1. The Fox, The Crow And The Cookie

    Through mostly vacant streets a Baker from the outskirts of his town earned his living peddling sweets from a ragged cart he dragged around.
    The clever Fox crept close behind, kept an ever watchful eye for a chance to steal a Ginger spicecake or a Boysenberry pie.

    Looking down was the hungry Crow:
    When the time is right I’ll strike and condescend to the earth below and take whichever treat I like!
    The moment the Baker turned around to shoo the Fox off from his cart, the Crow swooped down and snatched a shortbread cookie and a German chocolate tart.
    Using most unfriendly words that the village children had not yet heard, the Baker shouted threats by Canzonet to curse the crafty bird:
    You rotten wooden mixing spoon!
    Why, you midnight winged raccoon!
    You’d better bring those pastries back, you no good, burnt-black-macaroon!!!

    The Fox approached the tree where the bird was perched, delighted, in his nest:
    Brother Crow, don’t you remember me?
    It’s your old friend Fox with a humble request.
    If you could share just a modest piece, seeing as I distracted that awful man…
    This failed to persuade the Crow in the least, so the Fox rethought his plan:
    Then, if your lovely song would grace my ears, or, to even hear you speak would ease my pains and fears.
    The Crow looked down with the candy in his beak.
    Your poems of wisdom, my Good Crow, what a paradise they bring!
    This flattery pleased the proud bird so, he opened his mouth and began to sing:
    Your subtle acclamation’s true, best to give praise where praise is due.
    Every Rook and Jay in the Corvidae has been Raven about me too!
    They admire me, one and all… must be the passion in my ‘Caw’, my slender bill, known through the Escadrille, my fierce, commanding claw…

    [the cookie drops, Fox retrieves it — there is commotion in the town as the Baker gives chase. Crow is humiliated, realizes he’s been tricked, continues his song]

    Ah, I’ve got a Walnut-brownie-brain and Molasses in my veins, crushed graham cracker crust, my powdered Sugar funnelcake cocaine.
    Let the Crescent Cookie rise!
    These Carob-colored Almond eyes would rest to see my Cashew Princess in the Swirling Marble Sky.
    We’ll rest upon the Knee where all divisions cease to be and rootbeer float in our Banana Boat across the Tapioca Sea.
    When letting all attachments go is the only prayer we know.
    May it be so, may it be so, may it be so, oh…

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  3. I can’t do this. It doesn’t feel right, I can’t do this. I can’t hold your hand, come to your house, go out with my friends not with you and pretend I’m fine with it. I’m not. I was first interested in you because superficially we seemed alike. Superficially, we share a couple of opinions and we like the same things. Every time I’m interested in someone, I’ve no expectancies because I’m willing to get to know them – I got to know you. It didn’t fit, we didn’t fit. You have the lowest self-esteem and I’m stupidly narcissistic, I love myself too much to be with someone who hates themselves too much. There’s also this thing I always thought: I could only be with someone I can picture myself introducing them to my parents. You’d be my fiercest secret. Having my parents look at you and converse with you, I couldn’t stand to watch you open your mouth to talk about anything at all with them. I can already feel their judgment on you, and that’s transforming in this retarded shame on me. I would be ashamed to introduce you as my partner to my family. Imagining you telling them the same godamn insecure philosophies you came up with just because someone broke your heart almost ten years ago just makes me roll my eyes.

    I’m being brutally honest. I am. That’s on you, too. You asked me to be honest about anything and even though I know you can’t take this, this is the right thing to do because I hadn’t notice the responsibility that’d fall on my shoulders if you fell in love with me. We didn’t even spend that much time together, that’s the worst of it. Despite that being weird brought us together, at first as friends, I had to myself you’d be a normal adult who could take on an adult relationship of the 21st century. I really thought you’d know not to fall in love after three days or to start acting like we’re three years deep into a relationship of the 18th century. Like I could possibly give a fuck for this so called romance.

    And now I’m recalling this hypocritical thing you do, which is victimizing yourself, asking me not to hurt you. That is not something I would do on purpose, something I could do on purpose. Right at the start, everything was predetermined my fault. It is not. We’re in our 20s, we’ll have our hearts broken and we’ll break hearts a hundred times before we meet someone worth the hassle. Embrace it. Learn to love yourself before falling in love – you can’t dump your self-esteem on me, on anyone. Everyone’s been hurt and everyone moves on. Sometimes, it’s alright to be just like the others. Listening infinitely to sad, depressive, nostalgic music while you dig yourself a hole won’t help one bit.

    Fuck sakes, you’re not even gay, why are you acting gayer than me?

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  5. 19:18

    Notes: 1

    Tags: pixieslollapalooza

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  7.       “No, yeah. And they all have to get up IMMEDIATLY, even though the fucking pilot just said not to” she reached out for her phone, that wasn’t turned off but at least put on airplane mode. Dragging the bag through the long halls of an old airport, looking out the window just to see the polluted sky of a city she once lived in.

          “And now, we’ll wait for our bags and the five minutes it’ll take to get the fucking baggage will drive them nuts” said the person who sat next to her during the flight. They started chatting over the book laid on her lap, Orlando by Virginia Woolf. It was a tad obvious they flirted. They exchanged numbers, for the premise of going out for a drink together. Let it play out, who gives a shit? that was her take on things. She was polite enough to wait for the boy to retrieve his bag and then they walked out the airport.

          Both would wait for their parents for pick up. Kids going home from college, the played-out story. They stood waiting and talking about the city and their favorite place to go. That’s when her phone finally decided to get signal and, logically, did the first thing a youngster does when travelling: checked Tinder. Flicking through the girls, she saw one mostly deserving of a heart and instantly infatuated with the image, showed to her newly made friend “Hot, right?” with a cretinous smile and an arched eyebrow.

          Sufficiently awkward, he agreed and pretended to see his folks’ car. Gone with the wind. She didn’t mind. Doing that kind of thing kept getting more and more amusing. It is, actually, always a surprise to find innocence in people thinking you are heterosexual when you’re wearing tight jeans, an ironically sexist shirt, leather jacket, worn out green Chuck Taylors and a beanie. Back when she fell into a stereotype, stereotypes still meant something. Apparently media can transform even that, just for consumerism’s sake.

          At the same time she saw her father get out of the car, she noticed an unread text message from the girl she was seeing from college. The girl had asked for a text the moment she got off the plane, but things were so weird. Isn’t a thousand miles a respectable distance that instantly, tough momentarily, cancels the exorbitant caring? She decided to ignore it for a while. It was a pretty long journey, it’s only understandable rest would be first priority.

          At home and adoring the nostalgic feeling of standing inside her childhood room, she thought about what she was doing. Surely kids have a different pace for love nowadays, putting platonic love in the highest pedestal ever seen, but for a second there’s always the mistake of mistaking platonic love for something real and that’s what happen. You noticed and watch for such a long time that upon first contact, you are in fucking love. No one is as beautiful, no one could be a greatest match, we have all the same interest. But then… then you get to know each other. Not a two-way street, however – and that’s not the right metaphor. The correct metaphor would be: feelings and stories were vomited, by the other party. She was sat there and took it, still blinded thought it was adorable someone could be so broken and so repressed. They couldn’t be more different and by the time she realized that, the girl had fallen in love and has fantastic self-esteem problems.

          Compassion for the girl’s feelings were the first sign to prove she was a sociopath. Reportedly to her friends, her goal was to convert this timid and recluse person just to get what she wanted – confirmation she could do whatever was on her mind. It’s just easier to think every kid is indeed a kid and wouldn’t comprehend three days of a disgusting play into a genuine interest that could lead to a relationship. She even implied “I won’t do you bad”, the implication from the start should have been that she would. She would only see her again in a whole month, the whole thirty one days and the thought of breaking up what didn’t exist was putting her into a guilty trip so powerful it kept her awake ‘til the crack of dawn, but still flicking through Tinder users, just looking for a fuck.

          At the end of the reflection, what concerned her most was “What do I tell my friends about this?”

    (Any ortographic and grammatical inconsistency should be forgiven on account that English is not my first language and I count this as an exercise)

  8. 13:15 2nd Apr 2014

    Notes: 298215

    Reblogged from mydrunkkitchen


    when u start lusting over someone but then realise you actually have a really big crush on them 


    (Source: movedtojackhowarcl)

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