<< You don't think you're going to get away with this, do you? Look you fucking miserable waste of space I've warned you don't mess with me it's just a simple question and you are going to give me the answer after this one oh don't give me "islamic extrememist" bull because twenty years ago it would have been commies and they're both all shit because it's not what it's all about you wanky pansy I'm asking you to be existential you dickhead you're going to tell me I promise or I'm going to double the voltage what? aliens from mars? I won't even bother to laugh at that I'll charge you up where the sun don't shine and fry your gonads for breakfast this is one last chance it's a simple philisophical question
who is the enemy? >>
Posts archive for: May, 2008
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who is the enemy?
@ 2008-05-30 – 21:15:19
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All about Sissy
@ 2008-05-04 – 12:24:58
He hated being called Sissy instead of Carl, but in his heart he knew he was a bit of a wimp.
In another part of his heart, Sissy loved Janet with the long blonde hair, the most beautiful girl in the village. Janet appeared to love Sissy, too. They kept exchanging long glances, her bionic eyelashes fluttering. The looks felt more and more meaningful - until they stopped.
Sissy knew it was all his fault. He lacked the courage to approach her, the imagination to know what to do or say.
Stupid, pathetic. He hated himself and took to going on long walks in the woods, trying to think of ways to beat himself up, while doing little about it. One day he came across a beautiful, hidden lake. A few swans, a few fish, a birds or two - and Sissy. That was all that was there.
He stared for hours at his hateful reflection - the image of a young man who was born to fail. Occasionally a swan's wings or a gust of breeze would disturb the surface water, and Sissy became fascinated how his face became refracted, almost re-arranged. Was it an improvement? Would he ever recover?
Suddenly, he saw a reflection of another face alongside his own. Janet's! For a split second he resented it - her- being there and it must have shown.
"Nah!" Janet, who had been about to embrace Sissy, changed her mind. She pushed the beautiful but pathetic young man into the water and held him under till he drowned.
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Batting an eyelid, out for a duck
@ 2008-05-04 – 10:32:46
"Some of my friends kill ducks in target practice" he said, before waking up.
He must have meant "choir practice" because most of he dream had happened in Durham cahedral, a building he had never visited. He must have meant "swans".
It was most confusing. And how did that commercial for Omo fit in, the one from the sixties? Omo Shariff, perhaps. Sans serif? Omo Kayam? Extremist Anglican Terrorism? He wrote down all the details of the dream, as instructed by his psychothrapist.
He wrote them down, and again woke up, this time in a sweat.
He definitely wasn't going to tell his therapist about the ducks.
