Today started badly. I found a copy of Are You Experienced, by William Sutcliffe. So I read it in one sitting. It's the most dire piece of hateful drivel I've ever read. Jesus Christ I can't believe that people in India choose to read this. It's not even funny. It's written for a child.
The guy goes to India to try shag his best mate's girlfriend, kind of succeeds, ends up being ditched by her because he's an insufferable ignorant prick; he hates every minute of the experience, doesn't meet any Israelis (very unrealistic...) and then just when he's starting to get the point, he leaves India to go to uni and he's dead chuffed that he went because now he has some stories to show off about.
Woah man. I need to calm down. It's amazing how much bad art can really upset me. Ask my mother about our experience of watching Love Actually in a cinema in Dublin.
Speaking of my mother (yer mum...) she is going to spice my trip up royally by making an appearance for a week or two in the mountains next month. It's actually rather fashionable to bring one's parents to India, it seems. But I'm sure it will be lovely. I just need to find the dirtiest and druggiest Israeli colony to take her to. Come on, India has to be a challenge!
Oh, and I have been considering taking a Vipassana meditation course. This is the hardcore ten day, no talking, no writing, no eye contact course which makes you really dig your brain out. Here's a list of the rules and regulations. I'll be honest, it scares the shit out of me. I need to think about this.
Though by even admitting that I'm scared I feel a need to go do it for the damn I'm-not-scared-of-it sake of it. If that makes sense.
But when will I play my guitar? Ten days, no guitar? (Insert protruding lower lip).
Anyway, I should stop writing this nonsense and go read a proper book written by and for someone with a brain.
Lots of love, the experienced one.
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