As I walked through the door yesterday, my flatmates were still drunk. I say still, cause I met them in the morning as I got up to go to work, and they were drinking wine out of the bottle, smiling and moving unsteadily. Not soon after my return I was presented with a drink. It was a mix of coffee, ice, icecream, absinth and soy milk. I didn't finish it. Instead I cooked a pasta of tomatoes, spring onions, garlic and almonds.
Throughout the evening I sat around and listened to people talk. I am not very talkative myself, but I enjoy listening. So many people have so many stories. Later on, before going to bed,
I took some pictures. You didn't hear it from me, but there may have been nudity. There may have been boys kissing. Oh, don't worry, it's not as weird as it sounds.
Birth month
"No shadow
No stars
No moon
No cars
November
It only believes
In a pile of dead leaves
And a moon
That's the color of bone
No prayers for November
To linger longer
Stick your spoon in the wall
We'll slaughter them all
November has tied me
To an old dead tree
Get word to April
To rescue me
November's cold chain
Made of wet boots and rain
And shiny black ravens
On chimney smoke lanes
November seems odd
You're my firing squad
November
With my hair slicked back
With carrion shellac
With the blood from a pheasant
And the bone from a hare
Tied to the branches
Of a roebuck stag
Left to wave in the timber
Like a buck shot flag
Go away you rainsnout
Go away, blow your brains out"
Another Tom Waits Song
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