Thursday 4 October 2007

Gonna kill you mister mosquito man

I've been feeling interesting combinations of feelings lately, sort of a bit like cornflake pizzas or jambalaya meringue, stuff that sounds impossible but works out kind of gorgeously in the moment. So today, it's sober and electric. Got the blues, and got electric. Yeah, I know. That makes me sound like Gary Moore. Well, so be it.

A mosquito slipped into my room while I was climbing back in from the fire escape. I said to him, "I feel like murdering you, little creature" and proceeded to interact with him in perfect consonance with my intention. The little creature had other ideas, however, and his DNA is clearly hip to this kind of jive, and how to deal with it. He's hiding out in my bedroom, taking his chances. I know the corner he's in. He's made himself invisible. Every now and then I feel his sting. That's my cue to not touch. All you can do when there's a mosquito in the room is kill, and not touch, and whip out the lavender oil. It's a pain in the arse, but that's alright.

Ah, a shift, over the course of this post, even. From sober and bluesy, to itchy and content. High and mighty and tired. Pointless and singing.

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