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I was sitting on a tube train. I was not going anywhere in particular. But it was something different to do. I had no work today. So I dressed up and bought a ticket and I have been riding around for hours. I have my Kindle with me and have been reading a book about Vampire lovers. In between times I have been people watching and trying to imagine what kind of lives they are leading. One guy in particular noticed me watching him. The look on his face was not pleasant. Some kind of gangsta no doubt.
The teaching of stuff? Whatís going on here? I didnít ask to be taught anything. I was sitting in my office watching the shadows on the wall and wondering if the place might cave in. This voice had infiltrated its way into my head. It was a deep dark restless type of voice. And it gurgled a lot. Perhaps itís Iíll, I thought. My boss came in. He was going to lunch. He looked a little concerned. ďYour face is a bit red,Ē he said. I nodded feeling the heat in my cheeks. ďJust let me die peacefully,Ē I said.
ďAh, donít be a sour puss,Ē I tell him. ďYou mean what you are?Ē he replies. "I want to shriek. Heís such a damn know all. ďOk, so you write horror stories. So what?Ē ďIím not complaining. Itís raining stones out there,Ē It really is raining stones out there. I am the devilís girl. I do his bidding. I start the stones falling and feel great about it. All those unsuspecting people out there getting hit by the stony rain. You know, itís such fun to be able to do this. I love to kill. He is next. I smile.
Iím on my way to the stars. See, I found this flight of stairs in this old house. It was late and I had been curious about the house. It had a ghostly feel to it from standing outside. I had not seen the house before. But I didnít care. I went and tried the lock on the front door. It opened. Surprise, surprise. There was a funny smell came from inside. But taking a shallow breath, I stepped inside. Right away I was on a kind of escalator that kept going upward through the dim lit space to heaven.
Sometimes I get lonely when Iím at home and just staring out the window during the day. The nights are good though. In the city, watching from way above you can see them all going by. Men and women holding hands. Having a ball. I have no boyfriend just now. Just myself and the other self in my body. I feel like a freak at times having this other self. Like Iím pretty special. And I guess I am in a way. And why should I not be selfish about myself when nobody can read my mind sitting here alone?
I know a lot of Irish people like to read these things. Sure Iím not sure why. I donít say much about Irish things. Oh Iíve nothing against the Irish. I donít actually know any. Iím sitting in a bar here and there's a drunk guy here who looks like the late actor Keenan Wynn. He has this Irish accent, this guy. And heís like really pissing people off. And heís already tried to pull me. I mean, I wouldnít be touching him with a bloody barge pole in the state heís in. But he keeps mumbling about hot women.
This could be the fool speaking. A tall wise man who was not wise in the least. He lived or was it a she in a house off the Broadway somewhere? Nobody, not even I, knows exactly where this person, this being actually lives. Could be Grimsby, Ontario for all I know. I was listening to the gentle purr of a cat close by in a close by garden in a close by city in the morning. The morning was not in the least bit lovely. It had a sort of Dickensian feel about it. I was lost I guess.
She told me her daddy hung himself. And she thinks he thought it was a cute idea. But now sheís at home grieving with her gangsta boyfriend who actually forced her daddy to hang himself because he couldnít pay the cash he owed. Well the gangsta boyfriend didnít literally make him do it. It was the only way out for him. Either that or face hell in the face. And he was too weak for that. And now she sits on the toilet and cries for her daddy who is now in limbo she believes, though sheís not really sure.
Itís been a happy day. I went for a walk in woods beyond where I live. Saw places I had not even none where there. Tall trees. A winding path. A shallow lake. In short, a place to get lost in. I decided to have a secret friend along. Her name was Hallie. She was tall, slim and pleasant. She listened to me when I told her about the time I cut some oneís head off and burnt it on the fire. Even told her about the time my mom said I came from an orphanage. That made me cry.
He sends me Camellias. I donít know why. Donít know who he is. I work as a waitress in a tiny seaside cafť. A kid comes in each day and hands me a bunch of Camellias. I ask him who is giving him the flowers. He says he doesnít know. I feel an ache inside. I want to know. I must know before I die. Who is sending me Camellias? But I never find out. Itís been six months. But there is never even a note. Only flowers. I donít even know for sure if it is from a man.
She drove a gleaming car. Donít know the name of the make. Makes no difference anyway. She wanted a divorce. She had been called a serial divorcee. And she knew it was true. Made her giggle knowing this home truth. She was middle aged now. But still pretty. Rich guys still sought her out. She was still hot in bed. She dreamed of riding in a crystal carriage upstairs to bed. She had once lived in a beat up old trailer in a park. Got thrown out twice. Wouldnít happen again. They say sheís worth twenty million dollars at least.
She had found what looked like a real gold coin on the sidewalk. She was alone. She looked around, not wishing to be caught by somebody thinking sheís stealing. But the truth is she didnít really give a damn. She picked it up. It was surprisingly heavy. She felt kinda weird holding it. Perhaps itís magic, she thought. A guy appeared out of nowhere. He smiled at her. She didnít smile back. Turned to run. He chased her. But she lost him down a strange street that held her there. There was no way out. The gold coin had gone.
Heard the voice of an angel down Fifth Avenue today. She cried out to me as I strolled through the sun and shoppers thinking I could be flying in the sky of night. I needed a planet or a bar of chocolate. I was eager for something. But not sure what. I was confused but not. The dream thud of trance music was pounding through my veins. I was living in a tip called a house off Broadway somewhere. The angelís voice was kind of tinkly. I had no reason to think it wasnít real. A girl said hello mom.
Strange messages from a stewardess friend today. Seems she met some guy she says is an alien from another planet. I wondered if my friend was drunk when she wrote it. She says heís very into human girls. She also says heís very hairy. Plus he has a deep growly type voice that she finds rather cool. Seems like the alien guy wants to have babies with her. I wonder how these babies will turn out. Will they be born hairy, or what? My friend says the guy wants her to move with him to his planet. Yeah? Good luck.
Dear man on buss who canít keep his eyes off my legs. You have no chance. Go home and play with your fat thing. I know you keep trying to catch my eye. But your old, your fat and you smoke. Yes, I saw you at the bus stop puffing away on your cancer stick. Pulling seconds off your life doing it. Yes thereís one idiot born every minute. I bet your wife, if you have one, thinkís your seriously the pits. Go get a life, okay? Look, do you want me to smack your face in front of everybody?
Itís urgent, I said. But not knowing why. I had just this feeling that something was unlikable about the whole deal. But then I thought what deal is it? I ainít got a deal, thatís the game. Iím unsteady. Iím something of a loner. I like to be alone. I want to be alone. But I canít be alone all day or all night or in a sink feeling so skinny and looking at rocks that shine like stardust. Strange thing is there are no strange things going on. Just me. just the fool. Just the old cap gone wrong.
I flirt with myself in the window in the mall. I stare back at myself with a funny smile and stick out my tongue and wink. Iím pretty today. What am I saying? Iím always pretty. Guys notice me. They canít help it. I force them to observe me going by, the provocative me. Wondering along, or should that be, wiggling along. Iím outrageous in effort to attract attention from guys who are mostly pretty sure when they see me that they want me. And some would go to the ends of the earth to get me. Oh, what fools.
First you decide to call your novel, ďThe Perks of Getting Pregnant on the PillĒ Then ďThe Loneliness of the Dead Cab Driver in CleethorpesĒ And finally ďThe Unabridged Tales of a Childs Lost Glove in a Car Park in Austin TexasĒ The child who lost the glove is called Roger, even though itís a girl. Though everybody calls her Podger. But she doesnít know why. The truth is Podger misses her lost glove terribly and constantly nags her chain smoking alcoholic mommy to go look for it. Intolerant, mommy often smacks Podgerís bottom which doesnít please Podger at all.
I find you inconsolable. You are in the garden. The sky is overcast. You are wearing a brown hoodie, panties and nothing else. Tears are running down your cheeks. You are wondering why. Perhaps you had a dream you canít remember but something inside is forcing you to cry about it. A child is watching you through a hole in the gate. You are embarrassed. The child is wide eyed. Itís a girl. You donít care, though. You just want to stand there and cry. But itís not easy. You have to stop sometime. But youíre not exactly sure when.
Iím not a team player, I tell you. I like to be on my own. Have my own point of view. Wreck stuff, if you like. You ainít gonna like me, really. Iím unconventional to say the least. At timeís I can be a total turd. At other times Iím youíre best mate. There are so many variations to me that your head will spin in confusion. But I donít care. I have to be the individual. I can see youíre going to rebel over this. I can see you arenít going to want me. Well, itís your loss, sucker.
She is the tiny dancer in this off Broadway play about nobody very interesting. I mean she just kind of stands there and talks to the audience about whatís going on in her head and stuff. Usually the stuff she says is pretty plain and not all that humorous. She speaks in a Liverpool accent that the audience find difficult to understand. Itís very British. The Britís would love it, no doubt. Oh and she has just published her first book today. Again itís mainly stuff made up in her head as she goes along. And itís selling. Cool, huh?
Sometimes you donít know how youíre going to feel when you wake up. Or even if you are going to wake up. Or if you do wake up youíre in a different world to the one you were in when you went to bed at midnight. Today I woke to find myself walking down a cobbled street that was shrouded in fog. Was it a dream? I didnít think so. Too cold. Too real. I had been snatched away from own world. I was shaking with fear. I was wearing a white trench coat. Was I in hell or heaven?
Person who comes knocking on my door cold calling. Iím not answering to you who wants to try to invade my privacy. Go to hell. I close my curtains and hide till you are gone. But you are persistent and come round the back to bang on my window. But your ignorance will not be rewarded with an answer. I hide from you, my heart pounding with fear of who it can be. If you wanna speak to me you need to write to make an appointment. I have no intention of letting some stranger in here. Go to hell.
I have a son, it seems. Funny, I donít remember giving birth. This morning a ten year boy appears at my door claiming to be my son. Heís obviously not as heís black and Iím white. And I never went with a black guy in my life before. Though I fantasized when I was younger. But this little kid is most insistent that heís my long lost son. He does seem rather cute, I think. But still I know heís not mine and tell him to run along. He looks unhappy, but does. When I close the door heís there.
Outwardly people think Iím a bit of a bastard. A know it all. A thug, even. But I donít mind. I do what I want to do. I think domination. I think you will take notice what I say and do what I want you to do. If you donít, Iím going to knock your bleeding block off, mate. I donít give a shit if itís man or woman. Oh yeah, Iíve hit women. People would say thatís the cowardís way out. But itís not, not really. Some women just ask for a good beating. So I give it them.
So here I am in the pool room playing pool with my mates. My mates are a good lot. They take notice of their leader. Me. They do what I want them to do. Because if they donít then they know what will happen. I will lose my temper and start smashing them and everything else up. I have been told Iím a psychopath, or a nutter. I say, so bloody what? I like to strut around giving everyone the evil eye. I feel good when I see them shaking. My mum calls me a control freak. I like that.
Boom boom. Thereís something strangely electric about the ticking outside the car in the street where I live. Sitting here and watching the night and the ticking clock that mesmerizes the soul. I feel kinda shocked tonight that my feet donít ache. Itís kinda been happening a lot lately. Iím getting old. Iím like barely outa my teens and here I am like a piece of lost property on the night shift of life looking for excitement on the edge of extreme and feeling, well kinda dumb out here. I jump and the car is gone and so am I.
Yíall just listen to me, suckers. You canít win this game. You ainít the man or the woman or whatever. You is the crap that dogs make you step into when you ainít sober. You sit in the corner of the bar sipping Vodka and trying to look cool. Well yeah, actually colder than cool. Your ice. You need to stand up and yell, ďWelcome suckers to the game of chance,Ē I donít know this nonsense you spew out. You is too big fo me, bro. You is the fleaís slit. I mean, bro, are yo fo real, sucker, huh?
Mary is not contrary in the least. She lives a sweet life in a condo in Mexico. She likes the heat and the local bars where she can meet guys who want to lay her. Mary has the kind of body men like to lay, a lot. And she likes to get laid, a lot. But only by blond men. And there does seem to be a shortage of blond guys. So she tends not to get laid as often as she would like due to all the dark guys playing the come on game with her. Which is sad.
My first taste of Tuna? Tasted surprisingly good. Better than I thought raw fish might. But I had never tasted raw fish. And wont. But some guy came up behind me. He said I should try it at the place I was at. He was quite rude and bad tempered. I moved away but he grabbed my arm. I started to scream but nobody took any notice. Finally he kissed me, like full on the lips. I was nearly sick. Finally he let me go and started to apologise to me claiming depression and bipolar stuffs. Hope he dies soon.
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