Nylon threads scattered over my tummy
Often times (some times, most times) I think in curses:
It’s become cool to reference contemporary figures. I pledge not to reference anyone doing anything or being anything after the 90s as a knee-jerk reaction to your reactionary tactics. You’re young and I’m not and so I must pretend that it is better this way, that things are exactly the way they were meant to be, and that I have something you don’t, I have the wisdom that comes from experience. And I don’t fucking care if I sound like your grandmother, your grandmother is right, as was mine, as is mine, as will be mine. I can say that now, because said wisdom of experience gives you the knowledge to know. The force of reality thrusting its dick into my spine, won’t stop me writing what I have to say, specially in the comfort and perceived safety of my middlebrow dwelling in my western-civilised, policed, high-walled, barbed wire cell. Whether or not it’s true. Whether or not you believe me. This world is fucked. You are fucking it. I fucked it and now you’re gorging on my sloppy seconds. I was here first. I spat in your bassinet before you were born. I peed on your mother’s placenta. I ate her skin. I was here, she was here, you weren’t there so how do you know what we did and ate and shit. Fuck your Britney Spears, feed your Amy Winehouse a fucking sandwich and Kate Moss’s clothes line at H&M sucks. Fuck you all. I’m going back to the eighties. No the sixties. No the shitties, it’s all shit. You were fucked by the one who fucked me, and the one who fucked him, and the one who fucked him, and the one who fucked him and the one who fucked him. And still you feel no empathy. That’s fucked. I’m pissed. Self-righteous, elitist, entitled American-style pissed the fuck off. I’ll bend over and take it tomorrow. Right now I’m going to scream like a girl for a while. Fuck you.
Other times, I’m serenity incarnate:
I see a boy who is scared of growing old. I see my younger brother, if my younger brother could write. It’s not just because his references are also my own, by proxy through my younger siblings. So eager to shock, so willing to compromise everything; aspects of my own youth. But rather than tell him how wrong he is, how short-sighted, how inexperienced and unwise, I buddha-smile. Because he’s already half-dead. So it already half-matters.
Always I’m inclined to think the worst, because I tripped and fell on deaf ears.
Sometimes I think about you.
Sometimes I think about me.
Sometimes I drink about us. To escape.
But make no mistake… it is always unequivocally and without reservation: All. About. Me.
Just like that’s all about you.
We all have ourselves to contend with.
Bottom’s up.
17 June 2008 at 6:05 pm
Chapeau. Filed under: “Posts I wish I had written”.
17 June 2008 at 10:17 pm
gosh. that cursing paragraph is shitastic.
18 June 2008 at 3:04 am
love the last paragraph. perfect finish. cheers ;)
18 June 2008 at 8:14 pm
Fucking hell. I thought I was having a bad day.
My grandma was right but she couldn’t piss straight as she had one leg longer than the other. Fast as fuck round mountains (if you were going anti-clockwise)
I shall reference a contemporary figure thought - Laurel was thin. And, Elvis was fat. And has a nice pair of tits (for an amoeba).
18 June 2008 at 9:01 pm
I haven’t heard so much gratuitous filthy swearing since I spent a long evening in Glasgow Station waiting for a delayed train, some years ago. But that barrage of four letter words wasn’t nearly as mesmerising as this. (Or nearly as scary, in truth.)
20 June 2008 at 12:17 am
I like the fucking title of this one. For the record, I prefer the much softer Buddha side of your personality.
Buddha-smile; back at you; love and peace.
20 June 2008 at 11:40 pm
[…] Kicks .the onion soup (prose poem) - Aefiel .Three Best Bits of Relationship Advice - Dooce .Nylon Threads Scattered Over My Tummy (filthy good prose) - Down in Me .Labors of Love (about talent) - Ward Six .Waiting (poem) - […]
21 June 2008 at 12:13 pm
Came here via Lissa (flyturtlefly), really enjoyed this, my mind can be a lot like this *grin*
21 June 2008 at 6:08 pm
Lore: Welcome and thank you. File your entire blog under that category for me, please.
Lissa: Thank you, not least of all for the link love. :)
Thehappymisfit: Cheers. Down in one. ;)
Spanish Goth: It’s always a shit day here at Down Towers, goth one.
AUW: Huh? I haven’t been to Glasgow. Yet.
Your Wandering Mind: You’re not the only one that thinks so apparently. Unfortunately, the punk side spits on the buddha side and keeps it in a head lock more often than not.
Jo: Hello and welcome, Jo. If your mind is anything like mine, let me extend my sincerest apologies. ;)
22 June 2008 at 12:29 pm
Great point at the end. I regularly lose sight of just who I am writing / thinking about. Characters who I think are me are other people, and other people have swallowed whole chunks of me.
24 June 2008 at 5:06 pm
Jem: I feel the same way, I write to pieces of so many. Write them (and myself) to pieces. ;)
28 June 2008 at 12:53 am
[…] In Me: Nylon Threads Scattered Over My Tummy (Nominated by Id […]
28 June 2008 at 5:31 pm
You Buddha smile too? Shoulders back, head held up high? That’s mindfulness. Fuck me Ani, that post is life, shit and all.