people

I conlude I don't like people. Not anywhere in or near my space lately, anyway. I can't see through them at gigs (yes, wingnut snogging your bird in front of me half the gig, get a room) they smell and are noisy. Unpredictable too. They act as if I am invisible, maybe I should have mentioned that I am liable to fall over and vomit without notice as I am poorly? I am unscared by the massive bikers, unphased by the hairy outlaw types stomping around dragging their knuckles. I am an invisible middle aged woman, what can they do to me? I like to stare at the fashion victims, the people who do not own either a mirror or any self conscious genes, the clothes that time (or a laundry) forgot. I snigger up my sleeve at the greying pony tails and mullets sliding off the back of shiny heads. I am judgemental, bitchy and scathing, lack tolerance and patience, and most of all I am fed up of you talking all the way through a gig. I know I have said it before, but once more with feeling; If you want to talk, go home and put a cd on. Feck the hell out of my listening space when I have paid to see/hear a band not your moronic drivel. Or I swear one day I will just flip. I will grab the nearest heineken (ubiquitous) and tip it over your festering scabrous heads, and then ram your sweaty overpriced tour T shirt into your gaping maws.
(Except you, small contingent of guys with a brave little confederate flag with BLS - Iran on it in marker pen. You may do as you like. Rest assured, Zakk had no clue what it may have cost you to get there last night, as long as you might spend 60euro on a hooded sweatshirt or 25 on a beanie. Made of  acrylic.)