Lemon pies and coconut shells

Oh dearest me, what a day I've had, mother called this morning to wish me a happy birthday. You can imagine how shocked i was, not shocked at the fact the she called me but that i infact had forgoten my own birthday. Its strange really that i never forget jimmy's birthday or even philips, but to forget my own!? so i walked to the pet store and bought oxygen tablets for little phillip, then continued down pigsbury lane to that dear little coffee shop. Penelope was there. she gave me extra cheese on my scone, maybe i should ask her out to dinner. Oh but why would she bother with me, i bet once i finally invent something she'll say more than " hey sterling, same old?" oh my, i had quite the experience walking to aunt nelly's, i was part of a movie! yes i tell you, a movie, well they were filming in the park, lights, cameras, and all of that stuff. I happened to spring across a puddle of water, as i turned i could swear the camera was pointed in my direction! Oh my, i wonder if it was a commercial, or a movie, i think id rather it be a commercial. then penelope would see it during her lunch breaks or when she left work, and she'd tell all her friends about me, that would be swell. I arrived at aunt Nelly's rather chuffed at my accomplishment. Bounced right into the house without noticing she had painted the exterior an obnoxious yellow, the house almost looked like a marangue,i tell you. She got me a turbonamic hydrolic instant no mess no fuss ink dispenser! What 42 year old could resist such a remarkable gadget. i spent some time at aunt Nelly's, most of it was spent feeding her and re-attaching her ear piece, but it was a delight. i left aunt Nelly's headed for home and caught the last glimpse of Penelopes auburn hair. ahhhhh, i can smell the cocunut and tea tree oil right now. Today has been swell, to think i almost forgot my birthday!!

Sterling

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Pink framed in silver wings

let me close my eyes,
and drown in your heartbeat;
feel the rush
from the brush of your skin.
breathing in your words,
sighing out my love,
while whispers of eternity wind round me
like a vine in spring
whose vivid buds bloom and fade,
and bloom again

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Another day, another sigh

I awoke this morning, it was still dark outside. The mere thought of actually getting up exhausted me profoundly. So I just lay there. Michael was still snoring away. I looked up at the ceiling,then the chair piled with dirty clothing, reminiscent to a monster lurking at our bedside, watching us. I could trace scattered socks and shoes all over the floor (Michael’s stuff, might I add)…everything just peering at me, waiting for me to clean it up, to fix and readjust. It was so terribly quiet (except for Michael of course) and an inexplicable sadness swept over me. I don’t want to complain, I don’t want to feel this horribly hollow feeling which seems to just envelop me more every day. But I don’t feel anything really… alright, maybe when I’m in the garden and the sunlight mingles with my orchids and roses, or when one of my students writes a good English essay, a tinge of happiness lights up in me. The joys in my life are so faint and fleeting, however. Perhaps it’s my age. I’m turning 50 soon. Maybe it’s my fear of that age. I wanted to do so much, be so much. What on earth has happened? God, I sound so whiny. If I had to mark this as an essay, I’d probably write ‘unoriginal, uncreative complaints…dull and boring!’ I just wish that I could live a life beyond…oh, I don’t know…beyond this. When I listen to Monteverdi and drink my wine in the evenings, I close my eyes and imagine that the dull, grey curtains around me would melt away, that the television set (which seems to have become the most talkative third member of the household) would be smashed to pieces and finally silenced. And Michael. He doesn’t understand really…he tries to be interested in my day, in my writing, in me. I know I bore him. His eyes wander when I talk to him, his replies are too quick and his own words are always louder than mine. He always tells me that if we would have had children I’d have something a little more ‘realistic’ to think and worry about. I don’t think I know him anymore. I don’t even want him close to me, the desire for him to hold me and love me has disappeared. The only romance that I enjoy right now is in my books. I feel rather sorry for myself. Mother always used to say: ‘Sylvia, you are special, very special.’ I don’t feel special. I feel so frightfully normal. I never thought I’d say this.I need Mom. I need someone. I’m alone and yet surrounded by so many people. Here I am now, sitting with Casper purring on my lap, sipping my fifth cup of coffee and smoking my dear cigarettes (I’ve stopped counting those!) and trying to read through a bunch of dreadfully written assignments. Sometimes I wonder if my students even listen to me. Or do they perhaps just look at me, distracted by my yellow teeth and graying hair? Wondering whether I am the saddest person they have ever met? I need to cook dinner soon. I wish I could start living a life full of wants. I taught Macbeth today and Shakespeare is right when he states that life is “but a fleeting shadow”. Nothing more.

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existential crises

Its the tragedy of life i say, it's humans that make you inhuman and humans that make you human again. Only sex is responsible for our sanity now because we all know that we're sweating in the water here and all our toil is in vain because the bigger fucking picture is simply and entirely indifferent to us. I mean fuck, even my imaginery friend is having an existential crisis.

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Day 7665

There wasn’t much that happened today that didn’t happen all over Brazil. Of course some areas have it a lot less. The areas that are dirty, supposedly uncivilized and whose streets are tarred with litter are the types of places where they only go seasonally-When the harvest is great and the people are ready. But on the wide streets of urban Rio, across the corporate offices and beside the Supreme Court live the devils soldiers amongst the devils puppets. In an environment exploding with corruption, lies and sinful agendas, the soldiers of Satan await to take the boss’ puppets back home. The people of the slums are humbled and thus have no agendas of doing wrong. But when the reality of the intense poverty rises to their eyes and they loose all inhibitions, allowing the Demonio to engulf their villages. But where there is always sin in the concrete jungle and the Demonio are attacking more frequently and at a larger scale than be for. Deaths have been framed as suicides, villages burnt down due to ‘carelessness’ and the whole country believe what they read in the morning newspaper. The ramblings of a crazy young man go unheard. I did not want the truth to be visible to me at all times but it is. I did not choose to know when every individual is lying, nor did I choose to know the exact time of every passing person’s death down to the second. I did not wish for a foresight into the worlds above and below but that is what I’ve been cursed with and I shall carry it to my grave, knowing the full truth. Let us hope, Dear Diary, that soon I will be listened to and peace shall ensure. Let’s hope for a time when my day is so boring that I wont be able to fill the top line.

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Calyx

August '09

Calyx...

I d0n't really kn0w where t0 start... I guess the beginning w0uld be a g00d place right? Wr0ng, y0u see ever since I met y0u n0ne 0f what was and what will be really maters t0 me, all that d0es is what is...

I've been trying t0 transcribe my heart's 'meta-eights' but, w0rds have failed t0 c0ntain y0u as w0rds 0nly cater for 'meta-f0urs'...and s0 I decided t0 let shut my m0uth and let my heart speak...


Th0ughts 0f y0u change my galaxy
Th0ughts 0f y0u transf0rm fantasies t0 reality
Realities where happy endings exist and are
n0t perceived as unfinished st0ries...

Th0ughts 0f y0u change my galaxy...and
f0rm realities where we flip pages t0 read and live wha is in the sky written,
realities wher stars seat themselves on red r0ses and defy the c0ncept 0f beauty...

Th0ughts 0f y0u change my galaxy, see
y0u're what I blast 0ff 0 everytime this w0rld gets t00 much and I need space,
t0 a w0rld where inspirati0n stretches int0 infinity and black h0le hearts d0n't exist because all that they can suck in is planets that were high on l0ve...

Th0ughts 0f y0u change my galaxy...
They form milkyways that whiten stained hearts and end at f0rever...
Milkyways 0n which I h0pe y0u'll take mu hand and take a step 0f trust...

Will y0u walk with me?

I h0pe this leads y0u t0 paths y0u've l0nged t0 tread...
paths that will lead y0u h0me t0 my heart...

-Signed
Calib

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Dia 7665

Não houve muito que happned hoje que não aconteceu todos através do Rio. Naturalmente alguns ares têm-o muito menos. As áreas que são sujas, supostamente incivilizadas e cujas ruas são pichadas com a liteira são os tipos de lugares onde eles só vão de acordo com a época - Quando a colheita é grande e a gente está pronta. Mas nas largas ruas do Rio urbano, através dos escritórios corporativos e junto do Tribunal Supremo vivem os soldados de diabos entre os marionetes de diabos. Em uma explosão de ambiente com corrupção, mentiras e agendas pecadoras, os soldados de Satã esperam para tomar os marionetes do chefe em casa. A gente dos bairros pobres é humilhada e assim não tem nenhuma agenda de fazer mal. Mas quando a realidade da pobreza intensa aumenta aos seus olhos e eles soltam todas as inibições, permitindo o Demonio engolfar as suas aldeias. Mas onde há sempre o pecado no mato concreto e os Demonio estão atacando mais freqüentemente e em uma mais grande escala do que ser para. As mortes foram enquadradas como suicídios, as aldeias incendiadas devido 'ao descuido' e o país inteiro acreditam o que eles lêem no jornal de manhã. Os ramblings de um homem jovem louco vão não ouvidos. Eu não quis que a verdade fosse visível para mim sempre mas é. Não decidi saber quando cada indivíduo está estando, nem decidi saber o tempo exato de cada morte de pessoa de passagem ao segundo. Não desejei para uma presciência nos mundos em cima e em baixo mas é com que fui xingado e o transportarei à minha sepultura, sabendo a verdade cheia. Vai esperar, o Diário Caro, isto logo serei escutado e a paz assegurará. Vai esperar durante algum tempo quando o meu dia é tão maçante que eu costume ser capaz de encher a linha superior.

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Dearest Diary

Mother can be so wise. She told me not to speak to that Diane girl anymore, she just wants to use me for my money. Well not a chance I worked hard for every penny. Mother is so wise. I had a slendid day so what the fuck does that bitch want from me. Just because she gave birth to me doesnt mean she owns me.oh I need to mind my temper. I had that dream again last night. This time the woman was pregnant. Just like before she asked me for the time, then turned away.I then kick her, she falls to the floor on to her stomach. Her trousers darken with blood. I woke up, But this time I was covered in you know...semen. Mother is so wise

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That much bath-in-a-can is hazardous

I know, I didn't pay the rent on time again today, but Mrs Der Kalstanian doesn't seem to mind. She always says that I can pay her when I have the money, so I don't know why her twat of her son Tsolag has to change the lock everytime the rent is a little late. He keeps giving me shit about how I'm endangering his mother's life by bringing home my dodgy friends. If he cared for his mother half as much as he does for his golddigging girlfriend (Who I swear is fucking his brother. No one is ever that excited to see their in-laws) he wouldn't let her live in this house by herself. And my dodgy friends...really now? The only reason Mr Brill cream is paranoid about Hussein coming over is because he thinks that Hussein belongs to some Islamic terrorist group and is manufacturing explosives in my basement. That jaundice eyed fucker can take his rent money along with his cheap cologne and go fuck himself with a razor blade.





Note to self: Next time don't stand so close to Tsolag, his old spice could be the reason you're feeling so nauseous or it coulod be those carrots that were reduced by two pounds. There's always a reason that things are on sale and you're getting more than you paid for.

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gloom at 21

I cried today. I couldn’t believe it. Odd. Tears streaming down my face you know? Just odd. I was alone of course. Imagine Mark or anyone really saw. Haha. Actually no. Not funny. He would be like what the fuck.
It was about my dad. Go figure. It’s so fucked up how everything in my life is informed by him. Everything I do. Or actually everything I don’t do. I’m trying to escape everything he was but he is in my mind every single time I have to make a decision. Always ‘what would he do?’. And I do the opposite. But he’s still always there. Fuck. I wish I could speak to people. Actually I don’t. It would be too awkward and I couldn’t handle that. I could speak to a girl I guess. They’re always good at listening or whatever. But Mark is just as good. I just can’t stand the way he looks at me sympathetically. I’m not a fucking stray dog. Jesus.
I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. I want to be big you know? Catastrophic. Monu-fucking-mental. Not just mental. Like him. It doesn’t help that I’m managing two shitty bands with no prospect of ever making it big. And the fact that I have to work a ‘real’ job now doesn’t make things better. The nine to five skit really messes with my self-esteem. I’m not built for it. That was my dad’s life. Which he took. Haha. Don’t wanna go down that toilet now do I.
Man, I need to sort my mind out. Get amped about life again. Whatever
Im going to play DOTA.
Peace

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Ronny Moodle

Me name is Ronny Moodle and I live with me mam in a small place in Dublin. It’s not much but it’s the only home I’ve ever know. There’s been a lot ‘a talk round town bout me on account of me age. Folk don’t think it’s right fer a grown lad like meself te be living with me mam. They say it’s unhealthy or some other bollocks. Anyway when I was down the pub the night befer last I strolled through te the pisser only te find Mickey O’Donovan waiting fer me. He’s been teasing me bout me curly red hair and patchy freckles since I was a toddler. I seem to maintain the position of turning the other cheek on account of the fact that he’s a big lad. A big lad fired up on a couple of stale pints of Guinness waiting fer you at the entrance te the bog; it’s the stuff nightmares are made of. It didn’t get any better. I spent most of tha’ night with me head in the crapper, misplacing my inhaler in the process and having a mild panic attack. I told me mam I’m moving out.

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nevertheless, what does it mean to put these words into more or less a
kind of order? what is order? & is the order in language inherent,
like a tree, or does it have to be designed, like a post office? or is
it maybe something in-between, like the sagrada familia?

where do the words begin? where do they end? what defines language as
beautiful and/or ugly? which words are powerful, which are passive?
which words create excitement / danger / surprise; which words just
make you want to go home and lie down?

when are there enough words, and when too few? how many words did you
use today? which words are you intending to use tomorrow? what are yr
words worth?

martin de porres

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"the pen is mightier than the sword. provided the pen is sharp and the sword is short" - Terry Pratchett

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