to read this post you will travel to one of the nicest and truest to life colors blogger i know, my friend jlo.
just click on the title to engage :0)
enjoy
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Thursday, January 22
Wednesday, January 21
letter from a distant friend
Dear RSW,
Hope my letter simply finds you.
I burden you with troubling news that I have recently been leading man of. Here it goes:
This enveloped corpse lands in my letter-box the other day. I pick it up, open it and was surprised to find a paper cut dead body inside: origami suicide was my first thought.
But then...What could I make of it? Why did I get it? Was the paper corpse a mock up of my own body? Of my feelings? Or just a mocking innuendo? Why did it come in now and not sooner?
Paranoid scenarios kept rising in my head like grass straws from the ground on a fast forward tape of a biocumentary taken on a sunny spring.
I finally made the courage to put my reading glasses on and see what it was all about.
It was from the doctor's office. Hope you're stomach will handle this better than mine:
They say I have recently been diagnosed with pain asymbolia.
Not to worry, my dearest friend, because I feel it's a textbook case of wrong diagnosis.
I distinctly remember falling down the elevator pitch today and when my ideas smashed bloodily on the floor, they hurt and they were mine so I guess I hurt along. And I've been hurting along ever since.
So what they told me, that i can't feel pain, actually turned into phantom pain.
Enough about me, though.
How did my letter find you?
Hope my letter simply finds you.
I burden you with troubling news that I have recently been leading man of. Here it goes:
This enveloped corpse lands in my letter-box the other day. I pick it up, open it and was surprised to find a paper cut dead body inside: origami suicide was my first thought.
But then...What could I make of it? Why did I get it? Was the paper corpse a mock up of my own body? Of my feelings? Or just a mocking innuendo? Why did it come in now and not sooner?
Paranoid scenarios kept rising in my head like grass straws from the ground on a fast forward tape of a biocumentary taken on a sunny spring.
I finally made the courage to put my reading glasses on and see what it was all about.
It was from the doctor's office. Hope you're stomach will handle this better than mine:
They say I have recently been diagnosed with pain asymbolia.
Not to worry, my dearest friend, because I feel it's a textbook case of wrong diagnosis.
I distinctly remember falling down the elevator pitch today and when my ideas smashed bloodily on the floor, they hurt and they were mine so I guess I hurt along. And I've been hurting along ever since.
So what they told me, that i can't feel pain, actually turned into phantom pain.
Enough about me, though.
How did my letter find you?
Friday, January 9
Crashing angels’ meet cute
Int. Liquor store. 5 AM in the morning. Behind the desk a hot young 23 years old girl: brown curly medium long hair, apple-ish breasts, loose green sweater. She’s drinking Dr. Pepper and watching the commercial channel.
Door bell rings. Boy bursts into the store. Hooded covered head, but fierce piercing look.
Girl: Hope you didn’t plan to hold me up. They’re running commercials by movie directors. Lynch is up next.
Boy: I had in mind to bring a plastic gun, but I’m not planning a hold up. I plan to smash my brains or my ex-girlfriend’s face.
Girl: Can’t assist with the latter, but over 40% alcohols are in the back, third row on your left. I recommend the absinthe. Knocks you up instantly, but beware of delusions.
Boy: No thanks! Have deluded myself plenty lately. Will stick to vodka.
Girl: Yeah. Goes hand in hand with pills. Or should I say rant in rant?
Boy: I’m not trying to kill myself. Just to get drunk. I’m a has been alcoholic about to fall off the wagon.
Girl: Over some girl? Say hello to mister P! Pathetic in case you fell behind on my humor.
Boy: Not over some girl. I just have drinking craving and want to quench my thirst. What are you, AA counselor or something?
Girl: Nope. I’m an undercover nun running a liquor store, trying to get people on the wagon. The less I sale the more I gain. Spiritually wise.
Boy: Quite the predicament we’re in: I’m an undercover archangel having to drink all the liquor from liquor stores so people don’t fall off the wagon. The more I drink, the more I gain. Spiritually wise wise.
Girl: How bout you drink some cinnamon medicine from Dr. Pepper?
Boy: Keep your holy poison to yourself, sister. I’ll grab the vodka.
He reaches for the top shelf, picks up a bottle of Absolut Disco and heads for the counter.
Girl: Planning a party, eh?
Boy: Glitter stops my flitter.
His words barely parted with his lips that he tripped over a misplaced cart and fell smashing the bottle on the floor and cutting his left wrist along the way.
Boy: Mother………..
Girl: Woa, no cursing. Please.
She leaves the counter and heads toward the isle where he was laying.
Girl: Holy shit you cut your wrist!
Boy: Unintendedly. Believe me. But this vodka mixing with my blood makes me dizzy. Or maybe it’s your perfume. Wait, no. It’s your eyes. Man you have outstanding eyes!
Girl: Standing out of all the booze around you?
Boy: No. Standing out of the angel world. Hold me. I’m cold.
Girl: That’s cause you’re standing on cold cement. The heat is off.
Boy: Nothing I say is ever good enough for you.
Girl: You say nothing good whatsoever. And you made me miss the show with all your drama.
Boy: It’s a rerun by the way. Lynch sucks. You’ll like Jonze better.
Girl: I like you better.
Boy: Why?
Girl: Why not?
Boy: Can’t think of any reason. Other than having messed up your mission and your floor along the way.
Girl: You had to: to make me take better notice.
Boy: Yeah, but you missed Lynch.
Girl: Something tells me I’ll like Jonze better. Come on, get up.
Boy: Will you marry me?
Girl: Only on Sunday.
Boy: Are nuns allowed to marry?
Girl: Only to angels. Give me your hand.
Boy: It’s vodka broken.
Girl: We’ll fix it by Sunday.
Door bell rings. Boy bursts into the store. Hooded covered head, but fierce piercing look.
Girl: Hope you didn’t plan to hold me up. They’re running commercials by movie directors. Lynch is up next.
Boy: I had in mind to bring a plastic gun, but I’m not planning a hold up. I plan to smash my brains or my ex-girlfriend’s face.
Girl: Can’t assist with the latter, but over 40% alcohols are in the back, third row on your left. I recommend the absinthe. Knocks you up instantly, but beware of delusions.
Boy: No thanks! Have deluded myself plenty lately. Will stick to vodka.
Girl: Yeah. Goes hand in hand with pills. Or should I say rant in rant?
Boy: I’m not trying to kill myself. Just to get drunk. I’m a has been alcoholic about to fall off the wagon.
Girl: Over some girl? Say hello to mister P! Pathetic in case you fell behind on my humor.
Boy: Not over some girl. I just have drinking craving and want to quench my thirst. What are you, AA counselor or something?
Girl: Nope. I’m an undercover nun running a liquor store, trying to get people on the wagon. The less I sale the more I gain. Spiritually wise.
Boy: Quite the predicament we’re in: I’m an undercover archangel having to drink all the liquor from liquor stores so people don’t fall off the wagon. The more I drink, the more I gain. Spiritually wise wise.
Girl: How bout you drink some cinnamon medicine from Dr. Pepper?
Boy: Keep your holy poison to yourself, sister. I’ll grab the vodka.
He reaches for the top shelf, picks up a bottle of Absolut Disco and heads for the counter.
Girl: Planning a party, eh?
Boy: Glitter stops my flitter.
His words barely parted with his lips that he tripped over a misplaced cart and fell smashing the bottle on the floor and cutting his left wrist along the way.
Boy: Mother………..
Girl: Woa, no cursing. Please.
She leaves the counter and heads toward the isle where he was laying.
Girl: Holy shit you cut your wrist!
Boy: Unintendedly. Believe me. But this vodka mixing with my blood makes me dizzy. Or maybe it’s your perfume. Wait, no. It’s your eyes. Man you have outstanding eyes!
Girl: Standing out of all the booze around you?
Boy: No. Standing out of the angel world. Hold me. I’m cold.
Girl: That’s cause you’re standing on cold cement. The heat is off.
Boy: Nothing I say is ever good enough for you.
Girl: You say nothing good whatsoever. And you made me miss the show with all your drama.
Boy: It’s a rerun by the way. Lynch sucks. You’ll like Jonze better.
Girl: I like you better.
Boy: Why?
Girl: Why not?
Boy: Can’t think of any reason. Other than having messed up your mission and your floor along the way.
Girl: You had to: to make me take better notice.
Boy: Yeah, but you missed Lynch.
Girl: Something tells me I’ll like Jonze better. Come on, get up.
Boy: Will you marry me?
Girl: Only on Sunday.
Boy: Are nuns allowed to marry?
Girl: Only to angels. Give me your hand.
Boy: It’s vodka broken.
Girl: We’ll fix it by Sunday.
Thursday, January 8
..all they wanted was to hug
boy and girl hold hands on top of the world, their faces pressed to the sky
he tries to kiss her, but this big cloud is in between
she smiles and looks away wondering why he's hesitating
she did not see the cloud
he blushes
she holds his hand tighter to build up confidence
his grip responds
she's safe
then he lets go to pick a raindrop for her
she lets out a tear thinking he let go for good
she turns over to him to hold him
but the sun has just risen between them
it dries her tear and his raindrop
he turns to her empty handed and hides his hand in his pocket
she turns away
he turns away
boy and girl stand on top of the world, their backs facing eachother
he tries to kiss her, but this big cloud is in between
she smiles and looks away wondering why he's hesitating
she did not see the cloud
he blushes
she holds his hand tighter to build up confidence
his grip responds
she's safe
then he lets go to pick a raindrop for her
she lets out a tear thinking he let go for good
she turns over to him to hold him
but the sun has just risen between them
it dries her tear and his raindrop
he turns to her empty handed and hides his hand in his pocket
she turns away
he turns away
boy and girl stand on top of the world, their backs facing eachother
Monday, January 5
a man of words
he said: you gotta do them things yourself. cause no one will do 'em for ya.
I nodded. and kept sobbing. thinking my drama was so big that I wanted the Earth to stay still for me and not just movie wise.
he said: you're pretty.
I similed. and kept questioning. my face reflected in his eyes was prettier that any mirror could have shown, but was to eerie to be true.
he said: you're the procrastinator.
I agreed. and put the moment of making myself into what I wanted to be on the back burner. his words were a thousand telephones ringing with complaints.
he said: cross that bridge when you get there
I crossed it mentally and fell in the water. his hand grabbed me by the back of my neck and pulled me out of the drowning deep-ression.
he said.
i laughed.
we kissed.
I nodded. and kept sobbing. thinking my drama was so big that I wanted the Earth to stay still for me and not just movie wise.
he said: you're pretty.
I similed. and kept questioning. my face reflected in his eyes was prettier that any mirror could have shown, but was to eerie to be true.
he said: you're the procrastinator.
I agreed. and put the moment of making myself into what I wanted to be on the back burner. his words were a thousand telephones ringing with complaints.
he said: cross that bridge when you get there
I crossed it mentally and fell in the water. his hand grabbed me by the back of my neck and pulled me out of the drowning deep-ression.
he said.
i laughed.
we kissed.
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