I drank a cup of foaming piss / and then I had an experience of bliss / the wonderful bliss that comes from piss! That was the first line of my poem but I ran out of inspiration shortly after that and didn’t know what else to say. Story of my life really. I’m great for  one-liners and then I run dry; everyone turns around to look at me to see what I’m going to say and then I just dry up. I just stare blankly, wishing I hadn’t put myself back in that position. I could never could follow on from anything and that’s across the board. It’s not just rhymes we’re talking about here. As I say, it’s the story of my life.

I drank a cup of foaming piss. ‘Well, why would you do that good buddy,’ you might ask. ‘Who drinks cups of foaming piss, anyway?’ I won’t dignify that with a response though. I won’t lower myself to that level – the level of common dispute. What did anyone ever gain as a result of lowering themselves to the level of common dispute? And please don’t try to argue with me about that. If you wrestle with a pig you’re only going to get dirty, isn’t that what they say? The pig has a great time and you end up with your expensive tailor-made suit all covered in foul-smelling excrement. I don’t mean to insult pigs by saying that – I’m really talking about a certain type of human being. It’s a metaphor, that’s all. Not an insult to pigs. Or if not exactly a metaphor, then some kind of thing like that. We all know the type of human being I’m talking about anyway so there’s no need for me to go on about it. We all know people like that. God knows there are enough of them around. Especially around here.

Never argue with a gobshyte. Never argue with a gobshyte otherwise you’ll end up a gobshyte just like him. Isn’t that right? It’s getting cold now. A chill wind has sprung up out of nowhere and the sun has gone behind a cloud. I wish I had thought to bring a coat. The grass in the park has just been mowed and there are dozens of seagulls walking around in a thoughtful kind of away, looking for worms that have been exposed. I imagine that it’s worms anyway – I don’t know what else it would be. There are crows too of course but not so many of them. I’m sitting here drinking a cup of takeaway coffee looking out at all the seagulls. The coffee is awful by the way. That’s what made me think of piss in the first place. It’s foamy and it tastes of piss. I’m drinking it anyway – I bought it and so I’ll drink it, even if I don’t get any satisfaction from the act of drinking it. No satisfaction and certainly no bliss. Who do you know that experiences bliss on a regular basis anyway? Imagine if you could get coffee that gave you bliss? Wouldn’t that be something? ‘I’d buy that for a dollar,’ as the man said. You know the man I mean – the guy in that film.

Walkers are walking by, looking severe. Why do walkers always look so severe, huh? What’s wrong with them? They almost look disapproving. You’d wonder what it is that they disapprove of, wouldn’t you? I’d like to ask them. I could pretend that I was doing ethnographic research.. I could pretend that I was an ethnologist or sociologist or cultural anthropologist or something like that. ‘Excuse me lady I’ve noticed that you’re looking rather disapproving. Would you like to tell me a bit about that? I’d like to learn about the thought processes behind your frown. All data obtained will be treated with the utmost confidentiality, needless to say.’

‘What are the thought processes behind your rigid mask of disapproval?’ I’d ask. That’s a good line isn’t it? I’m just here from another planet. Doing a bit of human research. Before we invade you and force you all to work as slave labour in the android factories. Or whatever. Something nasty like that, anyway. Maybe the seagulls are scouts for the aliens. You wouldn’t know, would you? They do have very funny eyes. Maybe we are all undercover scouts for the aliens, did you ever think of that? Gathering information. Gathering information for all we are worth. Of course you have thought of that. We’ve all thought of that one at some point. Maybe we are all undercover police agents in deep cover and there are no actual criminals. What would you give for an actual honest criminal, huh? I tell you, I’d run up to him (or her) and shake them by the hand. ‘Thank you,’ I’d say, ‘you’ve restored my faith in human nature…’