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[17 Jun 2008|02:03am] |
Tomorrow i'll tell you a story. It'll be a story that you'll find amusing. It's all dependant. Upon whether I can be bothered to do it when I wake up.
How softly but surely you guide me to your side. You grasp my hand, and place it on your hip. But I know you don't want to dance. I bite and nibble your bottom lip, you draw my dark blood. Copper and crimson floods your dress, and I am submerged. With broken flaming fingers you tear into me, and I know nothing else will do but my flesh upon yours, my teeth acheing to penetrate. They chatter and clatter at your gate, they offer up charms and poems, but all they want is your laces undone, your naked skin.
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[17 Jun 2008|02:27pm] |
Bonzo fucked the pipe,
in front of his gran, oh yes,
she died of shock, no!
When i'm wanking, yeah,
I think of a rotten egg,
it makes me feel cheep.
Sling out the foetus,
an incinerator job,
I think you'll find, mate
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[17 Jun 2008|05:56pm] |
Ideas for first dates.
1. Bin kicking on a Sunday afternoon.
2. Elbowing in crowds.
3. Betting on anus fighting.
4. Poking jellyfish with sticks.
5. Smashing eggs.
6. Watching The Fly. The remake with Jeff Goldblum.
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[17 Jun 2008|10:14pm] |
My evening is hopelessly dull. I tried reading a book, but I forgot the place at which I last left it, and so have lost the essence of the book. I'm trying not to capitulate to this boredom and go out. I shall not fail this time. Not again.
I suppose I should do some writing. I have an hour to last.
Stay tuned......
Just need to get some of that green tea.
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[17 Jun 2008|10:29pm] |
Whenever I feel like writing something I stop too many times. I lapse, I rein in, I habitually stop myself and think why am I bothering? To what end is it for? Why? For whom? For what? All this stop-start stuttering stops me from writing a lot of the time. It's frustrating.
There's no reason for me not to write things that I want to write. I suppose I just think they won't mean anything. Whenever I do write something I think is good, and I get an initial buzz, that buzz soon fades, and all i'm left with is another entry, another succession of words...blunt..lifeless...cold and dying on the page, all the ink sliding off and pooling into a grey slurry. Perhaps if I wrote these things on a page, or drew a picture of them, i'd have something more than this daisy chain of words i'll leave lying around like litter.
I wrote two things this week I thought were nice. But with what absolute point? Where are they going to take me? I don't know. I'm at a point where i'm not sure what to do with my writing, or what my point of writing is. I know what it can do, i'm just not sure it has the same power, the same direction, the same force.
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For the last three days, i've had the song Best of You by the Foo Fighters in my head. I once had a negative association with this song. Now, I love it, I think it's raw, pure, and intense. My affection for this record after a negative association, is a direct result of a real life re-assumption of a dear friendship. I think that's worth mentioning, it's a song that sustains hope in me, that sometimes when something looks bad, it can turn out better.
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[17 Jun 2008|11:52pm] |
Fucking stick this in your envelopes, yeah?
Ho ho.
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[17 Jun 2008|11:52pm] |
Lastly tonight, a reminder that soon i'll be getting my hair cut and being hopefully sponsored to do it. Some people think i'd look good with short hair, some think my long hair is good. It's not the point though. The point is I want to do it, and i'm gonna do it soon. I think i'm going to do it for breast cancer.
I need to find out how to do donations and shit through the net. When I do, i'll tell you lot about it. Early stages. I need to think about how to do it. And what haircut.
Expect a backdated post soon, with the details. What i'll do is post it and fling it somewhere in 2012 or something, so that it stays first on my page. You won't be able to see it on the friends list, because obviously it's a backdated post.
Yes, so...big thing for me. Watch this space. No, that one.
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