So I am the official loner now,who cannot spell 'moniter' to save her life,and pronounces Sufjan Stevens,croissants and Sigur Ros in an American accent.
'Where are the matches?'
'Oh riiiight..of course obviously,cuz they're just always in the cow,right?'
Our questions are the ceilings we build above our heads.When you refuse to grow,a ceiling is erected.How many ceilings in one day?And in one hour?
Sing to me hope as she's
Thrown on the sand
Of course there was a thought.A failed attempt at simplifying things.A raucous,mucus.Also,two interesting sounding words : orotundity and erroneous.But like everything else,its charm fades on those who try and try again to make sense.Who sit in doorways,not sure whether they want in or out or out and about.
Take amma for example.She tries to make sense,and I have ceased to try and change the subject because she manages to steer it back to the same old,same old.So I smile/nod/yield/interject wherever necessary.Like in a play,only I'm not too keen on understanding/becoming my character who is incidentally/coincidentally/(unfortunately?) me.
'Is he really eating her face?'
'Yea man.I mean,they've been gone long enough'
*snigger from behind me*
'Shut up man,at least he's doing a much better job than you are'
*deathmage and me burst out laughing as a hand slaps the back of my head*
Centre of attention?I think not.You sir/madam (I can't really tell because of the dark)are not thinking straight.I suggest you go back to your living condescendingly under the Tuscan sun or south of the border of wherever it is that statues grow and leaves fly amock.It is too pleasant out here to be taking you seriously.