I hate small talk;
"Hey how are you?" "Good thanks you?" "Yeah I’m great" "Weekend go alright?" "Fine thanks you?" "Yeah good" "Good, anyway I better be off" "Yeah sure, see you!"
Now what was the point in that? What a waste of a good minute.
Wouldn’t life be that much better if it was socially acceptable to replace small talk with a really interesting question each time you bumped into someone? like;
"Hey" "Hi" "How many siblings do you have" "3, you?" "I have 5" "Wow that’s a lot, you close?" "Yeah" "Okay! anyway see you" "Bye!"
"Hello you!" "Hi! Do you believe in an afterlife" "Yeah I do actually, like reincarnation" "Oh thats cool!" "What about you?" "Nah I don’t really" "Fair enough! Anyway see you later" "Yeah see you!"
At least now you know something pretty interesting about a person you acknowledge the existence of.
He asked me if my eyes are real. He asked if he could draw them but all I could think about was how insignificant my eyes are compared to what they have seen. Forget my eyes draw the rivers they have seen, and the curves corners and edges on the majestic mountains that remind me so profoundly of my mother. Draw the freckles on my mothers face and the beautiful tiny spots on her chest.
I had memorised every single minute mole on my mothers neck as a child, I used to connect them like ‘connect the dots’ and although I was really young, until this day I vividly remember missing them whenever she left.
My mother is the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on, I could stare at her for hours if it wouldn’t annoy her. Her beauty is kind, and kindness is the attribute dearest to me. Her beauty is overwhelming, just like the beauty of mountains and everything will forever be insignificant compared to her just like they are compared to the mountains.
The news is on in my house so much that I could easily confuse it with silence.
In the back of his nissan, watching the allying view float by from the car window, trees running past like a film reel. I rested my head on my best friends lap listening to acoustic songs on our way back to Christchurch as she played with my hair, perfectly exhausted from the trip but I genuinely felt content, like there was really no other place I would rather be.
An uncanny presence that like the cliché of the shadow never seems to want to leave. An energy of fabricated negativity that lingers no matter what he does. A voice if you must, but a voice that sounds just like his own, covered in laughter and smiles and a fake self delegated depth that he uses to con. It’s a game he likes to play, where everything that has ever happened to him, all the realities he claims and his current reality is nothing but a fragment of his imagination, whether true or false, everything is the same. His reactions are controlled.
People always say he has a fake laugh, it’s not that its fake, it’s just that he can control it. Much like an actress who genuinely finds the script funny but senses the camera’s presence therefore no matter how truthful she is there is a constant fraudulent aspect to her performance. Only people switched on would notice though.
Anonymous asked: Why haven't you written anything in ages?! I miss your posts
Hello! I have been on the road, so I didn’t have any internet. I also forgot my notebook and pen whilst on the road trip :(
But thank you for this lovely message <3