It’s a cold, cold night in Sydney as I write this; a delirious fervour of amusement and yet some ironic regret, these feelings wash over me like a bitter wave from a Melbourne beach. Salty tears fall. Not on my page but hers, I imagine. She wasn’t there tonight – at the club – In days gone by, when dreadlocks covered my ears and eyes I would have reasoned with ethereal sprites that the hazy, smoke-filled skyline inhibited my vision. Perhaps she was there. I just couldn’t see her. But not now. I’m clear. Sober. Hundred days past the hundred year war. Two hundred year war. Fuck that. Three hundred year war. Four hundred. Guilt. Why? Why would I feel guilty. Why should I feel guilty? The question itself qualifies the guilt. It’s because of her. It’s her fault. Obviously. And I’m not being sarcastic – it’s not in my nature. If I was I wouldn’t have gone to the club tonight. I wouldn’t have grabbed my handy black box, filled with nicotine and gasoline, fuelling my desire. Or were my desires the fuel? Did she know? I smoked her. Like I smoke these. She smokes me. She smoked me!

Bitch. She could have called, texted, updated her status, twitter’d, tumblr’d, but no. I had to find out the hard way. The long way. The painful, humiliating way. Demented revelations come my way, riding the cold as it seeps into this room. Into my fingers. They can freeze my fingers. They can stop me from being able to type out these bitter words. But they won’t get my brain. They won’t stop the neurons from buzzing, the electricity from flowing and these words growing like stems on a chemically enhanced plant, blooming out of control in some abhorrent whorehouse in the south side of King’s Cross. The long and painful way. I should have known.

I thought it was cold a few hours ago, as I stepped off the shitty train. My heart was warm. Our flame kept me heated, kept me comfortable – I had no reason to shake and shiver; my bones weren’t frozen like ice and my head sure as hell was feeling very good natured in the calm firelight of our well-tendered brazier of love.

The aromas of the club wafted around me. Colourful figures fluttered by like owls in the twilight. Silent hunters followed scents and skilful prey led them into traps. Vodka, cigarettes and cigars smoothed this process over. Flavours flew amongst the lights and sounds and created such a euphoric atmosphere that rivalled a beautiful trip on LSD-25. Perfume infiltrated my nostrils, caressing and alluring like a wanton lover. These things make sense to me. I understand passion. It runs me and ruins me. It has and it has and it has and it will!! ho ho boy. It will.

Taking a seat and a cigar and an arousing drink I nestled into the warm wooden seat and cracked brick wall. Sipping and smoking I listened to secrets and tales. Why are we here? Does this really matter. Wait, I am jumping ahead.

There she was. In the shadows her graceful body stroked the sensual lines and shapes which created this picture. She came close, slowly and seductively becoming clearer and clearer to me with every subtle step. I drooled for her. I needed her. I imagined where we would be later tonight. Tucked up, fucked up, fuccking up and loving every bit. I almost lost myself for a minute there in these thoughts but I was quickly brought to attention as the details of her face became recognisable to me. Shit. It wasn’t her. Would she be offended? Are my words lies now? Did our subliminal connection affect how my night would turn out. Was this the turning point? The point where I was turned on. My desires got the better of me. Led me into a trap. Fuck that. She’ll be here. I won’t have to wait long. I never wait long.

I waited long. Far too long. I drank long as well. Long, deep, hard burning sips of truth. It hurts. But pretty soon you become numb – like a drunk. Love drunk I stumbled out of that hell whole. It was a stinking, burning, sweat-filled jungle of insidiously delirious organ filled bags. Pheromones choked the air. I needed to breathe in some fucking oxygen and rid myself of this asphyxiating cloud, this noxious balloon of toxic fumes. She wasn’t there; my breathe of fresh air.

Fuck it! I am not a leech, I need not another body to live off. I am myself. Here. Now. All that other neo-philosophical verbal diarrhoea can get fucked. Come to me, alcohol, my beautiful, faithful and exciting muse. Take my feelings and put them on paper; channel my energy.

Buy the ticket…

Take the ride.

Wow, the ending is intense o.o
I really like your literature, it's different and I like how it's simple and understandable yet complex at the same time.
Get a deviantart, or if you have you send me the link so I can add you.

Thanks Sonic.

I don't have a DA account but I do have an account at a site called RedBubble.

http://www.redbubble.com/people/RVRFNX

Thanks so much for reading and replying - it means a lot to a hopeless artsy fartsy type like me.

So I finally fully read this. I have no idea if you are just showing of or want our opinion on it, but : stop using curse words in there. It sounds so forced, it's like a rap song. It's like you thought "it isn't complete untill put Phoronida in it atleast 3 times".


Other than that : that's deep man.

I happily accept anybody's opinion. You, however, post mindless shit.

I have noted your opinion about my swearing. Thanks.

Re-reading my post, it sounds hostile. I like it, it's just : why the "Phoronida"'s ?

I tried to write how I speak and think. I wanted my writing to sound similar to myself. I cuss a lot... and I thought it was unnatural to leave out that part of my language.