I'm only here for the attention

[Sepia]

even though it will dwindle and die away into the wastelands of ts eliot, you should all know I love you. Because, I met you. The other day. It was thursday, last week, I was getting back into working, trying to make a decent sourdough and we were all so fresh in the start with this new menu that wasn't on the top of the shelves, shitty aspargus with what they called a sauce vierge and salad and they gave it lots of french names but it tasted like shit but then there was the monkfish which was quite marvellous if it had been a beef for it's not fucking fish, it's a fucking white beef, it's good but not worth the cost before the fondant and the fondant is excellent, it's very very good but I had to leave early when I argued that we couldn't call it


"DEATH BY CHOCOLATE"


which isn't the same term over there as it is here, we're like your 2002 version of that but even though you believe in time or its linearity of whether you see everything as skittles bubbling through your head, it's still a bad name

we were all the dreams once, all the rage inside our heads, peeking at the outside, knowing well we would meet no understanding, spending years building our skin and shells tougher, heading for a greater unknown but at the time no longer caring of what THEY mean, THEY being ofcoursely what we wanted it to be, what we needed THEM to be, for us to survive and thrive in the enviroment we KNEW we needed. A tomato plant knowing it needs that other pot, jumps over to it late at night, stomps the red basil down and thrives

we know what we need but we don't know why. In the beginning we know why because we do the opposite of what our teachers or what the government or what the man or what the GMAN in hl2 tells us to but most of us are beyond that, we know that makes us easy adversaries and a thing that might have been our births, might have been our conditioning or whatever, we're not easy

sec, going out for a cig

where was i? oh yeah, I met you. hah. I met all of you. You were slender, tall, a beautiful figure with small tits and you had this goofy grin. I was done with mine for the day and I sat down on the outside of the place with a beer and a gammel dansk (which is more like jäger than fernet, but better than both) and wrote in my little book, the sun was still out and I saw you from a distance, noticed you among your retarded friends who'd ordered 30$ shitty pizzas earlier that evening and from that order I knew you were the one who ordered the bouillabase (?) and you had long brown, almost black hair, cut in the front, wearing second hand stuff mixed with the cheaper dior and h&m, smelling like a woman should, chanel no 5. You'd been drinking hemingway dry martinis while everyone else had been drinking gintonics and cubalibres but you'd retained your style, alcohol for you was like being interested in international politics or how to make the perfect bruschetta, just an interest.

Your eyes were ablaze and they gave me the fear so I kept to myself, writing nothing but shit, looking your way but you stopped by on the way to the bar and I paused as I rarely do when I'm writing seriously and your face wasn't beautiful, bordering normal, grey mass, greyface, A4 etc but you had the most perfect lips and you formed the most perfect sentence:

Write me into it

and I couldn't. My brain stopped but my hand drank the rest of the beer and the gammel dansk and I trailed behind, went to the bar with you, stood there amazed only looking, jaw open and drooling untill I ordered a manhattan and we sat down on the outside, the manhattan and the sidecar and we talked, we talked for a long time and when everyone else went home I brought you inside and we drank free, talking to the chefs, waiters and waitresses, shared stories of retarded customers but you and I sat there and talked and when the chefs went home we were the last and the manager gave me they key and it was just you and I, opening first a bottle of chablis before stumbling to a bottle of amarone, not too drunk to care because we never cared about that anyhow and it took that bottle of chablis and half the amarone before we frenched, dirty, like we did when we were 16, not knowing what we did

and you

you fucked like I'd thought you would, semi-kinky filled with fear and a degree of selfloathing but damn was it good, it was perfect


Summer vacation continuing, just thought I'd share this little one with you darlings.

[Cramulus]

 

good to hear from ya, Sep. She sounds like a hell of a girl. 

[Triple Zero]

knocking me right off my feet, once more sepia.

i don't like all of your writings, but some, really draw me into it. i think it's my own mood rather than your writing that determines it, but thanks.

or maybe it's having my own head in the clouds like that ...

[Daruko]

good stuff. thanks for posting.