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[08 May 2008|12:42am] |
I've never been more in love with cats. I love cats. I watched a cat video tonight posted by a friend, and it was so cute that I nearly cried. CATS!
My dear old Des, how I miss him so.
Any fucking way. Today was bingo day. Or, if you will, BINGO day. Bingo is often seen as the preserve of old ladies, but you find a whole host of people playing it. Old people, young people, even me. My first time in fact.
What's curious about bingo is, for one thing, it's a huge room. It looks like an airport waiting lounge. There are umpteemth consoles, and each one is a cash machine. Between actual Bingo games, is a game you can play when NOT playing Bingo. And that game is designed to suck up small change.
Lucy, T'Becks and I were there this evening. We managed to win quite well, but not on the actual Bingo. It being my first time, I felt quite virginial, unable to deal with the rampant stream of numbers, continuous, numbers that denote that we have won fuck all. So often, they scattered across the vision and meant nothing, and yet, we won some money. This crazy, brightly lit nonsensical hall full of faces old and young, desperately trying to win. To win something, anything. We went out into the smoking quadrangle. There were more consoles to play even out there. I know how they make their money. It was like a feeding trough. Machines everywhere. I was terrified. I drank to calm down.
We had a laugh though. During the final games, Becks and Luce drew on my face, with their Bingo pens. It was really quite funny. Final winnings were pretty good. We ended up winning more than we spent, basically.
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[08 May 2008|12:53am] |
Gotta be careful with the drinking. I have things to save for, and occasions present themselves regularly. On Friday, I have a celebration to go to. I don't know if i'm going yet, i'm waiting to know who else is. But I want to. I want to get dressed up, let my hair down, wear black, feel good, kick out and get drunk. I'm sick of feeling like the odd one out, as I often do. I am actually pretty fucking awesome, and it's time I realised it.
So I don't know if i'll be out this Friday, because I don't know who else is going at all. If nobody I know is, I won't go.
I was going to say something here, but I don't think it's the right thing, nor do I feel it is a healthy thing to admit. So I won't. Think of this as a space for something I would have written in the past, but i'm more mature now.
Your kiss is like dew, when I wake up, I long for your face. You are like the rising sun. You are like snowcaps, glistening on my peak. I love writing these thigns about you, because I don't need to, and it doesn't matter to me, if I do, or do not. You ain't going to be my lover, for one reason or another. And it ain't important. But you are my muse. I like watching you gasping for breath when you sink onto me, I like watching your eyes glaze over, I like it when you clutch at my shoulders, I like it when you dig in. I love it when your lips pass mine and you burst words into my cheek, the wet delights, the way you tightly seize my body during the heavenly grip.
And that is me. Vicarious, yet not.
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[08 May 2008|01:11am] |
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I tune the radio in, and I tune it out. I am comforted by crossed waves, and crossed swords, I like the way you tumble between the dial, the way you slip between the London static. I never want to find you, and yet I find myself searching for you within floor boards, like you were hidden deep in my apartment, under creaking nights, pitch black while i'm staggering through, naked and underlined, my fingers hitting walls and striking shadow. Sweat drips from me, i'm on my knees, drunk and curled up, like an ammonite, tumbled over like felled tree. My underbelly, exposed, my time is sharp splinters exposed on the mantlepiece, my soft skin bursts like pupae, and my heart buried in the garden.
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[08 May 2008|07:03pm] |
Good to see that i've got no hangups about writing anymore. Late at night is the best time, because i'm feeling that midnight buzz. In the day I rarely feel like writing; the long slow pace and dull trod of day are nothing compared to the sleek grace of night. And it doesn't appear to matter that i'm single, I know how to write about love, and like last night...sex, without having any of either!
Awesome. It's nice to know I still get horny. Fuckin' righteous.
Today has been bad in two ways, it's been too warm, and it's been OAP Thursday, the worst day of the week. However, this is the last one i'll have to do for two weeks. More, in fact. Three weeks, as I go back on a Friday, and not a Thursday.
So, there's something to be happy about. I have eight days off. Nine if you count the Tuesday. Ten if you count the second Tuesday. Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. I cannot quite drive home with the force I wish to how nice it will feel to be away from plates, cutlery, noise, heat and fucking irritating work for a week.
My one flaw you see, is my frustration, and my temper, and both are affected by work. Every single day. I just have to struggle through the weekend, and i'm nearly there. Once again, they're not letting me go without a fight, because thirty hockey players are coming from the hotel on Saturday night. If they're female hockey players, it might be interesting. But I don't think they will be.
No alcohol tonight, i'm going home straight away unless that bloody Rebecca shows up. Not likely, really, though the humid weather might bring her out. Humid weather also makes me want to hammer a fucking pink puppet up her frigging cave.
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[08 May 2008|07:13pm] |
In today's edition of our look back at five years of this fucking diary, here's the phenomenon known as "Shut 9", the most ridiculous in-joke in history.
http://zoomeister.livejournal.com/1162369.html
Stylish! Bye!
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