Life has a way of smudging out your time with that proverbial, sticky thumb of his. It's literally like wiping pencil marks off a wet sheet of paper with an eraser. Exactly like that. I feel like I never left that hangover behind on Sunday.
It makes you want to slap the air around you and spit at the flashing lights. A little like one would feel after a wild night of partying, only there aren't any great party memories to fall back on. No modestly harmless sexually transmitted diseases, not a drop of vomit on your shirt, or a three sentence tirade on why fucking the IMF over is all right tattooed across your arm.
Stories. Timeless and ageless, they're what shape human conception about the world. Societies, great and small, they all sprouted from that night Jimmy got really drunk, screamed from the roof, "Oh god, it burns, my pee burns!", and grandly wet everyone below.
Life stands quietly, at the sidelines. Watching, watching. Slowly savouring, sucking on that sticky thumb of his. He grins like a copious wanker, almost childlike really, as the stories splatter warmly over his wicked countenance.
About Me
- Lex
- An impassioned libertine with lots of facetious and interesting views on the human condition, salmon and contemporary fiction. Loves dirty martinis, reasonably priced scotch, sashimi, book sales and shoes. Dislikes fundamentalists, apartheid, fast food, and pacifists.
Sunshine, On The Rocks
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3 comments:
i think i tore the paper already.
hii youu :D doubt you remember me lol, but this is sooo random, having found your blog by aimlessly clicking around
haven't talken to you in ages, talken isn't a word but i think it should be. the splatter part at the end of your story is quite suggestive
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