Wednesday, 21 October 2009

Funny World #5

Twenty, ten and nine. It's nice to think that everything will be perfect, it's what makes life beautiful and not realistic. It's a pleasantly stupid trait to have.

I'm going to think about making a plan, sit backwards on the floor up against gravity like a dog chasing its tail that sums up my life better than I can. I hate it.

I want to marry the wall and pretend I am that girl in Holland.

Mag ik in je naveltje roeren? No, I didn't think so.

I will sink with this ship into boredom with a hard flower and dust. I've been busy on my own planet for sometime now and I'm still not entirely satisfied with my efforts, maybe I should build a bridge and make fresh tea, and everything will be alright.

There are only so many personalities to go around before they start recurring.

Cut up interactions form my last option. I may as well take your hand or eat your face, then perhaps you'll get the point.

Give me back my mind from under the fridge. I want to hold up the planet to the sun and give it something to think about. She's just the same again and again, this self esteem is a state of mind, and I don't mind if I look like a state. If I bide my time for one second too long then maybe I'll sleep tonight.

Repeat the opening sequence and finish.

I get the same comfort from thinking that I'm not thinking what other people are thinking. A constant irony existing in a state of flux. Can I get you anything else?

I didn't give much thought to what came before this, I said.

Will someone shave off my eyebrows and staple them to the wall so I can see my own expression, lost and stupid.

Fuck Paris, I'm not going to fuck this culture. I'm looking for a place, a little village hiding what it never sees. This is fucking massive, he proclaimed. It's people like this you have to feel sorry for.

I didnt respond. Golden beard watching me, feed me a piece of my ego so I can choke on it, dead sweet.

If you want to talk really stupid, you can carry your conversation kicking and screaming to the pavement and throw it into a bush, I said.

At this point I'd noticed I'd had too much coffee and cocaine.

I'm from the other side of the world, backwards and never in the first place. I'll find this amazing outside somewhere.

Skinny love, everything is the same and forgotten about, cut off and cut up.

I look in by myself and find another version smiling at the ceiling with artex dimples wandering everywhere towards you.

Hello I repeat hello I repeat hello I repeat hello, do you have the time? Well give it back so I have an idea of where I'm going.

I met an African drummer that seemed to be the right thing to do at the time, now it's all a blur that didn't break this happy pulp or joyous mode. A gag reflex and a strange composition is not always better, and this proved to be expensive.

Carlos keeps selling this coke, and he doesn't really think about walking around scared. His eyes don't feel like your face keeps smiling at you, and you're just not thinking.

Leaves were falling as I left the house and headed down the street. I held out my hand, instantly catching a stray leaf from its branch. In that instance the entire world had altered, and I placed it in my pocket.

I think I'm going to strike up a residency because I have no time to do my job. I fucking love you and I want to know what I want to know.

I'm on a train to meet a few years that I've lost. I turned it down before and now I'm wasted, in the corner with people looking at me mucky, and inside a toilet.

But I'm not complaining.

I couldn't give a fuck, just give me an exact time because I don't know myself well enough after twenty two years. How do you not know someone after so long? A stranger to myself, a musical where I don't know the words in a shadow of my own hand.

Listen to me, both of me, do you hear me? I am moving together and apart in an apparent tradition, and I'm going to stay here for a little while longer.

Get the cocaine main in the right hand pocket of the leg, take it off and show nobody.

I had no idea what he was talking about, Antoine Artaud, watching me through a sullen expression.

I stared into his head at the blonde girl with cat-like visions. Beautiful feline, I want to know what your lips are perceiving, cleaving the air as a bird in motion velvet, and walking the sky spinning circular. Where have you gone, green neon square stood outside climbing walls like a scorpion. Touch me so I can feel your sting sensation, raped by a sherbert dip and smiling without knowing.

Come and find the next lovable string along so admirable, left as clear as blue smears on our skin. I'll probably look back on this and laugh, but not before I've mopped these floors and not too soon after I've forgotten the moral of the story.

The sky looks warm with viscous diddles and I have some good news for you. Don't let them slip you their dirty limericks. He spoke softly.

Didn't we say we were going to New York for Christmas?

I am 95 percent vinegar and pith, possible 5 percent water when writing my brain down.

My eyes were animals that needed feeding.

Like the sun setting over water, I can see more and more doctors that look less and less sane. I'll try to be proud inside this line between brilliance and stupidity.

Take off your surgical gloves the dissection is over.

What did you find? He croaked.
I found nothing, I simply replied from inside a cave of smoke.
Well look harder.
But my eyes are stones for you to hold. Take them, I don’t need them. There is nothing worth looking at anymore.
The words left my moist lips like sounds entering the nostrils of a venetian mask, briefly catching the underside of colours and light, before disappearing forever.

No comments:

Post a Comment