Tuesday, 28 June 2016

Polly Pissy Pants

I used to have a handle on it but it appears to have gone amiss, the handle on the other side has fallen off and I'm left trapped in a room filling with my own piss. I tried to bail myself out but discovered I just don't have the gist, of what it means to be a person who isn't drowning in their own piss.

I gave up and let it fill my shoes and felt just like that kid, who went to parties with the purpose of collecting other's piss, I just thought that if I could accept it, that would be the tits, because otherwise I'll just die unhappy, here, drowning in my own piss.


Saturday, 25 June 2016

The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy

By now Fred was probably dead. His old shop had long since been replaced with a Thai restaurant instead. Corner hardware stores were now just a piece of history, and his stumped, half removed fingers remain forever one of my life's mysteries. My friends from school said he'd shot them off with a gun, My parents said it was an enigma best not unspun. Regardless, I used to love pretending to peruse, whilst watching him run his stumpy fingers through the boxes of loose screws. He'd hold a bugle head out to me, I'd say my dad needed it most urgently, and he'd let me have it just for free.


Wednesday, 22 June 2016

Carassius

Everything inside me died. All the love, and lust and pride. Everything that gave me drive, and away from everyone I've shied.

I'd like to say that I've survived, but I'm so busy these days I'm not even sure I'm still alive. Every five seconds something else new passes me by, and my mind drifts away, escapes, and drifts idly by.


Monday, 13 June 2016

The Galaxy Blues

Hopefully my S-Pen will inspire me to reach new heights of miserableness that we never previously thought possible. Hopefully this second monitor I've plugged in makes us unstoppable. Hopefully I don't just use it to scroll Facebook on two simultaneous screens, scrolling down and down forever whilst feeling too sedated to voice my screams. I'd like for us to just once fall arse backwards into a win, instead of everytime we look up copping it squarely on the chin.