V M Husten: I am worried
Fall On Me: So am I.
VMH: …
Fall On Me: Baby, we’ll be fine.
VMH:
…
H: Need to go to the loo.
K: k.
…
K: You have a bladder like a 90 year old hamster.
H: Love is a hamster from heaven.
K: ?
H: When I was a teenager, I was into, and oh nvm, Bukowski had this title …
K: In the 60’s, when you were even then trying to be young.
H: Fuck you. Anyway. “Love Is a Dog From Hell”, it was called. Somehow, it stuck.
K: Sure.
Dream of …
Nowt more.
Nowt less.
Californication.
I’m done ripping myself off.
And I want you to know this.
G.
I’m asking forgiveness.
I need help.
The boy never gets older.
The boy.
The boy.
I’m done ripping myself off.
G.
I’m asking forgiveness.
I don’t want you, you to know this.
I need help.
I’m done ripping myself off.
The boy.
Never.
Will.
Get older.
A broken toy soldier.
Can’t sleep.
Chatted to my “a 19 year-old Californian”. Felt bad about that. Re-reading my previous post.
19 and Californian has fuck all to do about/with it.
Soz. You have a name. She has a name.
Chatting to K.
Typical.
For an Englishman to point it out to me.
Belgian band.
Belgian video.
Best music video.
Ever.
Verify:
MaMaMahhh/PaPaPa Pokahhh Face/KaKaKahhh.
And we just outperformed ourselves again in the weekly pub quiz.
And I am quite sozzled. Courtesy of me pub quiz team mates.
And I am sitting on my host’s spare bed. Knees up, Mac balancing. So me Mac can’t get overheated.
And I don’t understand why. Coz my host’s more than, is more than Unbelievable.
But.
And.
And a.
And a 19 year old Californian is sending me her haikus.
No, Haiku.
No plural in Japanese.
And. Written when she was 11.
Coz she is getting rid of them. Throwing them out. In the garbage can.
Coz her mum. Told her to do “chores”.
Coz.
My lovely is being.
GoOd.
Nvm.
But. Nvm.
And.
Don’t you want/Don’t you need/Wouldn’t you love/You better find
And I don’t understand why.
And she trusts me.
And I don’t understand why.
And they are personal.
And I don’t understand why.
And they are GoOd.
And I am saying to not get rid of them.
Coz I did that once and hugely regret it now.
But.
No.
Now.
I realise. I am patronising.
Or.
Am I?
And she is having some of it.
Coz she is not your average 19 year old.
In my eyes.
Your eyes. Your eyes.
Our eyes.
Her eyes.
Fuck your/her/our eyes.
…
Her nose.
Lovely, lovely nose.
And thank God.
And GoOd.
Coz i nearly caught myself writing shit poetry. Writing shit.
And we can’t have that now, can we?
On Fall On Me.
Don’t you wanthh
Don’t you needhh
Wouldn’t you lovehhh
You better findhhh
Don’t you want/Don’t you need/Wouldn’t you love/You better find
Somebody to love.
Can’t read my, can’t read my ...
Impossible.
To sustain.
Close relationships.
Friendship or otherwise.
Just using a chat device.
Just chatting.
It breaks my heart.
This amazing, wonderful, ego-boosting close relationship. A 19 year-old Californian and V M Husten has. K. and I have.
Had.
Breaking. Seeing it dissolve.
In a barrel of opaqueness. A barrel of uncertainty. A barrel of simply-being-the-case-of-not being-able-to-see-each-other.
Like a maffia victim in a barrel of acid.
I can’t read your poker face anymore, lovely.
Just talk to me.
Please.
