the frivolous chatter that is Looooofy

Sunday, June 04, 2006

Start spreading the news, I'm leaving today

Ladies and Gentlemen, I've seem to have dragged myself into a predicament. Well, it isn't a predicament per se but still it would definitely needs a reassesment on what I would consider wise, and unwise and predicaments like these aren't entirely unavoidable, that's for damn sure. I knew it, I knew it, and I say again, I knew it. It was, to me, as inevitable as nightfall.


The solution is simple though; abstinence from what (who) intoxicates me in this particular manner.


I should have known better, I really, really should have.

It's like already tearing a ligament, and still join the "Fittest man on Earth" competition.
It's like going on that drive (knowing that the next petrol station is like 40 kilometers away) when running on empty.
It's like satisfying that whiskey craving when your diabetic.
It's like wearing that singlet when you have a hairy (as fuck!) armpit (and B.O.).

It's like falling in love knowing that you've falling into the abyss.

So this is Looooofy now. His predicament has left him in a world of pain (and when it get's cold, it hurts his nails to even cough), his stuck in the middle of no where (no petrol, no station and no one in sight), he's breaking down (slowly, limb by limb, having to sacrifice a hand or a leg just to feel the sugar rush of a whiskey coke slide down his throat like a kid on a slide, that rainy day), he's keeping away from everyone (it's either he fucks off where he won't be judged or stays long enough for him to get smelled) and he's floating, somewhere between the gutter and the stars (because that's what falling for someone does to you sometimes).

Against my better judgement, I face reality with my afro and my smile, reality in my right hand, options in my left, I clapped my hands to the beat of the song I wanted to hear but what I heard was something I hate (like raggaeton!) but I guess, I have to roll with it, don't I?

Or do I?

Do I leave this place (
za-ze-bab, Gasoleee-na za-ze-bab, Gasoleee-na) or do I stay here and just dance to this awful music (Excuse me, Bartender. One more drink. Could you make it strong cause I don't need to think).

Hand me my coat and my hat, please. I'll take my leave. It's not that I don't like this place, on the contrary, I do, but I would love to be here as much as I would love to be in the spine of a book. Being stuck in an unrelenting avalanche leaves you with motion sickness if you house an inability to roll with it, as my Mooks T-Shirt proclaims.

I'll see you in the next life when we're both cats.

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