Sunday, 22 May 2011

Exit. Chapter 2

I turned my head towards the window as the weird out of the in the mind family uncle seemed to ignore the fact that my headphones were in my ears white cords sticking out of my hair, wires as if I was a cyber to shoot meat or some other monster made out of metal which had to include wires in his construction or defeat.

He was the only reason I wanted to return to my dreadful town of sick childhood memories, as he'd be in the pile, sitting with a cane, licking the borders of the country with the throne. He'd open the hands which hold war, until he'd blow with the lights knocked out.

Like the credits.

I just sat there barely noticing that the credits actually began to roll. Romeo and Juliet, we'd be one.

With Greenwood, as he'd hurl me on the bed, because that's what he does and he kisses my stomach, harassing my thoughts to put me on his shoulders as I shall see him kiss me in the reflection of mind. A monologue he'd give in a slit throat.

He'd be love.

He'd be hung.

He'd be taken from the sight of evil in the mornings to shield in the night. Oh, rest, deep knight.

Colour the bare walls.

I'm scared.

Let me go home to the birds on the grounds, as we'd lay looking at magpies and I'd kiss Jonny's line.

The walls would be bare and I'd be asked about the lines or the faces they'd have to greet, the relatives, but I'd say nothing, as I'd chew the belief.

I told nothing.

I'd get asked.

Lots of loss.

Soon enough I mastered to answer nothing and to fall down on my bed calmly thinking of the black head without anyone disturbing with their curiosity or endless suggestions, advices and help. We’d break up eventually, if it was in real life, but here where I was God and I was the one making the rules, he never did. We faded into a parallel universe, if I’d find someone else, but I’d return to him in the end. I'd like a bunch of flowers, but the tree wouldn't die with the words and allergic leaves to french. Jonny would be sitting there on my bed, his hair on his eyes as I’d storm into my room and spill my heart out after some other break-up. He’d always be there, unlike some real bastard boyfriend from reality. He'd stroke my neck. Tension. We'd fuck. That’s why I liked him.

I closed my eyes, leaning my head against his shoulder, telling him about Graham, as he bit his lip in jealousy. I'd look to kiss his brow and bite it off. But then he knew that it was going to be a quick fling and soon enough I’d be back with the ribbed sense. Because reality and the risk of breaking into it, is rather risky, no matter how much I wanted. Jonny nodded at my thoughts, a small smile upon his lips. I smiled back.

But now, Graham was taking my thoughts and my free time, licking it all off, overcoating it, as we'd lay, him above and Jonny watching, clapping.

I guess for that occasion and the fact it was in my head and rather personal, I’d jump from my daily clothes for the occasion. I had two different attires. Not that different actually.

Version 1:

-Purple hoodie, unzipped. If it’s amazingly cold cashmere hoodie same colour.

-Tight jeans. Screw cold. If ill and teeth chattering cold the wool pants mum finds ideal for her adorable daughter.

-Plain white t-shirt, if it is cold long sleeved white shirt, if amazingly cold wool sweater. Yes, if the ice age comes I shall be prepared with two wool sweaters on myself.

-High top black converse. Cold? Black docs. Or docs if I feel like it.

Version 2:

-Red hoodie, unzipped or halfway. If it’s amazingly cold cashmere brick red hoodie. Reminder: next time I go shopping change the irritating brick coloured hoodie to a calmer red.

-Skinny jeans. Another annoying pair of wool pants only this time by my auntie who is a wannabe clothes designer, who actually made it to fashion TV, ONCE.

-Plain light blue shirt with a v-cut. If cold aka winter long sleeved light blue shirt. The Day After Tomorrow comes to reality? Light blue wool sweater. No need to hide in a public library burning first editions. I’ll be skiing outside. With Jonny. With Graham. With an orgy upon my teeth.

-Purple converse, high tops. Hand drawn black stars on the converse. Winter coming back? Blue and Purple docs with stars.

Must haves:

-Scribbles on both arms, depending on mood how much the skin will be affected.

-Unknown dark coloured tuque.

That was it. I quickly took out a pen as my uncle was exchanging polite mouthing with some other driver who nearly hit us. French. I want all people to fuck, as I'd watch and I'd tell them what to do, as I'd blindfold them, stroke their cocks. Soon enough another star was drawn on my left wrist. Without hesitation I stuffed it back into my bag, as if nothing happened, shrugging at my uncle as he complained aloud. His cheeks were red hoping that I did not hear ‘that impropriate bad word for little girls to use’, which I had known since I was six. But then isn’t that irritating making a big deal out of bad words? Then don’t use them if you want them to be kept inside yourself.


I've been writing poetry lately, a lot of it and my new novel, which was initially novel then one-shot turned novel.

I like the sexual tension Roberta's been feeling, feels more real unlike the cheesiness it had and yes, Roberta is one of my favoirite characters.

And yes, everyone is.

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