I walk a lot. To and from work mostly but anywhere else I need to get to, if the distance is reasonable, I walk it. I have S-Health on my phone which tracks the distance and all that – according to this app, I walk about 10km a day.
While I’m walking, like I’m sure most people do, I do two other things as well. Listen to music and Daydream.
My daydreams often tend to be along the lines of a typical pub talk topic: ‘what super power would you have if you could have any?’ But I think slightly differently. I often wonder what I would trade my soul for at the crossroads. I’m a massive fan of Robert Johnson and the whole mythos around him.
Given what I usually listen to when I’m walking – rock, metal and the like, I always figure I would sell my soul to be the greatest guitarist who ever lived. Then my day dreams take me to being on stage and playing, nay, tearing the shit out of the song I am listening to. At the moment, I am quite locked in to Pull Me Under by Dream Theater.
The only thing I would not like is when it comes to the time of my soul being collected. I think I would be in the market for a whole boat load of salt.
Here is a poem.
To the man with the face like a scrotum in batter,
this poem is for the one Mr. Sepp Blatter.
We all should have known right from the start
that you would make corruption an art.
Your first campaign run was full of allegations,
a true fitting start to your own administration.
But honestly now, you did go too far
when you sold the World Cup to your pimps in Qatar.
Whoring yourself out to the highest bidder
with no thought of the players and fans who will simmer
in the heat of the midday middle-eastern sun.
You are a paragon of non-virtue, you corrupt aging cunt.
This needs extending a little which will probably come at a later date. Just some thoughts on the matter for now is all.