A ceiling-
Feeling the brilliant gravity of
the floor beneath.
I shall not fall
nor trip over. Nor resort
to hiding my face, in shame.
Conquer All.
Spot on.
Right on the ball.
Balance and bounce my way
to the top.
Mountains will drop
before my eyes. Swallowed
by the floor.
But I'm safe.
Sat down. By the table.
All still and sophisticated.
Be like me?
Only if you follow my lead,
as per.
Saturday, 22 May 2010
The Blue - of course
The blue, is going black, is going
green, is going back,
is going off up on a tangent,
is going grey, is going stringent,
is harsh to me, is flying over,
it is so dangerous to breathe,
and is completely taking over;
is so polite, is lacking insight,
its faceless stream, is freaking me out;
is so bizarre and ever so polite,
is tropical breeze, is getting
slightly too late.
The blue has no say. It's
forgotten and ignored.
It's shouting it's so bored.
But telling it to get lost
brings back even more.
green, is going back,
is going off up on a tangent,
is going grey, is going stringent,
is harsh to me, is flying over,
it is so dangerous to breathe,
and is completely taking over;
is so polite, is lacking insight,
its faceless stream, is freaking me out;
is so bizarre and ever so polite,
is tropical breeze, is getting
slightly too late.
The blue has no say. It's
forgotten and ignored.
It's shouting it's so bored.
But telling it to get lost
brings back even more.
Monday, 19 April 2010
..background noise
This story is not educational.
I refuse to educate anyone not consenting.
So, my month had been full of interesting activities. I visited carparks, two premature BBQ's, a museum and a phone booth filled with photographs of semi-naked women urging everybody to give them a call. We even had a feast after the 'easter' celebrations. This fascination with guilt-tripping your children after you gift them 8 chocolate eggs produced a feast of chucked out chocolate for my mate Barry and I (he is an imaginary friend, I've created to make this story less self-obsessed), anorexically seen as terrifying by so many poor souls. I blame the parents- not the government- for this choice to agree with their unscientifically backed 'suggestions'. 5-a-day, twenty litres-a-second, don't-chew-while-you-walk. Guidelines, advice, laws, legislation.
This month had been interesting, until I realised what newspapers are. I read a fair bit- they are everywhere, I had previously ignored them, as they taste of hands and bank notes. My month was ruined by the news. Elections and pain of the bottom variety. Since then, I became aware of everything I had been missing out on. Stress, worry, concern. My future. A volcano. My future family. The environment. World war. The word: peace. Eighteen youth deaths in the last year. Electric appliances attacking their owners.
I wept and cried and worried and expressed my concern. Barry got so bored of me, he decided to hang out at number 45's bin (fine by me, 47 are so much fitter, making me get more veg in my diet). And then suddenly I realised how I had wasted an entire month of my fly life on nothing. I am not entitled to vote. I'm a an f*in fly.
I refuse to educate anyone not consenting.
So, my month had been full of interesting activities. I visited carparks, two premature BBQ's, a museum and a phone booth filled with photographs of semi-naked women urging everybody to give them a call. We even had a feast after the 'easter' celebrations. This fascination with guilt-tripping your children after you gift them 8 chocolate eggs produced a feast of chucked out chocolate for my mate Barry and I (he is an imaginary friend, I've created to make this story less self-obsessed), anorexically seen as terrifying by so many poor souls. I blame the parents- not the government- for this choice to agree with their unscientifically backed 'suggestions'. 5-a-day, twenty litres-a-second, don't-chew-while-you-walk. Guidelines, advice, laws, legislation.
This month had been interesting, until I realised what newspapers are. I read a fair bit- they are everywhere, I had previously ignored them, as they taste of hands and bank notes. My month was ruined by the news. Elections and pain of the bottom variety. Since then, I became aware of everything I had been missing out on. Stress, worry, concern. My future. A volcano. My future family. The environment. World war. The word: peace. Eighteen youth deaths in the last year. Electric appliances attacking their owners.
I wept and cried and worried and expressed my concern. Barry got so bored of me, he decided to hang out at number 45's bin (fine by me, 47 are so much fitter, making me get more veg in my diet). And then suddenly I realised how I had wasted an entire month of my fly life on nothing. I am not entitled to vote. I'm a an f*in fly.
Friday, 2 April 2010
addition
complex ideas.
twenty million bubbles. all enclosed. small space.
physical warmth. exhilaration.
i could walk for hours. in an imaginary straight line taking me from here to forever.
or just sit. empty and full.
what is more rock and roll, fighting or fleeing?
twenty million bubbles. all enclosed. small space.
physical warmth. exhilaration.
i could walk for hours. in an imaginary straight line taking me from here to forever.
or just sit. empty and full.
what is more rock and roll, fighting or fleeing?
Friday, 19 March 2010
Paper-based Excuses
Shame. Anticipation of dissipation of mine and yours and precious' time. Expecting the disappointment with unreached ambitions, set on an unrealistically positive bus journey home.
Feline friend, you shall become part of my collection of loved ones, in the future. That's one example of a short-term goal. The future-related one, not a sporting goal.
I have recently exploited my capacity for self-analysis via word associations, and am now entering a phase of love for the abstract and of spot-on simplicity. Mere references, philosophy, the metro, my brain, the shop on the way to morissons that has positioned the most beautiful of flowers out on the disgusting streets of southwark. It's a shame. A complete waste.
Enamored with the darker. Finally a return. Hurray.
Feline friend, you shall become part of my collection of loved ones, in the future. That's one example of a short-term goal. The future-related one, not a sporting goal.
I have recently exploited my capacity for self-analysis via word associations, and am now entering a phase of love for the abstract and of spot-on simplicity. Mere references, philosophy, the metro, my brain, the shop on the way to morissons that has positioned the most beautiful of flowers out on the disgusting streets of southwark. It's a shame. A complete waste.
Enamored with the darker. Finally a return. Hurray.
Wednesday, 3 March 2010
Ground-up seashells, vanilla and parsley.
What's the deal with pineapples, anyway? so bizarre. Odd, strange, joke plants.
Henna conditioner fumes are posing as a distraction to my enjoyment of a one-girl-tv-marathon, accompanied by a third of a tub of lower fat piggy ice-cream, three jumpers for added oomph, cigarette cravings and a half browsed-through magazine by the side.
Solving riddle-like, selfish comment puzzles entertains me so much, i wish there were other people producing similarities for me to attempt. Superior to any other form of entertainment. Or at least to the majority.
How many times are you allowed to repeat your day? It makes life seem shorter. Horrible. I coexist with a constant fear of wasting precious minutes on nothingess. Live live as quickly as possible. Live it all.
Monday, 22 February 2010
Pegasus
This repetition is formed to enhance all aesthesis.
The real deal lies somewhere in the dark.
I've fallen for a rebellious prophylactic superstition
to save, destroy,
start the drawing again.
Minimalism, however
was never my strong point.
Excessive, protective, safe; safe and covered.
An extensive family of
the familiar. Just for me.
And then we can leave.
The real deal lies somewhere in the dark.
I've fallen for a rebellious prophylactic superstition
to save, destroy,
start the drawing again.
Minimalism, however
was never my strong point.
Excessive, protective, safe; safe and covered.
An extensive family of
the familiar. Just for me.
And then we can leave.
Thursday, 11 February 2010
lonely balcony
Following Munir's recommendation, 'we' went out and got some. Anxiously, tied some squiggly examples of the climber to the green balcony bars. Hey Presto! Instant miracle- from prison cool to tropical paradise in a split second, we dreamt. How delusional.
Soon enough, the snow attacked our plants, killing them all but the purple lettuce in the yellow wellies pot. We never had the chance to measure the passion.
Sitting down and looking out the window I spot the bare, anticlimb, green bars, dodgy drug dealers, the man who refuses to clean up after his german shepherd and the joyous shit-machine bouncing next to him. I'm sad I will never get to find out if the passionflowers would indeed fuck all our other plants, generating a brand new, sexually gratified, inappropriately successful type of balcony garden.
Wednesday, 3 February 2010
my winter coat (forgetting the fly persona for a day)
a- the shiny single threads found everywhere. they used to be red, but as I adopted the 'good girl' identity I also adopted the 'listen to your mother' when it comes to chemical treatment of the head hair moto- hence it is now a boring Mediterranean brown. it does have some streaks of sunkissedness depending on its mood, how can this be ignored? (not so)secretly (at all) I love it. it helps my face make sense.
one thread I can spot on my plate. resting quietly amongst crumbs and two pieces of crust. (desperation has lead me to eat those in the past, to no avail. I am mature enough to understand and accept that it will never develop any curl to it. so can now be free to leave them and occasionally feed them to willing and hungry nearby people -or ducks)
another two are waving at me from the drying laundry on the radiator. they are stuck on some socks I don't recognise as mine. They are dull and unshiny. Fabrically softened perhaps.
b- irritating wool blobs need to be attacked with scissors. My coat is full of them, between the bottom of my sleeves and the underarm down to waist parts. My old lady look is destroyed by such details. So I invested in a new bright fuchsia coat, instead. not as warm, but as tulipy and as out of fashion as possible. Am I betraying my good old friend opting for this happier, younger model? Is this a change I will later recognise as signifying my development stages?
c- pretence of innocence. speaking my mind. and then shutting up. and conveniently forgetting anything was said. music on loop, pots of coffee, refreshing and clicking away. Since I lost my umbrella, winter has become much more challenging. I've upped my game and now need to become an adult. There's no escape, even my adult parents wish me to be adult. No more poetic avoidance and dancing my way out of horrid obligations.
Alter ego help me get a job please.
Sunday, 17 January 2010
taster
Between posts addition. a hiccup of boredom, if you like.*
When I was younger I accidentally broke a mercury thermometer on my desk. The liquid baubles of deadly awesomeness spread everywhere. The best way to describe this to a protected, mercury-safe population is it looked like 20 silverfish sliding around my desk, towards every possible horizontal direction, looking for a hiding place when someone switches the lights on. It was decided that I better had clean it up, and wash my hands a minimum of twenty million times, to be safe. And so I did - I did not wish to die in such a stupid accident, so insignificant and so uncool. For about a year I kept finding bits inside my notebooks, in CD cases and even in my blue SONY Walkman (aptly painted over with black nail varnish). This has resulted to a perpetual (and by now, probably permanent) fear of CD cases, excessive hand-washing after handling books, and avoiding placing pens in mouth, when they have touched my working area. But don't feel sorry for me, the adrenaline buzz makes me concentrate better.
*I typed "hiccup" and not "hiccough", to be more street. I personally prefer the unnecessary complication of the latter.
When I was younger I accidentally broke a mercury thermometer on my desk. The liquid baubles of deadly awesomeness spread everywhere. The best way to describe this to a protected, mercury-safe population is it looked like 20 silverfish sliding around my desk, towards every possible horizontal direction, looking for a hiding place when someone switches the lights on. It was decided that I better had clean it up, and wash my hands a minimum of twenty million times, to be safe. And so I did - I did not wish to die in such a stupid accident, so insignificant and so uncool. For about a year I kept finding bits inside my notebooks, in CD cases and even in my blue SONY Walkman (aptly painted over with black nail varnish). This has resulted to a perpetual (and by now, probably permanent) fear of CD cases, excessive hand-washing after handling books, and avoiding placing pens in mouth, when they have touched my working area. But don't feel sorry for me, the adrenaline buzz makes me concentrate better.
*I typed "hiccup" and not "hiccough", to be more street. I personally prefer the unnecessary complication of the latter.
Monday, 4 January 2010
Bedtime Explorations
So overwhelming.
A world of smells. I'm buzzing. I'm buzzing.
From here- onto the opposite wall. Go to the vertical lines. sit. still.
i can smell the fleece beneath me, a dive to the warmer and wetter of the space. I know. I know. the urges override my recognition processes. I can smell the yellowing paper on this old paper clipping on my left. I can smell the decayed selotape adorning it's corners in an angle. I can smell the ugly faces on it. I can smell meaningless meat storing instructions. The lady relied on rubbish. How could she call herself an expert? But no, I'm digressing. Smelling is believing. (wha-? What happened to my cousin?)
I- KNOW- the location of everything. i can KNOW. I smell the water and the curtain and the mood these creatures are in, right now. I can smell the coldness of the lightbulb. I can smell the heat the TV set is emitting.
I'm buzzing. I'm buzzing. Zoom in to the fleece. I gave in to my craving. Warm body breathing underneath it. i can smell it. Longish fur, lots of saliva, recently befriended some mud. Delight! The smells of my childhood. This local mud scent always makes me smile. I remember the first realisation of my size in relation to what I found myself in love with-- at the time it was a quarter of a galia melon skin. Mmmm i'm licking my lips. I'm ready for a nibble of memory.
Shit! the bitch just wagged me flat on the window accross her. |licking it is nowhere near a relief as needed, but it'll do for now|
A world of smells. I'm buzzing. I'm buzzing.
From here- onto the opposite wall. Go to the vertical lines. sit. still.
i can smell the fleece beneath me, a dive to the warmer and wetter of the space. I know. I know. the urges override my recognition processes. I can smell the yellowing paper on this old paper clipping on my left. I can smell the decayed selotape adorning it's corners in an angle. I can smell the ugly faces on it. I can smell meaningless meat storing instructions. The lady relied on rubbish. How could she call herself an expert? But no, I'm digressing. Smelling is believing. (wha-? What happened to my cousin?)
I- KNOW- the location of everything. i can KNOW. I smell the water and the curtain and the mood these creatures are in, right now. I can smell the coldness of the lightbulb. I can smell the heat the TV set is emitting.
I'm buzzing. I'm buzzing. Zoom in to the fleece. I gave in to my craving. Warm body breathing underneath it. i can smell it. Longish fur, lots of saliva, recently befriended some mud. Delight! The smells of my childhood. This local mud scent always makes me smile. I remember the first realisation of my size in relation to what I found myself in love with-- at the time it was a quarter of a galia melon skin. Mmmm i'm licking my lips. I'm ready for a nibble of memory.
Shit! the bitch just wagged me flat on the window accross her. |licking it is nowhere near a relief as needed, but it'll do for now|
Saturday, 2 January 2010
Revolution of Resolutions
The following consists of recent experiences, made into a list. They are the things I have spent the first night of the year thinking about. They are somehow neutral and do not involve people's actions as much as how they are related to me. I prefer to divert my introspective assessment of life, through my lens, to physical and witnessed. Judgements and criticism as to actions and views of other people do not interest me. I'd rather bitch about that in a rubbish, stereotypical 'bitching' session.
A List of my favorite things, present in the last chunk of 2009 and first few steps into the next bracketed period of a 'year'
cat paws (still attached to cats).
sun when it's freezing cold, enjoyed via clean and slightly steamed window, whilst holding a perfect temperature mint tea.
'eye' as a greek way of describing a kitchen hob.
having hair.
the shins.
crisp ironed sheets.
looking into someone's eyes when they genuinely smile.
foil chocolate/sweet wrappers folded in unique ways indicating individual creativity.
my sister's xmas presents.
parentals and their unlimited tolerance of my grump.
lil' wayne panna cotta with toasted theremin and coconut crunch.
the hidden track after 'waiting for the beat to kick in' by dan le sac vs scroobius pip.
dancing alone.
dancing in public, as if dancing alone.
Hate List
earphones too big for my ears.
earphones on a plane.
a plane.
screaming childrens.
being tired and anyone mentioning how tired they are as if it's a problem pending, to be solved by me, when i'm also as tired.
self-criticism that makes me antisocial and apologetic.
everlasting dry lipline that insist on being dry despite two pots of 'extra moisturising' lipbalm having been dedicated to them.
kettle failure.
nail breakage.
outrageous and 'cool persona' small talk at an airport, when u think you'll never see that person again, only to find you're queueing with them at 4 more queues on your way home.
being unable to help, when desperately wanting to.
feeling inappropriate in situations I considered as owned (by me).
unmixed, full length dubstep tracks.
I have no NY resolutions. Why would I? Sufficient introspective skill exhibited, surely... I could not get more perfect.. maybe I should just be more selective over what i consume, i guess... household rubbish bins are not appropriate for a bourgeois fly.
A List of my favorite things, present in the last chunk of 2009 and first few steps into the next bracketed period of a 'year'
cat paws (still attached to cats).
sun when it's freezing cold, enjoyed via clean and slightly steamed window, whilst holding a perfect temperature mint tea.
'eye' as a greek way of describing a kitchen hob.
having hair.
the shins.
crisp ironed sheets.
looking into someone's eyes when they genuinely smile.
foil chocolate/sweet wrappers folded in unique ways indicating individual creativity.
my sister's xmas presents.
parentals and their unlimited tolerance of my grump.
lil' wayne panna cotta with toasted theremin and coconut crunch.
the hidden track after 'waiting for the beat to kick in' by dan le sac vs scroobius pip.
dancing alone.
dancing in public, as if dancing alone.
Hate List
earphones too big for my ears.
earphones on a plane.
a plane.
screaming childrens.
being tired and anyone mentioning how tired they are as if it's a problem pending, to be solved by me, when i'm also as tired.
self-criticism that makes me antisocial and apologetic.
everlasting dry lipline that insist on being dry despite two pots of 'extra moisturising' lipbalm having been dedicated to them.
kettle failure.
nail breakage.
outrageous and 'cool persona' small talk at an airport, when u think you'll never see that person again, only to find you're queueing with them at 4 more queues on your way home.
being unable to help, when desperately wanting to.
feeling inappropriate in situations I considered as owned (by me).
unmixed, full length dubstep tracks.
I have no NY resolutions. Why would I? Sufficient introspective skill exhibited, surely... I could not get more perfect.. maybe I should just be more selective over what i consume, i guess... household rubbish bins are not appropriate for a bourgeois fly.
Thursday, 24 December 2009
A Little Nugget
Taking minuscule bites, as an avoidance strategy for the usual merry feelings of nearly-bursting from too muchness. Suggestibility to fun! Protect me!
I'll paint you a picture of this land of promises and waste of all things borrowed:
children call each other a 'wanker', while (rather innocently) playing basketball; lady breaks into uncontrollable shouting fit, while bus driver refuses to tell her what time the next bus will leave, for fear of his freedom being stood on. Lady threatens to call police, fire and ambulance, calls him a 'wanker', while (rather innocently) reinforces the stereotypes of middle-aged-to-old-aged women; wearing two tones darker than skin wrinkly tights, shoes purchased at the pharmacy, and excessively warm combination of coat, gloves and hat, to protect from "freezing cold" of 15 Celsius. Lady works, looks after 30ish year old children living at home, and massive, massively lazy husband (who, rather innocently calls every male a 'wanker') sitting on his bottom counting down his days to Retirement Fun (which will never come, as he will then hate being stuck in his house).
Joyful, fun-starved children knocking on doors, insisting on a tradition of carol singing, whilst staring at your hand the whole time and blatantly counting the coins inserted in theirs, before you even close the door. 'Wanker' they call you when they see it's less than a gazillion. Quite innocently, you think they are doing it because of pushy traditionalist parents, and wish to shut their tone deaf vocal vibrations up.
I went to the shops, hoping to find something un-tacky and affordable to wrap my presents with. On my way up the street I had a dodge-o-war with an irritating oldish man who refused to let me go past him and chose to step left and right in an opposing manner to mine, whilst menacingly glaring into my eyes. He eventually proceeded, uttering the unspeakable: "baby, if only I had you (in my lap?) I'd show you a good time". 'Wanker' I called him. Not so innocently. Walked past him wearing my face of disgust, traditionally reserved for such exhibition of perve. I didn't find anything at the shop and came back empty handed, only with a packet of strange flavoured chewing gum in my coat pocket, bearing the words 'fresh', 'strong' and 'healthy' on its packet.
Merry Christmas. !
I'll paint you a picture of this land of promises and waste of all things borrowed:
children call each other a 'wanker', while (rather innocently) playing basketball; lady breaks into uncontrollable shouting fit, while bus driver refuses to tell her what time the next bus will leave, for fear of his freedom being stood on. Lady threatens to call police, fire and ambulance, calls him a 'wanker', while (rather innocently) reinforces the stereotypes of middle-aged-to-old-aged women; wearing two tones darker than skin wrinkly tights, shoes purchased at the pharmacy, and excessively warm combination of coat, gloves and hat, to protect from "freezing cold" of 15 Celsius. Lady works, looks after 30ish year old children living at home, and massive, massively lazy husband (who, rather innocently calls every male a 'wanker') sitting on his bottom counting down his days to Retirement Fun (which will never come, as he will then hate being stuck in his house).
Joyful, fun-starved children knocking on doors, insisting on a tradition of carol singing, whilst staring at your hand the whole time and blatantly counting the coins inserted in theirs, before you even close the door. 'Wanker' they call you when they see it's less than a gazillion. Quite innocently, you think they are doing it because of pushy traditionalist parents, and wish to shut their tone deaf vocal vibrations up.
I went to the shops, hoping to find something un-tacky and affordable to wrap my presents with. On my way up the street I had a dodge-o-war with an irritating oldish man who refused to let me go past him and chose to step left and right in an opposing manner to mine, whilst menacingly glaring into my eyes. He eventually proceeded, uttering the unspeakable: "baby, if only I had you (in my lap?) I'd show you a good time". 'Wanker' I called him. Not so innocently. Walked past him wearing my face of disgust, traditionally reserved for such exhibition of perve. I didn't find anything at the shop and came back empty handed, only with a packet of strange flavoured chewing gum in my coat pocket, bearing the words 'fresh', 'strong' and 'healthy' on its packet.
Merry Christmas. !
Monday, 21 December 2009
in preparation
As the Big Event is looming, I'm haplessly attempting to 'arrange'.
The product of this is nothing. Big and very very w i d e.
So, instead, I gathered the following thoughts, in order of preference:
- songs featuring the lyric: "tic tic tic" always excite me
- rain is unimportant when carrying a heavy bag, but a distinct lack of tissues is forever frustrating
- warmed radiator socks could possibly equate to a physical interpretation of love
- cheap crumpets are significantly more enjoyable to squish.
- time perception and waiting- it is apparent to me that the brain of a small but significant fly can differentially perceive remaining time, when counting down, versus when simply existing without interest in future events coming closer to it's present
- nobody knows what they're doing for new year. and nobody cares. and I don't either -- only I do. Does this make me belong to the group 'everybody'? or does it just make me a hopeful romantic, anticipating for one more fucking year anything but the same and very usual anticlimactic depression?
lalalalala
The product of this is nothing. Big and very very w i d e.
So, instead, I gathered the following thoughts, in order of preference:
- songs featuring the lyric: "tic tic tic" always excite me
- rain is unimportant when carrying a heavy bag, but a distinct lack of tissues is forever frustrating
- warmed radiator socks could possibly equate to a physical interpretation of love
- cheap crumpets are significantly more enjoyable to squish.
- time perception and waiting- it is apparent to me that the brain of a small but significant fly can differentially perceive remaining time, when counting down, versus when simply existing without interest in future events coming closer to it's present
- nobody knows what they're doing for new year. and nobody cares. and I don't either -- only I do. Does this make me belong to the group 'everybody'? or does it just make me a hopeful romantic, anticipating for one more fucking year anything but the same and very usual anticlimactic depression?
lalalalala
Sunday, 20 December 2009
Environment Vs Ego
I have decided today
to make some toast.
to find and steal and burn all bratz dolls (i know..)
to destruct by manically peeling or pulling or plucking any given unwanteds.
and theoretically smother my face in some idea disgusting and embarrassing.
Anhedonia. Possibly related to my lack of self-compassion.
And then the focus was swiftly shifted to the colour of my hands. It doesn't satisfy, today. No wonder it's all gone wrong.
St Trinians 2, Televisual information raping me. But I am severely attracted to it. Possibly even consenting? Contradicting myself, so it is time to take a side and decide on the responsibility-taking. It is all about simpleness without being humble. Non-physical weight from unidentifiable sources.-- see, narrowly avoided addressing the issue. life rerun.
FYI My ear is still safely trapped between the golden clasps of this naive decoration. And I shall attribute everything encountered today to this. I am unfortunately conscious of this, I'm afraid.
to make some toast.
to find and steal and burn all bratz dolls (i know..)
to destruct by manically peeling or pulling or plucking any given unwanteds.
and theoretically smother my face in some idea disgusting and embarrassing.
Anhedonia. Possibly related to my lack of self-compassion.
And then the focus was swiftly shifted to the colour of my hands. It doesn't satisfy, today. No wonder it's all gone wrong.
St Trinians 2, Televisual information raping me. But I am severely attracted to it. Possibly even consenting? Contradicting myself, so it is time to take a side and decide on the responsibility-taking. It is all about simpleness without being humble. Non-physical weight from unidentifiable sources.-- see, narrowly avoided addressing the issue. life rerun.
FYI My ear is still safely trapped between the golden clasps of this naive decoration. And I shall attribute everything encountered today to this. I am unfortunately conscious of this, I'm afraid.
Friday, 18 December 2009
hoe hoe how dare you, you hoe (ruining my christmas)
guilt.
the christmas cheer solidifies the precise instant following the other precise instant somebody opened the window, you know, to "let some fresh air in" and "it's getting a little stuffy". The cheer transforms into a different Sub Stance altogether. it is now Guilt.
oh the guilt.
the horror of having thrown some part of you away. The miniscule joy of having a reason to be so miserable every now and again. Followed by hatred for a concept ungraspable by anyone. You don't even know yourself and you bloody came up with it you tw4t!
guilt. or is it stomach acid? difficult to tell. Anyway, my christmas is ruined by guilt and hatred for something related to my actions but i wouldn't dare to attempt to address that aspect. It could potentially ruin my holidays! that'd be a bad idea.
Vive le punk!- and fat bastards on sleighs pretending to be santa too. They have to be the best element of 'bastardisation of a holiday', containing easily generalisable proportions of differential particles essential to produce this particular sensation.
the christmas cheer solidifies the precise instant following the other precise instant somebody opened the window, you know, to "let some fresh air in" and "it's getting a little stuffy". The cheer transforms into a different Sub Stance altogether. it is now Guilt.
oh the guilt.
the horror of having thrown some part of you away. The miniscule joy of having a reason to be so miserable every now and again. Followed by hatred for a concept ungraspable by anyone. You don't even know yourself and you bloody came up with it you tw4t!
guilt. or is it stomach acid? difficult to tell. Anyway, my christmas is ruined by guilt and hatred for something related to my actions but i wouldn't dare to attempt to address that aspect. It could potentially ruin my holidays! that'd be a bad idea.
Vive le punk!- and fat bastards on sleighs pretending to be santa too. They have to be the best element of 'bastardisation of a holiday', containing easily generalisable proportions of differential particles essential to produce this particular sensation.
I was asked to tell the kids the story of the bald frog..
Once there was a groggy frog, who drunk too much and swore too much and fucked around too much. All these excesses had turned him into a weakling. A quivering leaf of dazed, shaky unsteadiness. His diet consisted mainly of pizza boxes and chocolate wrappers, and that only when he could bear (oh the animal puns!) the thought of food, which was once in a blue moon.-literally.
So his hair fell out. He made himself a wig out of a banana peel. He'd remembered to write on it with a ballpoint pen- it was a cheap high. He loved his wig. and it's decomposition provided tasty flies for him. A bit like me. only less bourgeois, more upper class. He was happy, until the false hair followed the natural course of what is will seize to be inevitably, one day.
So he went to the doctors and was told he's anaemic-due to shit nutrition. Initially they thought he was anorexic. then they realised, by the unsteadiness and urge to move, that it was all excesses-induced. They gave him some Berocca, they told him to eat steak, despite it being super unethical, and told him to fuck off, as he was making the nurses and the other waiting clients of the surgery uneasy with his jerkiness and twitches. He then drunk the Berocca, and felt miles better.
He made himself a cup of coffee, and realised that orangey fizzy vitamins taste horrendous when followed by coffee. He drunk the coffee nonetheless. He smiled to his reflection in the downstairs tiny mirror, next to the key box. ''I look crap.'' He went upstairs for a long nap.
The End
(Internal Thoughts: And then he died? is that too much of plagiarism? wouldn't the distance between this additional comment and the story make it legit? Three 'Enters'. I could pretend it wasn't intended to go along with this.
Also: to mark the end of this sentence in parentheses with a stop or not? this is a very damaging debate for my small head. it can't fit the constant 'strugglation'. oh make up your mind)
So his hair fell out. He made himself a wig out of a banana peel. He'd remembered to write on it with a ballpoint pen- it was a cheap high. He loved his wig. and it's decomposition provided tasty flies for him. A bit like me. only less bourgeois, more upper class. He was happy, until the false hair followed the natural course of what is will seize to be inevitably, one day.
So he went to the doctors and was told he's anaemic-due to shit nutrition. Initially they thought he was anorexic. then they realised, by the unsteadiness and urge to move, that it was all excesses-induced. They gave him some Berocca, they told him to eat steak, despite it being super unethical, and told him to fuck off, as he was making the nurses and the other waiting clients of the surgery uneasy with his jerkiness and twitches. He then drunk the Berocca, and felt miles better.
He made himself a cup of coffee, and realised that orangey fizzy vitamins taste horrendous when followed by coffee. He drunk the coffee nonetheless. He smiled to his reflection in the downstairs tiny mirror, next to the key box. ''I look crap.'' He went upstairs for a long nap.
The End
(Internal Thoughts: And then he died? is that too much of plagiarism? wouldn't the distance between this additional comment and the story make it legit? Three 'Enters'. I could pretend it wasn't intended to go along with this.
Also: to mark the end of this sentence in parentheses with a stop or not? this is a very damaging debate for my small head. it can't fit the constant 'strugglation'. oh make up your mind)
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