Vinyl makes me so fucking happy. The day makes me happy with the realisation that being alone can be fun, amusing, enjoyable. This day is what I needed, a pause from the muddled faces, the crowds of anguished minds. It was a reminder of when I first moved out by myself and enjoyed the solitary life, almost to the point of being reliant on the ( Read more... )

The soothing tones of Patrick Bateman's voice are the backdrop for this late morning. My apartment lays clean cut and trim, with not a single angle out of place but the curls of noodles sitting in a steaming bowl. The psychotic yuppie's troubles are oddly relaxing, as if in comparison any sort of madness I am capable of conjuring is of no ( Read more... )

what am I doing? why am I here again?

I already have her naked in my arms, curves, lips and tits . . . I can have her, she is mine, no more damage, the easy way out. But you are across the border, still unsure, still bleeding. I can feel your every angle and surface of skin when you simply touch me with your hand, your elbow, your knee. I can feel ( Read more... )

"There's something missing on my receipt."
"What? What's missing?" I am dumbed, confused and yet oddly calm. She has come in three times today, the flirty twist, the smile, the red-rimmed glasses . . .
"You're phone number . . ."

And that is how it went. Pretty simple really in it's own little fragile way. The girl has bigger balls than me (even ( Read more... )

Sometimes sadness, especially recently, has simply revealed itself as a complete sense of madness. The saddened madness. People's eye looking at me wearily, as if they can see me at my most vulnerable, as if I am sitting, twitching, talking to myself like a wacko. And maybe I am.

And once again I am wishing that somebody would come and save me. ( Read more... )

"Don't fake it baby, lay the real thing on me
The church of man, love
Is such a holy place to be
Make me baby, make me know you really care

Make me jump into the air"

another night of adventure into the black sky. through the windy hills, into the outskirts, away from the city. today Peggy as my guide to the small shack of food . . . a serve-yourself-peach-fest for the ghosts of Newcastle and Lincoln. it could be a Stephen King retreat, all lit up like it should be infested by the members of the Overlook. it was ( Read more... )

craving your kiss like a death cigarette against my heart
carving through your past your man your love to get myself in
make my place
                                     take a chance
                                                 make a bed for you and I

but I am too weak too far gone to really be there
where I want to be

Y o u aretoo g o ( Read more... )

staring in avid amounts, breaking moments in temptations. I don't know exactly what it is we are doing, in this dance with knives . . . but I want to be the romantic again.

in you I see the broken ego, the falling apart of a body trying to keep up with love almighty, trying to catch the gleam, trying to surf the wave you both created with the ( Read more... )

the turn On spook against my slothful solitude
with her french eyes stained on with pain behind
             broken hair
broken past broken future unfair

the turn On spook stares darkly swimming
over the starred array of normal eyes dead eyes
             unpatient waiting
I am dead until she smiles silkshoreslowing

you are my turn On spook my ( Read more... )