this festering

i have been meaning to update but havent and thats that.

now i will just post the little bits of crap ive scribbled in the past day or so. the broken throw-aways that make me up. this will be brief and lazy. like sex with me but without all the panting. thank you very much.

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I am filled up with language but in it there are no stories. So at this point I’m writing just for the sake of it. As if there is a surplus of words that need to be on a page and I am just a dumb messenger.

I write academic essays in haste. I read and then forget what I read. I let myself unravel in the operatic nature of it all. I smoke a cigarette and only feed my addiction. I swamp myself in alcohol and only smell like it in the morning.

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What else is there but life and death, except for everything in between?

I guess that question answers itself.

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Someone is blaring classical music from their car and they are sitting right outside my house.

And earlier today a guy rolled by in a money green Saab and he was blasting jazz with the convertible top down.

things are looking up for old people.

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She ask what it was that she said. She sent it to me on an email, so I should know exactly what it was she said.

I say I don’t have the email anymore. I say I put it in the trash.

Then I deleted it from the trash.

She says then how can you prove I said anything? How can you prove I meant what you think I said?

I say because I read it. I read the words you wrote. And they left imprints on me and I remember and always will and these impressions wont go away. So I know. I know. I don’t need the emails to back my memories up. I know.

I deleted the emails.

There is no need to burden myself with facts. They don’t prove anything anyway.

She pulled the blankets up and I shut the door.