Dropping unused condoms into moth-eaten, rust-eaten, weather-eaten and generally chomped upon trunk of broken and dejected fords.
Yup, go figure.

***

That car was highly cool? And old ford, that once must have rumbled and growled with intense ferocity. It probably must have seen a thousand people who touched the plush interiors and the smooth finishing of the dashboard with awe-struck fingertips.

It must have disdainfully overtaken so many cars, the thousand ugly duckling 800's and the potbellied ambassadors? It might even have crashed into a couple, scraping the paint here and there.

Paint, that brings me to my next querry. Wait, not querry, not thought? What then, can this simultaneous moment of grammatically incongruous prosaic spontaneity continue without the right word.

That's when Kaya drops from somewhere behind the mass of purple nerves on the left hand side top corner of the cranium ( ;) )

Kaya: You fool just go along with it? What color was the car? And don't give me bullshit about ruining your moment, the article sucks. And you know it? It's too floral! It's too vague. Just answer the god damned question, what color was the car?

Er, it was white.

Kaya: Er?

Too rusty to tell?
It probably was white, I can't be too sure though. I will ask Ylva, she knows these things...

But the point is, it was a wonderful car.
At least that's what people keep saying.
Was this? What that? Was it? Was what?

What's with the was-es ladies and gentlemen. The car is still there, in all it's moth-eaten, uni-wipered, ripped-tired glory.
And no, I am not being sarcastic. The car IS wonderful. How many cars do you know that have in addition to old, torn Tommy Hilfiger underwear, a sack of what is hopefully sand, a single unused condom in it's gaping trunk. It's all vrrooom. So bugger off!

And I did not even get to the cool cobwebs inside, let alone the funkadellic glass front headlight thingy.

I love that car, I love the way it has etched itself a nice little place in my head. Somewhere near Kaya's chocolate house.

Funkadellic.

Beep Beep.
Gtalk? Roadrunner?
Acnce accidents. Surprises..It's funny how people don't realize when somebody talks about them. They read it and at times they comment on it, saying the exact same thing you want to tell them. It's all so bizzare at times.
There is ColorPlus packet hanging from the door. I like the picture on it? Pants I think, nice digitally enhanced image.
Things have changed so much, it's bizarre. Simply because people keep seeking change, and they see change in things that haven't changed. And things which change are ignored unceremoniously. I feel like reading MIL now? Probably the thought of ceremony reminded me of Ambai?
Fire and Hunger? Sex and Food?
Bones wreathed in pain.

Beep Beep.
The roadrunner and the coyote.
I liked the coyote. I always thought he would catch the Roadrunner and gobble her down before she could do something. I mean that's why I kept watching it.
And talking of cartoons, A cartoon I love now and disliked earlier- The Adams Family. I love 'em. Mortitia with her cold icy face. Which was so perfect, the black of her dress and the black of her eyes that melted into the night. And the aquamarine Lurch. And how could I forget - Cousin It and Uncle Fester.
I love now.
Insane butterflies I tell you, jagged wings dipped in bloody elbow-sauce. Cartilage chunks as dressing. Gross at times, horribly morbid. But strangely despite appearances, never forced.
Strange writings, forced poetry, sacrificing emotion in favor of crystal showpieces. They all lie shattered now, at the roadrunners feet.
No tears as she goes. beep. beep.
Don't you feel like watching Kill Bill. I remember how Ann kept on repeating and reiterating the eyeball squished beneath someone's feet. But what I like the most about Kill Bill is the song. Bang Bang by Nancy Sinatra.

I wish I had known guy who lived in those hills and listened to billy joel all night long, sharing his own drink of loneliness.

Bang Bang..My baby shot me down