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#association d'images #mots

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samedi 16 avril 2011

does language affect thought ?

you lay awake in bed, you’ve been tossing for hours probably.

last night you shared your bed for the first time in awhile. you woke up and felt disgusting that morning. semen had seeped out from inside you and had dried to your leg. you were moist when you reached down to touch it.

you are sat at a large table, some nondescript bar that’s fairly cramped and loud and sweaty and smells just as bad. you can’t disdain who is here that knows birthday boy, or who is just a regular. you talk to any one passing the time until you see a familiar face.

there’s about 10 people at the same table and they’re all involved in conversation.

you’re pretty far gone by this stage, you try to ease into the conversation to your left but it’s going a mile a minute and you’re distracted by an overwhelming desperation to leave here, soon, with someone else.

some people are laughing hysterically and it rings in your ears and drowns out the kinks in the background. you’re talking to some girl whose appeared next to you with a drink, similar age, and wavy red hair. not exactly your type, but that went out the window a long time ago. roughly the time you bought the first round. you’re trying to work out if she’s flirting, friendly, or drunk.

some people have their arms around each other in an embrace and are singing, and sloppy drunken drawl, and two people directly across from you are locking lips intently, it almost plays out like a conversation. you watch their tongues twirl pushing back and forth and then you realise just how intently you are staring.

you turn back to the girl beside you, she’s still talking and you’re nodding. she pauses briefly, maybe she realises you weren’t listening. she catches sight of what you were staring at from the corner of her eye and then looks back at you. you are fumbling, you realise your hand is between her thighs, just resting there and you’re looking at her lips. she wets them with her tongue delicately, then presses them together. she pecks you on the lips and lets out a giggle and looks into your eyes to make sure she’s done the right thing. you push onto her body touching as much of hers with yours that you can. you’re wondering if she will push back with as much force, you like the tug of war.

you stop and you sigh, some people are smiling at you both and raise their glass in your general direction. here’s looking at you.

you ask her if she wants a drink, she holds up a tall glass that’s full and by the time you’ve stood up she’s already miles away from you involved in some other dialogue. ♦


you’re in the shower and it almost feels like summer.

the light bulb is so old and the whole bathroom is embraced in its dark glow. everything that’s white looks yellow. everything that’s yellow looks orange. and your skin almost looks tan. you look at the water pearling down your hip and the shower gel makes your skin look like a tanned baby. but don’t worry it will get back to the usual paper texture as soon as you’re dry.

there’re like 10 people outside in the beaming white appartment, talking, yelling, hustling and bustling, but the door is probably 10 inches thick at this moment and you’re safe.

you are sat in an overcrowded seminar hall. the capacity is 200 people but there are 300 people and more and more and more. the chair to your right is still empty and the woman began talking 45 minutes ago. people in the back of the hall lack chairs. you don’t give a fuck.

you eventually put your boston red sox baseball cap and the papers sent to you from côte-des-neiges-notre-dame-de-grâce montréal on the chair. the guy to the right of the chair notices you. similar age, mocassins, bermuda and polo. he’s the typical guy you typically want to punch in the face. he stares at your cap like he’d never seen one before. on the way back to in front of him, his gaze quickly adheres to your face. later it comes back to your cap and turns away via your hands. then your writings. you sit with your legs spread.

he thinks you’re a huge thug in a respectable environment. you think he’s a huge faggot too close to your element.

he keeps giving you, your clothes and your belongings quick glances. at this exact moment he is judging you. you know it — you like it.

he doesn’t know you know he does. your mood is agressive, brutal, violent. you seize that rare moment when he looks at the woman, and you very very slowly turn your head towards him and stare at his profile. you feel he feels the weight of your gaze and you won’t turn away until he comes out with some nervous twitch.

you stop and you sigh, some people behind you are smiling. they’ve been observing the whole scene.

you’re miles ahead of that woman. she’s speaking about abstract projects and impractical theories. the people in the hall are asking her thousands of even more retarded questions and by the time you’ve stood up your cap is already on your head. ♦

≈ ME

               § Apr 12, 2011 — λ — construction symétrique — kim

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