ex jungle massive

in single file, walking calmly. thin creatures glide through giant fat pins pointing at the sky. their clothes are tight, they wear glasses and work long hours. the traffic jam is quiet, everyone inside their ice boxes, happily protected from the equator. transient homes. each morsel is carefully eradicated most of the time with a cooling trip to the muscle stretching room on 6th floor. a slice of heaven, gone. still, blank faces. genetic freaks these! a cunning metabolic rate even. ageless, simply priceless. your foot swells and veins bulge. somehow freakles appear, and lines too. hideous. limb by limb torn apart. waste carefully out of sight. sleepless night. flying ants as friends. silent escalators, primary coloured letters. smells of plastic and french fries. occasionally MSG. empty glass, bikini body, empty empty.

just remember

you are sitting here, you are not moving. you are a squeaky voice and a sting ray. you sit. your eyes light up. horsey goodness would look good in navy blue, would look fancy with a new shoe, but dont you know its the end of the day, and now theres simply nothing to say. eject the anti body cos a nodding seems untrue.

priorities

it just dawned upon my head, that this chapter is soon to close and now i pine... aint it the way. aint it so silly, so strange. such a place was so daily, the tea i drank and the heart that sighed as i climbed the stairs, the tarmac hill, passing fat smoking mothers and plum dyed singleton. arguing for kicks, pretending to not see me again. climbed the stairs in anticipation, what will i find. i had to have wine every week. i had to frown when i returned. i had to be unkind. dont you know i never meant to. take everything away and what have you got. what you wanted? smashing the place up, making a den. frantically searching. wanting to be alone, wanting the company of others. true, the climb did become eventually easier. invitations kept getting sent out, and they came, they all came. a pounding feeling. i began the buffet, as they awkwardly watched still with nothing to say. even after all this time. i try and be enthusiastic. so many faces. so many vibrating beeps from ancient alerter. i just keep drifting off, no offence. he always gives me so much wisdom, i know why i did that. i think those mid-week blues must be occurring. those fat kids, brother and sister like friends. trailing behind gossiping adults on their way down. those familiar faces that know me, probably think im the rudest girl ever. i just can help but scowl to the music. got to this point now, so keep going.

war paint

First, you paint the face of the woman you would like to be, then you stare at it in the mirror, then you go out and imitate her till the job's done. "War paint" is what men used to call it.

wheel underground

meat mission

speed up as i advance, fume the road. as you enter the machine, you become it.
time to stand up for oneself methinks.
time to hail.
time to cram the chickens in. many mouths to feed.
an interesting case - your world became limited and empathy ran dry, you started to construct characters to please.
delicate arm candy, you can work the room.
the awkward horoscope you read aloud was rather close to home (even though those things are bullshit).
i sat there speeding, you wished i would stop (and so did i, so did i).
i was a nurse, dressed as a rabbit, crying.
she was an ugly sister.
you could hear the chew. the joke was on you.
we met in the west end and it didnt seem real... 2 worlds out there.
2 types of folk.
my time is mine now, and i cant let you win.

twiglet

Meanwhile, this week Brad Pitt sought to counteract rumours of his and Angelina Jolie’s impending separation by buying her a 200-year-old olive tree, cost: $18,000. So. Just to recap. Bible: twig. Hollywood: $18,000 tree.