Profile for funktrash:
Critically acclaimed vagabond of Barnet and Bromley lustre. Russian by soul, German by guts, Briton by understatement and gusto for the sweet things. Much renowned stroller of Camden and Soho nightlife, bumbler among the foolhardy, inordinate wallower in electric guitars and fortified wine. Ceaseless whistler of jazzy punk folk, both while in- and exhalation. Genitor of visual expletion by profession and addled signal records by favour. Operator of countless rigid substances according to the japanese vehicle deployed for laying waste to ruffians in order to wow numerous runway maidens. Glutton for prawn sarnie, eclaires and ginger beer. Making love like war. Henry Miller, Almodovar, Kippenberger. In fact, dulling, awkward post-adoleschent braggart with a sweet tooth for eloquence. Take me on.
Long time listener, first time caller.
Cheers!
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Critically acclaimed vagabond of Barnet and Bromley lustre. Russian by soul, German by guts, Briton by understatement and gusto for the sweet things. Much renowned stroller of Camden and Soho nightlife, bumbler among the foolhardy, inordinate wallower in electric guitars and fortified wine. Ceaseless whistler of jazzy punk folk, both while in- and exhalation. Genitor of visual expletion by profession and addled signal records by favour. Operator of countless rigid substances according to the japanese vehicle deployed for laying waste to ruffians in order to wow numerous runway maidens. Glutton for prawn sarnie, eclaires and ginger beer. Making love like war. Henry Miller, Almodovar, Kippenberger. In fact, dulling, awkward post-adoleschent braggart with a sweet tooth for eloquence. Take me on.
Long time listener, first time caller.
Cheers!
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Overheard secrets
Hardcore selftrolling (contains massive drugs)
(NINJA EDIT: had that before, so reap posteriors..)
One sunday morning, in the almost empty first train home. Coming down from a night of relentless debauchery and dodgy footwork. Me fading in and out of the surroundings, between the body dozing off and the mind still bouncing around in its feral state. Voices behind me catch my ear and i casually listen in. They sound rough and creaky, must be fellow punters of Big Mother Night and the Seductions. They discuss some bloke that spent the night with them, taking the piss and exaggerating. But not actually laughing, instead getting into subtle reasoning of how he came to this, compairing blunders he had, deducting.
We all have at one time or the other known one or another phenotype of that guy they introduced to me. He who tries to hard. Wonky grasp upon the concept of his culture, the more eager to shove his half truths in everyones face. The sense of humour that never fails to distress and confuse. Whose social deficiency are clearly visible to all but himself. But also eager to please with free drinks, and certain source for massive ripping of piss as the gurning helpless idiot he turns himself into. And no matter what kind of evil prank you play on him, he will be back, like the inbred puppy he is.
Some are born to sweet delight, some are born to endless night, methinks, as i am amazed at the surgical cold these well-versed youth compete with. Well, what can be done, at least the poor sod wouldn't know. Then the world zooms back into focus in warp speed, as i hear my name mentioned. And sure enough, these people commence to take apart things that have happened to me. Most of which were buried in the cesspit of you-know-what, if not never been aware from an objective outlook. And now my little missteps and what they must imply were related to me and judgement passed.
Fists are clenched, teeth ground, and desperately i scour my bleached-out greasy thinkbox for who might be able to get all this trivia together. These people must have taken some kind of obscene interest in collecting this, through years and subcultures. Which is not too hard, small town, the part that matters. But mostly, they must have been there for all that detail. Those thrice-damned Stasi rotters, how could they, none of this is true, well, maybe is, i surely had reasons, ah, these false pigs, to fuck me over like that, screw you, IT IS GO TIME!
With this, the adrenaline lifts me off the seat and i grumble and creak down the carriage. There, the backs of their heads a few seats further down. Will i try to set stuff straight? Use my razor sharp wits to humiliatre their behaviour . Will i donkey punch the arrogant fuckers in the cunt? Acidic, boiling wrath leaves me too confused and i walk past. As i turn back, there is an indian family on those places, two grown-ups and their little daughter. They chatted languidly, in the same voices, in their language though. But the dialogue must have been entirely fabricated by me then.
That was the day stuff had to change.
(Sun 28th Aug 2011, 18:20, More)
Hardcore selftrolling (contains massive drugs)
(NINJA EDIT: had that before, so reap posteriors..)
One sunday morning, in the almost empty first train home. Coming down from a night of relentless debauchery and dodgy footwork. Me fading in and out of the surroundings, between the body dozing off and the mind still bouncing around in its feral state. Voices behind me catch my ear and i casually listen in. They sound rough and creaky, must be fellow punters of Big Mother Night and the Seductions. They discuss some bloke that spent the night with them, taking the piss and exaggerating. But not actually laughing, instead getting into subtle reasoning of how he came to this, compairing blunders he had, deducting.
We all have at one time or the other known one or another phenotype of that guy they introduced to me. He who tries to hard. Wonky grasp upon the concept of his culture, the more eager to shove his half truths in everyones face. The sense of humour that never fails to distress and confuse. Whose social deficiency are clearly visible to all but himself. But also eager to please with free drinks, and certain source for massive ripping of piss as the gurning helpless idiot he turns himself into. And no matter what kind of evil prank you play on him, he will be back, like the inbred puppy he is.
Some are born to sweet delight, some are born to endless night, methinks, as i am amazed at the surgical cold these well-versed youth compete with. Well, what can be done, at least the poor sod wouldn't know. Then the world zooms back into focus in warp speed, as i hear my name mentioned. And sure enough, these people commence to take apart things that have happened to me. Most of which were buried in the cesspit of you-know-what, if not never been aware from an objective outlook. And now my little missteps and what they must imply were related to me and judgement passed.
Fists are clenched, teeth ground, and desperately i scour my bleached-out greasy thinkbox for who might be able to get all this trivia together. These people must have taken some kind of obscene interest in collecting this, through years and subcultures. Which is not too hard, small town, the part that matters. But mostly, they must have been there for all that detail. Those thrice-damned Stasi rotters, how could they, none of this is true, well, maybe is, i surely had reasons, ah, these false pigs, to fuck me over like that, screw you, IT IS GO TIME!
With this, the adrenaline lifts me off the seat and i grumble and creak down the carriage. There, the backs of their heads a few seats further down. Will i try to set stuff straight? Use my razor sharp wits to humiliatre their behaviour . Will i donkey punch the arrogant fuckers in the cunt? Acidic, boiling wrath leaves me too confused and i walk past. As i turn back, there is an indian family on those places, two grown-ups and their little daughter. They chatted languidly, in the same voices, in their language though. But the dialogue must have been entirely fabricated by me then.
That was the day stuff had to change.
(Sun 28th Aug 2011, 18:20, More)
» Easiest Job Ever
radiology fleshlump
I was lying on a table, bare chested and my jogging pants pulled down dangerously low. The elderly man held a compact cylinder with the tip slightly larger and egg shaped. He dipped two, or three, fingers of his free hand into a pot with clear and oozy stuff. Then he stepped a bit closer to me, and began to spread the slime across my lower abdomen, massaging it in gently, while politely addressing the crowds of what he was going to do with my inner organs. His engaging manner and dry humour on them invading my cavities in public amused us.
After he had deposited the last of it across my hairy, pale paunch with a jolly swipe, he proceeded to fiddle with a bigger device that the gently humming hand held part was linked to. He asked around, which part of my intestine they would like him to penetrate first. My helpless smile at the situation and shabby, hungover mug i carried let some of the people assembled show sympathetic shrugs. One hand firmly pressed against the side of my guts, the taskmaster now pressed the phallic contraption below my navel. My colon inside the pubic bone appeared in ghostly greys, gently swaying like big lazy snakes. Transmitted on several screens, and commented by the man, they took a journey up my wotsits.
He rubbed it downwards slowly, stopping to adjust, pointing out his intents to the audience. At one point, he could exactly describe the bits i had for breakfast and that i was about to fart inside the next hour. Every now and then, he would grab a bit of the slime and spread it on me, until my whole lower abdomen was finally covered. And so they went on for more than an hour, without cease now trying this angle, now another penetration depth. And the audience was invited as well to take part in traversing my guts, to focus on blood vessels and to trace the lines of my bones. Wavering in and out between interest and lack of sleep, i obeyed commands to move and hold breath.
Afterwards i had a massive fart cascade on the stairs outside, then lit my roll-up, smiling. There now were dozens of strangers that had a decent peek and fumble. They possibly went deeper than the great Long Dong Silver, and left this clear liquid drying just above my crotch. Stroking, nudging and circling my soft nether regions with their relentless tool. Money was all right as well. What wouldn't i do..
(Fri 10th Sep 2010, 10:41, More)
radiology fleshlump
I was lying on a table, bare chested and my jogging pants pulled down dangerously low. The elderly man held a compact cylinder with the tip slightly larger and egg shaped. He dipped two, or three, fingers of his free hand into a pot with clear and oozy stuff. Then he stepped a bit closer to me, and began to spread the slime across my lower abdomen, massaging it in gently, while politely addressing the crowds of what he was going to do with my inner organs. His engaging manner and dry humour on them invading my cavities in public amused us.
After he had deposited the last of it across my hairy, pale paunch with a jolly swipe, he proceeded to fiddle with a bigger device that the gently humming hand held part was linked to. He asked around, which part of my intestine they would like him to penetrate first. My helpless smile at the situation and shabby, hungover mug i carried let some of the people assembled show sympathetic shrugs. One hand firmly pressed against the side of my guts, the taskmaster now pressed the phallic contraption below my navel. My colon inside the pubic bone appeared in ghostly greys, gently swaying like big lazy snakes. Transmitted on several screens, and commented by the man, they took a journey up my wotsits.
He rubbed it downwards slowly, stopping to adjust, pointing out his intents to the audience. At one point, he could exactly describe the bits i had for breakfast and that i was about to fart inside the next hour. Every now and then, he would grab a bit of the slime and spread it on me, until my whole lower abdomen was finally covered. And so they went on for more than an hour, without cease now trying this angle, now another penetration depth. And the audience was invited as well to take part in traversing my guts, to focus on blood vessels and to trace the lines of my bones. Wavering in and out between interest and lack of sleep, i obeyed commands to move and hold breath.
Afterwards i had a massive fart cascade on the stairs outside, then lit my roll-up, smiling. There now were dozens of strangers that had a decent peek and fumble. They possibly went deeper than the great Long Dong Silver, and left this clear liquid drying just above my crotch. Stroking, nudging and circling my soft nether regions with their relentless tool. Money was all right as well. What wouldn't i do..
(Fri 10th Sep 2010, 10:41, More)
» Drugs
headology blowout
One sunday morning, in the almost empty first train home. Coming down from a night of relentless debauchery and dodgy footwork. Me fading in and out of the surroundings, between the body dozing off and the mind still bouncing around in its feral state. Voices behind me catch my ear and i casually listen in. They sound rough and creaky, must be fellow punters of Big Mother Night and the Seductions. They discuss some bloke that spent the night with them, taking the piss and exaggerating. But not actually laughing, instead getting into subtle reasoning of how he came to this, compairing blunders he had, deducting.
We all have at one time or the other known one or another phenotype of that guy they introduced to me. He who tries to hard. Wonky grasp upon the concept of his culture, the more eager to shove his half truths in everyones face. The sense of humour that never fails to distress and confuse. Whose social deficiency are clearly visible to all but himself. But also eager to please with free drinks, and certain source for massive ripping of piss as the gurning helpless idiot he turns himself into. And no matter what kind of evil prank you play on him, he will be back, like the inbred puppy he is.
Some are born to sweet delight, some are born to endless night, methinks, as i am amazed at the surgical cold these well-versed youth compete with. Well, what can be done, at least the poor sod wouldn't know. Then the world zooms back into focus in warp speed, as i hear my name mentioned. And sure enough, these people commence to take apart things that have happened to me. Most of which were buried in the cesspit of you-know-what, if not never been aware from an objective outlook. And now my little missteps and what they must imply were related to me and judgement passed.
Fists are clenched, teeth ground, and desperately i scour my bleached-out greasy thinkbox for who might be able to get all this trivia together. These people must have taken some kind of obscene interest in collecting this, through years and subcultures. Which is not too hard, small town, the part that matters. But mostly, they must have been there for all that detail. Those thrice-damned Stasi rotters, how could they, none of this is true, well, maybe is, i surely had reasons, ah, these false pigs, to fuck me over like that, screw you, IT IS GO TIME!
With this, the adrenaline lifts me off the seat and i grumble and creak down the carriage. There, the backs of their heads a few seats further down. Will i try to set stuff straight? Use my razor sharp wits to humiliatre their behaviour . Will i donkey punch the arrogant fuckers in the cunt? Acidic, boiling wrath leaves me too confused and i walk past. As i turn back, there is an indian family on those places, two grown-ups and their little daughter. They chatted languidly, in the same voices, in their language though. But the dialogue must have been entirely fabricated by me then.
That was the day stuff had to change.
(Fri 17th Sep 2010, 15:53, More)
headology blowout
One sunday morning, in the almost empty first train home. Coming down from a night of relentless debauchery and dodgy footwork. Me fading in and out of the surroundings, between the body dozing off and the mind still bouncing around in its feral state. Voices behind me catch my ear and i casually listen in. They sound rough and creaky, must be fellow punters of Big Mother Night and the Seductions. They discuss some bloke that spent the night with them, taking the piss and exaggerating. But not actually laughing, instead getting into subtle reasoning of how he came to this, compairing blunders he had, deducting.
We all have at one time or the other known one or another phenotype of that guy they introduced to me. He who tries to hard. Wonky grasp upon the concept of his culture, the more eager to shove his half truths in everyones face. The sense of humour that never fails to distress and confuse. Whose social deficiency are clearly visible to all but himself. But also eager to please with free drinks, and certain source for massive ripping of piss as the gurning helpless idiot he turns himself into. And no matter what kind of evil prank you play on him, he will be back, like the inbred puppy he is.
Some are born to sweet delight, some are born to endless night, methinks, as i am amazed at the surgical cold these well-versed youth compete with. Well, what can be done, at least the poor sod wouldn't know. Then the world zooms back into focus in warp speed, as i hear my name mentioned. And sure enough, these people commence to take apart things that have happened to me. Most of which were buried in the cesspit of you-know-what, if not never been aware from an objective outlook. And now my little missteps and what they must imply were related to me and judgement passed.
Fists are clenched, teeth ground, and desperately i scour my bleached-out greasy thinkbox for who might be able to get all this trivia together. These people must have taken some kind of obscene interest in collecting this, through years and subcultures. Which is not too hard, small town, the part that matters. But mostly, they must have been there for all that detail. Those thrice-damned Stasi rotters, how could they, none of this is true, well, maybe is, i surely had reasons, ah, these false pigs, to fuck me over like that, screw you, IT IS GO TIME!
With this, the adrenaline lifts me off the seat and i grumble and creak down the carriage. There, the backs of their heads a few seats further down. Will i try to set stuff straight? Use my razor sharp wits to humiliatre their behaviour . Will i donkey punch the arrogant fuckers in the cunt? Acidic, boiling wrath leaves me too confused and i walk past. As i turn back, there is an indian family on those places, two grown-ups and their little daughter. They chatted languidly, in the same voices, in their language though. But the dialogue must have been entirely fabricated by me then.
That was the day stuff had to change.
(Fri 17th Sep 2010, 15:53, More)
» Caught!
antimatter
A pastime that i rather do take delight in is the sensible discharge of bottom growls. They can happen in the mall elevator, or crowded buses in the midsummer bake, and the such. Any place that gives me antipathy to the sense of crowding is worthy of such olfactory decoration. In particular, when unnerving events occur, one can expect that weapon of disrespect to charge its volatile venom caverns. The story relayed here is somewhat unrelated, as all was in favour, and nothing all right.
We were leaning at the porch of one hip and happening dance barn, me and the gang. Consumption had been taken part in, bodily pressure built up, me with my then object of desire were oh so casually, ever the heavier getting close. She was somewhat beyond my sphere of influence and thus to be admired, and dumbly grinned at as lack of better exppression of my utter delight in joining her. No fuckaroo intents as the gentleman / total dork in me tried to play it right. So there we are, mates of mine playing cool, hers being all grown up.
Someone tells a joke, and in guffawing at it really horrorshow like, i let rip in mighty beer monster fashion. And to evade the impossible, then exclaim the name of a person next to me. Who then, and the cheeky bastard took delight in this particular super villain timing, lets rip himself, as sign of proof to his not-involvement in this base drum innuendo. Which i retorted in hysterically contracting my belly muscles further (when monkeys laugh, it is always the nerves) and such pushing a series of trumpeters delights into the cool industry backyard air. Interwoven with just about every person around suddenly doing armpit or freestyle quotes of the arselingo. Had to make my excuses then, but yeah, you imagine the comments.
What was once "caught" had freedom once again. Same for bespoke ladyfriend.
(Mon 7th Jun 2010, 16:52, More)
antimatter
A pastime that i rather do take delight in is the sensible discharge of bottom growls. They can happen in the mall elevator, or crowded buses in the midsummer bake, and the such. Any place that gives me antipathy to the sense of crowding is worthy of such olfactory decoration. In particular, when unnerving events occur, one can expect that weapon of disrespect to charge its volatile venom caverns. The story relayed here is somewhat unrelated, as all was in favour, and nothing all right.
We were leaning at the porch of one hip and happening dance barn, me and the gang. Consumption had been taken part in, bodily pressure built up, me with my then object of desire were oh so casually, ever the heavier getting close. She was somewhat beyond my sphere of influence and thus to be admired, and dumbly grinned at as lack of better exppression of my utter delight in joining her. No fuckaroo intents as the gentleman / total dork in me tried to play it right. So there we are, mates of mine playing cool, hers being all grown up.
Someone tells a joke, and in guffawing at it really horrorshow like, i let rip in mighty beer monster fashion. And to evade the impossible, then exclaim the name of a person next to me. Who then, and the cheeky bastard took delight in this particular super villain timing, lets rip himself, as sign of proof to his not-involvement in this base drum innuendo. Which i retorted in hysterically contracting my belly muscles further (when monkeys laugh, it is always the nerves) and such pushing a series of trumpeters delights into the cool industry backyard air. Interwoven with just about every person around suddenly doing armpit or freestyle quotes of the arselingo. Had to make my excuses then, but yeah, you imagine the comments.
What was once "caught" had freedom once again. Same for bespoke ladyfriend.
(Mon 7th Jun 2010, 16:52, More)
» Nights Out Gone Wrong
loopy in the dark
Finally the atavistic void of booze coma spits me out with disgust. The motion carries through into reality, throwing me off the train seat. With a wet thud my face hits linoleum. Concerned by this sudden tumult my body stretches out flimsy probes of consciousness. Some of my lower senses try to get back to their post of duty. And they return to a scene of utter turmoil. The looming sense of dread in every new detail they encounter turns this progress into a bullet time effort.
The doors of perception have been kicked in, warped and split they hang off their hinges. Smears of obscene scrawl on the walls, furniture and equipment thrown about by a giant hand. Every piece of furniture sliced open and gutted from its padding. Through the thrown in windows a cold wind plays with ripped up memories. The whole place is reduced to piles of tangled debris. Stench of burnt plastic, heavy, some patches still belch out acrid black smoke. Worse was only avoided by the ankle deep flooding from a shattered sink.
Something does not feel right about this orgy of demolition though. It is too complete. In all its fierce finality a tinge of sobriety is imminent. This suspicion turns out true and now the physical damage means little. The very core, a work of decades, is gone. From first crude efforts, coordinating hand and eye, the balance to stand up, to the more recent middle term memory, sense of decency. Gone. That must have been a well informed enemy. Before the cold fist of desperation closes around them, they just so manage to deploy lizard mode.
It just about suffices to not soil myself and get my limbs sorted. Every step back into reality lasts forever. Propped up on my elbows like a geriatric seal, i adjust my eyes against the dark. Grab hold of the railing on the wall and pull. Shake some life into protesting legs, atrophy, almost-cramps from a night of dance and sleeping in a pile. Blind carriage windows on one side. Shrubs and dirt fading into pitch black on the other. And of course the alcohol poisoning does little to improve my usual myopic self. Too vain to wear glasses in night life. Prise open the hydraulic door and stumble across this perimeter here.
A well deserved lengthy piss is celebrated. You know the kind, where you feel time tie together in a little bow, so cavernous seems the extent of ones bladder. I nod my regards to my todger and the steaming fount of beer scrap he sees off. Now back to my cave. Oh, wait. Where is it that i came from again? Dozens of wagons, and they all look the same. Doors are locked. On the outer perimeter, a massive fence topped off with razor wire grins its sly wink. Lizard is confused, its senses in the soggy autumn night reduced to the simplest of tasks. Then voices between the cars, torches shining through the arrays of dirty steel.
Paranoia of thousands of man-hours spent in post apocalyptic FPS games. They must not find me here. Run away. Stumble across the broken gravel and try not to noseplant. Crawl through here, under the train. Try to get out. What are they yelling? They will do bad things to me. It is bad to be here. Hide behind that house. Try to get into the dark. Fuck, no, another fence. Back there? Oh no, here they come, here they are now! Cornered. They yell. I grunt and throw wild glances. Focus! Must get away. Grabbed now. Struggle! More of them, not a chance now. Dragged off. What will happen? Then a wave of merciful black descends again.
Eyes fly open with a start as a heavy wave of nausea and pain sees me to. Another train, same kind of it as before, but now the sun is slowly breaking through the fog. Some drone on the outer edge of my consciousness. Ah, that must be the cleaning dude shaking me. Okay, thanks, mate. I'm out of here. All good. His grasp on my language is as useless as my understanding of.. well, everything, really. The various kinds of hangovers mingle well with the booze still merrily sloshing about upstairs. But i can walk, and see straight too. The dude gets me to a road before leaving me alone, spitting a curse out for a farewell. And now i am twice as far from home as before.
At least i am composed enough to know i have to walk the buzz off before anything else. Well, wasn't that a fine night out? Let us top it off with a spot of sightseeing before breakfast. So i start off west, cross the river, and then leave the village. Walk into a forest, with birds merrily buzz-sawing my dried up bloody prune of a mind, country casuals with their expensive mutts showing disdain for the wobbly, bug eyed kid on their turf, and eventually end up at this lake. Totally worth it after all. And so i sat, the lazy rays of a rising sun warming my bones, songs without words bedding my mind in Kool Whip delusion. And the older i get, the better i was. What else can we have, really?
(Wed 30th Mar 2011, 12:35, More)
loopy in the dark
Finally the atavistic void of booze coma spits me out with disgust. The motion carries through into reality, throwing me off the train seat. With a wet thud my face hits linoleum. Concerned by this sudden tumult my body stretches out flimsy probes of consciousness. Some of my lower senses try to get back to their post of duty. And they return to a scene of utter turmoil. The looming sense of dread in every new detail they encounter turns this progress into a bullet time effort.
The doors of perception have been kicked in, warped and split they hang off their hinges. Smears of obscene scrawl on the walls, furniture and equipment thrown about by a giant hand. Every piece of furniture sliced open and gutted from its padding. Through the thrown in windows a cold wind plays with ripped up memories. The whole place is reduced to piles of tangled debris. Stench of burnt plastic, heavy, some patches still belch out acrid black smoke. Worse was only avoided by the ankle deep flooding from a shattered sink.
Something does not feel right about this orgy of demolition though. It is too complete. In all its fierce finality a tinge of sobriety is imminent. This suspicion turns out true and now the physical damage means little. The very core, a work of decades, is gone. From first crude efforts, coordinating hand and eye, the balance to stand up, to the more recent middle term memory, sense of decency. Gone. That must have been a well informed enemy. Before the cold fist of desperation closes around them, they just so manage to deploy lizard mode.
It just about suffices to not soil myself and get my limbs sorted. Every step back into reality lasts forever. Propped up on my elbows like a geriatric seal, i adjust my eyes against the dark. Grab hold of the railing on the wall and pull. Shake some life into protesting legs, atrophy, almost-cramps from a night of dance and sleeping in a pile. Blind carriage windows on one side. Shrubs and dirt fading into pitch black on the other. And of course the alcohol poisoning does little to improve my usual myopic self. Too vain to wear glasses in night life. Prise open the hydraulic door and stumble across this perimeter here.
A well deserved lengthy piss is celebrated. You know the kind, where you feel time tie together in a little bow, so cavernous seems the extent of ones bladder. I nod my regards to my todger and the steaming fount of beer scrap he sees off. Now back to my cave. Oh, wait. Where is it that i came from again? Dozens of wagons, and they all look the same. Doors are locked. On the outer perimeter, a massive fence topped off with razor wire grins its sly wink. Lizard is confused, its senses in the soggy autumn night reduced to the simplest of tasks. Then voices between the cars, torches shining through the arrays of dirty steel.
Paranoia of thousands of man-hours spent in post apocalyptic FPS games. They must not find me here. Run away. Stumble across the broken gravel and try not to noseplant. Crawl through here, under the train. Try to get out. What are they yelling? They will do bad things to me. It is bad to be here. Hide behind that house. Try to get into the dark. Fuck, no, another fence. Back there? Oh no, here they come, here they are now! Cornered. They yell. I grunt and throw wild glances. Focus! Must get away. Grabbed now. Struggle! More of them, not a chance now. Dragged off. What will happen? Then a wave of merciful black descends again.
Eyes fly open with a start as a heavy wave of nausea and pain sees me to. Another train, same kind of it as before, but now the sun is slowly breaking through the fog. Some drone on the outer edge of my consciousness. Ah, that must be the cleaning dude shaking me. Okay, thanks, mate. I'm out of here. All good. His grasp on my language is as useless as my understanding of.. well, everything, really. The various kinds of hangovers mingle well with the booze still merrily sloshing about upstairs. But i can walk, and see straight too. The dude gets me to a road before leaving me alone, spitting a curse out for a farewell. And now i am twice as far from home as before.
At least i am composed enough to know i have to walk the buzz off before anything else. Well, wasn't that a fine night out? Let us top it off with a spot of sightseeing before breakfast. So i start off west, cross the river, and then leave the village. Walk into a forest, with birds merrily buzz-sawing my dried up bloody prune of a mind, country casuals with their expensive mutts showing disdain for the wobbly, bug eyed kid on their turf, and eventually end up at this lake. Totally worth it after all. And so i sat, the lazy rays of a rising sun warming my bones, songs without words bedding my mind in Kool Whip delusion. And the older i get, the better i was. What else can we have, really?
(Wed 30th Mar 2011, 12:35, More)