The time spent between cigarettes is bothersome
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Another reason for this decline into emotional slumber is a lack of consideration. Impatience played a big role, and that impatience is something that arises from a lack of experience. But since the impatience is already prevalent and developing through continuous practice…
Inexperience is a weakness and should be rectified as soon as possible. Since the experiences are fuelled by impatience, they become fleeting and unsuitable for providing adequate education.
‘Experiencing things at a quick enough rate?’
‘Alive but feel weak and incapable.’
Come clean and feel confident. Fall out of love in the areas where it matters most. There are too many things to come clean on. Too many complications. Too many fucking truths to be told.
‘Okay, I’ll stop being *********** for the sake of our relationship.’
‘Please tell me why you describe your solution as clichéd…’
‘Trust me, if you were in my position you’d also unknowingly allow yourself to be duped by propagandist messages.’
‘Why would I assume you’re likely to be gullible as a human?’
Clichéd answers are based on what editors and businessmen collude to manufacture. It’s a place riddled with crime, disease and poverty. But the nation stood together and avoided all these afflictions. And what if it stood as people, disunited and scared?
People who were taught to suppress emotion. People who learnt during those years and subsequently taught their children. It should never be underestimated. It had time to settle in and become very well acquainted with everyone.
‘…In terms of the ways in which they organize themselves and choose to behave?’
‘How can the rate of crime decrease? Why should this new idea be trusted if this is a brief spat of informed opinion intended to serve as a clichéd solution?’
They would feel the same in any other place- alone and irrelevant. These people get far in life and their selfless counterparts get further in death.
***
‘I’m surprised you showed up. I thought you either laughed it off as a joke (ha ha), or took offense and told him.’
‘Tell him, what, you made a pass at me?’
‘We’re hardly friendly friends.’
‘I’ve imagined you imagining.’
***
There’s a hotel across the road. Two tourists have entered their room on the same level directly opposite. Try not to stare… to prevent them from noticing and drawing the curtains. Look in at ten-second intervals.
The husband lies on the bed with a remote control in one hand. The wife is in the bathroom. They shower separately.
‘He often found wonderment quite amusing.’
‘Are you ready to order, sir?’
It all seemed so right, being polite to this gum-chewing, lip-smacking, bubble-crunching little wench. They like booze and capital, inherited fortunes, splitting the rent, decorating, status, plutocracy, denying belief, suppressing authenticity. They like convoluted speech and conventional eccentricities.
Also for the sake of making it a half mile along the train tracks, over boulders, jumping from one to the other over pools temporarily housing ancient or newborn sea creatures: whelks, starfish, mussels, crabs, nameless slitheries, lingering foam, plastic bags, forgotten shoes, diapers and fine traces of rubber soles. The rusty tracks are naked and don’t want to be covered.
The boulders scale themselves down toward the whoring tracks in hardened flakes of lubricant waiting to be made wet. Waiting to take the dry-fuck pleasure away from the tracks. They wait in vain. The taped-up, shit-laden diaper disagrees. Diapers hardly lie and their truths are affirmed by their natural contents and unnatural immortality.
But the flakes don’t mind. The finer they get, the lighter they travel.
The shore is where the end of the ocean smacks the beginning of gravity. A forest of kelp bobbles around at that point of fact, a Rastafarian pogrom.
A family beach is characterized by parents of young children, feisty adolescents, young children, pre-teens, whippets, border collies, rough collies, daschunds, yorkies, sandcastles, puppy love, puppy fat, lifeguards, ice cream shops, recently expanded nipples, menopausal free-spirits and jail bait. Walking around on a family beach wearing a t-shirt with the phrase ‘I hate family beaches’ printed on it is another characteristic of a family beach.
However, there is a dark feeling looming that inevitably these tensions will fuse in the centre. They won’t ‘filter down’ as they say in the news. This will cause an implosion of sorts once there is a build-up too large for the structure to hold. The middle is about to be annihilated.
Goodbye fresh food products and quaint seaside villages. The very new rich will invade and the very poor will live around them in rat towns. All over.
Labels: hard cash, I'm going to punch you in the face, pussy
posted by the best friends at 11:37 PM
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