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.
H: I don’t think so.
K: You so are.
H: Has it ever occurred to you that …
K: You are a whore.
H: You Americans.
K: What?
H: You are a slut.
K: You Europeans.
…
H: This is fun, no?
K: Haha.
…
K: Oh, so painful, Husten. Why do you live so far away?
H: Why do you live so far away?
K:
H: Dunno.
K: Wasn’t expecting an answer.
H:
…
H: I’m trying. Really hard. They don’t want foreigners in your knack of the woods. Do your degree in the UK.
K: I looked into that recently.
H: Really?
K: Don’t keep your hopes up.
…
H: Stellify?
K: It’s ok.
H: You are being British.
K: Am I? Across The Sea is better.
H: There are no doubt, hundreds of songs that are better.
K: I didn’t mean that, you whore.
H: It would be kinda of tedious if I called you slut, right now, right?
K: You are so insecure.
H: You are so American.
…
It’s our song, she said.
Ours.
Sure.
Weezer?
Sure.
She’s the boss.
Across the seas, hey?
But.
Why does me heart feel so bad?
…
So far for my fucking fenglish.
Love me.
Unconditionally.
Just.
Love me.
Wherever you are.
Whoever you are.
I need it right now.
“VDB … Rest in peace.
…
Finally.
Like Paul Gascoigne.
Over here.
Unlike Paul Gascoigne.
I should say.
He is still alive.
Tho.
Living in a wheelie bin.
According to some tabloids.
Before I left for the US.
Thought it was very funny.
Then.
Realised.
People with mental illnesses …
Yup.
The political correctness kicked in.
…
VDB
…
Ge waart een grote Meneer.
Even if.
I may be the only one to genuinely think so.
In that country of ours we call home.
…
You were you.
I loved you for that.
Unlike Museeuw.
…
nvm
…
I’ll miss you.
From a bona fide fan.
VMH”
“Hey kids, shake a leg
Maybe you’re crazy in the head, baby”
“Hey kids, where are you?
Nobody tells you what to do, baby”
…
So far for my fucking fenglish.
The tedious trick with young’ns is not how far they are willing you can take ‘m.
The iffy trick is realising how far they can take you.
Without you willing it.
So far for my fucking fenglish.
K: If you have no money, how do you manage to get drunk?
H:
K: Really?
H: Well, you told me … showed me in fact. Back in the day.
K: Back in the day, huh?
H: Yup.
…
K: So I got you to write my essays, lie for me and and now shoplift alcohol.
H: Not for you tho. The shoplifting. Tho if I even had a sniff of your … in your knack of the woods … i’d rob a …
K: Hahaha.
…
H: A pushover, I am. Like you said.
K: Hmmmm.
…
K: You said you miss English, right?
H: uhu.
K: Wanna do my homework for me?
H: Depends.
K: On what? I already have to let you go down on me which is soooo not gonna happen.
H: I think it will.
K:
H: Coz of that American thing. Fixated on oral sex. Became the norm. And you are a slut.
K: Haha, I live in slutville.
…
H: I miss you. A lot.
K:
H: Yeah, I know. You try to avoid it.
K:
H: Don’t start talking about other things.
K:
H:
K: I miss you too. But not in that way.
H: I know. Fuck me, do I know.
“Dip, dip.”
No.
“Trip, trip.”
No.
“Dip, dip.”
The tap in me room says. (Put a worn sock underneath the tap coz it was driving me crazy. Mutes the Chinese water torture.)
Like being at your grandma’s and all those fucking clocks. Remember? Going “tick tock”. Especially the one. That was really loud. What was all that about? Not to mention the heat. It was always so hot.
K.
Have been making a mess of the intimate friendship between us, lately.
With K.
Not because of alcohol.
Not because of distance.
Not because of …
Just because.
Of.
Me.
She says she has accepted my apologies.
Seems like it. Forgiven me.
I am a moron.
But.
People assume things.
Quite rightly so.
“Dip, dip.”
.
A: So then, how is this gonna work? California?
…
H: That looks like a bullet hole.
A: I know you did some crazy things in America … but guns?
…
H: Yeah, I am still in California mode.
A: Your room is fine. Just a knock. Doesn’t look like a bulle …
H: Fuck off. Leave me some imagination.
…
H:
A: Bless.
H: Don’t. My own doing. Choice.
…
Boy: Buddy, buddy, buddy …
H: I know.
Boy: The strange thing is, I am not worried about you.
H: Coz I am not worried about myself.
…
A: Tell me about K.
H:
Boy: Bless.
…
H: Stop this blessing thing you two got going, will ya?
…
A: She is not like me, is she, Husten?
H: That’s the nastiest thing someone has told me in the last 20 years.
Boy:
H:
A: Don’t give each other those looks. He’s being the drama queen, like he always is.
Boy: Seen this room?
H: Don’t.
People assume things.
Quite rightly so. So it seems. So I have heard.
The standard of Fall On Me needs to improve.
V M Husten is very aware of that.
It’s gonna take a while, he thinks. He that calls himself V M Husten. To. Get back in the swing of things.
Get it right again.
Rhythm and all that. Writing style. Subject matter.
K is not A.
On so many levels.
Gonna need some time to work this one out.
At this moment in time. Feel. Like.
I will never get there.
But then again. Felt like this in the beginning of A.
But.
At this moment in time. Feel. Like.
I need to be loved.
And.
At this moment in time. Feel. Like.
I am not getting any.
Love.
Which is pathetic.
I don’t like writing about me.
Which is pathetic. I know.
Fall On Me. V M Husten. All about me.
A sign: not wanting to write. About.
Of how low I am feeling right now.
I am staying in this supercheap hotel right now.
Right now.
And I am thinking.
Right now.
Not how low I have fallen.
Right now.
But.
What a racist I am.
Most ppl. Sharing this hotel. Are Arabs.
And.
Some.
A couple.
Were trying to be nice to me.
Why don’t you go and kill somebody?
I thought. Take your 15th Century backward religion and shove it up … .
Yup.
That’s what I thought.
But. Never showed.
Just smiled.
…
People assume things.
Quite rightly so. So it seems. So I have proven.
The standard of Fall On Me needs to improve.
V M Husten needs to improve.
.
