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IT GOT SO CORRUPT AT THE END
05 MARCH 2004
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It's our last night together. It got so fucking corrupt at the end. I couldn't understand it. We weren't doing anything different. Lips wrapped around it, sucking deep -

You can see where I'm going with this, can't you? I'm about to do a really long, extended metaphor. You won't know exactly what I'm talking about, because I won't give any identifying marks. I won't say 'him'. I won't refer to, I don't know, a certain hair colour, a certain shape of lips. Facial hair, or the lack of: a jacket; a stance; a particular way of waving hands around when excited; catchphrases that spread around a friendship group like chlamydia, those infected shuddering then giggling when they realised what they'd just said. Nope. I'd just skim along and let you wonder what or who I was referring to: and you'd infer it was a boy, and that I was talking about some hideously sick, wrong, co-dependent affair. And then right at the end, I'd slip in the bombshell. I'm not talking about a boy! I'm talking about cigarettes! And you'd be all, ha ha! What a funny shock! She was talking about cigarettes, but making it sound like a boy! How clever! I've never seen that literary trick before!

And then, if you were a person that knows me in real life - and who else reads this shit, though I would a thousand times prefer that it were the other way around - you'd raise your eyebrows and nod knowingly, going, yeahyay, I see what she just did there. She made it look like she was talking about a boy, then said it was about cigarettes, but in fact, I know it WAS about a boy! Hahaha! And she likened her relationship with that boy to her relationship with cigarettes! Some kind of peurile, unhealthy addiction! Haha! How clever! I've never seen that literary trick before! And those in the know would nod in an in-the-know fashion, and those not in the know would not nod but would smile, and think of their own relationship with boys / girls / crack whores / cigarettes -

And everyone would be a winner!

But you see, I'm not going to do that. Because that would be like Number One on the list of The Most Obvious Things In The World. I mean, it's National No Smoking Day tomorrow and everything, so I severely think that you, gentle and clearly most sensitive reader, would guess all from the first line on, and who am I to insult your intelligence?

Anyway. So I am sitting here, and in the oven are cooking some Atkins-approved sausages with leeks and shit (and by shit I mean 'stuff', I'm just being all hip-hop, cuz y'all know precisely just how damn ghetto I am) though I bunged a load of wine in there and I'm pretty darn sheezy that Mr Dead and Fat Atkins did not say that wine was appropriate for the Induction phase (Induction being the phase when you only eat like beefburgers and spam and stuff, and I want to tell you this funny story about how I thought Induction had made my ass bleed, but in fact it was just all this beetroot I ate yesterday, but that would be disgusting, so, y'know, I ain't gonna) but whatevs. And I am also listening to some CDs that my friend / e-friend Damo made for me and then posted over from America, which is sweet because Damo has like the best music taste in the world….. and I am smoking number three of a packet of ten of my last ten cigarettes, and, and, and, I wonder whether I am enjoying it? And I am? And I am.


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