I hate this place and everything in it. I hate its sights, its sounds, its smells and its tastes. Since the monkey moved in this place is loathsome to me. He’s my monkey and I hate him. I hate his bright beady eyes, his cowl of white hair and his screeching voice. He’s my cunning you see – my animal nature; furtive, subversive and sly. Enough of this crazy scissors talk. I got this insect burrowing into my brain and 24 more years of freedom to endure. I have no time for nonsense - I got a monkey to kill.
His eyes are black shimmering coals, he is almost totally stoned. All his crazy shit about loving the sun has him burned out, maudlin – the booze has gotten to his brain. He sleeps out in the sun – he made his pact years before and is at war with himself. He’s lying flat on his back, he’s pissed his pants. I’d be glad to be rid of him – softly softly…
It’s a small world, this maze – or so they say. I knew monkey many years ago. People said that he was to be avoided, but he never did me any harm. So when we bumped into each other years later – he said he’d been to Australia – I saw no harm in inviting him around for a spot of supper, he’s been here ever since.
That monkey has driven me into penury and ruin with the webs he’d woven (he’s a Spider Monkey, I think), which only goes to prove that you should never entertain monkeys of any description. Take my word for it. Initially I thought that we were very much alike, but the adage ‘Monkey see, monkey do’ springs to mind.
My head is like a soft boiled egg. Everyday day is an unpaid bill. I’m living on borrowed time and I’m way overdrawn. I think I ought to simply leave this place behind – it’s crawling with monkeys now – and start anew in a cooler climate. I thought once that I’d found my Nirvana, but this place is the arsehole of the world and it stinks. I can fly over the moon; I can swim under the sea. It’s time for me to move on now and leave the monkeys to their tea party.