Leaving tomorrow, leaving me, leaving me without a shred of joy aside from that ever-so-tenuous connection of telephone-satellite-transferred data - all that stands between me and what feels like losing my mind. Rather like standing on the edge of a precipice with only cotton thread preventing the plunge.
To say that its not the best of feelings would be somewhat of an understatement. You getting that sort of vibe?
To say that its about the worst feeling in the world, short of white-hot wire being inserted behind your eyeballs, inserted straight into your living, pulsing braing... that might come close.
Truth be told, even that doesnt seem to cut it.
Come back safe, baby.
++++++++++
Its been a while since I last blogged. The muse which normally haunts me (incidentally, this muse is NOT a three-metre tall, terrifyingly nightmarish sculpture of blades and thorns. Martin Silenus i am not) when I blog has been channeling its divine inspiration (oh come on do you actually BELIEVE any of this?!) to the writing of my book, instead. yeah you heard me right. I'm TRYING (that horrible word in CAPS being the operational one in that sentence) to write one.
If I succeed, I happen to think it will be rather good. But then if I were to say otherwise, you people would know this isn't really me blogging.
Question: Is it really me blogging, then? Could I be an impostor, who has cunningly revealed the knowledge that I must write like Tim in order to fool people into believing 'tis truly him? Utilising a disarmingly guileless and open "honesty" to win your hearts?
(Probably Answer: Do you really think I care?)
* ^ * ^ * ^ *
In the time between my last post and this one, however - or has any time really passed? What IS time, anyway, other than an artificial construct, created to fool our pretty little brains into believing something MEANINGFUL is happening? That we're progressing, because each day we mark another 24 hours off the calender? - i've had some decent experiences. The foremost is that every day i seem to fall deeper in love. Yes, the mushiness in that sentence is well-nigh unforgivable, i acknowledge, but there's no denying the truth! That photo shall be kept and treasured (starting with wrapping it in a plastic bag so as to preserve its newness =) very much.
Last tuesday (i.e. 2 days ago) was also kinda fun, in a sick, let's-abuse-tim-oh-wait-i-AM-tim-ah-what-the-hell kinda way. Got drunk sufficiently to be puking all over the place ("FUN? that's fun to you?" pray for me, my brothers and sisters. Pray hard). Strangely enough, there was none of the "my my the room is spinning! How pretty! How beautif-- *insert gagging noises here*" that usually goes with throwing up after inebriation. Well, that's what usually goes for ME. This was more like "Oh my. I've eaten something pretty fucking bad. Let me stagger to the toilet. Gee that's strange. Feet dont seem to be working too well. Maybe I should - Ah there's the cubicle. Quick, quick! " ................. you know what happens then. Didnt feel like anything was majorly WRONG (well, of course, having to puke is some bad shit in itself, but aside from that). The only thing different was that the ground, when gracefully descended to (read: I didnt fucking fall la i swear!), was remarkably comfortable. As in why-bother-with-mattreses? comfortable.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"The pain it sleeps inside/It sleeps with just one eye/Only leaving, when you're next to me" I think its safe to say this pain will be around for a good 17 days then. Love is a many-fangled thing indeed, but i wouldn't change a thing, or even pop a pill to stop the ill.
To say that its not the best of feelings would be somewhat of an understatement. You getting that sort of vibe?
To say that its about the worst feeling in the world, short of white-hot wire being inserted behind your eyeballs, inserted straight into your living, pulsing braing... that might come close.
Truth be told, even that doesnt seem to cut it.
Come back safe, baby.
++++++++++
Its been a while since I last blogged. The muse which normally haunts me (incidentally, this muse is NOT a three-metre tall, terrifyingly nightmarish sculpture of blades and thorns. Martin Silenus i am not) when I blog has been channeling its divine inspiration (oh come on do you actually BELIEVE any of this?!) to the writing of my book, instead. yeah you heard me right. I'm TRYING (that horrible word in CAPS being the operational one in that sentence) to write one.
If I succeed, I happen to think it will be rather good. But then if I were to say otherwise, you people would know this isn't really me blogging.
Question: Is it really me blogging, then? Could I be an impostor, who has cunningly revealed the knowledge that I must write like Tim in order to fool people into believing 'tis truly him? Utilising a disarmingly guileless and open "honesty" to win your hearts?
(Probably Answer: Do you really think I care?)
* ^ * ^ * ^ *
In the time between my last post and this one, however - or has any time really passed? What IS time, anyway, other than an artificial construct, created to fool our pretty little brains into believing something MEANINGFUL is happening? That we're progressing, because each day we mark another 24 hours off the calender? - i've had some decent experiences. The foremost is that every day i seem to fall deeper in love. Yes, the mushiness in that sentence is well-nigh unforgivable, i acknowledge, but there's no denying the truth! That photo shall be kept and treasured (starting with wrapping it in a plastic bag so as to preserve its newness =) very much.
Last tuesday (i.e. 2 days ago) was also kinda fun, in a sick, let's-abuse-tim-oh-wait-i-AM-tim-ah-what-the-hell kinda way. Got drunk sufficiently to be puking all over the place ("FUN? that's fun to you?" pray for me, my brothers and sisters. Pray hard). Strangely enough, there was none of the "my my the room is spinning! How pretty! How beautif-- *insert gagging noises here*" that usually goes with throwing up after inebriation. Well, that's what usually goes for ME. This was more like "Oh my. I've eaten something pretty fucking bad. Let me stagger to the toilet. Gee that's strange. Feet dont seem to be working too well. Maybe I should - Ah there's the cubicle. Quick, quick! " ................. you know what happens then. Didnt feel like anything was majorly WRONG (well, of course, having to puke is some bad shit in itself, but aside from that). The only thing different was that the ground, when gracefully descended to (read: I didnt fucking fall la i swear!), was remarkably comfortable. As in why-bother-with-mattreses? comfortable.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"The pain it sleeps inside/It sleeps with just one eye/Only leaving, when you're next to me" I think its safe to say this pain will be around for a good 17 days then. Love is a many-fangled thing indeed, but i wouldn't change a thing, or even pop a pill to stop the ill.
posted by Timothy at 10:41 pm
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