You gotta' know that there is a part of this brain that will never grow up, never be able to accept what it perceives as rejection, and never forgive or forget. So much for that "Would you ever be interested in working together again?" BULLSHIT from the Teflon dude. Translation: If I cannot manage to find anyone else, and I do mean anyone, I might entertain the possibility of giving you a call. The part of the brain that the others might call immaturity, but is really the Id, says Fuck off! Die! I want you covered in blood and bone shards! I feel better now. You know? I really do. The brain is saying, "Never see any of those people again, stay away from them, they are bad," but I think that's just the Id again. I could draw my Id in dark reds and flashes of yellow. The colour of dried blood. The One We're Working on:I saw your eyes tonight In the face of a lonely woman sitting in a noisy cafe, waiting to be noticed. I cannot remember your living face, but only its living parts. Your hair, two heads in front of me on the bus; your pressed-lip smile Or sometimes a capped tooth brings you flooding back to life. Because you did not profess to believe in ghosts, I do not expect your haunting to follow convention. I see you take shape in myriad faces, and look back at me with unknowing eyes. posted by Hane2SO4 6:47 PM . . .
