cacophony
dawn: I can hear my mother's deep breathing in the other room. I listen to it for a moment. I glance at my watch. 4 AM. I count a few seconds and I already know that leaving bed would be as painful as pulling out teeth.
morning: Metallic flash of light in the bathroom reflects in the mirror and stings still heavy asleep pupils. Soft toothbrush despite its flexibility, again managed to prick my pink gum. Pricey face cream soothes warmed up cheeks.
noon: Sounds of my teacher in their drastically changing range remind me of civic cacophony. Cold air oozes through the leaky windows. I shiver, and I don't know whether all this shivering comes from those irregular tones or the chilliness.
afternoon: Coffee cools down too fast in the mug of too big a diameter. Consistency of cold boiled vegetables resembles the one of pap. I read something about 21-year-old Casanova from Britain.
evening: My eyes are allergic to the white colour. Insubstantial black ink tattoos draw zigzags on the tips of my fingers. I hum quietly Iggy's lust for life while learning. I think how absurd such a connection is- Iggy Pop and the unbendable laws of physics.
midnight: I have been waiting for eighteen years for nightmares to come. Nightmares which vent through walls in the late night hours. The only shadows upon which I stumble are those of Hitler and his pagan crew from history books.
dawn: I can hear my mother's deep breathing in the other room. Weatherman on the TV speaks to the non-existent audience. I tiptoe to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, and, to my surprise, as I roll up the shades, I can see pale white sky for the first time in a couple of months.
[Broken Social Scene-Lover's Spit]
morning: Metallic flash of light in the bathroom reflects in the mirror and stings still heavy asleep pupils. Soft toothbrush despite its flexibility, again managed to prick my pink gum. Pricey face cream soothes warmed up cheeks.
noon: Sounds of my teacher in their drastically changing range remind me of civic cacophony. Cold air oozes through the leaky windows. I shiver, and I don't know whether all this shivering comes from those irregular tones or the chilliness.
afternoon: Coffee cools down too fast in the mug of too big a diameter. Consistency of cold boiled vegetables resembles the one of pap. I read something about 21-year-old Casanova from Britain.
evening: My eyes are allergic to the white colour. Insubstantial black ink tattoos draw zigzags on the tips of my fingers. I hum quietly Iggy's lust for life while learning. I think how absurd such a connection is- Iggy Pop and the unbendable laws of physics.
midnight: I have been waiting for eighteen years for nightmares to come. Nightmares which vent through walls in the late night hours. The only shadows upon which I stumble are those of Hitler and his pagan crew from history books.
dawn: I can hear my mother's deep breathing in the other room. Weatherman on the TV speaks to the non-existent audience. I tiptoe to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, and, to my surprise, as I roll up the shades, I can see pale white sky for the first time in a couple of months.
[Broken Social Scene-Lover's Spit]