Wednesday, 2 July 2008
Paul Simon gets home and looks at the internet in the dark. Oh dear. There is nothing going on on the internet. Paul Simon says, 'Fuck Britain,' quietly to himself in his head and then makes a troubled, grinning face and goes into his gigantic kitchen and turns a light on and makes a special drink in his smoothie maker. He looks out the window at the worried black nighttime.
What is outside, Paul Simon?
Gentle useless trees.
Paul Simon thinks about Jane Fonda for a while. Oh god. He is pressing the button on his smoothie machine. Paul Simon is making a grape and dandelion and watercress smoothie. Paul Simon is making the smoothie and pouring it into a glass and taking a sip and thinking, 'Fuck all things good and true,' and then walking back into his gigantic living room with his laptop in it. The laptop is winking in the dark. Paul Simon turns the light on.
Paul Simon is still thinking about Jane Fonda.
'Jane Fonda is probably asleep,' Paul Simon thinks.
Paul Simon opens Windows Media Player and listens to Fidelity Wars by Hefner, instead of attempting an awkward phonecall to Jane Fonda.
'This is like my life,' Paul Simon thinks, occasionally, whilst sipping his smoothie and listening to Hefner.
Nothing is going on.
No one is making any money.
The nineteen eighties have been and gone.
The nineteen nineties have avoided you like a person at a party who is hyper-aware of your desperation and awkwardness.
CD sales have lost out to internet downloads.
Love is a doomed and ridiculous abstraction.
Darran Hayman, the singer of Hefner, is accidentally enumerating the catalogue of failures in your life.
'I want to destroy every album I've ever released,' Paul Simon thinks.
'This is an especially good one,' Paul Simon thinks. (He is listening to the re-issue of Fidelity Wars, to the song 'The Hymn For The Things We Didn't Do', which is a bonus track.) 'This one has nailed something.'
Paul Simon dips his index finger into his grape and dandelion and watercress smoothie and makes a little cross on his forehead with it.
'Jesus strike me down, if you exist,' Paul Simon says out loud. 'I am a non believer.'
Paul Simon sits in his gigantic living room, waiting for Jesus to strike him down, or for something new to happen on the internet. Outside, the night shuffles around like a senile old woman, and Darren Hayman is asleep in England, maybe, and Jane Fonda is asleep somewhere else, and nothing is going on, maybe, maybe, maybe.