Lets fast-forward to a few years later...

So,
i spent weeks, months and yeah, that's it,
trying to get this bloody log in password.
Turns out my error was the email account,
and not the password.

Im a fucking genius baby.

Throughout the last few weeks, ive not been thinking nearly enough to be able to sew together some proper sentences.
So instead, my thoughts come out as tweets, bleebs or other short spasms of un-creative monotony.
But im sure that within the monotony we can find art, if we filter through the plain.

I have a new kitten, he is gray, has stripes down his back and answers to the name, Benjamin Parker, [totally stolen] He is fucking cute,
mum bought him a pink bell,
my younger brothers are sure he will now be queer and are plotting the removal of the said pink bell, and replacing it with a manlier baby blue.
I love my life.

I have to move out soon,
like. really really soon. soon soon.
However, the HAUS[gaga] to which i was supposed to move has decided to kick us in the delicate area, by fucking up its water pipes.
I had to choose between total Independence or a Shower..
My choice was difficult, but water won.

I have apparently been over-playing Alanis Morissette, i refuse to believe such nonsense. Frivolous talk to say the least!

I have a secret.
I never, ever, ever drink tea.
I hate it.
However, i love making it.
im a fucking walking contradiction and blasphemy spewing maniac.
Depending on what you consider blasphemy, i might not be your friend.

Anyway, im terribly bored with life atm.
University is proving more trouble than i would like to have allocated to it.
But alas, i have no say it seems.

I woke up this morning, and discovered our dogs are purple.
Thats right, not their usual white and black dirty useless color, a cheery sexually frustrated royal purple.
mum did this too,
to stop them itching.
Id fucking skin myself if i was them.
im a cat person.

I need to meet Yoko Ono..

Now, go and be happy.
smile fookers.
I love you.

ps.

a poem :

I have strung

I write post-ops for dreamers,
I know not what they felt.
But they don't care.
They merely lay there, belly up.
Like you've left you.

Even the rainbow dares not show,
Although the torrents of sacred african dreams, are running through my fingers.
Wasted as you and me are.
Too one another.

Comfort from a strange place.
A house with no choice but to keep me hidden.
How dare I complain, everything is given to my sort.
Type as I do, you run.
A grammatical error ruining my purity,
I think of me as more.
Ink smears on the purity of a habit.
A nun existent one she is. He was.

Within society and me, you've lost your place.
Obvious affection mixed with,
Empty worldly emotion.

I am the centre.
But its lonely here.

I've never been alone,
But lonesome feelings I've had,
A hundred times or more.
Abusing even me.

I am the centre.
You're not here

And i have strung my life out,
Like so many beads.
Useless objects dangling life-less.
A belly up serpent strung between two branches,
The sun burning, boiling the useless memories I’ve done,
Objects from here and there, aimless collection.

You just lay there,
And i have cut you to pieces,
You begged me.
Simply for the thrill of simple lines.
A master piece I’ve etched into you.

You are the centre.
I will not show.

p.s.s. :
Enjoy the vintage porn/art