My love is a cold Dog.
Quarter homo, quarter man, quarter beast…
I have not had a loving relationship with
a man or a woman - I give my love sparingly…
Do I have love? Perhaps am I as col as a killer.
I am 23 years old.
I bet the older men laugh as they read this.
Seeing how long I have left to life.
How much have to learn. How much I have te endure.
How much more experience I have to muscle in on.
I live a soft life: egg soft: baby soft: paper soft: shit soft.
Living in placid suburbia sweet middle land of Giffnockery!
I look at the hard faced haggard men, I look at the women
who laugh at my big soft unknowing eyes
I look at my Father who works like a constant plough
and my mother who works like a trojan horse
and yet they bother remain a mystery to me…
I live a secret life tapping inside my spoiled room.
I live in my head. I live in my thoughts.I walk the streets at night.
I laugh at how soft my life is and how little I have suffered
and have much suffering the world has been taught
and how poor my lesson has been…
But then again the old men must laugh!
My game has just begun.
My trial has just opened.
The jury are everywhere leaning in…
The suffering is priming itself to leap.
It leaps upon all of us sort or hard or indifferent.
We are given these knocks to learn from
or die from or slip into to nothingness for…
I await the ring of the bell.
My love is a cold Dog.
My love is all over the place.
Do I have love? perhaps I do?
I must give my love
or my words will be forever
half-baked…
