Jerome.

91.

He hid it all. Let me in those file cabinets. I might not have to do this shit. It could all be in there, in files, held together with forty year old paper clips. The answer. The love. The world. Give it to me. It could save us all. You lawyers, you kith, you kin, ignore him, his mad-hermit-dying wish. His art denying madness. It belongs to us. It is already ours. Crazy New York closed-up-gift mind. Dead-now, leaving us living, leaving us, closing the door slowly everyday forever, and closing it again, the warmth held by typewriter-clacking genuis, us in the snow-cold. Fuck. fuckfuckfuck.

You

can't

own

it.

"It is true that we are weak and sick and ugly and quarrelsome

but if that is all we ever were, we would millenniums ago have

disappeared from the face of the earth"

-Steinbeck.

go away.

So...

I've been working my way through Ginsberg's book, I would put an image of it up but I can't find a decent one, it's the 1947-1995 Penguin collection. Before this I had known the....hits....

America, Howl, Kaddish, Supermarket In California......

But I found some new amazing work, things like To Aunt Rose and Sunflower Sutra that I quoted below, but then I come across this other work, like his litany to Neal Cassidy or his poem entitled Sphincter, in which he prays that his asshole will hold out after everything he has put it through...

It's good strong stuff. Brave. There's little else to be found that way though, little to be found in expunging the myths of the wank, anal sex, the spray of cum, the sparse, matted pubic hair...the body has been exposed, autopsied, biopsied, stripped, raped and burned alive....

I don't see the gain in it now. There is the thrill in knowing Allen did it, that these words are rock n roll, punk, grunge...

but I don't see the worth in punk either...they become fashions....marketed...bought and sold.....

Ginsberg has certain tricks though, ramming together images with place names, most of them in the greater New York area, that we all love from our dreams and the Americanisation of the world....I want to live in his poems, if they were real.....

enough....

I have been reading a collection of poems with a book side by side for a while now, I did Yeats, Keats...a few others...Keats is absurd, an adolescent, Yeats has a god twenty or thirty lines, lines he could write, poems he can't handle.

Yeah...

syntax is my bitch.

I've been reading Pedro Juan Gutiérrez this week and it's been annoying me, not really being sure why for a while, just gnawing at me, its full of Rum and smoing and anal sex, all that good stuff, but the problem really is I don't believe him, the writing is patronising, condescending, all that stuff...Pedro wants to be cool, like Buk, like Hem, all of them....

but Buk and Hem and Ginsberg, they were never cool, they were crazy, lonely, half-mad....

they drank and smoked and typed to hang on at all, hammering booze and whores not because it was cool but because it was all there was, to shine like medallions for at least a little while....

I think I'm gonna put Pedro's book down, I have Faulkner coming in the mail, my third of fourth of his, the tight drunk that he is....

What else....

I bought a guitar, this guitar....

A sexy, sunburst semi-hoolow body, but it was rife with failings, so I packed it up, wrapping it in more sellotape than I've ever owned, brown masking tape, stretching and tearing it like a mad man, taping the address on the side and sending it off...it sounded nice too, felt good to play, I think I look at guitars they way some men look at cars, its a relationship, they can be there for years, or you have to send them right back, sometimes you meet them through friends, or in bars, in shops...

Still, they're all whores, all mistresses, the typewriter is the rock, the wife....

I haven't uploaded any poems in a long time, but I've been writing, I might go through them and pick out a few...

"Poor dead flower? when did you forget you were a

flower?"

Gisnberg-

Sunflower Sutra, 1955

So......

No hotels on the moon? No machines that you press buttons on and a roast dinner comes out? No private jetpacks? No....there was never going to be, in fact, now that we have to take care of this crippled Eden we're actually moving away from the extravegence of human achievement, things like the moon landing, the Eiffel Tower...and I can hear you saying Dubai, I can hear you saying it, but Dubai didn't fucking work, did it?

So......

What to look forward to? Slowly scraping our way out of the monetary morass...doesn't really matter, we'll all be dead before this century is out....January is the worst of all the months

Watching a Bukowksi interview where he says: "I could not accept the snails pace of 8 to 5, Johnny Carson, Happy Birthday, Christmas, New Yea- to me it's the sickest of all sick things"

Something to think about. I salted the drive, and the drive of my fathers shop, when the snow came. I saw the uproar in the media, the bickering and moaning of people in shops, on the street. I couldn't believe it. Snow was once a happy thing. And at christmas time. But no, like the plague had come in, the buboes swelling under thier arms, the incessant drooling of rabies dropping in thier tea...revel in the damn snow, its the only time of the year the streets aren't hard or wet....and thats not even a euphimism.

Its gone now though, not to worry...its just cold out there now.

I turned twenty-three.

Mm.

Go away now.

Right...

So as the curtains open we hear the sound of a lyre, it reminds us of schoolyards and old loves. We hear the lyre drop onto the floor, which reminds us of old loves in a schoolyard.

Then a young man walks on stage. His name is Winston Fritzenbottom. He will be played by me. He stands still staring out into the middle distance. The silence reminds of a factory we all once drove past. Then there is the sound of a doorbell. Winston answers. It is our lord Jesus Christ on the cross, he is played by Christopher Walken. He says:

"Give me a hand, getting in this door"

Winston helps him in with great difficulty. There is uproarious laughter...not from the crowd, just, you know, like a laughter track. Winston leaves Christ leaning against a sofa that is there. Christ says:

"Here, I've got a package for you"

Jesus gives Winston a brown A4 envelope.

"What is it?" Winston asks.

"Open it, it's the answer to the great question"

"Why are we here?"

"We're waiting on you to open the envelope" Jesus says with a wink, again the laughter track will cover the pause.

Winston opens the envelope but it is empty.

"But it's empty" Winston says, bemused.

"Exactly" Jesus says, knowingly.

We are reminded of something that we quickly forget. Winston slaps his mouth in shock, like the home alone poster. Then, after apuse of three or four minutes we hear sirens outside.

"Shit...its the rozzers, quick put me up the chimney"

Winston tries to push christ up the chimney (thats there as well) but Santa comes shooting out.

"You...you bollocks!" Jesus says.

"Me? At least I'm putting the hours in, you're the one claiming infinite pension after early retirement" Santa says.

Winston looks bemused.

Anyway, its not finished yet, but its going to be about the place of the public sector in light of the financial crisis, but its also about the jewish claim to christmas festivities, but then its also about the bigger stuff, mystery of death, meaning of life, place of morality in a secular society...all that, but I'll just imply all that stuff by making it too long and fudging the ending so its not clear what I'm trying to say.

Opens in August. Tickets on sale tommorow.

Buy them.

Buy them all.

(Brian Cowen might guest star as Santa, we're still in talks, he's very busy...

though you wouldn' think it...

God I'm funny)

What now? Its nearly three in the morning. Go back to bed...all of you. Let me wander around here in my ashen-bathrobe, holding a bowl of cereal...alone. Ok?

Not really, I'm actually wearing a muted suit, a monacle and there is a sceptre resting between my legs....and thats not even a euphemism. Right, I'm up and going now, like a rusty old tractor engine that takes about forty years to get started and then you just leave it running. So what happened recently? I've been writing...ok, wait for this right, lots of things are coming to a close...I'm on the sixth episode of the show (I call it the show, rather daringly) and the novel is coming to a close, just the ending that makes me feel sick when I think about writing, because then I'll have to say its done...if you're not sympathizing yet then forget you.

I'm talking about the completion of a work of art, like the bitter melancholy after a bout of lovemaking, its hard, a beginning and an end, like sending a child off to school, graduation...all sorts of things like that that happen...well its like that, isn't that sad?

alright...stop crying.

What else...yeah, St. Patrick's Day...christ...wouldn't he be proud of us? The bearded twit...I mean the rambling, soulless mess of that...we should really cast off responsibility for it now...as a nation, like a big balloon that we have blown up, now we could just let it float off into the atmosphere...maybe the wind will catch it, then its shadow could cut out the sun for some other country...drastically affecting thier agricultural output for that year...and thats not going to help anyone in these dire economic times...then the government of said country might shoot the balloon down and there'll be huge sheets of plastic hanging from the churches...

Seriously...we should do something....

I read...wait for this...

Alexsander Solzhenitsyn's The Gulag Archipelago.

Why?

Because I thought...hmmm, Russian writer, seven hundred odd pages...this will surely unlock the mysteries of human suffering and the philosophical structure of mans inhumanity to man....surely...and then I can spiel it out at dinner parties like Howard Zinn or some such...

I'll tell you what it actually did...it laid out in laborious detail, what it was like in a Gulag.

Do you want to know what that's like?

It's really, really shit. And you'll probably die in some horrible way.

There, I just saved you hours and hours of reading. Your welcome.

So now I'm reading Woody Allen, can't really argue with Woody, he did make those really good films and the books ok too. I thought about writing an epic poem about how really tedious epic poems are. You know? And Milton could get stuffed...I'd be the literary genuis of our day, because no-one would read it to the end, but I'd pay someone...Stephen Fry maybe...for a blurb and that'd be it.

I went up to see Mic but I didn't bring a camera to get photos of him in distress and the like, not that he was in distress...he just looks that way sometimes...like if you call his name or something...

I can't remember any of his witty nuggets, but there were some...good ones...

There's a poster I made for him. I know its shit...I know that...you think I don't?

Well I do.

He's all blurry and out of focus and all that but I'm not going to spend any more of my time doing something so useless, am I?

Now...to wrap this up...if you want to be a little cooler, a little more like me, then you should listen to the Flat Duo Jets...or at least say you do, throw them into a list of other stuff you're listening too...then just throw your cigarette away instead of putting it out...thats cool too, unless you're in a forest...thats just careless...

we need those trees to breathe...

I can't stress this enough...they're is only so much cool to go around...

and I've got most of it...

bye.

So I sat through it, not that it was bad, it really wasn't, it was very well made, like the last one and the last one, and the mismatch of it, I mean, they took Jack and Rose from the boat film, stuck in some Coach Carter, a dab of Pearl Harbour, even a smidge of Tolkien, and I don't really know what its saying, I mean everyone was saying things all the time, things like.....

You need love in your heart, or, a man needs to know who he is......

I just don't know what they want from me, I'm a man, and Hugh Jackman is a man, but there is no war, no seemingly insurmoutable struggle for me to overcome, and whats worse there's no Nicole Kidman for me to overcome it for, no child to save, no iceberg thats just hit, no ring to return, no segregation to mend by winning ball games.......

No.....

You know the last piece of culture I really connected with was Garage, that Pat Shortt film.....

and I'm starting to think its just me, but it was sad in that film, really sad, and not in the, oh god he left there for twenty minutes Jane Austen will he won't he oh he did kind of sad, like real life is sad, like people you see at bus stations, fumbling coins with thier aged fingers, taking thier ticket and sitting, scared of the goth slob beside them listening to death metal, and there's nothing you can do......

It was like that, we have to show that side of us, and not like trainspotting or any of these films they call gritty, because that's too far the other way, all my friends aren't on smack, they aren't whores or devils, life just is, but right beside the good, right there.....

forget it, I'll show you some day *shakes fist*

come on.....

The website is falling apart, I talk to it like an old pal, I say, put this on the interwebs, and it says, what? This, this page...where do you want it?...on the interworld....can't....you can.....ok I will but I'm going to make another part disappear....don't....too late, already did....well, get that bit back....s'all gone now.......forget it....

I've written about christmas and new year three times now, the first one was all evocative, detailed, full of intrigue and scandal, then it got deleted because I didn't pay enough attention at college, so I wrote it again, this time a more concise, less thrilling account, and, oh, thats gone too? Well, this is what you get, nothing, just a story about there once being a great story, kind of post modern, this is probably how Burroughs got his start, woke to find someone had traded his manuscript for junk so he just embarkned on the biggest load of unconnected toss in the history of the written word......

Then again, a lot of things are probable.......

Here's our tree (in the dark)

Came out pretty good this year. There were gifts, chestnuts, tidings of joy, choral verses, mulled wine and merriment, all the ingredients, an annual reminder of why capitalism will always win.....

Now its 2009, imagine that, how old I am, we all are, thats means its been sixty-four years since the end of world war two, twenty years since they tore down the Berlin wall, twenty years since the simpsons launched, nineteen years since the world health organisation removed homosexuality from its list of diseases, even things in my memory seem so far away, thirteen years since Cobain killed himself, I mean its been nine years since the millenium, christ, and then next year....

Nah, next year will never come, its ages away....so says my mortal mind......

Halloween....

It wasn't supposed to come out so much like the joker, more supposed to be a dark mime, should have seen the mistake coming though, this is the only photo I have of me and you can't see the waistcoat or the tie or any of that stuff. I had patches stitched on and the like, I'll see if Mic has any more photos, speaking of mic....

There he is, Pepé the bandit, with his little plastic hat, a cornucopia of intrigue and resignation in that face, just looking at him there makes me think...life is hard....

A quick plug for him you can go to: http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=389745566

There you can read his funny story and if you use Myspace (Which I don't) you can add him as a friend, he has songs on there too, they're good, right now he has two friends (on myspace) and one is tom, the other is a place in dublin he wanted to sing at but they never got back to him, help him out, won't you? It would be your good deed for the day, just five minutes, add him, I'll be your best friend........

He had to record most of the songs by shouting at a stone, then going over the grooves with a needle, seriously, just help him out......

do it.......

you slag.........

Yeah so I spent two days doing that because I overslept in my convalescence and missed the bus back, took the best hangover cure though, many cups of tea and the cinema. Good stuff. There are more details but it would make this a blog. A blog. That wouldn't be good. I mean I know it is already apart from superficial differences (I don't update it everday, it has no over-arcing theme, no one reads it) but I don't want to do that because....I'm lazy. done and done.

I like halloween but there is so much that annoys me about it. People that don't dress up. Girls who dress as angels (with those plastic wings) or devils (with those light-up horns). The lack of true fright, I want people howling in the streets, really scaring me. Maybe I'm just desensitized, I talked to my brother today about that warning message they show in front of some television programs, the warning that it may offend and I thought when was the last time I was offended by anything? Well, it was the other day, being around people, hungover. But on television....I don't think I ever have. I laughed at that Andrew Sachs show (Not Fawlty Towers, although I did, but thats not what I mean...forget it) Linguistical paradox, work Noam, work it out *whip*

-error-

It was funny, now no more Brand or Ross.....ha!

I finished Murakami, thats a treat, unrequited love and all that toss and it may make your ordinary life seem more beautiful and interesting for a week. Which is all you can really ask of any piece of art. I'm going to spend the rest of the night scanning new poems and sizing them and all that. Its a joy. I was reading this article about how people use white noise to help them sleep, like a tv or a radio not tuned in. I've read that people with autism, or other cognitive disorders, often find constant noises relaxing but I could never sleep to white noise. A guy I shared a rom with in college (where we would watch football, drink beer and spit cause we're not gay, alright? You wanna fight?) he used to listen to air (the band) as he went to sleep, I can't even sleep to music. Unless I'm drinking.

I went driving around, nowhere special. There are trucks out there. Big trucks that look small in your mirrors. But they are big. Trucks.

Thats all.

So there we go, its up now. Its done.

Days of tossing about with connections, servers, hosts, links, images, root folders, ftp protocol and the like. Load it all up and play the waiting game. The last straw I was struggling with was calling the main page index for some reason I learned in college and had forgotten. Thanks to Michael for reminding me. I rang him up and he told me about something I asked him once, it made me think that I might genuinely be a genius. I said:

What if you were in a nightclub or a bar or something and you're in the bathroom (Its meant for guys but I suppose it can transcend genders) and there is a guy there and he comes up to you and he says something like "Hey, listen, this is really embarrassing, and I'm sorry to bother you but I, ah...I have a bottle stuck up my ass..." and you look at him and he seems genuinely in distress so you say "Well, how did that happen?" and he says "Its embarressing man, really, look, I was wondering if you could, give me a hand?"

Here I'll tell you what Michael said, its not verbatim, and you'll also notice that its not, don't be so fucking ridiculous Dylan.

"Yeah, I'd go in the stall with him and give him a hand, if he was in genuine need of help"

Right, so then, and this is where I shine like a star, say to him, yeah, so you go in the stall right and your helping him, and its difficult but you've resigned yourself to it so..., there is a little finger penetration, just to get some purchase on the bottle, you get it and slowly you pull it out and then, as your standing there in the stall, holding his bottle, he turns to you and says:

"Ha! Got you!"

I think I tried to ask him what he would do but his face was so brillaint I already had my laugh....

Well, there's a good opener for anyone visiting the site for the first time, maybe your name is Dylan Bradley and you wanted to see who is your web namesake...well its me....

There's lots of more noble stuff on the bio, that was written in the style of a fantasist remeniscing. smoking a pipe and wearing a trilby, this is written at quarter past five in the morning after doodling with the aforementioned technical labyrinths.

What else did I ask Michael, what would he do if a doctor found out he was having sex with chimps...he said he'd take him to one side and just say hey, doctor patient privilege, alright? So don't go blabbing in front of the wife....I gave him a wife, in the story, and he was African.

And if you're wondering he would rather have no nose, just flat skin, and have to perform all the functions of his nose with his mouth, sneezing, having a cold, when it bleeds and the like....rather than having a hand the size and shape of a keg that he can't cut off because the procedure would kill him....

They weren't so good tonight....so....

welcome to the site

Got my new glasses....

I'll put a photo up...

(excuse the mega-opus flare)

there'll all literary (I mean, according to me, I haven't really had any feedback from the world). I know there is supposed to be...I hesitate to say a science, but a correct method, in choosing glasses for the shape of your face. You see I don't know what shape my face is, left to my own devices I would never settle on an adjective. Its kind of long, rounded at the top and bottom, but its big from the back to front...like an american football....with hair....and literary glasses....

Then I'm trying to work this website out, how to make it so when you type things into your web browser and it shoots down the tele line into the interspace, up pops these words and pictures, quicksmart....so I have to register a domain name, then host it? I did this garbage for three years and I'm fifties dad, post-war parent, staring at the screen for a long time and then just shouting.....make website! CTRL + make website!

nothing......

So I contacted my good buddy Daire, who is like me but better looking and more talented.....see for yourself....

daireirwin.com

and he sorted me out. Then, yesterday I went out and had a few drinks with Sean, I'll get a photo of him up too...

(There he is, hard at work)

Just over to the drift and then I went up to Roddens, Guinness and a couple of Jagers and that. Its always a treat. Then I wake up all groggy and walk around like a scarecrow, from room to room, wanting to write. There isn't really anything you can do. You try shower, eating, tea, coffee, all sorts....just want to crawl into bed, pull curtains.....

whine.

What else? I started reading my ahhh, second Murakami...Norwegian Wood this time, his big one. He really is good, like a dream....not as in its perfect, but its ephemeral, ethereal....I think I've got Halloween lined up, I'm going up to see Mic, he says he's going as Sherlock Holmes, and I am getting photos of that, should be classic, have to get him to derry, solve a murder and have a drink...

Well, passed my theory test anyway...

Now I have to apply for the provisional and get vehicles to stop hating me, machines of all kinds for that matter, my typewriter acting up, giving me all this lip...I won't have it...

Anyway, then I went to the opticians, I like the opticians, unlike the doctors or the dentists, because with them, I mean, I know I can see, so there's a limited amount that can be wrong with me, with dentists its always, oh massive erosion this serious infection that, filling here, drilling there...and a doctor can always whip out the old cancer card. So I got two new frames even though he said my eyes were fine. I hadn't been there in three years. I don't know why but I'm proud of that.

Then I had to get those tiny photos taken for my license...

...and the girl taking them just said "yeah, sure, can you stand in front of this white wall *click* that's fine" I mean, she didn't check the lighting, didn't query a make-up artist as to how best harness the subtleties of my complexion...needless to say I'm not happy, if Richard Avedon wasn't dead I would have him on the phone right now bemoaning the state of the modern portrait.

enough of that.

Also I was walking around today in jeans, a white t-shirt and a leather jacket, with dark hair...I'm the fonz as a nerd. The coolest nerd in the world....in the fifties. Like Marty McFly's smart friend (thats twice he's come up) I might bring the fonz back, go around punching jukeboxes and getting rounds of applause whenever I enter a room. (its been a while since I've watched happy days, or cheers for that matter...was it Norm who got the round of applause in that, or was it ted danson, and was ted danson, did he have a character name or was he just Ted Danson but working in a bar?)

answers on a postcard to the ususal address.

Now to fry an egg, wrap it in bread and eat it and then sleep.

-door swinging aannnddd....close-

I'm supposed to be milling over the rules of the road today to go about getting my sodding license, but instead...and think of this as an action to go about, I stalked about the house like a baroque prison guard looking for my cd of queens greatest hits...I don't know why now, now I don't want it, if it was in my pocket now I would just toss it in a corner, but at the time I just wanted some eighties, well produced rock and piano layered ballads. My brain goes against me, I mean even this site, I'm supposed to be writing things and getting on with my life but no no, have to clamber together this...

And then my scanners not working...

ranty ranty rant rant

fact of the day: every year 98% of your atomic mass is replaced on the atomic level...

Milling over theseus's bloody paradox...you see? Its fine for you, you can go on with your life...

What the fuck am I supposed to do?

I got the punching-bag set up, then, like a child I hit it really hard (because I'm a man, grrrr) and now my hands are...well, I can't make a fist...

I also learned (because I'm a bowl of rainbows and cherries) that women attempt suicide a lot more than men, but men have a much higher success rate...

More proof that they can't do anything right (eh lads?)

ha. I have to go bash my scanner with a hammer and then maybe look for that cd...Also I might make a regular feature of bashing articles that annoy me in newspapers and taking a sideways look at the weeks news.

"I took my bus, I got on and I sat down next to this beautiful blonde chinese girl, I said to her 'isn't it an amazing day"' she said "yeah it is, I guess" I said "what do you mean I guess?" she said "well things haven't been going too well for me lately" "what's the problem?" I asked, she said "I can't tell you, I don't even know you" I said "yeah, but sometimes its good to tell your problems to a complete stranger on a bus" she said "well ok, I just got back form my analyst and he says he can't help me" so I said "well, whats the problem?" so she paused and said "I'm a nymphomaniac and I only get turned on by Jewish cowboys" then she said "and by the way my name's Diane" and I said "hello Diane, my name's Bucky Goldstein" - Stephen Wright.

Thats what made me laugh today... -bye-

I don't know...how to start a news page, 'cause this is the first entry, but I have a biography page, so thats my whole life story on that page, so this is for everything that has happened to me since setting up the bio page. It doesn't amount to much, making this page rates pretty highly. I ate an egg sandwich and had a cup of tea. Then I imported my poems from my old imperial typewriter...

which I've needed more ink for for around a year (where the fuck is Marty McFly when you need him? Poncing around to Chuck Berry probably) using my scanner...

which is slow, much much too slow. you know when your computer says its doing something, there is a bar moving, but then it goes very still and you feel your life just dripping away like candle wax.

I'll break here to say that there is a fucking fantastic sunrise outside, its 7:54 and I've been up all night, I wanted to go outside and take a photo of it but its raining and I'm in my socks. So I took a picture of it through my sitting room window and the flash flared up. I don't know if it'll look right but I'll put it beneath this paragraph.

(The sunrise is the one on the right, the one on the left is just aliens)

Anyway, the scanner, oh yeah, so I have all that stuff uploaded, I'm thinking about doing the same with more photos because I have a lot of photos, like, whats the word...real...you know? Like ones you can hold...mainly because I don't like looking at photos on cameras or phones or anything, but here I'm cajoled into co-operating with modernity like some bestuffled old grump in a tweed suit. Its just that facing that, a hundred photos, each one scanned and linked up and sized and all that shit, is a pain in the ass, having said that I might already have it done, the first couple of photos are just ones lying on my hard drive...

What else have I done in the last two or three days? I rang Michael and I asked him which he would prefer if he had an oscar statuette for a penis for the rest of his life orrrrr if he had both his legs fused into one leg, so its the width of two legs and he has one huge foot and he has to hop around, but that lasts for five years...

he went with the oscar stauette.

I was doing the 'inside the actors studio' questions with him too and when I asked him his favourite word he said blue. Brilliant.

Also I've put in a miscillaneous page, there's no plan for that, there is one thing I did a drawing at college that I think is pretty cool but everyone who's seen it has said its a load of shit, I'll scan that in (slowly) but I mean it may sit empty becasue I can't paint and my songs are just rubbish, warbling, acoustic covers of blues songs, like nobody wants to hear. and all my spare thoughts will get regurgitated here (as you may have noticed)

Ahhh, I'm reading Peter Ustinov's autobiography, a big sexy hardcover with lots of literature inside. He is the best dinner party guest I've ever come across, just a witty eloquent socialite with integrity to burn.

Also, I am worried that the site looks narcissistic as hell, just photos of me, I mean I genuinly didn't take them, they were taken in college for a project, but thats just more self-adoration there, being so worried about somebody seeing a photo of me that I have to make squemish excuses...well fuck you, alright? Happy now?