Info Pimp

"Libraries are brothels for the mind. Which means that librarians are the madams, greeting punters, understanding their strange tastes and needs, and pimping their books." Guy Browning (The Guardian column, www.guardian.co.uk 18 October 2003)

Saturday, June 03, 2006

eat words eat meat

I am constantly in awe of people who are able to make themselves act a certain way to suit a setting or aim.
I can't. I just keep stumbling along. No facade. No calculated turn of phrase. No thought out response. Dammit.

I have been trying lately to not respond and work through stuff in my head first. Particularly things that make me angry. I've never been one for lashing out in anger. Or hell, even voicing it. (seems I must've taken some girl pills once). But I am at least trying to sort it out rather than push it down and away inside myself.

Sometimes I feel dreadfully inadequate in front of people who think more before they act, and can recall facts, quotes, and the punchlines to stories. In front of people who can remember what they learnt in uni. Sometimes I think I shouldn't be so harsh on myself. Some of these people are still in uni. They still breathe, everyday, their mazes of words. I on the other hand, hear the echo in my head of a dear lad I went to school with, who often said "fuck words foul me".

******************

The last few days have found my food and drink consumption matching this weather.
Rye bread, mackeral, herring, soups, glogg, beef, bagels, cabbage, sauerkraut, beer, bread, potato dumplings, mulled wine, absinthe.
My god.
It is rare that I shake my head at the night before. But mulled wine and absinthe creates a different Miss Y. It was fine at first. An ex's birthday dinner, laughing and chatting with the straights. Making sure I don't rub the new girlfriends' fur the wrong way. Matching wits with the crazy musicians. Slipping back into the teasing of an old best friend.
I came to the second venue during a loud comedic time. But even in that atmosphere I felt I was too brash for the gentle lads I talked with. Unable to rein in my expanding jangle of words or reclaim any semblence of intelligence I slipped away.
Overjoyed to find missed phone calls from my love.
Later collected off the shining wet street by a loud-music-crazy-steering-here-love-want-a-beer car.
We let our scattered energies calm each other and tumbled together into the rest of our night.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home