What are words when the moonlight sonata fills your mind with sheer bliss. What are thoughts when they seem to crumble away to make room for this immense force. As each notes rips through my body, fire grips my veins and love blinds me.
The Moonlight Sonata flows through me, and I give myself to it. If there is a god, this is it.
Curl it around your tiny finger. Like a finger shoved impertinently through a smoke ring. Type slowly chewing each syllable, playing around with it in your mouth. One goes pop, the other a blatant blip. Slow motion dreams, huge chunks of them. We will swim through them and bleed a drop or two as our own personal version of a cheap romance.
But what did the joker say to thief?
Why is it even important? Maybe he talked about his own life, as he saw it. Painted in the colorless hues of incandescent confusion. His bloodshot eyes in perfect harmony with the laughter inducing musical nose. His plastic smile, the only fixed centre in a life that crumbled away life monumental ant hills in the rain.
Maybe he talked about his Bess? Bess, the landlords black-eyed, black-haired daughter. Blip Drip. Blood Dlood. Dead on the Bed. Boom Boom. Bang Bang. Now gone. Shattered like a monumental anthill in the rain.
No reason to get excited.
Life is but a joke.
Curl it around your tiny finger.
I found this online. Shakespeare quotes: Reinterpreted. Rolling like a drill now are we shakho-kabi?
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.
Translation: We should masturbate more.
The weakest kind of fruit drops earliest to the ground.
Translation: Only fight sissies.
Great floods have flown from simple sources.
Translation: Never have sex with your girlfriend during her period.
The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.
Translation: Let's kill all the lawyers. Really.
Be to yourself as you would to your friend.
Translation: It's OK to sleep with your sister because your friend sure would.
Is the jay more precious than the lark because his feathers are more beautiful?
Translation: Good-looking strippers get bigger tips.
Have patience, and endure.
Translation: Use one of those numbing creams if you have to. Or try wearing five condoms at once.
I can express no kinder sign of love than this kind kiss.
Translation: First base is better than striking out altogether.
Men at some time are masters of their fate.
Translation: Get married and you're screwed.
They that thrive well take counsel of their friends.
Translation: If your drinking buddies say she's really a man, listen to them.
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, if with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
Translation: If you're desperate to impress her, you can always resort to oral sex.
Heaven hath a hand in these events.
Translation: How else would you explain that Pamela Anderson video?
O, flatter me, for love delights in praises.
Translation: Honesty isn't necessarily the best policy when it comes to penis size.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
Translation: When dumping someone, always wear a protective cup.
I'll note you in my book of memory.
Translation: Don't expect me to call the day after.
Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost.
Translation: Lap dances have actually been outlawed in some parts of the country.
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain.
Translation: With a little help from our friends at Massengill, that is.
Praising what is lost, makes the remembrance dear.
Translation: When you're telling your buddies about your conquests, exaggerate. A lot.
'Tis better to be brief than tedious.
Translation: Nooners rock.
Fits of anti social ness. Phrases and words, huge chunks of them in different sizes and shapes are strewn around a crinkly wrinkly wily cranium. Make new shapes out of them, join half a dog (chow) and an adjective for the average man (mean) to make funky snake like gourmet dish. Trace trails of ciggys and take a swim in clunky ash trays. Is that what they teach you? Win a couple lose a couple.
Zephyr Song. Crouch, Couch, Ouch, Uch. Shudder, Sun, Rudder, Udder.
Humpty Dumpty Sat On A Wall
Humpty Dumpty Went off To Sleep.
Pick your nose, draw crinkly brackets. Integrate your thoughts and differentiate your pain. Only to add to the net total a healthy does of crinkly forehead wrinkles. Now multiply all of this with the pain in your muscles. Did you get the right answer? No silly mistakes? Remember your rules of BODMAS? Wait. I am not done yet. Divide all of this with the kind of silly memory god has bestowed upon you? What does all this mean? What is reality? Fakeosiitude.
Of Plimpy Penises and Victorious Vaginas. Of Punitive Pricks and Vindictive Vags. Of Aliterated Asses and one pink bum cheek.
Suddenly, he wakes up. Eyes open, only to be greeted by the kind of distorted, surreal sight that only fishes and mermaids deem normative. Glug Glug. Rise up child. Break the surface like a stoned dolphin trying to barbecue itself in the sweaty sun. Break the surface, only to crash right back into it. Approximately 6.31367822 seconds of absolute freedom. Out of which 2.97565257 seconds are spent in cotemplating how you are going to fall. That doesn't give you much time to be free or live/fly/burn/inotherwordschosewhatyouwanttodo. Well then leap out more often said the wise dolphin to me.
Too much of an effort. Flying fishes are cooler, but they be too ugly. So Dolphin it shall be, except that this dolphin shall jump and not come back.
Nope.
Not yet.
Actually, never.
asmallboysittinginacornerhe'ssittinglisteningtohisownbreathhischestexpandscontractshe'sexhalingandthebreathmistsupinfrontofhiseyesthefourwalledroomitsgotscratcheson itnailshumannailsscratchedoutinpainanddesperationbitsofnailandclottedbloodsticktothewallandthenherealizesthewallsareclosinginhisbreathhastensbutthensodothewallscompressingairconstricting lightdecimatingthoughtdestroyingalifeathoughtatatimeandthenthewallscloseinandwecan'tseeanymorebut theboyneverscreamswehearishisbreathandthenthattoodisappearsintheepilogueofonelastcrunch.
asmallboy
sittinginacorner
he'ssittinglisteningtohisownbreathhischestexpandscontract
she'sexhalingandthebreathmistsupinfrontofhiseyes
thefourwalledroomitsgotscratcheson itnailshumannails
scratchedout
inpainanddesperation
bitsofnailandclottedbloodsticktothewall
andthenherealizesthewallsareclosingin
hisbreathhastens
butthensodothewalls
compressing
air
constrictinglight
decimatingthought
destroyingalifeathoughtatatime
andthenthewallscloseinandwecan'tseeanymore
but
theboyneverscreams
wehearishisbreathandthenthattoodisappearsintheepilogueofonelast
crunch.
The Book Tag
A book that made you laugh:
I don't think books have ever made me laugh? At least I don't remember any that did.
Maybe Holes by Louis Sachar.
I don't know if I laughed. But I remember the afternoon I read it. I was very happy.
A book that made you cry:
This has definitely never happened. :(
A book that scared you:
I think the first time I read Frankenstein I was quite petrified. There was also an Edgar Allan Poe short story that really fucked me up.
A book that disgusted you:
Misery by Stephen King. Never got around to reading it.
A book you loved in elementary school:
Enid Blyton - Famous Five, The Adventure Series, Noddy!, Secret Seven
Tell my Why series
A book you loved in middle/junior high school:
Animal Ark! Still love them.
The Mystery of the Dancing Men- Doyle
Gone with the Wind
A book you loved in high school:
Kane and Abel - Archer
Agatha Chrities
The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand
Hungry Tide - Amitav Ghosh
A book you loved in college:
Mill on the Floss - Elliot
Shadow Lines - Amitav Ghosh
Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
A book that challenged your identity:
Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged
A series that you love:
Harry Potter
Animal Ark
Animorphs
Lord of the Ring
Famous Five
The Secret Series
Agatha Christie - Poirot Series
His Dark Materials - Pullman
Artemis Fowl
Jungle Book
Your favourite horror book:
Does Hannibal count?
Your favourite science fiction book:
Animorphs
I, Robot - Assimov
Foundation - Assimov
Artemis Fowl Series
Your favourite fantasy:
Artemis Fowl Series
Your favourite mystery:
And then there were none - Christie
Hound of Baskervilles by Doyle
The Secret of the Chimneys
Your favourite biography:
I can't think of any right now? Never been a big fan of them. I must have read something though.
Shrugs
Does the diary of Annie Frank count?
Your favourite “coming of age” book:
The Catcher in the Rye
Your favourite classic:
Mill on the Floss
Your favourite romance book:
Gone with the Wind - Margaret Michelle
And I tag. Anyone who reads this
Smith/Oracle: Why, Mr. Anderson, why? Why, why do you do it? Why, why get up? Why keep fighting? Do you believe you're fighting for something, for more than your survival? Can you tell me what it is, do you even know? Is it freedom or truth, perhaps peace - could it be for love? Illusions, Mr. Anderson, vagaries of perception. Temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning or purpose. And all of them as artificial as the Matrix itself. Although, only a human mind could invent something as insipid as love. You must be able to see it, Mr. Anderson, you must know it by now! You can't win, it's pointless to keep fighting! Why, Mr. Anderson, why, why do you persist?
Neo: Because I choose to.
It begins with a purple muffler. Tendrils of a familiar scent creep upwards into your nostril. An attempt to gift wrap happiness in a song, a color or a thought. Can it be done?
Can goldfish have dreams? A lack of light sources in a dark room. A careful choice of words. A lack, hence the darkness. But what if the non-abundance was planned and the darkness intended.
Can goldfish have dreams?
Dreams that dissolve in the aquamarine truth of a captive life. Dreams that do not break into jagged shards. Dreams that do not echo with the tune of an Aerosmith song.
What is it that separates the Goldfish from a dream.
Splish, Splash.
End it.
