Sunday, December 15, 2013
Bubbling with Reality
She looks and thinks and knows but does not ask. "I'm petified of what you think." And I believe her. She is so far from my world. We are together like two stones rushed to the bottom of the drain after a storm. Sitting there, nowhere else to go. But on the water glistening over her a universe appears which she enters and becomes. I look.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Enough
Sometimes things just go wrong because there's no wind in the sail, and blowing on the sail doesn't work for long.
Picking her up and screwing her brains out, because that's what she wants, it works for a bit but the effort is never repaid if there's no wind in the sail.
Then she's like an anchor, and even if the wind were to pick up you'd be tied down. Confortable because there's not going to be any storm damage, but frustrated.
Bad vibes are as contagious as good, everyone knows that. I've got bad vibes today, but hopefully not contagious by words.
I'm tired, I let her come over and stay the night. But really I needed a rest. Lack of sleep is attrocious.
Radio 4 yesterday some knob on a story talking about sleep as a waste of time. There is nothing more precious than sleep when time is racing along during consciousness, sleep comes and relieves me from it's tyranny. Waste of time is perceiving time at all. Life isn't along a timeline, it just is.
Picking her up and screwing her brains out, because that's what she wants, it works for a bit but the effort is never repaid if there's no wind in the sail.
Then she's like an anchor, and even if the wind were to pick up you'd be tied down. Confortable because there's not going to be any storm damage, but frustrated.
Bad vibes are as contagious as good, everyone knows that. I've got bad vibes today, but hopefully not contagious by words.
I'm tired, I let her come over and stay the night. But really I needed a rest. Lack of sleep is attrocious.
Radio 4 yesterday some knob on a story talking about sleep as a waste of time. There is nothing more precious than sleep when time is racing along during consciousness, sleep comes and relieves me from it's tyranny. Waste of time is perceiving time at all. Life isn't along a timeline, it just is.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Pregnant with silence
Slience is pregnant with possibility, but silence seems to be so rare. I spend a lot of time waiting for silence, like settling dust it does come along given a calm space, and then the magic happens. Trouble is, everyone likes a bit of silence and if you got some, hey someone seems to come along to trample up some dust.
Or is it that, the pregnancy of this silence is scary, what might be born from it? Better to trample through the silence and leave things as they are. I seem to attract many people who aren't interested in conversation, rather in monologues of things they're interested in. I offer silence, and perhaps my own fear of the pregnancy this offers spreads and quickly the silence is filled - with complete shit. I'm left splattered, feeling drained, and in need of a long quiet cleansing session to restore myself.
Or I'm not at all scared of the silence, but others are and this is contagious. And I'm here to do some work on this for others. Who knows. Emotion seems like water, it just flows, cascades, sometimes gets stuck in a stagnant pool, but most of all it's not part of any place in particular, it just is and moves about like a spirit fighting or dancing or just sleeping. Maybe depression is that stagnant pool, and people come along to splash it about and move it along, but even the pool evaporates eventually on it's own, the water moves along.
There will never be enough space. Or will there? Who said that? I go through phases of dispair when I'm basically thinking the thoughts of others, filling that silence with a tape-recording of some shit I've heard. And other times when I'm at peace when I know there is nothing to worry about because it's all in order. A hope that patience will bear fruit. Or a sense that everything is ok, that nothing needs fixing. Because nothing needs fixing. It's all good, as they say in Australia.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Welcome to NYC
I opened the front door and there she was, with a smile so bright it frightened me. After all the practical commotion of getting here, and my disappointment around that, her smile said I've forgotton that all and I'm here. My mind, ever fearful of losing its grip on the past, was struck deeply in shock at having nothing to latch onto. The light of her smile blinded the demon within. Either that, or in that smile I saw deeply the pain from where it grew.
A good soul on facebook wrote:
The prettiest smiles hide the deepest secrets. The prettiest eyes have cried the most tears and the kindest hearts have felt the most pain...
and it struck a chord with what happened then. Later I came across evidence of that pain, so maybe I was not imagining it. But I also found further evidence of extreme kindness and patience, and a positive energy which once gone left me back in a hole.
No-one can replace the lightbulb shining within you - if it blows you must have it replaced - turning on a lamp nearby don't work well for long. But how do you replace a blown lightbulb? The answer is surely some kind of joke.
A good soul on facebook wrote:
The prettiest smiles hide the deepest secrets. The prettiest eyes have cried the most tears and the kindest hearts have felt the most pain...
and it struck a chord with what happened then. Later I came across evidence of that pain, so maybe I was not imagining it. But I also found further evidence of extreme kindness and patience, and a positive energy which once gone left me back in a hole.
No-one can replace the lightbulb shining within you - if it blows you must have it replaced - turning on a lamp nearby don't work well for long. But how do you replace a blown lightbulb? The answer is surely some kind of joke.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Paranormal spontaneity in Christian flower arranging
A report into the recent explosion of mashed butternut squash revealed that peas are in fact the basis for tiled occurrences of glowing effervescent peanut butter. Notwithstanding the political correctness that stone-faced idiots are likely to accrue to the dullness that many teacups present the bored writer, the amnesiac hum of droning emptiness is, well, empty. The shining example of scientific perfection that results from the combination of white truth and grey fusion culminates in a state of fibroid aneythesis, alternately brought on by gumptious broiling.
The dividing line between the third and fourth positions in any frigid encounter with browning matt flexibility can only be seen when coupled with an extraordinary capacity to entern a bobbled lantern with an aging bleep. Never before has the crumpling of timeless grain lain open the complete foible of stained laminate. THe chips of desperate animals open the circle of goneadian frealate pertions. That which scrommiges the perfect aperture of a bumpy eagle whilst flicking the candle of chrome mantlepieces cannot be seen unless wielded by crispy antelopes. All the time the glass shield of living truth crushes the crooked handle of dispair, locked into a window of steamed frishion.
The wise seek the rubber moments between the endless dark creeks radioed by the tense and poised flamingos. Rice not the holders of bearing riddles which open the crinkles of suffering and crackling of that which is made ready. Composition of ferns layed over the rugged sides of over 200 peaks rise amongst hatred of those who triangulate without ointment.
With hardly a moment to go before the joyful completion of fractal inversion, there is only one choice which yields the overtime breached from holding the forgetful orange. Slowly the wangle of karmetric entangled charlatans frees the peace from the etched markings of broken acrylic.
Wham, the chilled brummel of confusion has stuck hard to the sumple of extra-dreanacular simpering. Remaining forever anticipating the alternate erasure of necessary and opposed measle-like symptoms, the all-empathic groaning hovers above the beleaguered feverish midget.
The dividing line between the third and fourth positions in any frigid encounter with browning matt flexibility can only be seen when coupled with an extraordinary capacity to entern a bobbled lantern with an aging bleep. Never before has the crumpling of timeless grain lain open the complete foible of stained laminate. THe chips of desperate animals open the circle of goneadian frealate pertions. That which scrommiges the perfect aperture of a bumpy eagle whilst flicking the candle of chrome mantlepieces cannot be seen unless wielded by crispy antelopes. All the time the glass shield of living truth crushes the crooked handle of dispair, locked into a window of steamed frishion.
The wise seek the rubber moments between the endless dark creeks radioed by the tense and poised flamingos. Rice not the holders of bearing riddles which open the crinkles of suffering and crackling of that which is made ready. Composition of ferns layed over the rugged sides of over 200 peaks rise amongst hatred of those who triangulate without ointment.
With hardly a moment to go before the joyful completion of fractal inversion, there is only one choice which yields the overtime breached from holding the forgetful orange. Slowly the wangle of karmetric entangled charlatans frees the peace from the etched markings of broken acrylic.
Wham, the chilled brummel of confusion has stuck hard to the sumple of extra-dreanacular simpering. Remaining forever anticipating the alternate erasure of necessary and opposed measle-like symptoms, the all-empathic groaning hovers above the beleaguered feverish midget.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Love love, time, and no sex
People love love. This post is about love, but is not love. There is no feeling in it. Perhaps, after some time, it will get some. Who knows. I had in mind something I want to say, but the moment has gone and now it seems like history. For those who know love, there is no history. In fact, their "future" is history to the rest of us. Sounds weird, well it is. They experience time backwards, but they will never tell you this because their word for "history" refers to the same time as is it does for us clock-dwellers, only they are coming from the future and entering into history, just like a video played backwards. They "remember" their future and call it "history".
Sometimes people change direction, zigzagging in and out of the present like some strange jumper being knitted and pulled apart constantly changing style and colour and reinventing itself. Endless possibilities playing themselves out.
Out of possibilities. The clock is zooming forward and i'm getting tired. Bring on a new day yesterday.
Sometimes people change direction, zigzagging in and out of the present like some strange jumper being knitted and pulled apart constantly changing style and colour and reinventing itself. Endless possibilities playing themselves out.
Out of possibilities. The clock is zooming forward and i'm getting tired. Bring on a new day yesterday.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Shirley not !
1 aug 2011, Hyde Park
should I or shouldn’t I. Her beautiful tanned body lies a few metres away on the grass. As usual there are excuses not to, her face does not seem to be my type. But the hot sun over the curve of her tanned bum are talking a more familiar language to my loins.
so after some hesitation and a moment to build up the courage, over I go. her friendly face lights as I approach with a simple hello so the rest comes easily. she is inviting in her response and finding that she is brazilian puts me right at home. The chemistry is there and I know within seconds that if we don’t sleep with each other it’s because I’m scared of upsetting her. The routine, if I dare call it that will be:
1. first date where we snog
2. second date where we f*ck, if there’s somewhere to do it (no motels in London sadly)
Why do I risk sabotaging this by writing about it? I know the pattern and I want to see if this will play out, or can I, as I’d like to, actually date someone a while. She took off her sunglasses a moment and her eyes shone out balming my troubled soul. I don’t just want to f*ck her. I crave connection as anyone does, and the simplest touch is what I desire now. A f*ck in a sense is the end. Over. Finito. But can I go slowly? She would get hot and it’ll escalate, no? Well let’s see.
4 Aug 2011, Fulham
ok so I change my plans for this girl, arrange a date with her on wednesday, come back to london as I’m anyway flying out the next day from gatwick. so I’m not so smitten that I’d make a special trip, but keen enough to alter my plans.
9pm rodizio rico, sipping capirinha. she’s all mine, holding nothing back. her cards are out and they look good. charming girl, good heart, wants “simple life” (ie low maintenance). it’s an alluring prospect but it’s all too easy. I hesitate somewhat nervously maybe she thinks I’m shy but I’m just terrified of bulldozing her. she holds my gaze.
it’s clear she’s just waiting for me to make a move. she’s tactile as if we’re already going out, touching my leg affectionately. it feels nice. I part her hair, nuzzle her then it’s in with the kiss she wants it badly. but the chemistry is not quite there, or else I’m enjoying slowness for a change. nuzzling her scented neck gives me pleasure enough. when I kiss her it feels a bit routine, then mid-kiss I decide to up the ante and switch to a passionate dominating kiss and she seems to rouse to this. woman needs dominating. but it bores me, it’s fake.
13 Aug 2011, South Ken
weekend with Shirley. second date goes as predicted. though we went through a ritual of my promising not to do anything she doesn’t want if she stays over (pretty easy promise)
anyway she’s an angel. but a damned sexy one, and in the morning she gives herself to me wholeheartedly. or perhaps, I give myself to her wholeheartedly. I was just in it for a cuddle, you don’t have to believe me. but scared little boys like me are looking for mama, and no need f&cky for that.
however I know what turns a women on and that is being a man, which I can feign for long enough.
Women are such givers. It’s a wonder. Man takes. Woman gives. Is it that simple? In the dog eat dog world I live in that it how it is. And will continue until man destroys himself.
Is she the next victim? Who is in charge here? Of the relationship I am, but who am I and all that. I mean is God in charge, or what. If I have faith then he is, and then I know nothing and so she may not be a victim after all. Maybe she is the angel who has come to save me. Or maybe she is just a hot-blooded Brazilian who has come to shag my brains out. Either way I can’t complain.
I feel fine right now. I’ve not made up my mind on the future. In suspense I watch myself as events unfold. She ticks all the boxes, except the one where I decided that in the ideal world I will fall head over heals in love and never look back. I still hold to my idealist belief, and with it remember supporting quotes I heard from ex’s like “only go out with someone if your heart skips a beat when you look at them”. Yes that’s true. So why do I suspend belief in the outcome. Don’t I know it’s doomed. I do but the masochistic part of me wants to see. And the optimist wants to challenge. And the writer wants to see, well if this all goes to pants as usual then maybe letting it go to pants in public will change things.
Angel checklist
*************
Hot-blooded sexy young thang. Tick
Warm and loving. Tick.
Kinky and willing. Tick
Beautiful skin. Tick
Great arse. Tick
Ok that’s enough of the body though I could go on. But it’s not appropriate to talk of an angel’s body.
Does not talk ceaselessly. HUGE TICK
Great dancer. Tick
Big beautiful eyes. Tick
Good at massage. Tick
Thoughtful and cares for others. Tick
Low maintenance. Big tick.
Drinks beer, eats anything and does not put on weight. Lucky ticks
Can cook (to be confirmed)
Likes camping. Tick
Can paint, plaster, and build. Odd ticks
No, “she” is not a bloke, else that is one hell of a an amazing operation.
* * *
So she invited me to an Australian church. Ah, that great big Sunday piss-up in Kings Cross I thought. No, a real church service. Held in a theatre. With a live band. And a couple of Aussie comedians. It was pretty cool actually. Good vibe, well I had a sexy young angel thang next to me so that helped. But honestly some bits were touching. Not our hands, yes they are clasped when not clapping. But emotions. Reaching out and feeling divine love is pretty damn scary. So it’s hard to do. But worth it, and when you do someone notices and comes to give you a free bible at the end of the service, takes your details, and maybe I’ll get some follow-up prompting from God’s little messengers. Maybe I’ll become one of them. Who knows. Meanwhile I’ll hang onto my little sexy angel. Without faith, you rely on those who have it. And if you think they don’t have faith…look again, it won’t be many steps away before you find someone who does. And if you don’t and have enough time, you end up tracing right back to the great Big Bang, a singularity, all space and all time in one.. who was that god again?
Meanwhile back to the future.. to be continued..
21 August 2011, Chippenham
Were this not an ongoing joke already between me and Shirley (ongoing for all of two days) I'd have been quite embarrassed especially by the forth repetition of someone asking us "So when are you getting married?" Now can I ever go back this church on a Sunday morning, alone, without someone asking me what I've done with my fiance?
The church, full of the elderly on this Sunday morning, was divine of course. Lovely people and a great sermon. And my girlfriend of one week now by my side, looking elegant and angelic in her flowy white dress. The angel who brought the possessed one along to church. My demons were being pressurised and the loving sentiments of the people here and the words of the hymns and the prayers were touching my small broken flickering heart. Ahhh. The odd tear appears, and this no doubt coupled with the end of service announcements of imminent weddings, and the rarity of anyone under 60 attending this service, confirms to all present that clearly we are about to get married. Well wishers gather and suddenly we have a new family of over 60s. Well I learnt a new joke from them. "Marriage is an institution, and we all know what sort of people you find in an institution."
1 hour later...
Still with her high heals on, but not much else, I'm... *cut*
A generous moment later... butterflies and birds flutter in the sunlight over the rolling English countryside as we laze over a picnic in the hills.
Later that evening. I'm going through the motions, it's pathetic. I wish i could record the scene though and play it back on a needy day.
***
a 5-year old girl looks at her nanny and says "I wish you were my mummy"
26 aug 2011, Chippenham again
She is trying to have my babies. i ask if it's safe but it seems we have different definitions of "safe". afterwards i do the figures and realise it's borderline.
29 aug 2011, oh my God still in Chippenham
i feel miserable after a great weekend. i wonder if my mum is jealous of my girlfriend. the Oedipal soap continues.
4 sep 2011, Chippenham, this is beyond a joke
she's back and on a mission. i withdraw and she breaks down saying it felt like a dagger through her heart. this is heavy stuff. but i actually understand her.
earlier in the weekend we're talking about the baby thing and something i say makes her face go from mock sadness to genuine and extreme joy. i'm about to laugh when suddenly an underlying tragedy re-surfaces and i break down in tears. i'm unsure what just happened but she asks me and is patient in listening. i say that it felt as if i was watching a video of a daughter i've lost. i saw in her face an extreme joy and it reminded me of something, and yet i knew it was lost.
church. an alternative service. the mic is offered round asking for examples of extension of love. something compels me to put my hand up, and i speak and say that Shirley is such an example. uniquely there is applause. i find out afterwards that everyone else who spoke (only women mind) were regulars.
what am i getting myself into here.
9 sep 2011, Chippenham, pass me a rope
in half an hour she will be here again. i've had a shit couple of days and still feel terrible. nothing to do with her, but even the thought of her coming is not cheering me up. but she's an angel so no doubt i will feel better.
fuck, what am i saying.
should I or shouldn’t I. Her beautiful tanned body lies a few metres away on the grass. As usual there are excuses not to, her face does not seem to be my type. But the hot sun over the curve of her tanned bum are talking a more familiar language to my loins.
so after some hesitation and a moment to build up the courage, over I go. her friendly face lights as I approach with a simple hello so the rest comes easily. she is inviting in her response and finding that she is brazilian puts me right at home. The chemistry is there and I know within seconds that if we don’t sleep with each other it’s because I’m scared of upsetting her. The routine, if I dare call it that will be:
1. first date where we snog
2. second date where we f*ck, if there’s somewhere to do it (no motels in London sadly)
Why do I risk sabotaging this by writing about it? I know the pattern and I want to see if this will play out, or can I, as I’d like to, actually date someone a while. She took off her sunglasses a moment and her eyes shone out balming my troubled soul. I don’t just want to f*ck her. I crave connection as anyone does, and the simplest touch is what I desire now. A f*ck in a sense is the end. Over. Finito. But can I go slowly? She would get hot and it’ll escalate, no? Well let’s see.
4 Aug 2011, Fulham
ok so I change my plans for this girl, arrange a date with her on wednesday, come back to london as I’m anyway flying out the next day from gatwick. so I’m not so smitten that I’d make a special trip, but keen enough to alter my plans.
9pm rodizio rico, sipping capirinha. she’s all mine, holding nothing back. her cards are out and they look good. charming girl, good heart, wants “simple life” (ie low maintenance). it’s an alluring prospect but it’s all too easy. I hesitate somewhat nervously maybe she thinks I’m shy but I’m just terrified of bulldozing her. she holds my gaze.
it’s clear she’s just waiting for me to make a move. she’s tactile as if we’re already going out, touching my leg affectionately. it feels nice. I part her hair, nuzzle her then it’s in with the kiss she wants it badly. but the chemistry is not quite there, or else I’m enjoying slowness for a change. nuzzling her scented neck gives me pleasure enough. when I kiss her it feels a bit routine, then mid-kiss I decide to up the ante and switch to a passionate dominating kiss and she seems to rouse to this. woman needs dominating. but it bores me, it’s fake.
13 Aug 2011, South Ken
weekend with Shirley. second date goes as predicted. though we went through a ritual of my promising not to do anything she doesn’t want if she stays over (pretty easy promise)
anyway she’s an angel. but a damned sexy one, and in the morning she gives herself to me wholeheartedly. or perhaps, I give myself to her wholeheartedly. I was just in it for a cuddle, you don’t have to believe me. but scared little boys like me are looking for mama, and no need f&cky for that.
however I know what turns a women on and that is being a man, which I can feign for long enough.
Women are such givers. It’s a wonder. Man takes. Woman gives. Is it that simple? In the dog eat dog world I live in that it how it is. And will continue until man destroys himself.
Is she the next victim? Who is in charge here? Of the relationship I am, but who am I and all that. I mean is God in charge, or what. If I have faith then he is, and then I know nothing and so she may not be a victim after all. Maybe she is the angel who has come to save me. Or maybe she is just a hot-blooded Brazilian who has come to shag my brains out. Either way I can’t complain.
I feel fine right now. I’ve not made up my mind on the future. In suspense I watch myself as events unfold. She ticks all the boxes, except the one where I decided that in the ideal world I will fall head over heals in love and never look back. I still hold to my idealist belief, and with it remember supporting quotes I heard from ex’s like “only go out with someone if your heart skips a beat when you look at them”. Yes that’s true. So why do I suspend belief in the outcome. Don’t I know it’s doomed. I do but the masochistic part of me wants to see. And the optimist wants to challenge. And the writer wants to see, well if this all goes to pants as usual then maybe letting it go to pants in public will change things.
Angel checklist
*************
Hot-blooded sexy young thang. Tick
Warm and loving. Tick.
Kinky and willing. Tick
Beautiful skin. Tick
Great arse. Tick
Ok that’s enough of the body though I could go on. But it’s not appropriate to talk of an angel’s body.
Does not talk ceaselessly. HUGE TICK
Great dancer. Tick
Big beautiful eyes. Tick
Good at massage. Tick
Thoughtful and cares for others. Tick
Low maintenance. Big tick.
Drinks beer, eats anything and does not put on weight. Lucky ticks
Can cook (to be confirmed)
Likes camping. Tick
Can paint, plaster, and build. Odd ticks
No, “she” is not a bloke, else that is one hell of a an amazing operation.
* * *
So she invited me to an Australian church. Ah, that great big Sunday piss-up in Kings Cross I thought. No, a real church service. Held in a theatre. With a live band. And a couple of Aussie comedians. It was pretty cool actually. Good vibe, well I had a sexy young angel thang next to me so that helped. But honestly some bits were touching. Not our hands, yes they are clasped when not clapping. But emotions. Reaching out and feeling divine love is pretty damn scary. So it’s hard to do. But worth it, and when you do someone notices and comes to give you a free bible at the end of the service, takes your details, and maybe I’ll get some follow-up prompting from God’s little messengers. Maybe I’ll become one of them. Who knows. Meanwhile I’ll hang onto my little sexy angel. Without faith, you rely on those who have it. And if you think they don’t have faith…look again, it won’t be many steps away before you find someone who does. And if you don’t and have enough time, you end up tracing right back to the great Big Bang, a singularity, all space and all time in one.. who was that god again?
Meanwhile back to the future.. to be continued..
21 August 2011, Chippenham
Were this not an ongoing joke already between me and Shirley (ongoing for all of two days) I'd have been quite embarrassed especially by the forth repetition of someone asking us "So when are you getting married?" Now can I ever go back this church on a Sunday morning, alone, without someone asking me what I've done with my fiance?
The church, full of the elderly on this Sunday morning, was divine of course. Lovely people and a great sermon. And my girlfriend of one week now by my side, looking elegant and angelic in her flowy white dress. The angel who brought the possessed one along to church. My demons were being pressurised and the loving sentiments of the people here and the words of the hymns and the prayers were touching my small broken flickering heart. Ahhh. The odd tear appears, and this no doubt coupled with the end of service announcements of imminent weddings, and the rarity of anyone under 60 attending this service, confirms to all present that clearly we are about to get married. Well wishers gather and suddenly we have a new family of over 60s. Well I learnt a new joke from them. "Marriage is an institution, and we all know what sort of people you find in an institution."
1 hour later...
Still with her high heals on, but not much else, I'm... *cut*
A generous moment later... butterflies and birds flutter in the sunlight over the rolling English countryside as we laze over a picnic in the hills.
Later that evening. I'm going through the motions, it's pathetic. I wish i could record the scene though and play it back on a needy day.
***
a 5-year old girl looks at her nanny and says "I wish you were my mummy"
26 aug 2011, Chippenham again
She is trying to have my babies. i ask if it's safe but it seems we have different definitions of "safe". afterwards i do the figures and realise it's borderline.
29 aug 2011, oh my God still in Chippenham
i feel miserable after a great weekend. i wonder if my mum is jealous of my girlfriend. the Oedipal soap continues.
4 sep 2011, Chippenham, this is beyond a joke
she's back and on a mission. i withdraw and she breaks down saying it felt like a dagger through her heart. this is heavy stuff. but i actually understand her.
earlier in the weekend we're talking about the baby thing and something i say makes her face go from mock sadness to genuine and extreme joy. i'm about to laugh when suddenly an underlying tragedy re-surfaces and i break down in tears. i'm unsure what just happened but she asks me and is patient in listening. i say that it felt as if i was watching a video of a daughter i've lost. i saw in her face an extreme joy and it reminded me of something, and yet i knew it was lost.
church. an alternative service. the mic is offered round asking for examples of extension of love. something compels me to put my hand up, and i speak and say that Shirley is such an example. uniquely there is applause. i find out afterwards that everyone else who spoke (only women mind) were regulars.
what am i getting myself into here.
9 sep 2011, Chippenham, pass me a rope
in half an hour she will be here again. i've had a shit couple of days and still feel terrible. nothing to do with her, but even the thought of her coming is not cheering me up. but she's an angel so no doubt i will feel better.
fuck, what am i saying.
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