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head in oven
i have smoking emotions
mostly unlit tobacco
suicidal in the morning
gleeful in the afternoon
the blood in my face sags like crucifixion
like water nailed to a post
it sweeps the pages of othello
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wonder what it would be like to have Strong opinions
I walk down 12th today following the guts of an eviscerated cassette tape for blocks and blocks and blocks. An unseemly death and I don’t know why. Wonder if it was something good maybe like Paul’s Boutique or Dark Side of the Moon. Standing by the bus bench hips belonging to a sign-wielding-Little-Caesars-employed woman jitter to Twin Shadow coming out of my earbuds. The bus driver is late again he can SUCK MY DICK. Wonder what it would be like to develop a thought fully. Or have strong opinions about things and not be a numb and passive human drone.
I bought sushi with a drink at the mall food court and the price was 9.11. Like planes crashing into towers. The dude asked me midway through filling up my drink if I wanted something else with something in bleak mumblespeak. In my polite nature I said ‘yes.’ He turned around and spit into my coke. We made violent unbroken eye contact for 5 minutes until I had to go back to work.
feels like keeping my hands slipped into my boxers just makes me feel warm and safe inside. Like everything is going to be alright. It has the opposite effect on people sitting near me on buses, though.
No one hit on me today. Feels disappointing. I don’t think anyone even double took. I never double take people. It’s un/fa/ and I don’t exist to pander to people’s self esteem.
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December 9th
Last day of the semester today. Think I have post-term blues for not establishing any real connections or meaningful friendships. Christmas is coming. I walk around the campus in a daze listening to the sadder side of Twin Sister. Haven’t seen them in any aoty lists for 2011. Can’t add or drop classes because I have some book on Latin overdue with a $4 fine. Come home and fall asleep. Hope next term will be better and I’ll make some friends.
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BB stories
>sitting at my local ‘fair trade” coffee roasting house
>trying to cross-reference three different translations of The Possessed
>a girl wearing hot pink shorts with black tights sits down next to me, shoves books off the table
>I, incredulous to what has just happened, ask her why she would do such a thing
>she tells me that she wants to make our first encounter “out of the ordinary” as she is an “extraordinary” girl
>continues to tell me that I’m lucky indeed; she’s seen something special in me, she feels a kinship towards me, all while deeply holding my eyes with hers
>she cocks her head to the side and asks if I, like her, read the Animorphs books as a child
>”Look. I think you have misunderstood me. Just because I read books in public (although you will note I did take this high-backed booth in the corner of the shoppe for reasons of anonymity and seclusion; my flatmates are rather noisy and I come here for respite and succor) doesn’t mean that, like you, I seek attention or recognition for my interests.”
>she asks me if that’s a quote, she loves quotes, one of her favorites is Vonnegut’s “so it went”
>I flag down a barista and ask her for a copy of my receipt, and to put the expenses on my tab
>I knit my eyebrows and address Strawberry Shortcake: We are not the same. I am a literatus, you’re a mythological beast.
>I pack my books into my courier bag and exit the shoppe as her grotesque unicorns horn extends from her forehead, tears in her eyes as she returns to the sylvan beyond
*Pic related, only she was prettier and less slutty.
>finish my workout at the gym
>come outside and hold the door open for a girl at the shop next door
>in the rush to get to the door quickly she drops her notebooks etc
>she has on her a copy of the plays ‘Luther’ by John Osbourne, ‘Waiting for Godot’ by Beckett and ‘Fences’ by August Wilson
>tell her i love those plays, ask her how she found them
>said they were a little too formulaic for her
>understand what she is saying and suggest some Brecht for a break away from the Stanislavski style of theatre
>she blushes and asks me to tell her more
>give her a run down on the basic themes of Brecht and then say i gotta go
>says she doesn’t understand and that maybe we should talk in more depth
>Meet up later and try to explain my points more clearly at a local coffee shop
>she keeps getting me to go over things and steers the convo towards a normal social one, not one about plays
>feel annoyed that she’s a bit dense like this and not genuinely interested in plays as she first claimed, say i need to go
>she asks me if i like going to the theatre and i answer yes
>asks if we can go together on Monday
>say that i don’t think she’ll truly appreciate it and i don’t wanna waste my time
>she seems upset and says she really wants to go
>take her number and name (basically forces it on me) and make my excuses.
>delete her number from my phone asap because i don’t want to be associated with such a cretin.*
Okay one more,
>weather is bloomin marvellous so head out to the park to read
>sitting under the shade of a tree and a girl walks past
>sits down next to me and asks me what i’m reading
>Under the Volano by Malcolm Lowry, but i’m almost finished
>she giggles and tells me that’s funny whilst placing her hand on my leg (wut)
>i try to move away but she sits next to me and i can feel her breath in my ear
>begins to tell me how much she loves literature, and hates people who read shit like Twilight
>tell her that taste is subjective and she shouldn’t be so quick to judge books she obviously hasn’t read
>she guffaw’s loudly in my ear and lights up a cigarette
>asks me if i want one and i say no i’ve swallowed my allotted share of cancer today
>begins to tell me about how she listens to avant garde jazz to be ‘ironic’ and that her fav book is Dante’s Inferno
>inform her she misused the term ‘ironic’ and also that if she didn’t read the Divine Comedy in it’s entirety she’s a casual
>she gets offended and tells me her other favourites include fantasy books such as A Son-
>stop her there and inform her that if she’s wants to escape reality she should just kill herself.
>tell her i have to leave and she tries to give me her number
>politely take it as she kisses me on the cheek
>go home to bleach my skin and give her number to a homeless man, telling him the piece of paper is a lottery ticket.
>vomit on him and apologise.
Picture related, but she was prettier and less slutty
