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[23 Dec 2006|01:27am] |
Hmmm..
A voice, a soft hand, a little note posted in the night...it's like finding it under your cushion when you get home...if I was born two hundered years ago i'd go out and meet you in the forest..i'd kiss your fingers to warm them up, then i'd taste your breath.
Then i'd run my fingers through your very being. In those days, you'd never even know me. At all. What is it that makes you quite so enamoured?
I am too. I'll be honest..I have no experience or knowledge of such a soul. Someone that thinks of me so warmly through all, without artifice or expectation, whose thoughts of me transgress any critique.
The one thing that makes you you, is when i'm out on that moor, with my head and hair pointing downwards, you're the one lifting me north..you're the kiss in my night.
And really, no girl is getting me like you are. I miss you, and i've never held your hand. I've felt my hair hang around yours in a serpent's curl, yet we've never touched, i've held your lips in a heated anticipation, yet i've never seen you, when i'm out.
And yet, I think you're pretty fucking cute, and I would burn my eyes into yours, given the chance.
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Friday night was okay. Not bad at all if you think how bad it could have been. I was joined by Graham's lil' sister. We had no problems ghosting through forty one people. The real test for us will be on the twenty fifth, but tonight we were okay.
The amassed were Rich, Bolb, Dan, Mel, Tom, and Lucy for evening boozing. Two possible irritants were stationed near us for a while and i'm pretty sure were taking the piss, but were such sackbags of male trendified wankeracy they couldn't be considered relevant. I couldn't pick them out in a GAP lineup. Cockends.
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[23 Dec 2006|04:14pm] |
Well.
Well well well. That appears to be the last Saturday afternoon before Christmas day done with. It was hard, busy, and the amount of veg prep we had to do was astonishing. So much done today, and a good thing too, because tonight we're packed. Absolutely jammed. That twenty five at nine means that i'll realistically not get out in time to do any drinking at all.
Perhaps that's good though. I am already shattered. And I have a headache. I cannot wait until tomorrow. Time to have a breath before the big one.
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[23 Dec 2006|05:25pm] |
I know the flow of this diary has got a bit lackadaisical recently, but in all honesty it's due to the Christmas rush. When that's all out of the way, i'll be back. More poetry in the new year, probably, and some new writings. It all depends what happens in my little peanut. There isn't a lot of time to sit and let the words fill up your head at this time of year.
I'm a little worried that certain things that happened at times have almost removed a little bit of magic from my head. I'm sure it's not at all permanent, but I forgot somewhere what it was like to feel flutters.
Let me try and explain. When I used to write very well, I had flutters. Flutters of the heart, the gut, the brain or the shoes...I could feel things easily..I didn't have trouble visualising birds flying, rainfall billowing through summer leaves, I could see leaves, clouds, amber and light.
I often feel cold in the Winter now, rather than seeing the warmth in it. I skip through my Ipod in the streets, wondering when i'll find a song that'll shiver my back and make life seem more real. I sensed so much once, I used to be so acute.
I don't want this to be sad, so i'll stop. I don't feel sad. I'm just waiting for my heart to shake hands with my head again. I want nice girls to make my stomach tingle.
They don't do that like they used to.
I remember when I used to be so innocent. It was only three years ago, really. I think growing up goes hand in hand with losing some little butterflies in your body. I like not falling for every nice girl I see (And I have in the past year met some of the most nicest girls you could meet), but at the same time I miss having little crushes, the does she or doesn't she's, because now, I appear to feel little. I haven't met anyone to really kick my heart up the arse and take it out for a day with Mr and Mrs daydream.
And god dammit, i'm romantic. I should be feeling more. I can think back to two times when I thought I might be getting to like people that might like me. But for whatever reason, I had no urge to do anything further. Not so much to do with fear or anything like that, I just am not compelled.
I find it hard to fall these days.
If I don't have the time this Christmas day, best wishes to all. I might be a bitter cunt for a great deal of the time, but Happy Christmas folks.
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[23 Dec 2006|06:37pm] |
Kindred fuckin' spirits Bill Hicks and Jon Stewart provide most of the laughs this afternoon. Have a look at the b3ta link, on the b3ta website. TIME magazine gets a kicking, voting YOU, yes YOU the person of the year. For fuck's sake. Even the idea makes me want to sick blood up all over the face of the people who published and wrote the fucking thing.
Late Bill Hick's brilliant Sane Man is on there too, with a nice intro about wanting to hi jack a plane just to get it to take off and reach the frigging destination it was supposed to be in five hours ago. Now get outta here, jackass, i've got to go to work.
Twenty five at nine o clock? Who booked it? WHO FUCKIN' BOOKED IT?
You gotta do what you have to do. And we have to do it. See you later slags.
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