i asked a girl for her number. she punched me in the gut.
my unusual circumstances probably have something to do with it. perhaps, i'm just another to them - just the latest iteration of failure to stumble near and ask for digits. believe it - and therefore, exist in such realms.
and in spite of all this, i'm moderately happy. looking forward to work - another paycheck, another week. simply thinking of survival - i just want to coexist with you bastards. i've got my space, i've got my attitude - there it is. leave it be and be welcome.
all in all, i can't complain. another weekend of partying like i just don't care. another sunday spent cleaning (i do clean things, just not my sink - it's complicated). somehow, i spent the better part of seven hours at independent. i tried out my new pool cue - teh scorpion - hiss. it was good - knocked me off my rocker - and there i was. wasted per usual, thinking of future endeavors and otherwise looking at my hand for answers.
she used to cook lasagna for me while i pondered over various papers and facts, and the dusk rolled on us and we ate the lasagna on small plates and laughed at one another. she was happy about her short hair and imagined herself to be a living pixie. we used to hold each other and talk nonsense until the moon was bright. then i would wander off and wait. we'd talk some more about staring at the bay and...
fuck it. nothing will ever be like that again. just an idle and weak memory of something that happened to me long, long ago. maybe what i am is terrible - just another spirit, wandering the mist of life and atoning for some past misdeed.
and then she punches me in the gut when i simply ask for her number. fine, i did something terrible long ago, beyond this life, and this is suffering. i recognize that now. i'm trying to rise above all that and she still punches me like an inanimate bag of flesh and bone, like some taxidermy set out to rot in the sun.
maybe to her it is a joke - just treat everyone she meets like that - fuck with their head, belittle them, and then throw them away like a crumpled up piece of trash.
that's her problem. my problem is running into her clones every time i just want a chance at love.
i try and do the right thing. i am exceedingly generous with my friends. i give up just about anything so that they've got a place to crash when the party has died down and sleep is in order. i don't keep a little book with who owes me what and how much. i try and enjoy everyone in their own context.
but it's not enough. it's not enough because nobody thinks this way. nobody acts this way. everyone just does and if it doesn't scratch their back, then it's a pox upon them. nothing worth looking into, here. just another being with self-interest guiding themselves towards that illusion that i'm not part of because i'm busy. i've got things to do, and you're just in the way.
"who are you to think you are to think you can get my number?"
that's what she yelled at me before she punched me. if you didn't know me, you'd think i had her cornered and vomiting on her shoes.
"yeah, she just doesn't know you. she'a bitch."
alright, that's fine. we can all live with that. but it's an element of day to day interaction with people. something you can't just shove aside with some quip or simple rhetoric.
fuck this melodrama. i'm sorry i even writ this like this. it's not worth your time and if you made it this far, you're humping strawmen at five in the morning.
get some sleep. g'night.
my unusual circumstances probably have something to do with it. perhaps, i'm just another to them - just the latest iteration of failure to stumble near and ask for digits. believe it - and therefore, exist in such realms.
and in spite of all this, i'm moderately happy. looking forward to work - another paycheck, another week. simply thinking of survival - i just want to coexist with you bastards. i've got my space, i've got my attitude - there it is. leave it be and be welcome.
all in all, i can't complain. another weekend of partying like i just don't care. another sunday spent cleaning (i do clean things, just not my sink - it's complicated). somehow, i spent the better part of seven hours at independent. i tried out my new pool cue - teh scorpion - hiss. it was good - knocked me off my rocker - and there i was. wasted per usual, thinking of future endeavors and otherwise looking at my hand for answers.
she used to cook lasagna for me while i pondered over various papers and facts, and the dusk rolled on us and we ate the lasagna on small plates and laughed at one another. she was happy about her short hair and imagined herself to be a living pixie. we used to hold each other and talk nonsense until the moon was bright. then i would wander off and wait. we'd talk some more about staring at the bay and...
fuck it. nothing will ever be like that again. just an idle and weak memory of something that happened to me long, long ago. maybe what i am is terrible - just another spirit, wandering the mist of life and atoning for some past misdeed.
and then she punches me in the gut when i simply ask for her number. fine, i did something terrible long ago, beyond this life, and this is suffering. i recognize that now. i'm trying to rise above all that and she still punches me like an inanimate bag of flesh and bone, like some taxidermy set out to rot in the sun.
maybe to her it is a joke - just treat everyone she meets like that - fuck with their head, belittle them, and then throw them away like a crumpled up piece of trash.
that's her problem. my problem is running into her clones every time i just want a chance at love.
i try and do the right thing. i am exceedingly generous with my friends. i give up just about anything so that they've got a place to crash when the party has died down and sleep is in order. i don't keep a little book with who owes me what and how much. i try and enjoy everyone in their own context.
but it's not enough. it's not enough because nobody thinks this way. nobody acts this way. everyone just does and if it doesn't scratch their back, then it's a pox upon them. nothing worth looking into, here. just another being with self-interest guiding themselves towards that illusion that i'm not part of because i'm busy. i've got things to do, and you're just in the way.
"who are you to think you are to think you can get my number?"
that's what she yelled at me before she punched me. if you didn't know me, you'd think i had her cornered and vomiting on her shoes.
"yeah, she just doesn't know you. she'a bitch."
alright, that's fine. we can all live with that. but it's an element of day to day interaction with people. something you can't just shove aside with some quip or simple rhetoric.
fuck this melodrama. i'm sorry i even writ this like this. it's not worth your time and if you made it this far, you're humping strawmen at five in the morning.
get some sleep. g'night.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
My old girlfriend would cook what she called eggs in a frame on mornings after I spent the night with her. I completely understand the lasagna allegory, because it's the seemingly insignificant things like that that matter to me. Eggs in a frame, the last girl stealing my pizza crusts and giving me a mischevious look, the gal at the mexican restaurant going for the mints I always get before I get a chance.
I'm a sucker for that stuff.
If all goes well..she won't be here: