The Butterfly Wars

She gives me butterflies. 

Me. Butterflies. I’ll say that again.
ME. Butterflies.

*hands in face*
Inhale.

 

Butterflies come near me to die. The ones that are too old to fly and just want to end their misery. The young ones are just attracted to all things bad. The curious ones. The rebellious ones. They were warned. Never venture into the valley of the Tersh. They come anyway and guess what? Truth be told, they die. I’m like the graveyard for butterflies. I kill them. I’m the human repellent of all things butterfly. I’m THAT potent. As soon as they land on me, they fall off and they crumble into a pool of ink and flutter around aimlessly in my thoughts like careless scribbles of death. I’m not into those hallmarkian quotes and have not felt this buttered up since, well…
since the 1990’s.

 

That was then. 

Now, I’m floating happily around with them.
Yes, the tough lil Bambi has sprouted wings and is all buttered up good.

 

I hope I never lose my wings…..
My little budgie wings. 

In other news: I’ve redecorated my room – the moving of furniture demanded more physical stamina than you’d believe. I have carpet burns to prove it.

Now sunlight is permitted into my boudoir and I am no longer living in a bat cave of stagnant air filled with smoke and table filled with the occasional odd items thanks to the emptying of handbags. I have also been waking up early. 7am on Easter friday, thanks to u-know-who. I know. “7am on a public holiday?!?!” you say. Please take my temperature with the back of your hand and tell me I’m sick.

Observation of the week: Do your groceries before the long weekend and don’t leave the house before noon, unless you want to join the empty streets filled only with drunks from the night before. Imagine waking up to ” The Holiday Of The Living Drunk”.

So it’s the long weekend. A funny thing happens when you spend too much time watching Sex In The City, a tv series that heavily relies on first hand narration. You develop your own narration in your head. It’s your words being verbalised (and no im not crazy and I’m not hearing voices). It dictates your every thought and it is as if you are hearing your voice for the very first time. Only, it sounds a lot like Carey Bradshaw and you can’t shut it up.

If it’s one thing she is good at, its asking questions that have no definite answers. Only closing one liner punts.

This is my rendition of my own show, Drunk In The City. Episode title….


“Lost and Sound”

Somewhere inbetween Boston Tea Party’s at Cookie and Vodka Lemon Lime Bitters at Lounge, I lost my leather purse. The soft brown leather and the strikingly green silk linings on the inside. It was one of a kind. Another paltry souvenir from Tokyo gone in one careless drunken devil-may-care night.

Business cards of past acquaintances, expired novelty discount cards, all important identification cards, plastic money, 10 for 1 punch cards….all gone. It’s not me to be so careless with my purse. I might leave mobile phones at cafes and books at grocery stores but never a purse. Hell, I have been known to be more careless with my heart.

Yet, I don’t know why I wasn’t as upset as I should have been. Have I finally realised that material things are simply, well, material? That it can be lost and easily replaced? Apparently it only takes 5 business days to be exact. Afterall, plastic is well, plastic. Would I seriously be happy if I miraculously find my wallet in a bin between Welthenham and Franklin? I don’t think so. That’s a fraudulent type of happy. Waking up next to the person you love with a smile on your face. That’s real. I’d happily lose myself in her than have all the plastic in the world. That kicks some real Mastercard ‘priceless’ ad ass campaign!

I know I know it’s so banal and syrupy. *yucks* for you 

sigh’s for me

*hands in face*
Exhales.

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8 comments

  1. Anonymous · · Reply

    Hei! Seriously girl, you are fucking funny! “I’m the human repellent of all things butterfly.”Good thing I’m not a butterfly. I can still touch you and I won’t spill into ink ;)I also like what you wrote about the mastercard thing. Priceless!-Nik

  2. Anonymous · · Reply

    Ur happy we get it you can shut up now….borrrrinnngggggggg

  3. Bambino · · Reply

    Urm. Who the fuck are you?If I didn’t know any better, I would assume you were a bitter past trying to take a bite out of my cherry pie.

  4. Anonymous · · Reply

    just someone who is sick of you talking about your boring life. go kill yourself u are a waste of space

  5. walk yourself off a cliff anon..clearly you wanna read bout slams ‘boring life’ if not you wouldnt be here in the first place…suck my dick

  6. Anonymous · · Reply

    Bambi should do us all a favor and throw herself off the cliff. You can help me push her off….. and then I’ll suck your limp dick.

  7. rayner · · Reply

    someone stop me from reading this blog. (don’t actually do it thou) can’t believe i haven’t stopped.

  8. Anonymous · · Reply

    Where on earth does this picture come from? And the text? Finally something which brought some meaning into my reality of things. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.Please give me some more!Ms. Rainbow Snails

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