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May 28, 2004
You feel a lot calmer today but your obsession still consumes you. You go weeks without thinking of her, but it's like a wet dog in the back of your mind and sometimes when your alone you can smell that wet dog smell and her words flutter through you like butterflies again. A spell has been cast on you to allow her to affect you like this. You tell your self it must have You can see you’re self in a new age shop begging them to remove what they explain you have done to your self. They are stupid and there beliefs are annoying. Almost as annoying as that Jehovah’s Witness who caught you fresh out the shower who refused to start an underground pamphlet trading ring. You are a post apocalyptic Tokyo movie where everything is aggressive and dark like when your drive at night and the only colours are black blue red green and yellow in burnt city shades. The bright streaks of green red and amber lights as you drive past in your mind take you away from your obsession and its beauty is greater than your heart which swells and heaves and you can breath from it just when you realise you are writing only for her. But then you realise its beauty is bigger than her and the night sky will swell and take you into its musky fingers and you wish you had a car so you could drive at night forever with the beads of your tears catching those streaks of light and being just as beautiful as the night. It is your love not hers, she can take nothing from you, you will always have what is yours. posted @ 7:11 PM + + + April 16, 2004Ok so your alone, you know you done bad. you have really fucked it up now. You woudn't feel so bad if there wasn't a slim chance of getting away with it. except her friends saw you. twice. looking really fucking noticable. You fucking twat. Everything was fine before, but you let her consume you again. Falling into your obsession. The goofy grin she had on her face before her friends could tell her you where there. The tensing of her sholders and the slow turning of her head. You didn't see this. But you know they told her. Bugger bugger fuck shit. posted @ 12:36 AM + + + April 15, 2004you know she might be reading this, but you don't fucking care any more. every oppertunity you get to make contact you do. And you know she does that thing, making her self avaliable but then not talking. You have seen her do it to other people and you know when she is doing it to you. the power of technology lets you know. and your watching, planning what your going to say always. its easy for you to forget about her, to let life wash it away and your happy. and your living. but when ever you smell a hint of he ron the air. your young wife. she consumes your world and your back here at your key board trying to let your insides be your out sides. posted @ 5:20 PM + + + April 05, 2004you remember the conversation from that day. her: you always seem to cling to being my friend, its not that i don't like you, but we live hours apart and where never close frineds..... you: you dim wit. After all this time you still haven't noticed, I like you..... I like like you... I always have, jesus. Its ok... I'm not expecting anything of you, I don't want a relationship, hell I dont even like you that much, but for these 5 years... well.... you know. her: oh. posted @ 12:00 AM + + + March 28, 2004You type to manny g's as you type her password, she hasn't changed it since you have known her, you wonder if she still knows yours. Her life seems a little full even though your not in it. She tells a girl you never met hat all her friends are temporary, [i]you[/i] would have stayed a life time. You remind your self how fucking elitist she is. How she has poor little rich kid syndrome and how her troubles are nothing compared to yours. You are without her, your emails even as just friends get no replys, she even deletes them. You check. She opened your last email at 3:21 am you hung there all night on the refresh to watch it. She kept Miss anon's email. What was she doing up at 3:20? You don't care if she see's other people, you really don't you dont care if some one touches her blond hair and her cherry lips, not even if theyhold her hand while walking home after the movie you saw hat summer. you are shades of grey. a shade of grey, right in the middle of black and her. All you can write about is her now. posted @ 11:23 PM + + + March 17, 2004Some times you want to write to her because your wearing you pretty pink top, you started looking like fairy princess but you don’t think you would like you as her. It annoys you that every time you write it’s because you want to write her. Her and her and her make you, you. You want to be a kite string made out of her red jumper. posted @ 9:23 AM + + + February 10, 2004Your young wife lies on her flat belly on your small double bed eating cherries, her lips and fingers stained crimson. You still think being a family in suburbia is going to be fun but she just lets the heat of noon beat down on her skin, waiting for something to change. Her blue eyes look at you so loving and calm in your memories, now suburbia makes her always look at the floor where she can't see where she is going. You want to wrap your arms around her thin body and hold her until she looks up again. You want to delete the world where she doesn't want to look but she doesn't look at you any more. You look at your self. You are the same person your young wife loved once but now she has gone but not left you. Your insides try to be your outsides to get a little closer to where she might be. Your head wonders where she might be and why your insides are not closer to her. You long to sit in her company to know she will sit with you. You haven't divorced but your insides turn inside out for some one else as well now but they know you know they know that your insides still would rather be with your young wife. posted @ 11:38 AM + + + January 22, 2004Your in the library writing this, you have had to move into the computer area where the librarians can’t give you snotty looks, things have gone very badly. You where sitting at a table just doing some reading for your course when an old man walked in waving cheerful hello’s to the librarians, using their first names, he asked for some keys and was handed a whole ring of library keys all shiny and jingling ready to plunder the local history books that might just be older then him. -clearly a library lackey and nothing worth note- A heavy book slams down on your desk startling you, he asks politely but firmly if you will keep quiet explaining he doesn’t like noise. You smile and not going back to your work. Mistake. Your in and out of your bag grabbing sheets of paper you need for reference when you get a stern warning that the zip on your bag is to loud and perhaps you will just leave it open. You smile and say sorry just as the familiar four beep tone of your mobile echo’s though the hollow library. He looks at you once, eyes wide before staring at the ‘please turn your mobile off’ sign. You laugh and apologise. Mistake. The librarians stare, you have just urinated on there golden rule and signed in pleaser when done. A sweep of sarcastic muttering flows from them. He mutters as he turns the page. His muttering really annoys you. ?you are becoming him. War. Mistake. You peel the crunchy foil back off your cream egg looking at the no food sign all the while keeping count of his every twitch. You move about the library muttering, removing books and replacing them upside down or just plain in the wrong place, an innocent blank face. You type a text message, click click clicking and tap your foot against the table. He breaks. Mistake. He gets up like a stroppy child his top lip overhanging his bottom and slides over to the very end of the table huddling over his book, his back to you. A girl watching laughs nervously in the tension. Continue. Everyone’s ears prick to your munching and fidgeting, three librarians pretend to be arranging books as they close in. Your silent. Are you the hunter or hunted? Your sister who has had regular updates via text message calmly writes that there is no private war here, but you should go for the frailest looking woman. you blow your nose and smile at here. She breaks. Mistake. ’Please’ the emotion in her voice amuses you, ‘just stop it!’ You laugh but are shaking inside. hunter or hunted? The other two begin to close in. Hunted. You move rapidly with the grace of some one running away. You hide. Hunted. You decide old people suck. You loose. posted @ 11:02 AM + + + January 17, 2004You sit in a café, cross legged on your chair waiting for your mother to visit, she is late again. Your sister smiles down at you, she works here with the uniform white. The owner once offered to let you gallery your art on the walls but the uniform white makes your cry. Your mother does not turn up and you flip the closed sign with finality in your sigh, linking arms with your sister you walk home with no tears to grace the occasion. Once you believed she would be here and help you find a job and a home, you could tell her you can't marry yet because you haven't seen the person you want to marry since they left you a year ago. You still think of them everyday, if they were to leave your thoughts you might forget him, then who would you marry? You are back in the café your lamb’s wool top itching as you sit on the step out back bent over, letting the cigarette smoke curl up through your hair. Your mother is out front with a one time offer to let you crawl back in the womb but you are smoking out back where she is not. One day you will look like her, and you will be happy with ten pink baby toes wriggling, Your child, your hair clear from the smell from those years ago when you were not there to crawl back into the womb. posted @ 2:18 PM + + + |
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