Pt. 21 - Neurons Like Brandy - Chapter 4: Henry Kissinger

Neurons Like Brandy is a long running project of mine that I have been trying to finish for about 8 years. It focuses on a house in Brighton after the zombie apocalypse has passed, with flashbacks told by one of the remaining survivors every other chapter.

The chapter numbering is a little confusing so if this is your first time here and you are interested in reading more then I would recommend starting at the index where each of the chapters are ordered in the manner that they are meant to be read.

In between the other chapters are the mindless rambles of an insane DJ - Henry Kissinger - and the current chapter is focused on the fourth incursion. Read away, although I would recommend you start from the beginning if you haven't already.

I do believe that Henry Kissinger loves all you lovely listeners out there. 

Okay that might be a lie. My heart might actually be more morose than all the abandoned Christmas trees in the world, I'm not sure. Thank you Bukowski. 

I've not been well for the last few days, I'll be honest. Honesty is good when you have an attentive audience, even better when no one is listening. This last year has taken everything I have to not go insane. Instead, I haven't eaten in a couple of weeks and I'm not sure that I'm going to last much longer. So, as a way of bowing out gracefully I'm going to start Henry Kissinger's last rants Vol. 1, limited edition only. If you mail me I will send you a limited edition vinyl of the set.

What does death mean to me? Not much, I have to say. I always expected it to happen in some kind of spectacular fashion like a big explosion, a plummet from a very high building during a fight with an ex-lover or maybe it would have been being riddled with bullets during a shootout with some cops. 

It makes me very sad that I'm wallowing in this dire situation and I don't see any way out. I don't want to put on 'Paradise City', I want to put on 'Estranged' by Guns and Roses instead. And we all know what a shit song that it is. Incidentally, the views expressed by this DJ do not in any way reflect the opinions of the DJ and his entourage when they aren't fucking depressed. 

I hear them asking:

“Henry, why are you depressed? Is it because you reckon that your chips are cashed?”

Obviously I'd have to reply that 'Yes and no. I don't mind dying it just seems like I wasted a lot of my life doing fuck all.'

When you look at your life do you have regrets? I reckon we all do, I wish I had never worn flares. I wish I had hung out with my friend Chuck a little more often. Simple things like that. What is more scary is if you have big omissions in your life, maybe you never got circumcised, didn't tell your partner how much you cared about them until they had left you for the milkman. Those are big things and all I can say is that if you are leaving this world then the worst thing you can do is have those things hanging over your head. It'll destroy you quicker than all the drugs, prescription or otherwise, that you might consume. It'll eat you up faster than cancer, kill you quicker than AIDS. Not that AIDS kills you all that quickly these days, well I mean, not these days but the days when AIDS was important.

Short rant today, don't have more that I want to say. If any of you want to find me, you know where to look: the airwaves.

I'm doing a progressive sound evening of goodness, Faust, Tool, Isis, Fulci, Mogwai, The Mars Volta and God Speed! You Black Emperor.

Give up, give in, whatever.