Pop! Goes the Weasel.

Don´t ask me to define freedom, it´s such a spectacularly grand concept, just realise we don´t want to be tyrannised like the Europeans.

Here´s how this would work: in real life, I would never introduce you to my sister because you might like her more than you like me and that would not be my preferred cuppa.

I watch a documentary about the Egyptian pharaoh Achnaton and there are these reliefs that show his belly, I think it looks rather like my own. Halfway through they present a theory stating that he might have been disfigured based on those reliefs and ain´t that just peachy.

Angst! But I buy new towels -- petroleum blue ones, so pretty, so pretty, with hems in complementary colours. Only they shed copious amounts of fuzz. Petroleum blue fuzz. On the floor, in the bathtub, on me, on my contact lenses. I now vacuum twice a day. I fucking hate it. Petroleum blue hate it.

You and I need so much therapy. It´s not only the way we both obsessively pretend we´re someone else, with different careers and different prospects, while our normal lives carry on as usual. It´s the mood swings, the borderline hysteria, the mental pain that we can´t learn to defend ourselves against. I brush my teeth and I put the head of the toothbrush on my right tonsil and I press hard and white lumps come out of it and land on my tongue and I gag as I scrape them out. I then rinse my toothbrush with chlorine.

Flaming Swords Ahead:

Wha´d´ya mean ”you´re back?”

What´s with your voice? All that breathlessness carrying strangely in the air -- kinda creepy, actually.

And you look like hell, sort of like a pale sponge drifting in and out of sight.

Stop sighing! And stop slapping your forehead like an effing drama queen!

Wha´d´ya want?

No! We´ve been over this; we don´t do ghosts, we do angels. And them downstairs do devil stuff.

No one does ghosts. Ghosts. Do. Not. Exist.

Now go dissolve yourself. Don´t let me catch you here again!



And maybe there´s nothing about me that you fancy, nothing at all. I look at you; your confident laughter is what saves my mornings and your ass in those jeans brings me off before ten a m and the way you run your hand through your hair makes me despair. You´re so young and where does that leave me? I can´t live like this and you compliment me on my experience, my knowledge! You want me to teach you and I want you to touch me.

I menstruate but I put one of my new towels on the floor and I lay down and imagine a Nazi clinic with blond psychopathes impregnating Norwegian women and I come fast and hard.

Never mind me, I like to randomly click on links.