Summer of Savile – Day 14: Philosophy
The Summer of Savile is an eternal one, unfettered the calendars of man. If you need to reacquaint yourself, scan your peepers over the previous entries. And, begin:
Despite all the charity work and relentless fucking, Jim still finds time to muse on life’s great questions. Regard the following Cantona-style metaphor.
In the animal kingdom, let a budgie fly into the open and the sparrows kill it. If you don’t belong, life can get very strange.
I don’t want to get into some long psychological investigation into the frightening mind of Jimmy Savile, because it’ll end up like that film The Cell, but with some boy scouts eating their breakfast on a rollercoaster that dips and swerves into an old man’s glittering anus. Anyway, those things aren’t reliable. One time they made me take a psyche evaluation, and they’d deliberately set up all the rorschach pictures to look exactly like my mother’s vagina, beckoning me home.
Purely as a statistical postscript if I slept for two hours, during that period, several hundred people would die violent deaths, somewhere else…
Of course by this point we all realise that those deaths happened because Dear Jim’ll dreamed them. It’s impossible to read the preceding paragraph without hearing a threatening sense of grim achievement in his voice. “What if I was to dream about you, eh? With all your skin peeling from your flesh like bacon, and your eyes burning and bubbling in their sockets? Right, we’ll say no more.” *chomps cigar*
When I was ordinary I used to go to a Turkish bath in Leeds. Sitting in the steam room would be an assortment of glistening, naked men. I used to wonder, why is that naked body rich and that one not?