The ends of the world

Waiting as usual for SC to move his cheesy bum and do something to ease the madness of waiting. Chewing on my bottom lip here, my left leg involuntarily shaking, shaking, then still, then shaking again. I could always blame it on boredom but then, I've already told you I am bordering on insane, I of the not-so-patient ilk of fast-walkers and watusi mouths.

Parked in front of my laptop, having abandoned the poem whose essence (ah that trivial, flighty being) simply could not be tamed, I decided to give in to my masochistic tendencies and look up a certain Backless Beauty whose screeches and nonsensical parodies of Poetry have haunted me many a night. I do not know the why of it; I simply felt compelled to write her damnable name beside the Google icon.

Her words, her hatred of Chopin (and her subsequent meal out of him), her pictures, all branded into my head, incisions an inch or so thick, gaaahd, the horror, the horror, the hor-fucking-ror!

Oh, weep. Weep, weep, weep.

And Sarj tells me she's coming out with a book.

...

That's it. Patayan na 'to.