Lips

Here I am, Saturday night, sober (still/again - sigh), listening to the Cure, massive candles (black and purple) the only source of light apart from this screen - which is turned down low, writing a long paragraph about lips. Not like lips for kissing but for words. And I suppose a little bit for kissing too.

I do look at lips when people speak. I don't like George Clooney's mouth for instance. He's got thin lips. But I don't like full lips either and there's nothing more disgusting than wet lips. But of course our mouths say so much about us and our feelings.

I don't like my lips. They're uneven. Makes it hard to use lipstick. Gloss is fine, but when you use lipstick you need good definition. Wearing that plum colored lipstick to the Halloween Ball in 2010 was quite freaky actually, but the show had to go on.

I only have one picture in my apartment with people in it - me and, of course - who else? I love that picture of us. It's in front of me on my desk. You can only see the more even side of my mouth and my eyebrows look amazing. As does he, and his mouth and his cupid's bow. Perfect lips. "Kiss me kiss me kiss me" - the Cure.

It's interesting how intimate lips are even though they are on the outside and on constant display for the world to see.

But I wonder what else I can write about M's lips and if B would really be so fascinated by her mouth - or is it just me? This is where writing becomes tricky - just because I all of sudden think this is a great way to bring out her character doesn't mean it works on the page. Time well tell. As will my critics.

I need my lips to meet with some burning alcohol - thank fuck I'll be having at least one cocktail tomorrow. I will have to make sure it's the most potent one on the menu.

Harlem Nocturne

The flash of skin through the zip of a dress

A shoe falling to the floor

Luxurious stockings sliding down a thigh, a calf, toes

Noir

I only strip on Thursdays

Fin

So sweet the scent of dejection.
Like honey mixed with caramel.
And white lilies at the funeral.
To not dream to not hope to die.
End what never began.

It's cinematic.
Fin

Your Bed

This bed.

Where you lay sleepless in the dark, tracing imaginary outlines of a body you once knew so well, listening to occasional sounds of footsteps and fragments of conversations drifting through the open window, hoping to hear her voice.

Inside is your silence.

This bed.

Too big for one. In a house, with dust-covered memories. Before the dust, before the silence, this bed was made for two. Now you sit on this bed, trawling Facebook for pictures; wondering if the guy next to her is someone she's fucking.

Inside are your shadows.

This bed.

Its posters covered in cobwebs of what once was your truth; a game where the pieces disintegrated each time one of you made a move. This bed is haunted by fragments of conversations, the heat of her body, as you lay sleepless inside your darkness.

Ugh! Been working on this for weeks now and can still not get it right - all I seem to be doing is shift sentences around. I'm just not a poet (though some nice lines in there, which is why I couldn't let it go - will plagiarize self and use in novel!) so I give up - fuck your bed! 

Retraction of previous post

http://annasramblingstake2.blogspot.com/2011/08/dear-alkaline-trio.htm

I take it back, apart from two absolutely fucking awful tracks Damnesia is an incredible album. Still not forgiving you guys for Calling all Skeletons and This addiction though.

"Chapter 1"

Holy fuck! So I just wrote "Chapter 1" under the title of my novel. I'm sending it out to my writing group so I thought I'd clarify that it's the first chapter. (Normally I never number my chapters (probably because I never get far enough along before OH SHINY!) or name them.) I already have most of the chapter so it's not even on a blank page but the psychological reaction was stunning.  Because "Chapter 1" is like the most fucking awful thing EVAH to write! It immediately sends you into a cold sweat and it's like you're all of a sudden incapable of stringing letters together to make up words, never mind sentences. What lies before you is a never ending amount of pages to fill and it all starts with "Chapter 1"... Just thinking that combination makes me want to defenestrate myself. Which would be kinda pointless since I don't live that far off the ground but all the same. PANIC!

On Time Wasting

"You're nothing if not a catch" I was told the other day. In all fairness, it was in agreement to my exclamation that I am a catch, but all the same. And seriously, I am. There are endless words describing just how awesome I am. How about funny. Witty. Intelligent. Intellectual. Cute, sparkly, quirky, insane, charming, hot. And of course awesome. (And not modest.)

But despite all these great qualities I'm still not being caught. In all honesty though, I don't think it's necessarily that no one's trying to catch me, but rather that I don't want to be caught, or I don't want to be caught by the people trying to catch me. And I suppose that's fair enough.

However, there seems to be an epidemic rippling through society; it's like women nowadays have become as emotionally retarded as men. It's all about protecting yourself from hurt and disappointment. And we don't want to waste time on someone who's not worth it. Of course, that's understandable. But at the same time, we're allowing what little time we have to get wasted on waiting for something.. I don't know... Better?

I have so many single girlfriends - don't think I've ever had so many single girlfriends at the same time! And they're all great and would make some man a good wife (calm down, it's a joke!). But the excuses - "I have lost my confidence"; "I don't think we have anything in common"; "he had something stuck in his teeth"; or even worse, the ones that are in some sort of holding pattern with some dude: "I'll wait and see what happens, maybe he'll be more available after they've signed the contract". When did we all stop living? Is this what getting older does to you? You have to consider things x100 and lose all hope before you dare to enter? Making excuses for why we don't do things.

We're wasting so much time, waiting or being scared and not wanting to get hurt again. NEWS FLASH! Life is suffering! What's the point in being semi-dead for the next 40-50 years just to make sure that your precious feelings don't get a little frayed? At least then you know you've lived. Of course as we get older, we know what we don't want, but probably still unsure exactly what it is we want.

Because the truth is it doesn't exist. It was made up by ad guys to sell stuff, which we happily buy in to. We want to be told what love is supposed to look like, so we recognize it when we see it. But we'll never find that one perfect person because that person will never exist. So isn't it better to stop thinking so much and grab happiness where we can find it? Stop wasting all this time in an effort to protect our little feelings? Isn't life supposed to be a bit of fun?!





Author's note: This is a general pondering; I'm not talking about myself. I know exactly what I want and where to grab my happiness.