beth motherfucking kirby.

b thang.

SHUTUP in my boudoir

28.8.05

note the sly reference to sex, even though i said i don't talk about it.

Today i met a dead rabbit.
I walked, feeling my hips sway heavily, reading a cheque and thinking about money, and when i looked away it was directly into a glassy, velvet-brown eye.
I gasped. Gasps look like this: !. i dont know why i gasped.
So tucked under by the edge of the curb was the rabbit, a big fat soft sack of clean, uninjured fur. Its eye was all depths and chasms of chocolately glorious nothingness, inbetween straw-coloured lashes, like a far away shadow of my own.
First i walked on, and then i cam back to see him once, and then i came back to see him again.
For some reason i felt this huge pulling furry urge to watch over its squishy rectangle of cardoardy body. mainly to just, look. to just register the dead, perfect rabbit.
then, then really after deciding not to incase i saw it get squished and that would have made me sad, i carried on walking.
and as i did there was bright plasticish jazz on the wind as i walked under rounded scales of light and shade through woodland. It made me smile.
nowww i lie in my garden, sort of lulled and considering.
I have watched an aeroplane float around in the flat sky, along with some dandelion seeds, the kind you have to wish on, like dustly fairies.

you know when you look at the sky, and after some time your eyes begin to notice all these bajillions of particles of colour and light that make up the sky? well really what is it was ust all the hundreds and thousands of flying things that are there between our faces and the sun, like little gormless flies with huge eyes, or petals from trees from spring?
there might be petals too, from other springs. like i was just thinking about the sand which is probably in my brain hidden in my actual brain right now as i write this.
in something so big and ennnndless there should be more than just the obliteratingly obvious; planes, thoughts, life.

lately ive been thinking about writing things down.
alot of people do not write the saem things as me. i dont write about holidays, or friends, or sex.
i mainly thought about this after remembering an insanely old song and singing it. i was like:
"i remember when, i was five, and you were ten, boy"..what? i first heard this when i was about six. SIX for gossakes.
"you teased and made my cry! And you said.." How am remembering this? what?
"LITTLE GIRL, PLEASE DONT WAIT FOR ME," WHAT?
"WAIT PATIENTLY FOR LURVE SOMEDAY IT IWLL SURELY COME! OOH!"
and so i continue until i realise that the whole lyric-reciting chunk of my brain must be swelling with pride and will NOT RELENT.

so, what? why do i remember this? why do i remember this song from a very definitely MAY day in MAY, and why do i remember my PIN number by how it looked on its paper?
and why, why has an alarming percentage of my life dissolved away, most of my memories in the Recall and Association section, backing up things like No, we did not eat sandwiches, and Yes, i am alive?
how come the memories that are always floating around are a vague selection of people and faces.
maybe i thought it was comfort?
but theres bad memories, and embarrasing ones too, one especially that no one else saw and will be mine for ever, making me smile in exams.

one day, will my only memory be your face, in the dark, smiling, with blood on your chin?

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28.8.05

note the sly reference to sex, even though i said i don't talk about it.