Tag Archives: fuck

London pt deux

You know Sometimes You just get so Incredibly tired Of seeing a bin bag From you local Indian takeaway Been ripped open In the middle of the street By a hungry fox At 7:45 In the morning Again. Advertisements

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Homage

Shut your mouth. No, seriously, shut your damn mouth, you look retarded. That’s right, RETARDED. Oh, London. Friday Night Office Girls in Friday Night Office Uniforms; midnight tights running down the front of a leg. Nuggets and fries and half … Continue reading

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sinking

Anxiety is such a cocksucker. Waves of it today. So I stuck two fingers up at adulthood and played video games for 7 hours. There’s something so deliciously naughty about being a 31 year old woman deliberately ignoring that pile … Continue reading

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love

A friend sent me this song today. Fuck, man. Listening to this feels like cutting your chest open and rubbing your bleeding, blood pumping, raw heart against unpolished wood.   I think maybe it’s despair that I’m feeling. I’ve been … Continue reading

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open windows, closed drapes

There is a dead bumblebee on the outside windowsill. Belly up, legs clutching nothing, peaceful look on its face. Yes, the latter may well be an exaggeration. Let’s just say it looks intact. I’ve got wasps living in the wall … Continue reading

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rose hips and dragonflies

… … . Okay, here goes. … I am a writer. I am a journalist. The former I have always been. The latter I have decided to become. I’ve said it. I’ve claimed both words. Now they are mine. I … Continue reading

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might as well face it, you’re addicted…

Stitch, stitch, stitch, stitch, type, type, type, type. I’m sorry for the Robert Palmer reference. It was necessary, I’m afraid. … When I was a kid, I liked to eat. I’ve never been a picky eater, ever. Yeah, I wasn’t … Continue reading

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