Author Topic: Sunny days in dark november  (Read 2349 times)

Sepia

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Sunny days in dark november
« on: November 30, 2006, 02:18:04 pm »
(This might be more interesting for my norwegian compadres but there might be something for everyone in here. Spelling errors and typos and bad sentences is due to little sleep and fuckloads of exams)


The shoetrend this summer in norway was converse and vans offthewall sneakers. The hipsters carried them for two years prior but the majority of norwegian humanity embraced the shit quality cloth shoes earlier this spring. To them, they still appear hip and seeing as global warming has gotten off it's fat ass and delivered, there's no snow and it's at least +5 celsius outside. Hipness, especially in clothing and physical acessories is something I easily understand, like I understand the good old multiplication table I learned when I was ten or something and to me, these things are on the same level.

You are a tool.

In nine times out of ten, if you're wearing either said converse or vans or a noname spinoff, I won't initiate conversation with you unless my intuition says go because I've talked to you before, I've listened to your problems, I've made you laugh and I've made a seamless lie to you that fit into your worldview and how you percieve me. Arrogantly enough, I read you like an open book but you're not in the habit of opening books, are you? I've talked to you about it before and you giggle lightly, covering your mouth and saying that you've always been interested in books and you feel it's important to keep up your reading skills so you read gossipmagazines which you hide underneath your bed in a box but not the one with your dildo, your vibe, strapon and condoms. You keep having Kafka, Dostoyevsky, Bj??rneboe and the crying of lot 49 next to your bed, collecting dust, making it easier to when cleaning out and sometimes when you're alone in your four foot four room, white ikea zen fashion and sometimes when it's been a good day you think about your new friends at university, how you'd really like to get to know them but how they're reserved, treating it like it's a job and keeping more friends on the side and when it's been bad you just lie there, gently comforting yourself and it almost sounds like someone calls you but you don't keep your cell on silent, do you?

You are a tool.

You know you won't get far but you want that fuzzy fine feeling on the inside, like you're on the side of life that's got butter on it, you are. As always, a man manifests inside your head and you see him open the door, it's the pretty lecturer in Socialanthropology and you want to ask him about the last assignment but he's suddenly nude and smiling and he's tearing up your cupboard and as he put a stack of books on the floor he says moaningly "I've always wanted to fuck on paulo coelho" and you oblige, you give in, an insecure smile of submissiveness but this reminds you of home, the warm fuzzy feeling when you still lived home and rode a sled in the snow and went home to find a big jug of hot cocoa waiting there for you and your mom played beth cassidy and he licks you in the neck and you think it's dirty and all that's left of the fuzzy feeling of secure insecurity evaporates slowly and calmly as your instrument goes downward in power and then just sits there between your thighs, a dead machine.

You are a tool.

You are a product. You're still physically a human being. A can of baked beans in tomato sauce is still a can of baked beans in tomato sauce even if it says S&W or Heinz on the outside. Accept that you are a product, an empty slate you give or sell to adapt to a world whose norms you see and recognize but will never understand. You sit and nod in Buddhism101 and agree when you discuss it over a beer afterwards with your friends but you know that it's a lie. You know you don't agree. You don't think over it, you don't try to understand it, you accept it as a universal truth, like black holes, anti-matter and gravity. In your world, there's a mystic haze and you ignore it because your intuition says it won't go away and you feel the sensation of drudgery if you were ever to poke inside it. Thusly, you no longer understand the gravity of the situation you no longer feel the iron bars with your hands and you don't even remember them, but you do remember that thing you were going to do today, speed dating at B??lgen&Moi and you hope it's going to go all right and you find a man and how your friends found men through this service and when you put on your H&M makeup and bathe yourself in the vile shit you dare to call perfume you feel the smell of cocoa and your mother stands behind you, touching your hair saying "You're the best in the world".

You are mistaken.

And you cry and scream and weep and howl and you're a little girl of 12, no more, miles of miles away from home and you don't want this you just want your mommy and you want to scream to mommy, call her but you know mommy see you as more of a sister than a daughter and you bottle it up, keep it in cold cryo storage where it will be untill you have a child of your own and sleep depriviation and exhaustion opens up bottle number 22.

You are a tool.

You haste and dry yourself up, make yourself comfortable, run down to the subway and it's going to be okay, you don't have to focus anymore and you're still even horny, you feel after a tom collins and a strawbery margaquiri you're gonna be a-ok and he's gonna be there, the man who'll find coelho and smile and love you even more for the one you are, not the student you act out to be and you sit through it for three hours noting down about people compressing their lives into 3minute boxes and you feel like you're good at taking notes, you've learned something academic after all and there's a nice man there, newly shaven and a nice suit and he drinks tom collins just like you and you sit for longer than three minutes and you're both disqualified so you move to another section of the restaurant and he orders tequila sunrises and you order two shots of bourbon and you talk and talk and talk and you can already hear the music and you've chosen to go with pure white, not eggwhite as Mari did three months ago and you're looking forward to being pregnant and the bourbon kicks in and you begin to get naughty, for the first time in your life you feel the reins flying free in the wind and there's wind in your hair and you're bathing naked in refreshing saltwater and you head for a nearby club you haven't been at before after you've drunk up and you want to order but he whispers "I LOVE YOU" loudly enough for you to hear over the noise from the speakers and he gropes you and you push your tongue down his mouth and you feel like you're riding down a mountain in snowy snowy snowy and you're gonna go home and get some cocoa, oh mom, but then you let yourself be dragged towards the handicap toilet and you feel like you've been in the matrix and you ate a very special cake and you kiss him and he kisses you and under his breath he mumbles that he's been searching for you all life and he's in love with you and you moan loudly for the first time in your life and it's not fake and you smile up at him but then he sortof flinches and he cracks your head hard in the porcelain and it breaks and it's all hazy but you've watched enought star trek to know that resistance is futile so there you are and you accept it as you accept gravity and you've seen on pacific blue that this is how to do it and you're ear is against the floor and it sounds like it's your cell calling but you never have it on silent and then you notice the blood and you think you see it, you know you see it.

You are a tool.

You regress into yourself, folding the bad memories inside themselves and you're careful now, you know as an acidhead knows that the world has nothing more to offer and you move home and you begin to clean the local doctor's office and you keep your converse and you talk about what happened the day you opened up and lost control.
Everyone will always be too late

East Coast Hustle

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Re: Sunny days in dark november
« Reply #1 on: November 30, 2006, 04:00:28 pm »
RAH.
Rabid Colostomy Hole Jammer of the Coming Apocalypse™

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P3nT4gR4m

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Re: Sunny days in dark november
« Reply #2 on: November 30, 2006, 05:30:08 pm »
 :mittens:

Fkin blinding! Who the hell are you??
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LMNO

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Re: Sunny days in dark november
« Reply #3 on: November 30, 2006, 05:33:35 pm »
One of the old(er) crowd.


And a hell of a writer.

P3nT4gR4m

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Re: Sunny days in dark november
« Reply #4 on: November 30, 2006, 05:57:25 pm »
And a hell of a writer.

Master of the understatement.
Not actually a meat product.
Ass-Kicking & Foot-Stomping Ancient Master of SHIT FUCK FUCK FUCK
Awful and Bent Behemothic Results of Last Night's Painful Squat.
High Altitude Haggis-Filled Sex Bucket From Beyond Time and Space.
Internet Monkey Person of Filthy and Immoral Pygmy-Porn Wart Contagion
Octomom Auxillary Heat Exchanger Repairman
walking the fine line line between genius and batshit fucking crazy

"computation is a pattern in the spacetime arrangement of particles, and it’s not the particles but the pattern that really matters! Matter doesn’t matter." -- Max Tegmark

Jenne

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Re: Sunny days in dark november
« Reply #5 on: November 30, 2006, 07:17:28 pm »
Powerful stuff.

LMNO

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Re: Sunny days in dark november
« Reply #6 on: November 30, 2006, 07:25:03 pm »
y'all should do some thread archeology & find his fictions. 


Great shit.

Sepia

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Re: Sunny days in dark november
« Reply #7 on: November 30, 2006, 11:21:34 pm »
Hehe, glad you liked it and thanks.

I'll be reposting the fiction soon too though seeing as I'm an utter attentionwhore and it's almost gotten booky.

And now that I've whored enough I gotta check up on everything I haven't read yet.
Everyone will always be too late

Jenne

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Re: Sunny days in dark november
« Reply #8 on: December 02, 2006, 03:46:32 am »
I'll be very happy to read it.

Cramulus

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Re: Sunny days in dark november
« Reply #9 on: August 09, 2011, 09:55:54 pm »

Disco Pickle

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Re: Sunny days in dark november
« Reply #10 on: August 09, 2011, 11:47:05 pm »
Now that was worth the read.
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