Concrete/Abstract or ..mumblemumblemumble..

Sitting on the floor in your boxers and hoodie loading Stones Doors and Zep onto mp3 for tomorrow. Sips of Miller. Only one bottle left in the fridge. Sucks. Fashion TV on the boob tube. Pretty girls walking and 60s rock on top. Jumpin Jack Flash. butitsaaalriiightnow-infactitsagas. You couldnt be arsed making the stew so its baloney and cheese again. Bowel cancer. Yum. The bread is wholegrain with loads of sesame seeds and you are eating an apple for dessert so you dont feel that guilty about your unhealth. Jackson 5 now. You dont recognise the song and you realise that most of their songs sound kind of the same. Your heart feels really heavy all the time now. Theres a weight on your chest and your breathing is heavy but you know it isnt just the empty calories. Maybe its the new year. Maybe you feel this way with all beginnings but you forget within 365. Like a case of the Mondays but its a case of the Januarys. 1^st of 12 not 1^st of 7. You arent broke as yet so it isnt money. You can usually distract with the small things. Beers. Football. A good cheeseburger. Right now your eyeball is glued to the big picture and its heavy and its ugly and you cant shift perspective. Youll listen to Kid A in the morning and the heaviness will still be there but therell be a cathartic warmth that accompanies and it wont be quite as bad. Or maybe it will. Nevermind doesnt help anymore because you arent angry anymore and youre too far away to feel one way or the other about them. Pity. Empathy. But not quite sympathy. Not quite compassion. Windows are the eyes of the house and youre staring out from behind them and its such an ugly day. You try not to speak or write to anyone you know in case your mope is catching. Nigella has epic tits but she wont contribute any cleavage FTW. Close-up of her hands as she separates eggs. Male models on Fashion TV. Greasy wrestlers grapple in tights. Youd watch The Shield but youve missed the first 6 seasons. Back to Nigella. The muzak is awful. Dont like marscaponi (sp?). But I do like the leopard print sweater. Jerked chicken. Winning. Meet Joe Black is a very long film. Cant think of many men beautiful enough to play Death. The cruelty/unfairness/random nature of beauty carries so much of its appeal. Like unearned wealth. The small things distract for a few minutes at a time. Hypochondriac. Emotional retard. Obsessive compulsive. Neurotic.  Bipolar. Lazy. Selfish. Long-winded. Narcissist. Incoherent drunk. Vergingonsolipsist. Fuckerupofgrammar. Irony/selfawareness/individualism bring on a downward spiral into gazing so far into the navel the speech blurts out of the arse. Arse. Arse. Arse. Peach. Lovebite. Perfume. Hair hanging down into your face and then brushing over your neck and chest and stomach and yes. Winning. I am no longer fashion forward. Get no kick from the mens designers. Wont wear these clothes. Not even in the ‘future’. Bluetooth stopped working and Kid A copied without Everything In Its Right Place. Hate the world. Hate technology. Hate alone. Too much of me is bad for my health. Too much of you is bad for your health. A little bit of you makes me your man. Gonna watch Cheaters. Do You Think That Youre Better Off Alone? by Alice Deejay. Yes I do when I watch Cheaters. Love the stupid host Joey Greco. Wish I could stay up long enough for Springer. Definition of alone is the rambling innermonologue/livetweetofcrapTV via MS Word. Think maybe humour as a defence mechanism is overrated and played out. Hate when my laugh comes out desperate-sounding. Should maybe try to be more like Tyler Durden. Maybe start fights with my friends even though I dont see the point in fighting. Will maybe make me feel ‘alive’ and unemasculated. You were on your way to being a supermodel and dated counts and ambassadors but it was shallow and so you married Lance instead but then you got fat and Lance started cheating on you. Love this show.  Youre a heavyweight. You look hardbody. Hope you kick Lances ass.

 

…approx eight hours later: the Radiohead worked.