James A McDonough

Dr Katz at the open mic

I’m feeling tired and melancholy. The spammers that wash up against this site. They don’t know that nothing gets published and nobody looks. I’m being eaten in tiny mouthfuls by an army of micro robots. I’m listening to Belle and Sebastian. That’s a sad story really. Or maybe not. She didn’t love him and nobody cares how clever he is. I was listening to Teenage Fanclub earlier. ‘It’s all in my mind’, best song ever. But what’s in his mind? The third-below harmony is so perfect that you don’t try to assemble a meaning from the lyrics. Maybe I’m on a Glaswegian kick, maybe I’m just pissed. I’ve had a bottle of red and a bottle of stout. Does that equal intoxication? Maybe I should go down the street (in my dressing gown) and break a bottle over somebody’s head. If I rumble through the recycle bin maybe there is some Newcastle Brown Ale although I don’t seem to recall having it. Breaking a domestic bottle over a head just seems bogan.

I’m also on a few painkillers. I seem to have messed my back up yesterday in the garden. The neighbor wanted a few tree limbs lopped and I may have overstretched. Maybe I should leave the streetfightn’ for a couple a days. I don’t seem to be able to sleep anyway due to my psych condition, but last night I was in agony every time I shifted.  I was also very late to bed and very early up.

Alright, now I’m listening to Sunshine Superman. Maybe that’ll help settle the melancholy. Although I always find Ferris Wheel deeply sad.

So yeah, lots of Psycho Wombat gigs. Last night a party in Foster. We played a nice set, I couldn’t hear much of my guitar or anything of my voice. Apparently the mix was o.k. out front.

I drove home. Gav was pretty pissed. I turned the aircon off then he turned it off. So it was a cold trip home. We argued most of the way about Abbey Road. He likes it but I sadly say it’s shit. Apart from the Harrison numbers. Something is just so beautiful.

It looks like I might be off work indefinitely.

My experiences of therapy lead to me seeking out Dr Katz Professional Therapist – about the only TV show I’ve ever cared about. Laura, Ben and Dr Katz are all approximately me. One who can’t emote, one who won’t grow up, one who is too guilty to admit what they want. I wonder, should I have been a NY Jew?  I remember as a kid reading Bellow, Kafka, Roth. Kafka and Roth I’ve read again recently, perhaps I should have another look at Bellow. Metamorphosis says everything you could ever need to know about being sick. I remember telling Theresa that when she got ill.

Ferris Wheel is on now. I’m not sure about Donovan’s racial background (I’m sorry to say, Herr Führer) although I believe he is a lost and hopeless Celt. In ‘65 he must certainly have been the world’s most whimsical blues singer. Bloody ace though.