rubbish reception, scatty plastic and broken buttons
that's slowly rising with the inhalation of methane
and falling with the exhalation of carbon monoxide..
It's swaying up an down like a piece of cloth in the wind,
and is just about enough to steal my attention from the
off-white ceiling above my face.
I have not eaten for forty eights hours..
it sounds like someone slowly pulling the top off of
one of them Muller yoghurts but ends with a PIP noise..
Is a somewhat similar noise to that of a finger
popping out of a an un-lubed woman's asshole..
I can feel my heart beating.
All the veins on my forearms are standing on tip toes,
i can actually see their colors underneath the tattoos
scattered across my hairy Turkish arms..
The pulsing of blood flying around my body
is making me shudder from side to side each
time it beats..
I don't want to move.
I'm very comfortable laying here at the moment..
The noise of pages flicking underneath me is relaxing,
an if you ignore the fact that it's being plundered for female
photographs that will eventually end up being came over,
it's a pretty chilled out up in this motherfucker tonight..
I'm pretending the pages of gossip and D-list celebrities
are waves on a beach..
When I'd go stay with my parents I'd hear
that shit as they live near the sea..
Sometimes when i can't sleep i think about
being in Turkey and listening to the sea..
It helps me forget where i am from time to time..
and it's increasingly pissing me off.
Twisting my neck in different diagonal directions
trying to figure out what is the source of the buzzing
isn't helping an after fucking up my neck pretty badly,
an arm is stretched out, i hold onto the bars on the window
and enjoy the cold metal on the rough palm of my left hand..
I don't have any gloves to do pull-ups with.
Sometimes people lend me theirs but i borrowed some from somebody
and then some NEXT dude joined in working out with me who DIDN'T get
along with the dude who lent me the gloves..
After a few minutes of pulling on my forearm,
twisting the tattoos and squidging the names and faces
dotted around my arm..
I get bored again.
Staring at my sweatpants,
almost as if I'm blankly eyeballing my own balls,
i noticed that my sweatpants are starting
I don't like this..
I try to maintain some kind of interest in my person appearance in here,
whether that's getting a haircut every week and a half, folding my clothes
and putting them under my mattress to give the impression they are ironed,
or just keeping my beard and sneakers in relatively good condition..
Next time you're on your own and somewhere that is very quite,
after brushing them try closing your teeth very softly,
notice the noise it makes..
Because that's what i just did.
For about an hour..
Staring at the ceiling..
Thinking about how I'd made it this far..
SURELY i can hold out until tomorrow morning..
i stand way too close to the mirror and
stare at my gaunt reflection..
My beard is long enough to comb now.
I obsessively run a thick brush through it..
Tomorrow I'll make a big bowl of oatmeal for breakfast.
Maybe even some chicken soup for lunch too..