spittle from me to you.

"drink three bottles of cheap red wine then post about it on the internet."

Saturday, October 22, 2005

I'll watch you for hours after you fall asleep.

Sometimes I can see your face change shape in the darkness. Like when I was a child and I thought that the pictures in my room came to life when the lights went out. Through that same trick of light I can almost see you change from your beautiful pure self into something wicked. Your full mouth, high brow, distending into some ugly misshapen mask. I can hardly recognise you sometimes, as I watch you for hours, the bones of your face shifting with the car lights from the street outside. The sick yellow glare of the streetlamp merely adds to the Hades effect. Sometimes I would drive a stake through your heart, but I fear you don’t have one.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

everyone i like is dead

why the hell do cool, talented, most excellent dude people have to die horribly and before they should. i was watching totally bill hicks last night for the twelfty billionth time and for some reason this time it just fucking depressed me. that dude there.. that one with the brown teeth and the lung capacity of a two year old.. the only man who’s ever made me laugh so much i maybe peed a little bit… that dude has been dead for almost eleven years. that dude has been dead more than half my life. how thoroughly depressing is that.

fuck it, i’m going to listen to some jeff buckley.


(I love you goat boy, you shaggy ol’ thing.)

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

when my father died

When my father died, I was six. He didn’t die right away, and he didn’t die with dignity. He was torn and cut away from my heart in tiny poisoned pieces. Bright severed strings of flesh that once connected us now lay against my sides like jellyfish tentacles, and every touch leaves a welt that won’t stop hurting. Sometimes they hurt so much I think I’m dying. And sometimes I think I’d like to die but it’s never quite enough to kill.

He was like a lover who left me. Blasting me in two for no identifiable reason and with no apology. Like an acid burn that doesn’t hurt at first contact I carried on thinking I was okay. Blinked and touched and smiled and fucked my way through a thousand other fathers, every one never quite living up to the original. Every one was just slightly wrong. None of them were him, but I’d keep looking.

Some times I think I’ll just never get over you.