Deep Freeze

I have a headache. I am in a bad mood. This might be the daily supplement of someone's facebook status. I hate seeing those platitudes. So and so is tired; so and so is hungover!!! (note the use of triple exclamation marks). Where's your bloody imagination? All the same I have a headache and I'm moody. Everybody's stepping on the coat tails of my patience, it seems. The couple who always come into the shop and spend half an hour chosing one item; the old woman pouring orange juice down her throat is excruciating to watch; the nasal voice from the cafe; the ugly people; the long hours; the chipmunk laughing - God, I hate her so. My only wish? That I had the guts to tell her how ingratiating her invincible laughter is.
Last night there was a great programme on celebrity fallouts - a top 20 of fatuous people (mostly plastic American women vying like harpies for an ex rock star or Flava Flav's enormous clocks - although there was a smouldering face off between Hulk Hogan and his wife's personal trainer). There was the complementary name calling and in - yo - face beyatch - ery; then came the taunts and the throwing of drinks in faces - something dear to my own heart, for those in the know; then the physical violence. Women scare me when they fight. Hair pulling, gouging and shrieks of pure rage. It's like they really want to fuck each other up. With men it's blunt and hopefully resolved in a few punches and a kick - couldn't say the same for these prima donnas.
On a subtler level there was the surprisingly hilarious Nokia Green Room highlights - cringe with embarassment as Tadio Cruz strums on a guitar, having absolutely nothing to say to The Charlatans; feel your toes curl as Ashley Simpson gets ripped to shreds by some smug faced little shitface; best of all was Sam Sparro's reaction to Shaggy saying he had 6 mango trees...
The jist of it was tension, the sort I feel today, where silence steps in and language falters. And the unfulfilled promise of violence. It's like flirtation. I am not happy. There's another status for Facebook. :)

Rose Drop / Timnah Part II

An empty head and a long afternoon do not happy bedfellows make. If they were to mate they would shortly sire this moment in a flash pregnancy and everyone would be disturbed by the utter plainness of the baby - neither boy or girl. Sexless as a worm. The doctor (me) would shake his head imperceptibly and put down the tongs, the billow of his breath warm against his face mask.
But then there are always intruders - they elope around the fringes of vision. They are thieves of silence and attention I am unwilling to give. Neutral, boring and alike. Unless ugly, foreign or beautiful in a difficult way; to say 'I really shouldn't like you but I can't help it.' Or something acerbic like that. Drifitng conciousness like a slick of oil, the call of someone. Plaintive cry. Irritation. En masse. STUCK!