SleepyWitch
12-05-2007, 08:51 AM
this isn't really a poem at all, just a random fragment I bashed out. I know it's crap but comment are always welcome (even those that tell me "Yep, it's even worse than crap") THANKS :)
the irony about infatuation is
that as soon as you leave
you'll forget your crush
and no matter how much you'd
like to do the "boohoo, I'll die without you"-thing,
life will cling on to you.
the world's small and there are budget airlines
but what if you found out
that you don't really like each other
after you've been in love for so many years?
so you've got to miss him while you're still around,
distil all your premature guilt into a single drop,
and get as much happiness as you can
out of clenched jaws and tightened nostrils
that tell you "he loves me".
When all the obstacles are removed
and you could finally meet as friends,
or lovers,
what would you say?
All that remains to do is to gingerly circle
the things you never told each other
and assume you would have said them,
unless you believe that broken glass
brings seven years of luck
along with shards strewn on the ground
and gashed hands.
"It was an interesting time and I'm glad we met.
Thanks for all your help."
January 10, 2009
So today is the first day of the rest of my life and I begin the long and weary process of finding out what to do with it.
I walked to Tesco, it was a misty day, people fading in and out, I'll still fade like that in 60 years, but seeing as I'm invisible, I'm free to plot good deeds and acts of kindness. I walked to Tesco and I bought a pie and took it home and actually tried to show some interest in it, or even develop some emotional attachment.
Because that's what you're expected to do, to dedicate more words to what goes into your body, mouthways, than about boring things like war, although I don't know who it is that expects us to do this and would he or she notice if we didn't? So I tried "Yeah, lovely, innit.", which sounded OK. But there's a restaurant down the road that's got a much better pie and I also like the one they do at the corner shop, it's like… nice, yeah. You're expected to do this because it's called real life. The things that really matter to real people.
And the other day, I actually tried to act posh but it went horribly wrong. I popped inside an art gallery and went "Ah! Oh! how interesting... the brush, the brown, the bosom." But I had to laugh so hard, I got chucked out and that was that.
And then I tasted some red wine and it tasted of… wine but the world kept turning and it didn't change who I am, except that acting posh was easier this time. And I saw a white beach with a white cliff and white water and pewter spray and me in your coat.
As Büchner said "Einander kennen? Wir müßten uns die Schädeldecken aufbrechen und die Gedanken einander aus den Hirnfasern zerren." - Know each other? We'd have to crack open each other's skull and tear each other's thoughts from the fibres of our brains. Or something along those lines, couldn't find a translation, and stuff, you know.
See, this didn't go too bad. Will write more tomorrow.
the irony about infatuation is
that as soon as you leave
you'll forget your crush
and no matter how much you'd
like to do the "boohoo, I'll die without you"-thing,
life will cling on to you.
the world's small and there are budget airlines
but what if you found out
that you don't really like each other
after you've been in love for so many years?
so you've got to miss him while you're still around,
distil all your premature guilt into a single drop,
and get as much happiness as you can
out of clenched jaws and tightened nostrils
that tell you "he loves me".
When all the obstacles are removed
and you could finally meet as friends,
or lovers,
what would you say?
All that remains to do is to gingerly circle
the things you never told each other
and assume you would have said them,
unless you believe that broken glass
brings seven years of luck
along with shards strewn on the ground
and gashed hands.
"It was an interesting time and I'm glad we met.
Thanks for all your help."
January 10, 2009
So today is the first day of the rest of my life and I begin the long and weary process of finding out what to do with it.
I walked to Tesco, it was a misty day, people fading in and out, I'll still fade like that in 60 years, but seeing as I'm invisible, I'm free to plot good deeds and acts of kindness. I walked to Tesco and I bought a pie and took it home and actually tried to show some interest in it, or even develop some emotional attachment.
Because that's what you're expected to do, to dedicate more words to what goes into your body, mouthways, than about boring things like war, although I don't know who it is that expects us to do this and would he or she notice if we didn't? So I tried "Yeah, lovely, innit.", which sounded OK. But there's a restaurant down the road that's got a much better pie and I also like the one they do at the corner shop, it's like… nice, yeah. You're expected to do this because it's called real life. The things that really matter to real people.
And the other day, I actually tried to act posh but it went horribly wrong. I popped inside an art gallery and went "Ah! Oh! how interesting... the brush, the brown, the bosom." But I had to laugh so hard, I got chucked out and that was that.
And then I tasted some red wine and it tasted of… wine but the world kept turning and it didn't change who I am, except that acting posh was easier this time. And I saw a white beach with a white cliff and white water and pewter spray and me in your coat.
As Büchner said "Einander kennen? Wir müßten uns die Schädeldecken aufbrechen und die Gedanken einander aus den Hirnfasern zerren." - Know each other? We'd have to crack open each other's skull and tear each other's thoughts from the fibres of our brains. Or something along those lines, couldn't find a translation, and stuff, you know.
See, this didn't go too bad. Will write more tomorrow.