Dearest globe,
It’s February and I am still here, having so much difficulty sleeping.
Still facing the oh-so-bright monitor, pasting my ears to the speaker, humming gently to Joni Mitchell’s tunes with a tummy that growls so lightly at 0400 hours.
So the menu of the moment are, should I just light a few cigarettes ala Peter Tosh and smoke it away ala Bob Marley and pretend to be immune to hunger? Or should I just tangle myself ala dictator up in my bedsheet and suffocate my braincells ala Bush till my brain fuse blows?
Ok that sound terrible. I know.
If my ex-girlfriend happen to hear this, she would definitely grab me by the neck and staple my lip in public instantly.
She would then continuously say this, over and over again,
“If u want to have friends, U should NOT share any of your negativity thoughts with anyone. Even if thinking-about-death is meant as your personal happiness, u should always keep that to yourself…”
Oh well, u are gone now. With or without u, death would always stay as my long-term happiness. Forever and ever and ever and ever.
Even if I am underneath the ground, seven levels down, I would always be able to fetch food to my soul, without bending my knees. Unlike u, after marrying the man of your dream, u still look so thin, thinner than before and so soulless than me. Why is that so, darling?
He must be peeling your soul off one by one, every single minute, huh? Haha.
Oh pity u, african-elbow slut.
Maybe some fine day, u should come crawling to my abode. Join me making love with anything soothes the souls with anything that u and me could find in my dying-fridge. Haha.
Bottle of strawberry jam, four slices of white bread plastered together and a very long cucumber.
Does it sound so fruitful to u?
Badnuit Globe!
