Wednesday, July 11, 2012

new old q ( unpilled // hello )

untitled by chiara balza

it's scary being this much myself. (what a funny thing to say). i'm scared of it , anything could happen. i have needs now. with my eyes i lick every pretty girl i pass. the prettiest today held my gaze. platinum hair. light orange lipstick, she was ivory and anachronistic. a friendly ghost or a walking plaster.
___what was i saying? 

it's been 12 days now. i'm talkative. cheeky as all hell. my boss has no idea what's happened and why i won't stop teasing her. i've gained weight (which i hate. loathe). i get tired. i laugh readily. i don't have to be conscious of my body language to ensure i don't give negative, anti-social cues (because the pills made me feel inwardly and completely uninterested in social intercourse). ___it goes without saying i find this level of engagement in my own reality very unsettling. i'm not sure i like it. historically it has not ended in nice places. but the road is long. and you don't get f&cked until you do.


  1. to sort my taxes out once and for all because i'm sick of worrying about them
  2. put a tick next to 'pre-approved loan', then put a tick next to 'a home i would want to live in', then a tick next to 'offer accepted' then a tick next to: commence building floor to ceiling bookshelf.

    i'm not actually kidding. i've spent most evenings this week working out how to design build them. in theory... i should be able to do it. theory never works out quite right, but whatever. YOLO bitchez.
  3.  to feel like... it makes sense again. it's been a while since i've had even the remotest inclination of 'purpose'. my soul has grown shy. i need to take it for a walk.
  4. a piano handy, so i can commence learning this.
  5. sex. all sorts of it. i say that... but really i make no time or effort towards it. [shrug]

now i am listening to [click above link] and i am lost. it is so beautiful. meaningless sound. a story made up of nonwords. what i hear are movements. it sounds like a dance looks. what that means i don't know - other than my senses are confused.

look, look q - you're writing again. perhaps it's because you can feel again. how terrifying. i hate feeling. feeling is the root of all messiness.

dear lordyalleverymagnificentstuff...
just , stay near.
it's gonna be a long future.


Capone: said...

you know who has a piano in their home? ... that's right. so... taxes shmaxes - visit and play.

Anonymous said...

It's so good to hear that you are happy!