Thursday, June 11

God Loves Ugly, Yes, He Does

THE CORNER SHOP is doing a deal: a bottle of rioja for a fiver. It tastes agreeable enough. Underneath the plastic the cork is rotten, and it slops out into the glass when you pour it. The sediment is thick. The drink is only a fiver. It does not taste of much. It clings to your tongue after you brush your teeth and causes you to choke. It is only a fiver and it gets me drunk enough. I have been raising a few glasses every night because it is something to do, however in the morning I am tired. I am trying to become a better person: reading more, writing more, talking to people in the street, informing myself on things, debating things, understanding other points of view.
She is in front of me—‘What happened to the sun?! It was sunny!’
She was right.
She smiles at me. I smile at her. I think that she makes me forget a great many things, and that is what I want.
I say to my friend—‘Fuck, man, she’s gorgeous.’
‘I know.’
‘You seen her today? … Christ.’
It is good to think of someone else.
Anything to think of someone else.
I welcome a thousand thoughts, while she just wanders in.
Peacefully I have been making pacts within my brain, of how I will conduct myself in future relationships:
Hold hands. Hands are fine things, tender & well-strung, like violins. Hold them. Swing them. Let those fingers relax or caress, in the back of a kitchenware shop, on the tube, in the daydream, but always hold hands. Some days there are no hands to hold. Hold hands.
When the sex stops: stop. Get off.
Compliment. It costs nothing. Compliment as often as you can, but genuine and honestly. If she looks beautiful when she is making pancakes and bending over the stove, tell her. If she looks beautiful with a toothbrush in her mouth, tell her. If she looks beautiful removing her underwear, tell her. When someone is beautiful enough to stop you in your tracks, acknowledge it with a declarative.
When she does not get up off the sofa to put the flowers you bought her into a vase, stop. She cares not for you or for the wonder of flowers and there is nothing left for you or anyone there. When someone is dead to flowers, they have given themselves up to the police.
Lick her arsehole. It is the lowliest part, as you might believe, but it is the anchor of her splendour. She will twitch on the end of your tongue. The least part of her is the utmost of your admiration. Also, arseholes taste delicious and can be served with gem lettuce & parmesan.
Be honest. Tell her everything.
Don’t let anyone get in the way of the thing you feel you are put on this earth to do.
When someone ever makes you feel like a terrible cunt, leave them. They will only try to suppress their opinion of you as a terrible cunt, rather than elevate their idea of you as a wonderful human being. Whether you are either is irrelevant.
Do interesting things. Go to museums, bookshops, visit gardens, and go for walks. Get a coffee. Sit in a café on a Saturday when there is nothing else to do. If boredom grins at you, walk away from them. A piece of lead will make a sheet of paper interesting. Do not waste your time.
If the conversation is only work but not ideas or troubles or laughter or amusement or lightheartedness, then stop, my friend, and walk away.
Enjoy the in-jokes, they are a language only you and your lover speak. The in-jokes are, I’m sure, what you will remember most because you are a devil of humour. And when, finally, you pin memories to lampposts, it will be your in-jokes that are the bunting between each.
Her body is the most perfect thing you will ever touch, so enjoy it. Earn your right to lay your hands upon it. Earn your right to come upon and within it. Earn your right to lie in bed beside it.
Above all, if something does not feel right, then it is not right. It will not get better because things do not get better, they sustain or they decay.
Now I am drunk and now I am thinking that getting up in the morning will not be so easy. But I have a plan in place, a plan so good I have to pin it to my living room wall. We are humans and we learn from our mistakes. We must better ourselves and all that, otherwise we are nowt but scams.

No comments:

Post a comment

Blank Template By