(no subject)

Oct 18, 2007 19:41

Dear Filthshifters,

There are a number of important, indecipherable things that I would like to spill on your faces;uninvited, unpalatable, and indiscrete. That wasn't them, those three words, there's much more that than.

Here they are.

So, when you fry your brain harder than you've fried it for a long time, in a horribly amazing but altogether way too confusing manner, I think it's normal to take... seven days. Yeh, seven seems nice and round and easily calculated.
So we've got seven days of sitting around, feeling strange, getting anxious, standing up, feeling weird, getting anxious, walking about, standing, sitting, anxious, infuriated, jealous, confident, sitting, standing, all those sorts of day-to-day activities, but there's something a little bit off.
You think you're sort of crooked. One leg shorter than the other beginning to go around in circles, slowly, very slowly, but very surely.
Indeed the kind of frying you thought never possible was thrust upon you by a combination of substances (which actually isn't the point), and something else, much much more sinister and definitely less familiar. Atleast when you normally come down you know what's going on and you only have yourself to blame.
It's cheesy, but it's not about drugs.
It's cheesy, oh god, it's so fucking cheesy.
I wish it wasn't. Or I wish I didn't feel the need to cheese it out so much. As if it could get cheesier.
And that's another thing. Cheese. Not the substance specifically (substances, again, puh-lease!), just that cringing ohhhhh cheeeeeeeeese mate cheeeeeeeeese feeling you get after a terrible pick-up line. Or similar situation... Un-pick-up line?
Technically deemed the rejection line, if we must be specific.

Look I'm not trying to make a point here. I'm not attempting to convey something about our epistemological states or a grand moralising schema we should set our ovaries by, although that is all I seem to write about normally (footnoted, referenced, published next to my signed copy of the anti-plaigarism agreement and my student ID). Except the ovaries.
I'm not trying to do that.
Indeed, the mystery of what it is I am trying to do is exactly the issue.
Let's say I am malfunctioning through human interference. Let's say, some delicious, ripe older man has plucked silly lost stephanie out of her complacency and screwed her silly in too many ways.
It's cheesy, see? Out of control crazy cheesy.
The worst part is he doesn't live in my city. What would I do if he did? Run him over? Eat his kittens? No. I would know that should I really turn mental I could atleast have a reasonable chance to do so though. It's all about playing fair.
I didn't think I needed anythin from Newcastle anymore apart from all the things living in my family home.
[Cheese.]
I thought I wouldn't want to go back to extra visitations.
[CHEESE.]

I feel like I've lost my anonymity now. Normally full thronged confessions now for the eyes of potential brothers or sisters or flatmates and exes. It's a deadly game, going back. Especially if you're lactose intolerant.

CHEESE!!

Sincerely,
Le Grande Fromage.
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