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[25 May 2008|01:21am] |
Here's how stupid my OCD has gotten. Before I posted this post, I decided that I simply must search for the meaning of the word disingenuous, or all hell would break loose. So that's what I did. In fact, I copied and pasted it directly from thefreedictionary.com within which I found it.
We've been through a lot of things. I and my Bell Inn crew. Nothing truly prepared us for tonight. The pub was packed with diners. Eighty eight, a dissatisfying number, which is two less than ninety. If it was ninety, this would be some sort of rounded number, and so a legitimisation of the undiluted hell that we went through. Seventy of those had starters, at least.
I survied. I'm off tomorrow, because of a straight swap.
I need to have a wash, because tonight's events have left me feeling as clean as a tramp with a particularly poor sense of personal hygiene. I'll do that tomorrow.
Everyone I know is engaged. I am not. This is pleasing in a sense, but also, it reminds me constantly that i'm not. It is bittersweet. I'm always struggling with this. Am I never going to be? I don't know. I honestly do not know.
Nobody presents themselves as a possible. Ever. I know who I would want in an ideal word. It isn't an ideal world. Things happen, consequence, and fact. I'm realistic, romantic but realistic. I dream about her, I think about the bliss of her kiss, the satisfaction of knowing I was hers, and she was mine. Frustratingly, I know how ace I am, and I know how ace she is, but the chance, forever, has gone. I would alight her tiniest nerve, I would hasten my touch at her behest, slow it at her call...I often think I love her, yet I know this is not love stricken with heartbreak or longing. It just is a love. It's a love i can control. I have to. If I didn't, I would act out of character, of instinct, of foolish petulance. Having grown up so much, I control myself. My reasons are as such. I will not do stupid things for my own gain, and I will not upset the equilibrium.
And this my friends makes me pretty fuckin' awesome.
But also, an idiot. A massive fuckfaced idiot fuck.
Something has to give in my head. I'm not unhappy by any means, I just want to get all this out of my head. Soon, i'll be going into Canterbury on a regular basis, and i'm going to find a girl. I know there's one out there, i've heard of them. There are women out there that like men like me. I'm sure there are. Even though I am a little bit odd. Some girls like odd. I have other things to make up for that, anyway.
I just have to find out what those things are.
Blech. Well night then, shit fucks.
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[25 May 2008|01:41am] |
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The rain is pleasant. Through my window, I see flowers blooming, trees swaying, night is delicate..like a flowing black dress. Tresses drift, shoes click. Heels laugh and trip and parquet floors shine with vigoured step, a neckline dips, a hand turns upwards, towards a neck. A sigh befits us, a soul dips. Dark fingers pounce, my black fingers invade your hair. Night falls, we are shadows, together, curling and drifting on the dancefloor, anything else is invasive. My suit is covered in your hands, your dress is coloured and burned with my hazel eyes. I cannot say a word, vowels turn stormy on my tongue. You drown me in unsent letters.
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[25 May 2008|10:40am] |
The reason I brought up engagements and all that is that Tom is now engaged. Don't get me wrong, I think this is awesome. I am very happy for Tom, as he's a very nice bloke indeed, and deserves it. However, it means that almost my entire male company are now engaged. You can probably understand how I might feel slightly isolated. Like there's something wrong with me.
I mean, I was engaged once, but I made something of a hash of that one. Hee.
Oh well. Search continues.
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[25 May 2008|02:02pm] |
Later on, my made up history of the countries. Don't worry, i'll be doing England at some point. It's good natured fun. First will be France. Don't start, alright? I love the French and France, but some good natured japery will take place involving talk of onions, baguettes and garlic. Hey, when I do England i'll be doing queueing, moaning about everything, and people on local news shows with faces like the backs of shovels spouting ill considered views about things they know nothing about. Hey, this is England!
That's later.
Good to know Europe hates us. 14 points in the Eurovision. Hey Europe, we stil love you!
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[25 May 2008|04:37pm] |
Some plumber who looks like a foetal Ronnie 'o' Sullivan being surprised by a slamming door performed on Britain's Got Talent. He was actually really good, not a sickening shiny foreheaded bawling dunce like most of so-called singing acts on there.
Anyway, newspaper berk Piers Morgan said this to him, because he thinks it's well witty and that. Prick. He said
"A thousand women in this audience must be developing plumbing problems right now!", either meaning that women were wetting themselves, or spraying lady cum into their knickers. You disgusting pillock, Margan. Get a life, you prick. If you're to allude to gushing female vaginas, do it properly. For god's sake.
IF THAT WAS ME, i'd be saying.......
"Well mate, I think loads of women in the audience are coming themselves silly in this audience, juddering like crash test dummies in a nightclub, at your sheer singing voice. Right now, a thousand of them are leaking naughty femme juice down their pissing legs at the sound of your fucking voice. Even if you don't win, at least you're going to get well fucking laid, you filthy cunt magnet. I say yes, now get off the fucking stage, Eros."
That's what i'd say, anyway. Sniff. I don't like Piers Morgan. Do any of you dislike Piers Morgan? If so, write to the usual adress, or go bollocks, yeah?
I'm in a lovely mood today. I think I got my naughty writing mojo back. I might do a GOOD LETTER BAD LETTER later. I might just stove my head in with a fuckin' book! What do you want from me? Eh?
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