Look Forward to Suburbia.

It's a kind of abstract conglomeration of love and loathing on my part and submarine detachment on hers. [ Submarine=hundreds of mad, feverish, scrabbling and sweaty Souls to be Saved from a cold titanium shell, although occasional porthole viewings reveal a grand total of two men playing cards slowly, and probably Solitaire at that ]. I'm not sure why I'm with her.

We fuck often enough to be afraid of her fertility. Each blotless month promotes another spatter of frantic activity in which we pelt our bodies with pills, booze, tobacco. A military-machine-gun like salvo in which no organs are spared. Liver, heart, kidneys, lungs; all hack and pulse and ulcerate in protest whilst she dispassionately dissects a future spelled out for us in entrails; guest towels, kitten- themed egg cups and ironically chintz curtains at thirty. You ooze around your urban domain in our Porsche, I sit at home and watch our frozen embryos take shape in the womb of a our paid Filipino surrogate. We are happy. We have dogs.

Hey, did you know?

That Malthus' 1798 predictions regarding the sustainability of an exponentially increasing population combined with an arithmetically increasing amount of food is applicable to living conditions in Africa?

Well, now that you do, it is required of you to take my Geography A Level exam for me. Ahahaha. Ha. I wish I was dead.

I'm Not Even Going to Try to Explain This.

I heard there was a secret call
To Dominoes, and it pleased us all
But you don't really care for pizza, do you?
Well it goes like this: Some salami
Extra cheese, no anchovy
The baffled call composing pepperoni.

Pepperoni, pepperoni, pepperoni, pepperoni...

Well the taste was good, but needed spice
We'd hoped double jalapenos would suffice
The heat of this new pizza overthrew you
We tied you to the kitchen chair
Force-fed you spice and it wasn't fair
But from your burnt lips we made some pepperoni

Pepperoni, pepperoni, pepperoni, pepperoni...

Baby I've been here before
I've ordered double cheese and I've wanted more
I used eat alone before I knew you
I've seen your diet plan for March
You say pizza's just a source of starch
But I think there's protein in pepperoni

Pepperoni, pepperoni, pepperoni, pepperoni...

Well there was a time when you let me know
Which topping's calorie count was low
But now you never share that with me do you?
But remember: we're too fat to move
And our family doctor disapproves
There's some heart problems involved with pepperoni

Well, maybe we have pizza breath
And pizza love will cause our death
But we can't escape an urge for more anchovy
It's not a food to eat all the time
Unless you steal from the fridge at night
If you don't mind cold, leftover pepperoni

Pepperoni, pepperoni, pepperoni, pepperoni...


*single tear*

Graffle.

Imagine the horror of having to write a sex scene. In a book, a play, anything. Even a poem.

(I've been reading some of the "Women's Literature" belonging to my mother and sister lying around the house, as yet another method of procrastination to prevent revision. Needless to say, I am more than a little cross. And confused. Why call anything a "mighty sword"? It doesn't sound erotic as much as it does painful.)

Apparently, you're not allowed to be truthful. Of the entire spectrum of things that can go horribly wrong, miraculously, NOTHING EVER DOES. No one gets their hair caught in a jeans zipper, or accidentally tears a condom with their nails.

And yet it's entirely common and expected for at least one character to go insane, get amnesia, disappear, die in a car/drugs/shark related accident, commit suicide, marry their brother, be abducted by aliens, betrayed by their lover/husband/brother/son, flayed alive, tortured, marry the love of their life, or kill about 5 other characters before finally getting to the lead character and then failing to kill them because of some bizarre coincidence involving a fear of water or the utterly implausible convenience of a police officer (and probable love interest) turning up "just in time".

Mm, I do so love a late night insane ramble.