Wednesday, February 22
How can you work with words in your ears? They tickle and tug at you, seeping in any way they can. Like mischevious children, they vie for your attention.
Friday, February 17
Tiny hailstones tumbled through the window. I reflected on how wrong it was to be annoyed at someone for not being someone else. For reminding you of them. For having the audacity to be nice to you.
Monday, November 21
Winter is sneaking in; the cold has designs on me. I have preempted them with a 1950s spy coat, which I peek out of occasionally. The French laugh at it, sometimes. They won't be laughing when I collapse their society from within, though.
Monday, October 31
I don’t really think you exist. How could a deity with any compassion whatsoever allow Tom Hanks to happen?
Tuesday, October 25
I feel damp and crumpled, permanently saturated with liquor. Delicate little things come and go. Maybe they’re not good enough, but now that I have them I’d rather jettison them and daydream about an unachievable whilst slipping chocolate down my throat.
Friday, October 7
It comes in and asks for flashy, sparkly things to gobble up. Woe is me, for the sparkles make it all the more hungry, all the more keen to crush up delicate beautiful things in its flabby, dripping maw. It sits there, peering over my shoulder, idly stabbing me with a discarded fork it picked up on its crawlings. I think its ultimate aim is to get me to chew my own head off. It's getting there.
Tuesday, October 4
A cluster of freckles decorate her cheekbones; when she laughs they swing and sway around. With one hand she pushes an errant strand of hair behind her ear. She looks at me, and skin starts to flow into two dimples, counched in her cheeks. Her smile breaks and she thinks, 'you fool'