cold beetroot soup
Wednesday, January 7th, 2009
my parents are fucking off to South America for a few weeks, presumably in the hope that this genocidal excuse for a war will be over by the time they get back. they haven’t written a will yet, which I see as a particularly cruel act of procrastination.
“we don’t even know where all your money is stored! in like, funds, or stocks, or whatever. you don’t want the state to get everything do you?”
but, to no avail.
so me and little sis and mom are having our last lunch together on the bank of the thickly polluted excuse for a river that is the Yarkon. people jog by. I order a cold beetroot soup. I give you: vignettes, sweet and sour.
*
me: gosh, life without porn and alcohol is so much more intense - it’s like I’m FEELING things all the time! there’s so much more feeling.
mom: you mean so much more depression. HAHAHA.
*
mom: so which one of you is going to drive us to the airport?
me: well, actually, I need to be home before too long.
mom: why, you have something better to do?
me: yeah, I need to start me a new career I guess.
mom: you’re starting a new career today at 2pm?
me: yeah, why not? by the way, would you be interested in donating -
mom: no. HAHAHA.
*
me: (long sigh)
mom: what is it. what are you feeling now?
me: I feel… it’s like this interesting mixture of slight anxiety and -
lil sis: it’s that disgusting beetroot soup he had.
*
me: hey, don’t read my notes! you can read about it later in my blog.
mom: you have a blog?
me: yes, of course!
mom: what’s it about?
me: it’s about… things that happen to me.
mom: and people find that interesting?
in sloppy dedication to cOm’s i am the lotus
