Never Too Late!

Never Too Late!
any resemblance to anyone real or imaginary is mere bad luck
we are all lying in the gutter, but some of us are trying to get up


Word portrait of someone I can't stand

She doesn’t exist as a real being, but as a nexus of gossip, as a cut-up collage of other people’s lives and overheard stories.

She has never, in all the time I’ve known her, said anything that makes me laugh or smile

<>She has never said anything interesting of her own. Everything she says is “Did you hear what ___ did on Friday?” or “What a weirdo that ___ is…”. She only ever talks about other people. She has no ideas of her own. Everything she says is party bullshit and the scene. So you look over my blog and it look like I'm just writing about parties I been. And so it is. But when I hear them starting with the party gossip now, I start singing with abandon. Anything: the Finnish national anthem, the theme from Carmina Burana. I don't know why these people like me.

She is alarmed and thrown onto the defensive by anyone who doesn’t follow how she expects normal people to act. People like this are easy to deal with: you call them “crazy” and then give a relieved smile to your friends because you figured it all out: ah, that's okay, I get it, the guy is crazy. Like, to name names, _____ of bostumana (see sidebar). I feel like saying: “Maybe he’s crazy, my dear, but from where I’m sitting, this fucker is 100 times more alive than you.”

I don’t think she’s a bitch because I wouldn’t dignify or flatter her with the term.

I don’t want to give her any energy. Don't want to smile at her or say anything to her.

When the beautiful and perfect one, once upon a time a long time ago, in an episode of paranoic jealousy, suspected me of having an affair with her, I was deeply offended. I would rather fuck a boy than that stunted travesty of femininity. I feel a wave of revulsion and nausea just thinking about it. If you are going to suspect of infidelity, my beautiful, at least do me the dignity of suspecting some girl who is feminine and beautiful and curvy.

If she read this she would come out with some excruciating retort and prissily conclude with: “…well what do you have to say to that?”

“A quote from Shakespeare, maybe, my dear? There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your stinking philosophy…”