| A handful of sprats |
[Jun. 3rd, 2010|08:05 pm] |
Wake up - can't remember what I was thinking about - was it something about trains? (timetables - destiny/missed connections/stranded - so stranded is your destiny, which means that you are not stranded) the desire to remember and understand tugs at me sheathed like the feel of easily-to-hand fabric on mastubatory dick. I can't sleep.
Out the house - into the shed - out the shed - on the velosiped - out the gate - on to the road - slight incline - slight headwind
freedom - no hurry
would like to go faster, but it's become hot (the smell of recently-strimmed weed sap drying in the sun), over the South bridge - bare guts and dirty oil, deserted expansively-windowed complexes - the gaps and reflections in overly-developed banal conversation (hers and mine).
Overgrown shaded path (she leans closer) sand and weed and barefeet and muscled torso over striped-tracksuit bottoms - alcohol-tanned arms flicking through abandoned plastic sun-cracked bags (she tells me to get a move on).
Then past maskachka (where she considers walking hand in hand), into the old city,
where she loses interest in me. No time for would-be poets
you see. No breeze and space anymore - she saunters off
informed by genitalia.
etcetera etcetera |
|
|
| Comments: |
es nezinu, cik personiski tas ir, uz ko tas attiecas; nav konteksta, vispār nesaprotu, kas tas ir, bet teksts pats par sevi lasās brīnišķīgi.
cheer up
Viss kartiiba - esmu ljoti laimiigs
Taa ir whimsy, proti - 'Riga (and her regions) kaa sieviete'
Man arii ir "Norfolk as a woman" kaut kur, ko sacereeju furgonaa, slimniicaa, pusdienas laikaa pirms 14 gadiem.
soft and lighthearted. quite boyish. loved it.
paralēli lasot šo un rakstot vēstuli uz amēriku, ieskatījos savos vecajos twitteros un tur bija rakstīts: hugs for idiots | |
![[info]](http://klab.lv/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}