Guinness Cake

Guinness Cake is made from dark matter, so says Maud. So says Father Nathan. Or even Guinness is made from dark matter, boiled up to liquify. It is the don of dense, and hats off to Rachel and Happy St. Patrick's.

Consette x

Porridge Explosion

She was so excited at the prospect of using milk for the first time in a long time, but the counter top attacked and porridge went everywhere like the lumpiest sick with chunks of stomach lining. It was a veritable explosion. Her hand got a little burnt. It was kind of funny. Lawrence Ferlinghetti is on Radio 4 but I know she's only pretending to listen. Exhaustion sags, Oxford Literary Terms proffers itself with legs wide open, there's a mug stained and a teaspoon stained, Cloudy Lemonade, food crusts on the keyboard, a multitude of spiders in the curtain folds which I imagine are there and they might just be you never know, pink eyes, a book on bullfighting, warmth. Goodnight,

Consette x

The Grim

It's funny how things can change in that split time inbetween two seconds. Just so sunny. And now grim, with that human warcraft roleplay lot splicing the field open with black rags and axes. And there was a lot of positivity about the Hemingway essay (the next hurdle), but now dim grimness. The first line must attain assertive originality balanced with simple constraint, and be completely astounding in its poignancy. She can't find it. So we have stalled at the first 12 words of the title. I think she's finally realised that Colombia is in almost 10 days, and excitement and concentration are not too good at cohabitation. De dum de dum de dum.

She wants another Lost Friday, and I agree. Being imaginary, stalking handsome raving men is pretty easy and lots of fun. We danced in silly ways and couldn't give two shits, we drank cider and built up our immunity to the dreaded apple-y ache and drag, we forgot about important things in one sense and focussed on important things in another. It was the best.

Tonight is another night out, but of a different sort and kind of pivotal if it all goes to plan for her. I hope it does, however much I take the piss. I basically want the reflected glory. Refracted glory actually; I reckon my imaginary constitution makes me more nebula-based than flat surface mirror-based.

Consette x

Pinocchio

Rachel and the idiot went on a date today to see Pinocchio at the Puppet Theatre. It was so beautiful, even I succumbed to a touch of nostalgia. Junked on it in fact. There was a bit involving whales swallowing people, quite traumatic, during which Rachel cried. The only one, I think, in a theatre full of 5 year olds. The whole thing was just marvellous and Chunky Blonde misery got skimmed off the surface like gravy fat.

I'm sorry my posts are a bit runty these days. She needs the computer for this essay rush; desparate to get it all done before the Colombian weekend adventure.

Consette x

Chunky Blonde

Chunky Blonde is occupied I think, a locked door. Frolicking inside with some glorious specimen. Do work, do drink, do Lost Friday, continue. And repeat.

Consette x

The Great Unwashed

Oh she smells so bad. So bad. Essay fermenting. Brain stunted. Woken up at 4 this morning by loud sexing somewhere above or below, left or right. Annoyed at not being able to discern the culprit from grunts. So got up anyhow and did some work to the tune of pleasure. Been on this essay ever since. She's done now, but not the references. They take a day in themselves. Bum.

Again, idiot, go and have a shower.

Consette x

Metapizza

See, point proven. Found on thisiswhyyourefat.com.

Consette x