Saturday, February 18, 2012


Yesterday afternoon. I spent with a friend of mine. Listening to the story of his life. In a park near his house. That is a park near my first house, except my access was from the other side. And that was ten years ago.
We had dinner in a restaurant that I was last at in 2000; an unhappy, insecure and fraught evening with James.
Then a night out together in-the-rain-on-the-town. We went to a bar/club in Illovo. With a cab. Thank God. It rained alcohol inside me and I let down my beer-soaked vodka-tinted hair.
I saw Steffen and forced him, in a way important to me, to acknowledge me; not that he has any obligation to ever do so.
I walked-and-floated-and-danced-and-drank-and-pissed-and flirted, all in nice clothes.
Then home in the smelly cab, and an episode of Heatfleshtrash that lasted until three pm today.

[i write this later, it doesn't flow, as in words; welcome to disjointed:>>]
Lying on a fine-haired arm. Talking sore and pain and intimacy. Then a. Wonderfully. Greasy. Wimpy mega breakfast in a suburb from hell, walking distance. That I quite liked. Because at/on edge means you're alive enough to notice: goose flesh-prickled skin. And wide eyes; those are not the effects experienced by dead/the.


Jeff Chandler said...

Charles, I love reading your posts! Your way with words and openness intrigue me immensely.

Beautiful Mind said...

Jeff good to hear from you, thanks for my blogging, in the humblest sense, I'm trying to be more honest, starting with me, then followed by words in my posts. At times I feel self-exposed, but most of the times I just feel free and me, and relieved to me.

Have a wonderful day...