EXCERPTS FROM MY DIARY
14th February
Script:
Meagre pursuits this day. A yin-yang of brandy colour stuck in mundane or is it the muddy brown from an evanescence cut on the lip? Peut-etre. (notez que j'utilise beaucoup de mots du francais? Parce qu'il me fait sembler comme un artiste fantastique, vous voyez?)
As the hair sticks to the blade I watch the sea green bathroom tiles with singular effort squatting on a toilet seat. We have been around sometime now-unknown, unseen, a Scorpio, a Cancerian, both caesareans, both idiots, assholes both-one born with a face that scared his mother and one, a miracle baby with no particular charisma to accompany that title.
Moving away at break-neck speed sometimes.
The blade moves with nervousness, finding a place to move on my brother's pimply face. It's a bloody war, this quazi-first shave of his and I be the only spectator with a bad bout of stomach cramps.
A sign of crossroads, I dare say.
At points from which we take paths away and afar-from no 'proper' children to secretly bad adults. Whad'ya got mate? A 17 and a 16, with no place to go.
Pause.
This is where I tell him I love him, this is where I beg him to change.
Cut.
A time reversal, s'il vous plait? (Snickers)
Rewind. Play.
Still there, miles apart, heads twisted in deadbeat stance, far away from anything or anyone who would hold us close.
"Ouch!" another scar he took for life.
Soon it will be over my love. This awkwardness to be suppressed by betrayals, heartbreaks and hate-two different concepts of the world conjoin to form new mistakes and fresh disappointments.
This is where I wish I knew a good love song. You know, some good background music?
"So how's it?"
A call from below, the penthouse on the 17th floor pulls airy ghosts to mamma gravity.
Cuts, bruises, garish clothes.
Bad hair, aching back and red eyes.
Blip. Whrr..Stop...
Script:
Meagre pursuits this day. A yin-yang of brandy colour stuck in mundane or is it the muddy brown from an evanescence cut on the lip? Peut-etre. (notez que j'utilise beaucoup de mots du francais? Parce qu'il me fait sembler comme un artiste fantastique, vous voyez?)
As the hair sticks to the blade I watch the sea green bathroom tiles with singular effort squatting on a toilet seat. We have been around sometime now-unknown, unseen, a Scorpio, a Cancerian, both caesareans, both idiots, assholes both-one born with a face that scared his mother and one, a miracle baby with no particular charisma to accompany that title.
Moving away at break-neck speed sometimes.
The blade moves with nervousness, finding a place to move on my brother's pimply face. It's a bloody war, this quazi-first shave of his and I be the only spectator with a bad bout of stomach cramps.
A sign of crossroads, I dare say.
At points from which we take paths away and afar-from no 'proper' children to secretly bad adults. Whad'ya got mate? A 17 and a 16, with no place to go.
Pause.
This is where I tell him I love him, this is where I beg him to change.
Cut.
A time reversal, s'il vous plait? (Snickers)
Rewind. Play.
Still there, miles apart, heads twisted in deadbeat stance, far away from anything or anyone who would hold us close.
"Ouch!" another scar he took for life.
Soon it will be over my love. This awkwardness to be suppressed by betrayals, heartbreaks and hate-two different concepts of the world conjoin to form new mistakes and fresh disappointments.
This is where I wish I knew a good love song. You know, some good background music?
"So how's it?"
A call from below, the penthouse on the 17th floor pulls airy ghosts to mamma gravity.
Cuts, bruises, garish clothes.
Bad hair, aching back and red eyes.
Blip. Whrr..Stop...
Labels: Dark Corners
posted by De.vile at 6:27 PM
11 Comments:
you silly you! would you ever know how lovely you are and how wasted is all this time in pondering over thoughts that criss cross you.
it's gonna be one great day to mingel your thought patterns with mine.i see chaotic colors erupting.life..yeah thats life--colors of violence.
peace be ours!(haha)
I wanted to be the first one to comment on this post. But darn you, for getting here before I did.
Its something personal. Not about me for the first time. I cant see him slipping away into this awful world, if you understand.
GOOD STUFF!
Sometimes we can’t help someone we care about when they seek to explore paths we feel might lead to hurt. But you can always be there, for when they suddenly need a hand to pull back. The heart is the lifeline. Great post.
Rock on!
bad hair sometimes makes one look gorgeous :):)
Keshi.
I find it hard to vomit with a spoon in my mouth. Do you believe in subtracting light from minus 1-34. Bad hair is all I know.
Bienvenue encore! Vous parlez francais aussi! Bon :)
Ces mots sont tres mysterieux et il y a un frisson d'energie dans les mots. J'ai aime lire ce post!
Excusez mon pauvre francais mais il y a long temps que je l'ai pratique!
Oh the mess makes me gorgeous allright and is a reason to many of me posts.
O and darkness works and spoons are outta the mouth. Vomitting is easier.
Believe me Anil, theres no way I can correct your french. Mines all sprench-ish or franish, vous voyez.
je crois cest une langue de snobs, mais J'aurais tort aussi.
I've read this post just about every day since you posted it hoping I could think of something to say about it other than that it was beautiful. I've failed thus far.
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