blooms

in my mind it was clear and concise
only the delivery was draining
the content of the articulation
i had to pause between establishing my points
and checked my breathing

that was after i got better
i caught a chill.
and i believe, nicotine poisoning
in a poorly ventillated tiny room of another run of the mill over hyped boutique hotel, philippe starck chairs notwithstanding, lying next to a dear girl who grinds her teeth without mercy, outside before daybreak, a steady and slow stream of cabs, i was convinced, i swear they were near and ready. i fantasized about grabbing my stuffs, hail one that would bring me to my bed. once i stand before my bed, i would burst with gratitude, enveloped in my grey comforter, hug my fat fluffy pillows and sleep soundly. i dreamt an insomniac's dream.

i didn't go. i didn't sleep either. nicotine hanged in the air. i could smell it. emitting from the blinds, the pillows, my carbon dioxide... i could feel it. in my throat. my respiratory tract. nose, larynx, trachea, bronchi, and lungs. the claims of friendship supercedes all. "tomorrow i would go home with adel" i thought.

it is very simple. every small part is vital to a group effort, if everyone starts to walk away, the spirit of the group effort will dissolve. it does not have to be a pact. i want to see it through once i've given my word. it could be something trivial, doesn't matter.

a massuese and an aspiring child size porn star. we had great fun. in the midst of everything, c asked," how long have we known each other?". we answered differently. c-" feels like we have known each other for a long time."
the service was poor though.

when c did the stepping on me, it felt like my heart was a tulip that was going to burst and bloom and spread in red across the white bedsheets. like my bones would give way and open its doors and let the bed swallow my heart. when the blow came, i was sure i was going to die, yet when her foot lifted, i always survived. the near death like experience is almost spiritual and reviving. i kept thinking about it. remember cronenberg's crash, james spader and holly hunter played survivors of car crash who became only capable of having sex in car crashes. that involved some amount of wrecked metals and torn flesh. sex by asphyxia.

flu, to most people, would be laconic flu or something typical. but little common ailments wears me down greatly, leaving my parents to wonder. in the days that i've been sick, i found myself uttering the name of someone i know vaguely for 5 years, constantly. when i was on my bed, when i was awake, when i ate, when i went to toilet, when i brushed my teeth etc. it was the name of my pyscho-analyst.

echinacea did the trick.

let's go back to scarlet next time. the most beautiful boutique hotel. if not the only.