I have a new little place, full of post-its, full of pansy-fancies, full of tiny little dots.
I like it.
  On a different note:
She's not a girl who misses much
Do do do do do do, oh, yeah

She's well acquainted
With the touch of the velvet hand
Like a lizard on a window pane
The man in the crowd with the
Multicolored mirrors on his hobnail boots

Lying with his eyes
While his hands are busy working overtime
A soap impression of his wife
Which he ate and donated to the National Trust

I need a fix ?cause I'm going down
Down to the bits that I left uptown
I need a fix ?cause I'm going down

Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun

Happiness is a warm gun
(Bang bang, shoot shoot)
Happiness is a warm gun mama
(Bang bang, shoot shoot)
When I hold you in my arms
(Oh yeah)
And I feel my finger on your trigger
(Ooo, oh yeah)
I know nobody can do me no harm
(Ooo, oh yeah)

So, i'll let you go, and my world will cease to exist, but I have to.

Did you too?

When I feel like running around the streets screaming stupid stupid like a little brat with no social tightening and when I feel like saying aah no that’s Mister Crow my stomach tells me not to and my brain emits various signals so what am I to do?

A spin is a spin is a spin but did I really?
Gorgeous Belgian chocolates shaped like sea shells and delicious creamy tangy cheese.
Momentarily I forget.
So I snarl and bitch and snarl some more and curve myself around the work grind and escalating hours.
Twenty two years of existing.
Tonight the lights will bounce off my hair, and I’ll submerge.

yee haw yee haw yee haw. not a donkey. just ridiculously loony. I am happy again! All my conflicts have been resolved and I can settle down like a complacent plump bird, and blink at the world in peace.

and, Boblusbug, i love you gallons xx

The alarm tone which wakes me up every morning is a frivolous unknown rather weird song and then it continues to buzz around my head insistently. So my whole day circles around that very moment of waking up and I think that I need to change it soon. I’d prefer Cold Hard Bitch. Yesterday I slept like a baby stoned and happy. Client meeting in an hour, birthday in two days, Gravy show tonight. I grow old, I grow old. The red dot on my forehead comforts me. Maybe I’ll get used to it.
The orange fishie looks gleeful today. I think I’ll call it George.
Reading funny intimacy stories, Oatmeal, hark a vagrant, Hyperbole and a Half.
Little bored. Send me nice links. =)

Right now my head’s a spinning top, as alone as that fish in a bowl at my workplace. I am swimming in circles and hitting my head against the glass occasionally. It’s not easy to transform and it’s tragic that I am even trying. Midnights are special again but I am perpetually sleep-deprived, perpetually crabby/weepy/angry. My brain is swinging to and fro and ideating is much more difficult than I thought it would be. You are my root, and my nook. And you are a feeling which is unfathomable, often brushed aside. I don’t know if it will rain this autumn, but you will be gone, and maybe there won’t be a tempest anymore, or maybe the idea will be lost.

you are not mine you came waltzing in carefree your curls around your face and I lost my steady foothold I lost my firmly entrenched warmly built earth so now deliver your paper deliver your poetry as i relinquish my scruples bit by bit into an infinity of stardust tainted thoughts