Sunday, 7 March 2010

Nightflush (from 2 November 2009)

Eating, breathing, sleeping. Happy, sorted, mad, something about him, up to something. Can’t wait to get away from everyone. Lonely. Listening to Joy Division again. Deliberately.

Moments, fragments. Just the essence. The yellow in the red. Desperate. Poised. Constricted. Headache. No pills. Up the bum no babies. I want to go to bed and feel the pangs of hunger. Balanced.

Wonderful agility and technical ability. Intelligence. Strong work ethic. Dilettante. Guilt. Everything has been said and done, but we are juvenile. Between life and death, it is difficult to be one or the other. The pressure is too much.

Red raw. Not sore, but within a firm grip. The undersides of the tongue and cheek ache and secrete a slightly salty fluid. The temples contract. The bone around the eyes feels more pronounced. Degrading. Over. At least for one day.

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