don't you remember?
011 by Lung.
Originally uploaded by Foxtongue. I walk by the house like hanging up on an answering machine. It's dark and I'm too delicate for this. Easier to walk home, continue, and not dare to put my hand on the gate. Footsteps the tempo to an old slow song. Lyrics winding through from my feet through my spine. "Hello, I'm so lonely, And it feels like disease, Come and stay, stay beside me". The air like velvet wiping my face with the back of my hand. Child's play, this is easy as child's play. Something I never could understand. Tag, you're it. My books were always thrown into puddles. My desk always full of sticky wet chewing gum. A young man walks past me, tastefully dressed in an unexceptional way, and offers me drugs. I hesitate and wonder what to say. I tell him that he's not what I need. He looks offended a moment, as if I'd insulted his hair, then shrugs me off and walks on. I can't wake up from this, because it's not a dream.
Britain art project photoblog: "Little hand-painted people, left in London to fend for themselves."
Talking with Alastair earlier on his black leather couch, the one I have the photographs on, he said, "All I offered you was stability. I think you wanted more than that." I replied, "Stability was nice, I appreciate stability." "I think you needed more from me. I think you needed romance, attention, affection." "That last one, yes. That was what I needed the most". A little peculiar, it was a miniature revelation, realizing how that's the only base-line of my demands, just like he used to always give me. Two years almost and practically nothing's changed. He's better at communicating as I am more sad. He was never scared of me.