My first lipogram

It's hard as it is to draw a lipogram, but how hard? I should find a way around it.

I submit my first:

It was a glorious morning of May. My six o'clock train was not in sight, although a big station clock was about to show a chunky half past. I was anxious within, but had a calm way of showing it. I simply could not miss work that morning. It was crystal in clarity that this was my final opportunity to nail a good last srping day as my sick mind's vaticinator had said a night ago: Last May day onwards to last month of living for you. Pray for your train not to show up tomorrow as it will signify your last trip against this world.
I'm sick with autophonomania. No doubt about it. My mind was drawing jumps in front of trains with maximum accuracy on impact, jump kind and timing, but today was not a suicidal-fling-by-jumping-in-front-of-a-six-o'clock-morning-train kind of day, that's why my calm act.

Half past six, no train, sunny day, I was still living and was as calm as a still hot pool of blood. My blood was rushing though and so was a furious train approaching. Bosom pounding, train coming, rail skuawking, lids closing. Train stops, sound too.

All aboard!

A short man in uniform asks with strong conviction: Miss, Miss, going or staying? Train's not waiting.

I look at my watch. I look at his talking lips and back at my watch. Both ask for my ruling. I finally talk: Who is? I'm not waiting. Train's not waiting. You look as a foolproof not waiting man. Why wait? I'm staying. Or going. I'm doing both.

OK. Lady. I'm not a funny guy. Not today anyway. Stay and go and do your thing. But not on my train.

It's all I could wish for. I'll stay and go on a following train. Not on yours. Got it.
I kiss his almost bald body top and go. I stop. I turn to him: I'm going and staying on this platform and not on your train. No risks! You wouldn't fancy this anyway!

Lady, did you miss most of your rods?

No. Only a sound. But I'm on my way of catching up with it. On a following post. Cross my... soul.

Even the Mona Lisa's falling apart

We’re living strange times. It’s the era of constant changes. The only constant about our time is actually a variable. How crazy is that?

The famous Mona Lisa line uttered by probably the last of the anti-heroes of the decade is completely true. I look around and see that the main trait of everything surrounding me is perishablity. One can view that as evolution and could nail it. However, the other end of the spectrum is just as valid: it could be a sign of devolution. Unfortunately, both ends go towards extinction so they’re both equally scary.


I was talking to my friend the other night and we sadly concluded that there are no more taboos and there is no more mystery left with regards to anything. Relationships have the same cycle as a product on the shelf. It’s all about marketing and putting oneself on the market. As long as you manage to constantly reinvent yourself, you can hold on to your “customer”. But do you want to? Isn’t the purpose of marketing to expand your “business”? So, in this case, isn’t the acclaimed love marketing actually the reason why so many couples are breaking up?

And where does love fall into all of this? I guess Tina was right after all.

We’ve turned into consumers. We’re not lovers anymore. We’ve invented these tools to help us get and stay in touch more easily, but they only add up to our paranoia and frustration. We get involved in major conspiracy theories about being controlled in everything we do, but we apply the exact same technique on our life partners. We’re control freaks that have completely lost control over everything - traffic, diseases, resources, money, war, our lives. You name it we’re glad to fuck it up.

Is there something essentially wrong with humans? Why can’t we go only upwards? Why are we desperately looking to go down?

We’re the makers and sure as hell are the breakers, too. For every yes we make sure we have a no dying to come out.

I guess we've simply lost our patience. We know that we’re heading towards the end and we can’t wait for it to happen. We’re building, pumping, testing, making, shaking, taking, giving, acting, reacting, faster and faster like we’re doing our best to put an end to all that surrounds us.

Is this the ultimate stage of humankind? Have we reached the last level of evolution and we’re destroying ourselves consciously?

I’m funnily sounding like an environmental-self-aware-sex-and-the-planet-series character.

I need to redeem myself.

To get my usual blogging credit back, I will end this post with an idea that has been haunting me for some time now. I love concerts. There’s no secret in it. I think concerts are the ultimate (as in the last ever) way to gather positive energy from large crowds of people. And I’m pretty sure music and the way we relate to it has something to do with our evolution in the universe. I think it’s crazy and probably not feasible from a scientific point of view, but what if we gave back the planet’s energy through music?

Make use of all the imaginable musical instruments, instead of making use of all the imaginable weapons to differentiate ourselves? Why can't we quench our killing thirst by engaging in musical wars? Why don't soldiers fight eachother with guitars and piano keys?

faded to pretend

there are mornings and there are m-o-r-n-i-n-g-s. the spelled ones are sad even tho the sun is up, even tho the light shines brighter than it did the day before. reason? none. they just are sad and pointless and most of all useless. as they are fated to end. as i am fated to pretend that something good might be standing just right around the corner. but might it? and what's the point in pretending? the sweater i'm wearing today will be old news tomorrow. the face i'm looking at in the mirror today will be all wrinkly and constantly reminding me of what i failed to do rather than what i've succeeded. the boy i love today will be so old news just like my nowadreams just like i will be for him. life is a big fade in fade out sequence. but what happens in between? where do all the fading outs go? faded loves, faded films, faded books, faded actors, faded parents, faded men, faded women, faded friendships? does anyone give a flying f' about them and recycles them for when there will be no more to fade in to? guess not. so my question is this: if the stuff we stubbornly believe will last a small eternity fades away for good, why can't we have the same fading fate? what if this is it? what if what we get in this lifetime is all we get and that's it? what then? what now? what now and then?

smells like mean spirit

have you ever given credit to your smell? and if so, how much? could you bet your life upon it? i'm a dog in the chinese zodiac and this totally shows on my smell. i can easily differentiate putrid onions from slops. and deffinitely can tell what's in one's garbage provided it has been sitting in the bin for too long for the odors to mix. i'm a hard smeller with a big passion for out of the ordinary obsessive mean smells. the heavy and sometimes disturbing smells i could smell an eternity and not get my nostrils bored. the smells that lay between unpleasant smells and strange enough smells that are continuously intriguing although they always smell the same. i'm talking wired smells that i distiguish from a million other smells. this is my top 10 mean smells list:
10. printed paper hot from the copy machine
9. my dog's paws after having been out in the rain
8. storage room of a shoe store (filled with leather shoes - no fetish i swear)
7. hot asphalt
6. licked stamps (and not the ones that make you go crazy, although...)
5. tyres on hot asphalt
4. the overheated vcr (yes i totally remember that smell!)
3. scotch tape
2. my breath on cold glass
1. dirty snow

the sad yield of the heart’s protuberance

Night led the way to an upcoming morning.
The girl eventually woke up although she expected not to.
Her eyes had been swollen from all that crying. Emptyless cries of grief and salt had wet the bed she had taken for virgin.
Too many chances had been taken on those same sheets and not by her. She was damn sure of it.
She got out of bed and walked her three steps towards that hotel-room mirror:

one

two

three

Mirror, mirror on the wall, you are the cruelest bitch of all. Let me see what they see., just this once. Stop showing me what I always see. I know this picture too well. It’s not a winning one, but a whining soon to be gone.

The mirror stood in silence and showed the same girl that it showed every time, regardless of location, type of glass, cut, shape, or place on the wall.

Fine. Be the bitch I know you are. Anyways. Just wanted to share some news: I woke up today with a protuberance on my heart. Chill. It’s not a disease. I’ve goolged it and wikipedia-ed it for the last couple of hours. Care to hear my theory?

Mirror shows same girl nodding.

I reckon I have a second heart that’s growing out of me. See the reason why I believe this is because my heart has been preganant for some time now. And she just went into labor. And gave birth to a new heart. Will this make me immortal? More like imoral if you ask me. One bitch with two hearts: can you just imagine the lines?

Mirror is as still as water.

You must think I’m crazy. You’ll see my point. I’m merely telling you all this so you can be prepared. For when I will fall into pieces. Cause I won’t. That’s what I wanted to let you know. Because I have a spare heart now. A fresh one. Just for me. Don’t look at me as if I were some silly quidnunc. I’m not boasting with my new heart. Besides, I’m telling you. Who better to understand posession of 2 hearts instead of a regular one than an object having none?

Mirror crashes into million pieces.

boy, oh boy

caution: wet floor. i spilled my guts all over this place. i'd hate for you to slip. i'd love for you to fall. i could have used the big words, but i just put up this sign instead. so you footle me properly cause you have already handled me better than right. there's no future tense in this post cause future is so uncertain. there are no promises either. i can't keep promises so why make them? i can't say: i'll give you, i'll feel for you, i'll tell you, i'll be your... cause i won't. life has proven me wrong every time i tried to prove her right. so why bother? as for the words...i could make use of so many, but what would be the point? odes, poems, lines? they have been used by so many and you are one of a kind. boy, oh boy, even if it's wet, you have my floor to take.

let lips do what words do...

your mouth opens and words come out of it and start dancing around like sky divers that have just dove from a plane. at one point they grab hands and hold each other into a sharp circle that's a phrase.

the landing though, the touch base, the first base now that's a dreamer. when lips meet in fours and two by two: upper with lower, upper with upper, lower with upper the alltogethernow until you don't know which one is which and which of them are actually yours.

now you're finally talking!

a kiss is worth a thousand words, a thousand pounds (of weight), a thousand promises.

that is only if it does not turn into a Glasgow kiss or a Liverpool one for that matter. then it's worth a thousand stitches.

c'mon now, last chance

if i haven't panicked by now, now would be a perfect time to get into a genuine Toronto blessing. time is the only constant that's constantly slapping me in the face. the face responds by getting me some new wrinkles. fine. i cope with that. the dreams i had set for myself don't. they signed their resignation letter today and told me to piss off. i did. i pissed. my bladder was asking for it. that was the only reason why i did it. i'm blamed for other people's unhappiness. i'm blamed for other people's lives. i can only take the blame for mines. the rest of you just look within and you'll find there the strength to get over. i'm running late. it's funny tho. cause i quit running a long time ago. case closed. i packed up all my shit and this case is pretty heavy. i don't have money to pay the excess baggage so i'll just leave it here. this is a nice place for my shitty case to rest. i'm sorry. if it makes any difference. if it doesn't, i'm sorry even more for daring to feel sorry for nothin'. there's no more time left. there never was. c'mon now, last chance. have anything to say to me before i go? no?

old travis m.

White house no fence. Front door wide open. Suitcases in front of door and three steps in front of suitcases. I climb them without even noticing I'm climbing stairs.

This is private property, I hear from behind. You here to steal my suitacases?

I turn around: white hair blue eyes. Man. In his 60s.
I can't say for sure what I’m doing here. I was looking for Sammy.

Sammy doesn't live here anymore. He never did.

It’s a she. Sammy is a girl.

What kinda name is that for a girl? Sammy is a boy's name. And he ain't here. Better go away, boy. You not wanted here. I don't want you here. See the name on the postal box? Travis m. that's me. Travis m.

Nice to meet ya. I'm Sammy.

So you are Sammy.. Here hold my hat.

He puts this old trilby on top of my palm with the most careful move in the world, as if it was made of porcelain.

Don’t touch it. Just hold it. I hate it when my head accidentally touches something that has been touched by someone else. How old are you?

17, I say and then start to wonder if I really am 17 or if I’m lying. If so, am I younger or older?

Not good. You can't trust someone older than 14. I can't. I’m afraid I’ll have to shoot ya. You’re trespassing. This is my property mr Sammy. And Travis m. does not like trespassers. Particularly you.

What do you mean shoot me? I’ll leave.

I’m afraid it's too late, boy. A little late for turning back. You here. You die.

Wait a minute. This is not making any sense.

My point exactly with a girl named Sammy. It does not make any sense. And you're older that 14. It adds up in a twisted way. Do you even know why you're here?

No. I thought I was looking for Sammy. But then I figured that I was Sammy. Was I looking for myself? And just came across me?

You are Sammy. But you were not looking for yourself. Quite the other way around.

Myself was looking for me? That’s funny.

Funny, but true. Wouldn't you like for this expression to replace: sad, but true? It would be much easier smart-emotionally speaking.

I’m afraid that's not entirely possible. You see... it would mean that all the sad would be funny.

That’s happening as we speak. Every sad thing has a funny part, as well as there's a lot of sad in funny. It’s not like we're reinventing the wheel here. We’re just giving it some speed.

I’m afraid you lost me.

You chose to get lost. I’m only keeping my course. If you're not following me it's entirely your fault so don't you cast any blame on me.

You must have been alone for a long time.

You see. That’s funny, but true. You’re back on the wagon.

And wehre are we off to?

That’s beside the point. The point is that where we're going we're not coming back from. That’s the beauty of the ride. Nothing ever stays the same. It can't. I’ll explain. You see...there were two circles shaping a green tree. They met cute by shaking their centers. Same thing happened here. You are not here to look for any Sammy; you're here because Travis m. needed you. I just needed someone to help me carry the suitcases inside and I made you up. Now enough with the small talk and help me get these suitcases inside.

Sammy?

Sammy?

I can't believe it! The bastard dropped my trilby..

here's your life, live it

my very best friend told me what she really thought about a choice i have made 7 years after i made it.

why didn't you say anything before? i asked her.


who am i to say anything about you or to judge you?


you are my friend, i replied.


even so, it does not give me any rights to tell you what i think about your choices. they are your choices. what if my point of view is entirely unsuitable for you?


and she was right. and i loved her even more for that.

i remember when i was 16 or 17 and even some time after that giving my own opinion about people's choices in terms of jobs, lovers, and sometimes even lives. sign that my life was not good enough for me or that i had so much time on my hands that i could waste it on other people's lives. i was petty, sad and stupid and defined the saying: get a life!

stupidity has its price and i am glad to say i have paid for mine. luckily it was on sale.

i like to think that i got smarter with time and with the shit i fed on.

smart enough: to know a good man when i see one, to return the favor of making me laugh, to not care about the he said, she said, to see myself in the eyes that look at me and feel good about what i see.

i guess it's all about perspective, angle and heart. but they have to come from the inside and sure as hell have to be looking in. it's hard, but as long as i'll be able to be looking out the window inside myself nothing bad can happen.

there will always be the he said she said bullshit because people are empty and need fillers. just like the one time summer hits to shake the asses on.

the saddest thing about this whole fucked up life is that the more i grow the more i despise human nature. myself included.

that's why i think children rule. their true to form and core, they never give a shit about grown ups and the best thing about them, they have the chi by default.