Dulcet & Efflorescence. Forlorn, Cathartic & Lilt.

I lied when I said I went to the after hours about the kidney infection. I think I fell asleep instead. I’ll just wait until i’m pissing blood. It’s not like I want to, the motivation is just not there. And my GP is a dull-minded moderately-well-dressed woman who hates me as much as the nurse does, missed appointments and no calls of explanation. Truth: I just don’t care enough.

Notes in French stuck to my front door, I have friends in high places and friends in the same building.

If your body is a wonderland then mine is a deserted fairground. With only the most morose of carnival clowns and filth where the glitter should lie [in my dreams].

Telling the little brothers what I remember from seven years old - “I remember playing kissing tag.”
The youngest turns across his dinner plate and looks at me with all the seriousness he can muster and says - “I love kissing tag.”

He knows he’s cute, so I give him the best advice I can under the circumstances. Never let on that you know. It’s not that I have experience in this, I just hate the men who swagger and jeer. Pick me out in a crowd because they know I am not comfortable or fond with my appearance. Easy lay. Yeah right. I’d rather fuck myself than you. And I could probably do it better.

I dip one hand into a great bin of cinnamon while the lady at the counter is looking away. My skin announces it’s ability to appreciate the simplest of pleasures. At home I mix it with fejoas and oats. I eat everything with wine, at the moment.

Yeah, that’s breakfast, too. It’s just a phase. Don’t freak out.

A word I like: Petrichor - The way the earth smells when it rains after a dry spell. And Desultory - Sluggish. I also like hippopotamus, though. Because I would find it hard to be serious all of the time. I really enjoy the comfort of words. A beautiful word is like dessert to me. While some people go for gastronomy [you know those shows where plates of strange, steam-oozing puddings with lurid green sauce are placed in front of patrons who make orgasmic noises after each bite?], I actually prefer the feel of an emotive sentence in my mouth. I like that you can convey literally almost anything with words. The taste of something, even if you feel it is indescribable, there will most probably be a series of words to describe it. Or the feel of something. Heartbreak, the look of someones knees.. I guess I am still under the raw misconception that if I learn enough words, I will never have any trouble communicating. I will never be misunderstood.

But, it gets messy there. Because different words mean different things to different people. I could say custard to someone and it would conjure up images of Christmas Day and fruit mince pies. To someone else it might make them think of school cafeterias and picking the white-icing from the tops of faux-custard tarts. To me it makes me feel fun. It reminds me of last year, when I made custard from scratch and couldn’t believe it was so easy. It was autumn and the light was starting to differ. I smelled like vanilla essence for days and days, because I kept making it. But it also holds this awful after-taste, because I had just left my job and been forced to move home. Another sinister version of past eating-disorders had begun to cling to my hips and He would never see me, save for the safety of that one little room. Always with the curtains closed and the lights off. 

Also, there is a huge possibility of being misunderstood.. There are so many words that people aren’t familiar with. So in the process of explaining myself, I get stuck on explaining what these way-of-explanation words mean. Which means the paragraph or two I’m attempting to expel never reaches its destination point.

Winds up looking like a family tree of whores. 

I like that word, too. Actually.