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13.7.07
sick
i am so glad that i'm not you.
however: i'm not particularly psyched to be me either.
whispered by killa b at 12:37 PM |
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1.7.07
mushroo-ooms!
every day when i wake up a single word is written in purple on my bedstead.
the word is mushroom.
mush room
do you think they are called mushrooms because their gills are made up out of tiny rooms that are mushy.
or is it because when you squash them they don't take up mush room.
p.s.
i had a dream the other night. the bar where i work had changed, it was underground, glowingly lit as if by laterns that work in abandoned tunnels of the underground. the walls were hewn from mud and painted in parts with yellow paint. the new barmen and barmaids were people, kids, i used to go to school with, all wearing black. the new landlord was a thin old man.
the glass washer (a mini metal dishwasher) was swollen and white and inside was red, plates, alot of red, and caught in a recess in the door were the bodies of tiny frozen bright yellow chicks, like my boyfriend keeps to feed their birds. except they weren't chicks - their heads were the bare skulls of tiny rodents, their noses sharp and brittle, their teeth miniscule and sharp, still covered in patchy yellow down. their black eyes glinted in the steamy light and i shouted out, sickened. they were still alive, but still, switching from skulls to nosed, whiskered little white creatures.
whispered by killa b at 9:56 AM |
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