Agyness says:

I'm on the Model's Diet again.

A Model's Diet comprises of:
1. Copious amounts of caffeine (in coffee or Diet Coke form)
2. Random (and minimal) nibblets of carbohydrates/fibers, in the form of cracker-crumbs, bread-crusts or baulus
3. NICOTINE! NICOTINE! NICOTINE!

Practice daily with disgruntled scoffs, rolls of the eyes and middle fingers raised in the direction of the general public. Yes.

The real history texts say Caesar stabbed Brutus in the back.

I am now convinced that packaging is everything.

Almost anything can be forgiven if it came from/in something pretty. And I am tired of extending kindness, sincerity, honesty to people who seem to take me entirely at face value - my words, body, intent. I am sick of tired excuses. Lying douchebags are less tolerable than plain douchebags, if equally as annoying.

Everything is forgivable if you have the looks to distract/derail a person's anger process. And I am sorry if I lack the looks, tact or talent to make you feel better about yourself.

Yes I'm a smart-ass. But I've never imposed my own ideas about 'humanity' or 'personality' on you. Neither have I put you down with the same malicious-sincerity you do me. And that's okay (it still is). I've dismissed your indiscretions (as I always have), for the very (and only) reason that you've been there (mostly), despite and in spite of all this.

But some things, no matter how pretty, are just not forgivable.

I have relented on too many an occasion, apologized, too many a time. And maybe you have been conditioned to the idea that to me, friendships require no conditions (perhaps you should try practicing it - It's no rocket science).

You've seem to mastered the navigation routes around this ideal and seen me crawl back for mercy, seek your approval for my feeble attempts at change, offer parts of me for your relentless displacements - albeit willingly. Cause like I've always told you, if you want to play sadist, I'll be your masochist. I've accepted it as a silent clause to our friendship, willingly.

I've been a smart-ass from the beginning, babe. I've never had any pretense about it. So why a problem, now? You say it comes and goes - but you've never been a grit and bear sort of guy, so why wait this long?

I am tired of your unprovoked attacks and outbursts. Years of good could easily be forgotten with one slip of the tongue for you. But mostly I am tired of even trying. All efforts are lost with you. Your tune changes monthly, and I am tired of guessing which line's next. If I was easier on the eyes then maybe I'd be easier to swallow.

But for now:

I can easily forgive, still. Forget, even. But do not take my silence for kindness.

It's just plain, healthy, futility.

"You don't need friends to prove you're lonely."

In less than a month I have lost faith, in many things.
I have lost a former best friend/lover for good, to marriage, marital bliss - whatever he calls it.
I have lost
a best friend to something I can't even quite grasp, much want to confront.

People tend to forget the good I do, the good I try to do - and the world keeps throwing me the same shit-spawned assholes, just in different guises. And I'm sick of giving in and taking it.

I don't need friends to prove I'm lonely. I don't need to try to make people feel better about their worth/place in the world. I am tired of mothering enough confidence in them to leave me.

I'm precious.

I hate that I still remember you. even though I now think of you, without joy, without sadness, without anger, without remorse
with nothing

and I wonder whether you've taken away everything
or nothing's all I ever had.

and I dream of that lonely substation alleyway. we've never been there together. but I've walked that tunnel of melancholy many-a time alone, without you, after you. and I still walk it alone, with everybody.

was it as quiet when I left?

when you left the planes roared above me. and I screamed tears, I tried to fight it, 'this is my sadness, this is mine'.

white bellies mocked me from above and I understood for the last time, true futility.

Another installation of:

'The day personified in picture'



In this installment, I am feeling sick and asphyxiated (and not even in the way Irfan uses the idea).

I am queasy from
notions
history
disease
responsibility
menthol lights.

My tongue is mildly scalded and has been for the past day. I mean not for this to be even mildly allegorical although the penchant for rhyme these days is as natural as my tendencies towards self-harm/melancholy.

The fever burns in my rims and I hope again for ardor.

Or at least an ill-aimed reflection from an ill-ailed idiot.

idiot.

Sunday

Sunday, only inspired as it bleeds an hour into Monday.
My fatness extends itself into other areas of my life
Including the inability to fit mind, schedule and activity
into allocated time-frame.

I am good now, I am good.
25 days to submissions.
I didn't think I would subscribe method to my madness
Or even strait-jacket it into precepts
But I am.

An attempt,
But one, nonetheless.

perhaps art can save a wretch like me afterall.
god help me.