My ears buzz so loud, it’s like an alarm clock in America. I don’t know what to do. I guess all this time they’ve been trying to wake me up. It’s hard to understand how lazy I’ve been, properly speaking.
I need a band quickly. Trombone and drums, and me on meat. We won’t have any names at all, or songs. We’ll be a sandwich band with no bread. It’s too late to get ahead and make a name for myself. We’ll play in small country venues where they appreciate comas. We’ll attract escapists, middle of the road clairvoyants and pseudo winos. We’ll make friends with the locals if that’s possible. All our music will be scored turtallicly.
Oh yeah. I now need glasses. When I have them on I’m fine reading but then it’s all fuzzy from an arm’s length out. Vice versa when they’re off.
Last night I dreamt my tongue was black (sic).
I guess I’m nothing like what she expected, my Mum. Having fed me baby food every two hours, blood-check every four hours, washed and wiped as per.. never sleeping for longer than ninety minutes, and that in a chair.. every day since 1981.. $3,000 a month and air conditioning.. having watched Dad die.. somewhere, she must’ve hoped I’d be worth it.
Scrub the whole thing. Before we left Auckland for Napier, the TV came round with their stupid cameras. I told them to fuck off. Mum says they’ve even been round before, when I was out for the count (and veering dangerously close to being a celebrity Konko).
Having been in a coma for twenty five years I know a lot about TV.