Tag Archives: inside jokes

Friends In Low Places

When July became December
Their affection fought the cold
But they couldn’t quite remember
What inspired them to go
And it was beautifully depressing
Like a street car named Desire…

~*~

Plans unmade, promenade

Of impulsive souls chasing

Both the sun and the moon

Our stomachs hurt laughing

.

Tasting food, staying good

In the company of this five

Swapping songs, going long

We’ve never felt more alive

.

Talking ‘bout all our doubts

And those things that we love

From the sad and the madness

And the things we can’t have

.

Crying out, screaming pain

Letting them know our names

Silent vigils, and lost in sigils

We’re all fucked and the same

.

Don’t depart, take my heart

So let’s join the scarlet parade

Scaring thoughts, there’s a lot

Screw it, let’s all stay up late

.

Breaking dusk, breathing air

From the nightlife we dared

Walking miles, talking styles

Of stories kept in for a while

.

Getting drunk, getting high

Like goddamn fourth of July

Getting sick, getting crazy

We’re just bitches too lazy

.

Drinking milk, buying beer

Two for one, so cheers to here

Shutting down paper towns

Until the time to go is too near

.

Maybe next time we’ll meet

Say the things stuck in our teeth

Promise, breathe once again

I already miss the company then

.

Misadventures with you idiots

Reminding me of why I still try

To get past all my choking pasts

And why I still don’t want to die.

~*~

Oh memories!
Where’d you go?
You were all I’ve ever known
How I miss yesterday
How’d I let it fade away?
Don’t fade away…

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Cyborg & AI

It is weird to admit that I do kind of miss it

Your condescensions, intricate conspiracies

Melodramatic tendencies and odd severities

Shouting matches in the middle of the street

.

Your foolish theories and proud NEET texts

Even your strange and undefinable complex

Of accepting yourself in your “human shell”

Oh, and it does feel nice being taller as well

.

You spout all kinds of nonsenses irrelevance

So much that it actually starts to make sense

Sardonic bites, acerbic banter you say is wit

But we’re both talking a bit short full of shit

.

Your indecisiveness that nearly ran you over

You’ll be reincarnated as life, and I Death Jr.

Bizarre beliefs regarding death and universe

Me giving up and telling you, go write a book

.

It’s all part of acceptance, straight from denials

Which is crap, but now I’ll laugh and surrender

This conversation has been okay, preemptively

Well, until you hit my kill switch again, shorty.

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Mütter

This hasn’t been your year. Matter of fact, not a single year in your forty plus years of living, minus a several tenths for when we didn’t exist yet, has been quite too fulfilling. And understandably, it’s been a rough ride. You’ve been flying this journey Lindbergh solo for five years and counting now, and you weren’t always locked and loaded, and the machinery was not always all systems go, and the weather was not always clear. We’ve been ungrateful bastards who act like sweet-smelling pink roses intertwining around you with pretty innocent smiles, and then we bury our lacerating thorns deep in your steel-plated chest until we hit flesh and you bleed. We’re irresponsible lazy creatures, we get that, we refuse the simplest of chores, saying no to refilling the water bottles after downing the entire one litre liquid in one gulp, or slam dunking our filthy dishes in the overflowing sink and then denying appraisal over doing the washing-up. We grate on your nerves at the worst time when they’re already stretched to their limits, and we pull at them until you snap. We’ve been disappointing and apathetic, and you can only scream and reprimand so much before your worn-out voice and the fingers you crossed breaks. We’re no good, and vexingly frustrating, and annoyingly juvenile, and seemingly hopeless and futile…just like any other stupid nose-picking kid out there who needs guidance and care in the gentle yet sturdy hands of a parent. You simply wanted the best for the worst, and some due indemnity and pride, and to set your wayward children on the proper path, not into the ocean horizon to drown in sovereign failure, but onwards beyond the sunset to discover the way and amass all the lights in the sky. Someday, that’s a promise to be fulfilled. But for now, we remain your stupid bumbling companions, building bridges to last longer than London Bridge and making memories on a photo album (or selfies, as the cool millennials say or whatever, since you seem to be more connected with my generation than I can ever be). I feel faintly terrible that after all that you did for us, for me alone, I wasn’t able to get you anything decently celebratory or did anything to make this one hell of a day, except for a greeting card written with a dying marker on used tissue that says ‘congration you done it’, an IOU written on paper ripped off carelessly on the side of a notebook that entitled you to an entire day of my silence (valid on May 14, 2017 only), and doing the aforementioned chores which I should be doing on a daily regular basis anyhow, so I can only offer with what I do best—getting drunk. Oh no wait, that’s a different thing innit, that’s rubbish. I meant to say writing (although the best is not even good, to be bluntly frank). You out of all people needed a cheer upper and a break, and I out of all people should be the one giving you such things. So, here it is. And despite you begrudgingly commenting it several times today, no, the universe does not always conspire against you. Sometimes it’s me who does.

I took the time to write all this down because (besides the fact that I am equal amounts bored and sleep-deprived, which is like 95% of the time, but whatever) despite all the bickering arguments and thermonuclear meltdowns and endless disputes we’ve rivalled against, we’ve also had amusing stories and extraordinary journeys together and silly banter over cups of freshly brewed coffee, and I would like you to know that there’s still someone who cares, that this anxiety-ridden, book hoarding, show obsessing, loud satanic music blasting, three AM screaming, rebellious blue-haired loser with the problem child attitude, a death stare and eyebags thicker than Billie Joe Armstrong and Gerard Way’s eyeliner combined, the general behaviour of a mental patient diagnosed with schizophrenia and severe ADHD, and having the irritating tendency to not reply unlike a complete rhetorical sarcastic twat without getting allergic to formalities, is, insert dramatic Psycho violin chord here, surprise surprise! A sentient being capable of being a sappy little bitch (you may proceed to gasp and wipe away your tears with my greeting card after scolding me for using an expletive). My particular thorn in question is a raging problem that has left a scar tissue in your heart more times than the other roses you’ve cultivated, and still you don’t water my roots with poison laden concoction and shear my stem off ruthlessly with my own disturbing scissor collection to off me and get rid of the nuisance; instead, you spritz my face with more fertiliser, tentatively remove the weeds that stunt my development as it chokes me, and you help me continue to grow. I’m beginning to stop making sense here, and this is getting too sentimentally personal, and you would most likely whale on me the next morning for staying up late because we have to go to school tomorrow to clean up or some crap, so I’m very sorry for all my tribulations and for a million sins (yes, the fact that I decided to tactlessly blast out Mama on full loudspeakers on such a particular day included, whoops), and a thank you, more genuine than pirate gold and your signatures in the excuse letters I forged, for being here all the while and being a total headstrong badass about it. Okay, no, I can’t say the god forbidding L word yet *shudders*, but maybe I’ll save that for a later, less awkward prospect (what is with all the excessive L words in that sentence though?!). Here’s me paying my side of the dice. Thank you for everything and a gazillion virtues, and then some.

Happy mother’s day.

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