with a close friend inferred some laughable stories and concluding remarks. But not just remarks, mind you. Quite possibly calculated truths. Hard to believe. Honest scales that measure up.

My car was filled with such sticky issues it was almost revolting. To the point that reminded me why I hated them to begin with. Whoever created them ought to be fined, jailed and given a tattoo on the forehead. Had to open the format over the sink and I swear they were all over the leftovers, floating in the shimmering sunlight. Imagine my unpleasant shock upon the descension. What was I thinking?

Yet it was nice. Nice gesture. But that's all. For ammunition is not me to give for troubles might await at the doorstep. So I washed in the lightness of the new apartment of my new partner. Falling over the sofa over Napoleon Dynamite was a great way to end the night. Though boozing was on my mind the whole time.

So why am I living in this passing moment and waste away at the TV?