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27.2.09
other bitches just front.
MIZZA MIZZA MAH NAAAAAME IS THE OL DURRRTY BAS, MY GAAAAAME, TO KICK YUH ASS
DUNA DUN DUN DUN DUUUN DADADADADADADA.
man i have just been fucking emersing myself in hip hop now that i am on holiday. COME ON BEBEH, BEBEH BEBEH BEBEH COME ONNN.
aka ol dirrty (duh) and biggie (me and sam went to see that fucking notorious movie the other day? it was fucking fresh - sam is killing it nowadays, i wish he wasnt short)and FUCK man i just only today ONLY TODAY can you fucking believe that? my mums home. anyway, only today, after listening to eminem for nearly TEN years i heard shit off his first signed album (infinite). its actually good, pretty ninties and low fi on the production, but that's what i like. nearly ten years, thats crazy. on a long enough time scale the life span for EVERYTHING drops to zero. 0. 0000.
fuck man, you know when youre just pretending, and everything is a front, flirtyflirty artyarty, oh. oh i know people want what i work, have you fucking seen my ass in these jeans?
actually it has got to the point now where that fucking prick doesnt even ask me HOW I AM after what, 2 months? of COURSE i am not going to have sex with you. nigguh please. please, i havent even thought about you, boy.
i'm in love with a married man. but he isnt married and i dont love him, but that would be sweet, candy sweet, to have that life. a life of a messy house that smells like leather, covered in car parts and ashytrays and bottles of whisky, little metal animals and corks. reading the paper and having sex and going out once it got dark on a sunday. him not shaving, me loving it. wearing his coat, that coat.
look. what i'm trying to say is:
sometimes i feel so lost, so lost in layers of pretending who i am to other people, i forget, and i turn into this other girl who is so confident and a little bit cocky and a little bit tough and that really isn't all of me. i think it's because all the new people i meet nowadays only need to see or talk to one facet of a person and me, them, we as a collective are safe in the knowledge that we will never know each other beyond the shallow and fucking time honored time hewn relationship of master and fucking servant.
yknow? and when i talk to someone about art, to someone who really knows about it and knows me, it feels like i need to cry, like opening your car window after youve been chain smoking to an icy blue cloud of a night. it's so refreshing.
i miss it like hell. i miss being surrounded by it permanently, not have to set a day aside to hammer shit into google and youtube and keep. on. pretending.
on top of all of it i guess now i am sort of happy. i have stopped moping - that's 1 thing to cross of my list. i am so
so
so
glad i am not in a relationship, a boy/girl ting. sometimes i think i am really clamouring after that closeness but in every fight i see, every argument i hear i think "thank fuck. thank fuck that is not me"
like a physical RELIEF man, atlas shifting the heavens down. an immeasurable weight.
an icy blue cloud of a day, of a night; of a life.
whispered by killa b at 6:57 PM |
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