Wednesday, 2 May 2012


The tiring voices. They were like a knife slicing my brain in half combining with needles penetrating in my temples. The mouths moving, spluttering, and I sat there watching as particles of saliva melt on my sweater. They should feel embarrassed for that. I just kept gazing at the lad's bald head, how shiny it was. I wonder if he polishes it every morning, it matched the girl's glossy forehead. The couple. Lustrous couple.

My problem was I wasn't sure what I wanted to be , and sooner or later you will have to be something. You can even be a homeless with a dog, but even that requires attitude, you need guts to be a bum. When I was 12 I used to recriminate homeless people, especially those with no apparent disability. But now I don't blame them, they might even be happy with a dog as companion and a bottle of booze. My life itself wasn't hard but I knew it would get . Although I was young I was just like a 60 year old, dumsy woman who lives alone and all she would get into her supermarket basket is red wine and cat food.

Toilet Paper

There was this period in my life when I seriously started to think I was nuts. In a way we all are but some people can fake pretty good so that they can fool their own brains. It started with my cat. Bomb the cat. Nice cat, selfish and great appetite for tuna. Bomb would sometimes stare at me and I could see deep into his eyes and I started to belive he was a human being and worse, that he was judging me. I couldn't go to the toilet without him following me. When I was getting dressed he would be around and I started to feel unconfortable with Bomb spying me around the house. I really liked that cat but the days he was in heat, he would stay outside the whole day and Id feel much more relaxed. I also started having issues with food and flesh. fresh food and fresh flesh. Everything seemed disgusting, all of these flesh beings shoving food inside and taking it out later, the whole process. I could not seem to respect humans for that matter of fact. Somedays I couldn't bear to look at food at all, but when I felt hungry my paranoia would go way. What could I do, that's the way it is. I couldnt fight against it. I had the need to feed that body of mine. When I was younger my hobby was to go to the supermarket with my mother and count how many people would put toilet paper rolls in their trolleys and I tell you 90% of them would have a six pack. I always tried to convince my mother not to get one, not at all. I would tell her we should be different but she never listened; she'd just grab a six pack like the others and remove things I had thrown in the trolley.

Indoors - Outdoors

My hands slowly touched the typewriter keys like a blind person would touch the page of a braille book. The bedside bright lamp distracted my view from the white sheet placed in front of me, white everything was white. It was a Friday night and there I was locked in my room with a beige typer and a cup of coffee. I was certain that people out there were having fun. I could hear them. People my age, getting drinks at pubs, tacky dance moves and more booze. Sometimes I'd wish I was one of them, but despite the momentary feeling of happiness it would bring, I knew I would get bored and sick of all that fun which basically consisted of boys, parties, drinks and dull conversations. I'd rarely go clubbing and when I did I simply got drunk and analysed people; how the smiled, flirted, screamed and satisfied all their carnal desires. I felt sorry for teenagers. I didn't like them. They seemed so pretentious and happy even though that was a generalizing thought of mine.

Monday, 9 April 2012

Citric Pain

I've cut my finger today while cuting a slice of lemon. My advice, if life hands you a lemon don't cut it with a shitty knife. I put that slice of lemon in a cup filled with beer and I drank that beer. I sit by the window and watch as the rain falls down, the metal strees and addictive smell of petrichor. I wish I could dance outside in that wet pavement, my long hair swinging in the air. I want to live the life I dream of every night. I want to be the person I created in my dreams. A person who does not care much, does not worry. After all what is there stopping me?. The truth is nobody will pay my bills and when I die I will go on my own, no one alive would want to die just to share a casket with me. I came to a conclusion that the more you enjoy moments, more memories you will have. But I don't longer want to dance outside I just want to hibernate as I look out this window. It's sad how sometimes my enthusiasm lasts no longer than an eye blink.

Thursday, 8 December 2011

Useless Thoughts

Sometimes my thoughts are louder than the music playing through my earphones. I dislike thinking too much. It interrupts communication, I don't communicate. I just listen to people talk., they must like talking and laughing, cause it is all I see them doing.

As I enter the University building I hear a young guy happily whistling. It is 09:00 am and I hate him.

People's voice are all the same, the conversations are all the same too. As get into the circle of people I noticed how weird some of them are. Mr Hamilton starts talking. He thinks he is tough and funny, but his sense of humor is compelling. People giggle, I smile but not at his jokes, but at my stupid useless thoughts.

We are then set into groups of three. There were two guys. One of them looked hipster and the other had a Spanish accent. They told me their names but I forgot them minutes later. They were quiet. I was quiet. We looked dumb together.

The hipster asks me..

'So, Whose painting do you think that is?'.
'I have no idea' - I say.

Silence again.

My sentence was still floating in the air. I didn't like that. I could hear it in my mind as an echo' I have no ideaaa, ah'. So I looked at the Spanish guy.

'What do you think?' I asked.
'It's Warhol for sure'. He says.

It wasn't.

Social Tie

The alarm clock rings at 07:00 am.
I switch it off, and shove my head under the warm duvet.
07:30 now I know I must get up,and face the cold air and leave the bed I have warmed up the whole night. That's what it is wrong about sleeping, the best time to sleep is in the morning but life obligates you to get up before noon.

Then comes the most dull chores

Outside irritation can get you pretty easily. It initiates by having to deal with slow walkers in front of you. Most of the time they won't even allow you a bit of space to rush beside them, in order for you to get going. There are also children with their mothers; and they never seem to care about their kids running into your direction and bumping into you. Then I put on the most forcible smile and fake I like those kids.


Sometimes the train delays, then it arrives packed. Damn commuters, reading their newspapers and ignoring the world, only caring about their BlackBerry cellphones (Don't know why I just mentioned a brand). I don't look at them. For me they are greed working machines with political sense of humor.

I get off and change for District line. I sit down and vaguely look at some people around me. In front of me sits a young girl staring at her shoes. In the next station a woman enters the train and sits by my side. She unwraps something and start eating it.
It smells like fried chicken. I can't help but wonder what the hell does she think, eating fried chicken at this time of the day and inside a train. She doesn't think that is it. She doesn't care, she is a menial of her body.

There are 20 stations ahead so I just keep listening to music, at least it makes life and people look more interesting, except for the woman eating chicken. She ruins my music and imaginary world with her smelly food and greasy hands.

I finally alight at Whitechapel Station. I climb the stairs skipping one tread each time, punch the oyster card down and finally get to see the monochrome sky outside.