Where Did It All Go So Right?

My second-to-last-night home, I was lighting the fire and it was trying really hard to die. My thirteen-year-old brother advised me to put it out of it's misery and start over. I didn't. I couldn't. Ten minutes later it was roaring at us.

We had tea and he was gulping his bean segments down one at a time with juice. The large glass juice jug was between him and Mum, and he was dodging round to make the image of her face distort, calling her a retard. He completely lost it when she had only one eye and a squashed skull. Warning him that if he didn't stop laughing, his lime juice would squirt out his eyes, didn't stop him.

Once he had stopped laughing enough, he said something very fast about two minutes and twenty seven seconds, and Mum was like, “What?!? Two centipedes?”

I'm not sure how I started the Leonard Cohen impressions, but Mum won them.

Then I was using my knife and fork as chopsticks, mostly just flipping food off my plate.

It all ended with Mum spinning round in the kitchen squealing that there was a cockroach in her top and throwing her clothes off one layer at a time. All she found was a loose earring down her shirt.

He and I made chocolate sauce for our icecream, and we all sat in front of the fire, which was by now in it's prime, Mum with just the chocolate sauce jug and a spoon, to watch TinTin.

Where did it all go so right?

I Like Winter

I am not a gardener. I shall never be one. If I was one, I would stop. If I bought a house with a garden, I would introduce weeds and goats to it. I love dandelions. I love daisies. Gorse is not pretty, but its tenacity is to be admired, and perhaps adopted. I despise onion flowers, but I love potato vine. Scottish thistles have their place, and it should be set for them on a clean tablecloth with pewter utensils. Roses look best with a backdrop of kikuyu; it creates juxtaposition, which is the purpose of my life.

The more plants the merrier; how dare I tell the ecosystem what to do, like it is too young to decide for itself? Do I know better than wind, pollen, and microevolution? Shall I remove potential from my garden? Do I expect it to receive it's orders politely? Shall I recoil at it's refusal to cooperate, it's continual attempts to usurp me, to invade my garage, and crawl into the cracks of my windowsills? Plants are not a subdued race, but are often the victim of racism, their freedom fighters slashed and poisoned.

As for me, I shall lie amidst my gangly green overgrowth and write with a biro in a spiral bound notebook and no-one shall steal my joy.

Champagne

I love this song!

So do I!!! I want it at my funeral!!!!

Can I sing it there???

YES!!!!!!!!!Will you die soon?




I create opportunities for innappropriacy. He laughs like a two-stroke engine. Listen, I will pull his handle.

I collect them. I wear them around my wrist and discard them at will.

Buddhism

and everything i said was just awesome and true
and everything they said to me was awesome and true and
i think they put something in the air.