Today
today everyone looks beautiful
today everyone looks sad
and beautiful
today i got bad news
today i said “fuck it”
today i feel like i could love the world
and not care
if it broke my heart a million times.
i love this song, it was an ‘our song’ once, long ago, for a girl who’s name i don’t even remember.
that’s a lie, i remember.
hello floss, hope you are well and happy and surrounded by people who love you, i am, i learned that today.
tomorrow my life starts anew.
Stronger than steel
why must the universe
be so crazy,
why is the world so cruel,
my titanium lady?
why is life so hard
so barmy,
so tough,
my one woman army?
how i wish
i could send more than words,
how i wish i
could end your hurt.
you are stronger than steel,
shinier than gold,
brighter than the sun,
my titanium lady.
Like a balloon
When my little boy was alive, he made a lot of friends, which is pretty cool for someone who hadn’t even learned how to talk. I guess he just had a lot of natural charm, which I suppose he got from his mother.
There was this family two doors down from us. They were what a lot of people would call rednecks or bogans or white trash or pikeys. Their kids loved Jojo and were round our place all the time. They were 13 and 9 and 6 and 5, although I can’t remember their names, except Kaatje the 6 year old. We used to let them take him for walks, and sometimes we wondered if we were doing the right thing. We were though, they loved him.
They came to the funeral, the whole family, there were more than 20 of them, and they cried, just like we all did. It was nearly Christmas, there was a row of naked silver birch trees outside a large, frosty window, and we all sung Silent Night, although half the people there were German and sung Stille Nacht, it worked rather well though.
Afterwards those kids asked where he was, and even though I was an atheist, I told them that he was up in the sky, with God and that he was happy. “What,” Kaatje asked, “like a balloon?”
“Yeah,” I said, “like a balloon.” and bit my tongue to hold back the tears.
How do you explain the words “gone forever” to a 6 year old? how do explain those words to yourself?
HoneyCute
A friend of mine sends me porn, I’m not sure why, I think he just wants to show off. So, to oblige him, I click on the latest link he’s sent, scroll through a bunch of images, message him back and call him a ‘sick bastard’. This seems to make him happy and I go back to what I was doing.
After a minute or two I can hear this rustling noise and the sound of computer keys being struck coming from my speakers. I check, and its a pop-up left behind by my mate’s porn site. Its one on those live web-cam things and there is a young woman, in her undies, on her bed, typing into her laptop. Now, she’s an atractive woman and the underwear is very sexy but the sight before me is not sexy at all, its one of the least sexiest things i’ve ever seen. She looks deeply sad and is curled up in a ball, hugging her knees. She looks like she’s been crying.
Underneath the video stream is a comment thread, it reads like this:
HoneyCute (21:42): say something baby…
HoneyCute (21:43): talk to me
HoneyCute (21:44): cmon i know you there
HoneyCute (21:46): answer baby…
HoneyCute (21:47): where are you???
HoneyCute (21:47): hello!
HoneyCute (21:48): hellooooo
HoneyCute (21:50): say something baby…
I should just click ‘close’ and think no more about it, but her sadness compells me to say something. The conversation goes like this:
You (21:51): you look so sad
HoneyCute (21:51): ok, you interested in meeting or just porn?
You (21:51): neither. why are you so sad?
HoneyCute (21:52): What do you like doing to girls??
You (21:52): you don’t have to demean yourself like this
HoneyCute (21:52): Do you wanna to treat me like a whore? You can…
You (21:52): no!
HoneyCute (21:53): Do you wanna fuck my ass? It hurts but I like that kinda…
You (21:53): i don’t want to hurt you
HoneyCute (21:53): What do you want to do to me? I don’t mind…
You (21:54): i want to talk to you
HoneyCute (21:54): Sorry but I don’t do weirdos.
Weird bitch
No one could understand why she had done it. She had seemed so happy. She hadn’t always been like that, she had always been rather a melancholy girl, but six months ago she had met a man online and from that point onwards her whole personality had changed. She’d seemed lighter somehow and would smile nearly all the time, she started taking an interest in her appearance and had even dropped 12 pounds.
She talked about nothing else, and we all kinda found it a little boring but we were just so glad to see her happy, that we listened. We got every gory little detail, the poems he wrote her, his confessions of undying love for her, word for word accounts of every IM he had ever sent and far more than we wanted to know about what they got up to on Skype.
We had been a little wary for her, after all this was some guy, thousands of miles away, that she had never actually met, but they sounded so well matched, they shared the same hobbies, liked the same movies and music and TV. Generally, we were all just delighted for her.
So why today? Why would she do something like that on the very day that he was going to fly in and they were going to finally meet?
As the paramedics took down her body, I noticed that her laptop was still on. I navigated my way to her Facebook page and found their thread, just to see what had happened to make her do something like that. My blood froze. There it was, six months of chat. Except it wasn’t, it was just her. There was nothing from him. Tens of thousands of remarks and LOLs and <3s but all from her, just one side of the conversation. I scrolled up and up until my fingers ached, just hoping for some sign of him, tears streaming down my face. It was all there, the poems she’d written him, her responses to comments he’d never made, answers to questions he’d never asked, an acceptance of a proposal he’d never offered. My spine chilled at the recollection of that day, when she’d bounced into work, bubbling with love, telling us all that he had proposed.
I kept scrolling up until I found it. The only comment he had ever made to her, right at the top, six months ago. “Who the fuck are you? You weird bitch!!!”
Thank you
I’m not going to be around as much for the next few months. I have found a new book deal, and as a ‘so called writer’ I have to go with it. Its a dull technical tome on how to program smart-phones, much like my last book. It will contain no erections or wet pussies or orgasms (although I will try to sneak one or two past my editors) and will be as dry as hell to write, but it will mean that I can still continue to put food on my table using the words in my head. There is a certain irony to this deal – ask anyone who knows me and they will tell you that I can barely operate my own smart-phone, and I am the world’s worst ever DrawSomething player.
“Writing is about the only profession where nobody is surprised that you make absolutely no money”
Someone.
I would much rather be here, banging away at the keyboard with one hand, and my cock with the other, and I will still try to post at least daily. I have had a wonderful few months here and have enjoyed your company more than I can say.
I am currently in the process of knocking out the book outline and negotiating a contract that won’t leave me poorer than when I started, so I should be around for a bit.
Thank you everybody who has commented and liked and followed or just even read my ramblings. I love you all and have jacked off to every one of your comments and gravatar pics – although I’m not certain that that is a good definition of love.
yours
~ k )
Fuck them
Today some shit happened that left me feeling all sad, but its cool ’cause I know how to handle that kind of fuckery: turn on the playstation, roll a spliff that’s bigger than I am, order the hottest peri-peri chicken money can buy and turn the music up to fucking 11. I’m telling you, that shit works, drown out any feelings, that will, soothe any aching soul.
Now, I know that this will piss my neighbours off (the music, not the chicken) and I know that they will call the police; after all, my sound system could demolish a god-damn city block, but fuck them. I have to listen to their dogs barking all day and them bickering all night so, likeisay, fuck them.
Anyway, I’m dancing round my little little living room to Professor Longhair, Busta Rhymes, Amy Winehouse and the like, in my underwear, with my teddy and my daft hat on, the mother of all joints dangling from my lips, when the Old Bill turn up. As I answer the door, shuffle decides to play NWA’s ‘Fuck Tha Police!’ I watch this WPC ‘s face contorting in visible pain with the lyrics and its all I can do not to start giggling. Anyway, at least they don’t come in and find the bag of weed on my coffee table or all the girls tied up in my basement, so I guess I get off light with being told to turn my shit down. All the same, fuck tha police!
Empty
She can still hear him crying. It has been over a year, but she can still hear him. She knows its an hallucination, that it isn’t real but that doesn’t make it stop. There is only one thing she can do. She climbs the stairs, flicks on the light in his room. Its just as it had been on the day he had gone. Untouched. She remembers the sirens, the icy panic, the flashing lights, the hospital and the sorry, pathetic expressions on the doctors and nurses faces. She looks into the empty cot and the crying stops. All she can hear is the wind in the trees and the sounds of her own sobbing.
Not tonight
it is hard to see the stars in london most nights.
not tonight.
tonight, the sky is naked.
a giant letter L hangs in the west,
formed from jupiter, venus and a sharp full moon.
i wish you could see it.
i have cried a lot of late,
good tears,
each one like a star, bright and precious
against the dark and cold of the sky.
shuffle played this as i stared up at it:
people think its a sad song,
no.
it is a song of hope and friendship.
my life is full of both right now.
If I could
If I could sing
I would sing you a song
If I could paint
I would paint your form
If I could fly
I would fly to you
If I could swim
I would cross that ocean
If I had a magic marker
I would write filthy words
All over your body
Something sad
Something sad happened Yesterday. Later I found this quote:
We always thought we’d look back on our tears and laugh, but we never thought we’d look back on our laughter and cry.
People ain’t no good
These Nick Cave lyrics make me cry and cry and cry.
People just ain’t no good
But I think that’s welll understood
You can see it everywhere you look
People just ain’t no good
We were married under cherry trees
Under blossom we made our vows
All the blossoms come sailing down
Through the streets and through the playgrounds
The sun would stream on the sheets
Awoken by the morning bird
We’d buy the Sunday newspapers
And never read a single word
People they ain’t no good
People they ain’t no good
People they ain’t no good
Seasons came, Seasons went
The winter stripped the blossom bare
A different tree now lines the streets
Shaking its fists in the air
The winter slammed us like a fist
The windows rattling in the gales
To which she drew the curtains now
Made out of her wedding veils
People they ain’t no good
People they ain’t no good
People they ain’t no good at all
To our love send a dozen white lilies
To our love send a coffin of wood
To our love let all the pink-eyed pigeons coo
That people they just ain’t no good
To our love send back all of our letters
To our love a valentine of blood
To our love let all the jilted lovers cry
That people they just ain’t no good
It ain’t that in their hearts they’re bad
They can comfort you, some even try
They’ll nurse you when you’re ill of health
And they’ll bury you when you go and die
But in their hearts they’re bad
They’d stick by you if they could
But that’s just bullshit baby
People just ain’t no good
People they ain’t no good
People they ain’t no good
People they ain’t no good
People they ain’t no good at all
A creation myth
There is a small village somewhere, somewhen. One of those simple villages that have been around since long before the big cities and will still be around long after the cities and their gleaming towers will have crumbled into dust, In the centre of the village sits an old lady and a small child. The old lady is telling the child a story, it is the oldest story in the world, it is the story of the world, and how it came to be. If I remember correctly, it goes something like this:
In the begining the world was empty and grey and there was no life, not a leaf, not a frog, not a sausage. The only things to exist were two stone giants, called Wassisface and Wassername, and they stood like gods at either ends of the earth. Now, these giants were so enormously tall that they could see right the way round to the other side of the world, and one day they caught sight of each other and fell immediatley in love. Sadly though, both the giants were so large and heavy that if either of them moved the whole world would tip over and roll off into space. So they called to one another, so loud and powerful were their voices. They sang songs to one another and told jokes and made each other laugh. But they were sad too, for they could not hold one another as they so dearly wished to, and they cried with this sadness. They cried so much that they filled all the rivers and streams with their tears and all the lakes and seas and oceans. However, their tears nourished the dry land and things began to grow in it and it turned green and purple and silver and very lush, just like it is today. And the oceans teemed with little life which grew and crawled onto the green land and became all the life we see today. All the buttertflies, and rhinososauruses and cockroaches, all the peacocks and snails and all the animals and birds you can see, or think of, or even imagine, they all came from those tears. And people too, we all came from those same tears and that same sadness.
They are still there today, Wassisface and Wassername – the old lady tells the child – the two giants, standing at the opposite ends of the world, calling to each other, laughing and crying. And you can still hear them if you know how – whispers the old lady – listen carefully to the thunder next time there is a storm and you will hear them laugh. Let the rain fall on your face gratefully for it is their tears and without them we would not be here.
kyle mew 