samderman

[samderman]

I don’t know how you can go on living your life after making such a cruel mistake. 

[samderman]

i fear fresh cuts on my scars

[samderman]

[samderman]

[samderman]

waking dead

i haven’t been happy in a long time. it’s been almost a year. may. as clear as day. that’s not to say i was happy before. every bit of emotion runs on a scale. i was contented. made happy by the constancy of it all. the regularity was comforting.

and now, after all this time, i find myself vacillating, neither here nor there, in and out, needy and unwilling, in and out, aloof and cringing, and the whole world spins, nothing keeps up, your time runs out but you don’t realise it. how much of your childhood spent growing up, learning lessons, taking shit from the people whom you love, throwing shit at the people that love you, 

is this how we learn? by repeating the motions? in and out. an endurance test. after all this time, it is becoming fucking sick. someone’s nasty little game telling you how worthless you are, how you’re only meant to be meat. yes sure premium iberico on the highest shelf, but with a haunting expiry date.

i spent an hour staring today. just me and my ceiling. no writings from god. nothing spurting and red and bloody. just me. alone and hungry.

[samderman]

[samderman]

so afraid to concretise things into words because you know it only becomes real when pen is put to paper. a thought is easily forgotten but this is not. this and a whole bunch of other things that we flip, inchoate in a half rendered sketch, dancing on new ice forming at the tips of your mouth

[samderman]

[samderman]

[samderman]

[samderman]

#mood

[samderman]

had a shitty emotional week and tried to make it better but all the late sleepless nights are making it worse

[samderman]

it was a summer fling, poor thing

mouths to feed, slices of greed

a silence come and gone

through the night a sickle shone

a long dark weight she bore

to cast off on the rusty shore

and he, he walked in circles

clinging to her coattails

but as he clung, away they shrunk

and that, he could not comprehend

if they had it now, why wait till summer’s end.

[samderman]

[samderman]

[samderman]

001

It was another grey afternoon. The sky stood to gain nothing, yet it unleashed torrent upon torrent of rainwater down his nape. Charlie cut his fingers down his collar. Enough was enough. He would not be tormented by another wave of nostalgia. The water soaked through his jeans, the pair he wore on every outing. His only black pair. His only immaculate pair.

In this weather, not even the finest polyester ponchos could protect the once bone dry contents of his jeans pocket from becoming a flat soggy clump. The depth of his pocket gave the memories it held a little silence. It had been barely a year since that day. Two from the date on the first pair of tickets to Madame Tussaud’s, three since their first Marvel movie, and half since the cavernous Ethiopian food hall, in which they had dined with a Congolese general and his very perceptive South African wife.

“Boys, try some of these freshwater oysters,” she had offered, with multiple glints in her eye.

There were a couple of tacky plastic bills he never really fancied, crinkled and impervious to water. Little notes they had fought over, for the right to buy tidbits, drinks, or a cheap lunch, gestures that would not automatically encash as postponed favours.

There were pins he had chosen over a belt. Pins he used to keep his pants taut around his slim waist. A largely irrational choice, but one that did away with the ruffles, the tiny curves and swirls in the hem that bothered him so much, each time he was forced to go out.

Some tissues, god knows what they had soaked up.

His mind wandered back to Africa, where all that mattered had been Shaun, the stars and the gazelle herd that foraged every morning outside base camp. His eyes had been so beautiful then. His lips, soft. Undulating across channels and rivulets, careening the broadways and the narrow tunnels. His teeth clinging on to vines, picking grass, the whole time singing You Are So Beautiful. The world heard their melody and sang along.

And though it had been dry, they had it all, and it was plentiful.

Half a year on, here he was dining in a crappy restaurant, paying for overpriced rice noodles that barely resembled the ones he had at home. Charlie had done this to get away. Yet it seemed that the further he flung himself, the grander the tragedy that played out, mocking him for his epic failure - the only failure he ever gave a damn about.

[samderman]