Don't shit where you eat (Don't fool around with your marketing executive)
Don't shit where you eat (Don't fool around with your marketing executive)
Don't shit where you eat (Don't fool around with your marketing executive)
Don't shit where you eat (Don't fool around with your marketing executive)
Don't shit where you eat (Don't fool around with your marketing executive)
Don't shit where you eat (Don't fool around with your marketing executive)
Don't shit where you eat (Don't fool around with your marketing executive)
Don't shit where you eat (Don't fool around with your marketing executive)
Don't shit where you eat (Don't fool around with your marketing executive)
Don't shit where you eat (Don't fool around with your marketing executive)
Don't shit where you eat (Don't fool around with your marketing executive)
Don't shit where you eat (Don't fool around with your marketing executive)
Don't shit where you eat (Don't fool around with your marketing executive)
Don't shit where you eat (Don't fool around with your marketing executive)
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
A Million Worms
I take home with me, a million worms.
I lay them down, side by side, on the floor tiles.
Over a drink we conquer the intial awkwardness.
I tell them about my day:
How i hated and adored.
How i won and lost.
How the wheel felt so rough in my ungloved hands.
The beach where the waves came to park.
The rain that gently sprinkled in a deep-seated smile.
The hand i lent and the one i bit.
"It abates when you least expect it to", the wisest one tells me.
They get lost in the mases of my mind, a fertile soil.
However they manage to survive.
They feed on my will and reason, my sense and the lack of it.
My grace and integrity, but also my wounds and blemishes.
They eat and get fat, then fatter, then fatter.
Then they get really thin ... and die ... and decompose.
..... And i feed on them.
..... And we become one.
I honour them in dimly lit corners.
Mausoleums are built where communities once thrived and prospered.
I go visit every once in a while.
Then i start showing up less often.
Sooner than i expect, the epitaph turns into gibberish and the oak tree at the entrance is left to wrestle the winds alone.
New worms are already feeding on its roots.
Sometimes i wonder where it's all at.
But the truth remains it's everywhere.
It's in the bar and the school.
In the bus and the subway.
In the scar and the cigarette burn.
In my pockets and in my shoes .....
But mostly it's home, between the messed up sheets on the matress where your shape is still carved.
I crawl up in bed and dodge in your mould, a perfect fit.
I'm nested and comfy yet uneasy.
Over a drink we conquer the intial awkwardness.
And i listen to your jive .....
"I was your lover and your friend.
My lipstick marks are still on your pipe and my scent is still lingering in your shirts.
Your heart held sway over the beatings of mine.
We were where fate comes to rest its head.
We were inseparable, you and me."
I close my eyes and mull around in my thoughts.
I scan my mind for an image, a smile, a touch of hand.
"If you knew any better, i'd probably still take you home with me.
But now
Instead
I take home with me, a million worms"
Suddenly the mould feels too confined for me.
Cold starts seeping through its pores and up mine.
It rattles and shakes me.
I desperatly clutch to its surfaces.
It swallows me whole.
I feel things invading my air and crawling up my body, probably a million of them.
I lay them down, side by side, on the floor tiles.
Over a drink we conquer the intial awkwardness.
I tell them about my day:
How i hated and adored.
How i won and lost.
How the wheel felt so rough in my ungloved hands.
The beach where the waves came to park.
The rain that gently sprinkled in a deep-seated smile.
The hand i lent and the one i bit.
"It abates when you least expect it to", the wisest one tells me.
They get lost in the mases of my mind, a fertile soil.
However they manage to survive.
They feed on my will and reason, my sense and the lack of it.
My grace and integrity, but also my wounds and blemishes.
They eat and get fat, then fatter, then fatter.
Then they get really thin ... and die ... and decompose.
..... And i feed on them.
..... And we become one.
I honour them in dimly lit corners.
Mausoleums are built where communities once thrived and prospered.
I go visit every once in a while.
Then i start showing up less often.
Sooner than i expect, the epitaph turns into gibberish and the oak tree at the entrance is left to wrestle the winds alone.
New worms are already feeding on its roots.
Sometimes i wonder where it's all at.
But the truth remains it's everywhere.
It's in the bar and the school.
In the bus and the subway.
In the scar and the cigarette burn.
In my pockets and in my shoes .....
But mostly it's home, between the messed up sheets on the matress where your shape is still carved.
I crawl up in bed and dodge in your mould, a perfect fit.
I'm nested and comfy yet uneasy.
Over a drink we conquer the intial awkwardness.
And i listen to your jive .....
"I was your lover and your friend.
My lipstick marks are still on your pipe and my scent is still lingering in your shirts.
Your heart held sway over the beatings of mine.
We were where fate comes to rest its head.
We were inseparable, you and me."
I close my eyes and mull around in my thoughts.
I scan my mind for an image, a smile, a touch of hand.
"If you knew any better, i'd probably still take you home with me.
But now
Instead
I take home with me, a million worms"
Suddenly the mould feels too confined for me.
Cold starts seeping through its pores and up mine.
It rattles and shakes me.
I desperatly clutch to its surfaces.
It swallows me whole.
I feel things invading my air and crawling up my body, probably a million of them.
Labels: Tales Of The Butterfly
Thursday, November 02, 2006
A Pickle
Teaching teenage university girls could be a tricky business ...... specially if you're 27 !