Oh, just look at her. Oblivious to the world surrounding her. She reclines and lays dead still, absorbing the sun around her. I'm enchanted by her legs, her sexy back, her alluring tone. She's still oblivious to her surroundings. What am I doing here, I ask myself, what do I do, do I sit? Fuck it, I light up a cigarette and get warmed by the sun. A few puffs in, I start relaxing. I take another glance at the woman, I discover she's let her bra hang loose. Oh, painful. I already know she has a boyfriend. I already know that she's from America. God, what do I do?
I spot some subtle movement and I quickly turn away. "Did she see me? Fuck," I whisper to myself. Oh, it's time I break the ice. "Hey," the conversation begins. "I must say, you have a lovely tan." Seriously? I sound like a priest trying to pivk up little altar boys.
"Thank you," she replies, almost too cheerfully.
I get back to my business. What business? Shit, light up another cigarette to not look awkward...shit, take out a book. Read, Linda, read. Don't be too quick...just do it smooth, with one swift motion. Ahh fuck. New Year's Eve and I don't have my own woman to tan topless on the beach for me. Just my fucking luck.
Don't look, you can't look, you don't have permission to look. I end up looking, only for a second. God, just look at that tan. Usually, I'd be quick to go from talking, to flirting, but I doubt any woman who has a boyfriend that brings her to a place like Zanzibar, is definitely out of bounds. Think about it. Read, Linda, read.
After a few more pages, which I blindly read through, she ties her bikini and grabs her handbag...then we all know what happens next...leaves. "Fuck, she was in her own world and I just ruined her zen! Fuck!!!" I angrily whisper to myself.
I have no more words, "Bye, enjoy your day," she says, with a large smile and her eyes hidden by those shades. Pink shades.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Friday, December 30, 2011
Dead Rockstar Mentality...
"I've been waiting for hours! How long does it take these people to make a fucking snack?" asked the man who kept the soul of a real rockstar deep within his heart. His prescence was felt around the table, I'd been parentally allocated to. He lit up his fourth cigarette and he went on to rave about life, women, pedophiles and politics, surprisingly all in the same conversation. After a few more cigarettes and my blank shots in the conversations, he lit up a joint in the restaurant and again, continued. He was a man in his own world.
There's not a lot of them nowadays. And all the ones that are still living are usually found dying in a hotel room snowed in with cocaine and the never ending scent of strippers and flavoured condoms. We can only refer to these people as, Charlie Sheens, Kurt Cobains, Jimi Hendrixes, Winehouses, Joplins, Bukowskis, Hank Moodys and the like.
There's no use judging this brand of people. They'll simply laugh at your pussy whipped, realist way of life and continue enjoying the spoils which you secretly envy (fun, substance, liberation, peace, sex and knowledge), while you're left to bend over for authority (pitiful). You envy their freedom, yet you hold yourself back from happiness, too pussy to break the rules, norms and to stand up against the crowd, when you're told what to do and not to do.
The rockstar thrives on chaos and comes out on top. Wanna know how to kill a rockstar? You can't. You can only attempt to slow down this soul's metabolism, using gossip, shit talking, constant critisizing and humiliation. In the end, only a rockstar can rise above the masses and piss on the crowd below. Only a rockstar can blow his own head with a shotgun. In the end, the rockstar is his own worst enemy.
I listened to his words of wisdom, trying to drown every syllabel in my naked mind. I get this sudden probe within my skull and I think that, I'd like to be that, someday.
Happy Fucking New Year...
There's not a lot of them nowadays. And all the ones that are still living are usually found dying in a hotel room snowed in with cocaine and the never ending scent of strippers and flavoured condoms. We can only refer to these people as, Charlie Sheens, Kurt Cobains, Jimi Hendrixes, Winehouses, Joplins, Bukowskis, Hank Moodys and the like.
There's no use judging this brand of people. They'll simply laugh at your pussy whipped, realist way of life and continue enjoying the spoils which you secretly envy (fun, substance, liberation, peace, sex and knowledge), while you're left to bend over for authority (pitiful). You envy their freedom, yet you hold yourself back from happiness, too pussy to break the rules, norms and to stand up against the crowd, when you're told what to do and not to do.
The rockstar thrives on chaos and comes out on top. Wanna know how to kill a rockstar? You can't. You can only attempt to slow down this soul's metabolism, using gossip, shit talking, constant critisizing and humiliation. In the end, only a rockstar can rise above the masses and piss on the crowd below. Only a rockstar can blow his own head with a shotgun. In the end, the rockstar is his own worst enemy.
I listened to his words of wisdom, trying to drown every syllabel in my naked mind. I get this sudden probe within my skull and I think that, I'd like to be that, someday.
Happy Fucking New Year...
Thursday, December 29, 2011
One Last Glass...Cheers!
“If you're losing your soul and you know it, then you've still got a soul left to lose”
- Charles Bukowski
Time ticks slowly, like our hearts before a flatline, yet it doesn't take us long to realise that New Year's around the next corner. Wow! The year has definitely flipped the script on us and given us all the shitty roles in this romcom. A romantic comedy. That's the average storyline mother nature gives birth to. Some of us are lucky enough to be the hero or heroine who kicks some serious ass and gets the girl (or guy) like in those classic Die Hard films, where Bruce Willis's head still had hair and didn't look like an oversized dick on legs (no offence to Bruce fans, he's a great actor).
The year's events have become a blur to most of us...we can only speak of these memoirs, but oddly, it's hard to find the image. If you're trying to find the image to reminisce, let me remind you that 2011 has been playing the part of a serial rapist giving rufees to everyone of us. Why was this year so "chilled"? Why have we suddenly woke up at the brink of 2012? So many questions, but life's too short to dwell on the past and besides, some Mayan bitch spoiled the surprise and told us that, this would be our last year.
However, that's not the fucking point. The point that has been driving us insane, is the extremely cold whether conditions in the Republic of Lonlieness a.k.a.; One Man a.k.a.; Empty Bed a.k.a.; Dry Spell. Some of you Cupid victims have been enjoying the spoils and riches of sex, lust, pleasure and the deadliest being, love. Now, that's all mighty fine and fucking dandy for you lot, but always remember that you could've been one of us...Stray Cats. (More on that particular topic, maybe later)
So, I say to all my friends...everywhere: let's have one more drink and we'll say cheers as the bar, 2011, closes and 2012 opens.
- Charles Bukowski
Time ticks slowly, like our hearts before a flatline, yet it doesn't take us long to realise that New Year's around the next corner. Wow! The year has definitely flipped the script on us and given us all the shitty roles in this romcom. A romantic comedy. That's the average storyline mother nature gives birth to. Some of us are lucky enough to be the hero or heroine who kicks some serious ass and gets the girl (or guy) like in those classic Die Hard films, where Bruce Willis's head still had hair and didn't look like an oversized dick on legs (no offence to Bruce fans, he's a great actor).
The year's events have become a blur to most of us...we can only speak of these memoirs, but oddly, it's hard to find the image. If you're trying to find the image to reminisce, let me remind you that 2011 has been playing the part of a serial rapist giving rufees to everyone of us. Why was this year so "chilled"? Why have we suddenly woke up at the brink of 2012? So many questions, but life's too short to dwell on the past and besides, some Mayan bitch spoiled the surprise and told us that, this would be our last year.
However, that's not the fucking point. The point that has been driving us insane, is the extremely cold whether conditions in the Republic of Lonlieness a.k.a.; One Man a.k.a.; Empty Bed a.k.a.; Dry Spell. Some of you Cupid victims have been enjoying the spoils and riches of sex, lust, pleasure and the deadliest being, love. Now, that's all mighty fine and fucking dandy for you lot, but always remember that you could've been one of us...Stray Cats. (More on that particular topic, maybe later)
So, I say to all my friends...everywhere: let's have one more drink and we'll say cheers as the bar, 2011, closes and 2012 opens.
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