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Nov. 4th, 2006 07:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
johnny9fingersBleeding glamorous ex telephoned. Will not be able to make birthday party in studio. Apologises. Plane back to Senegal departs on 14th. Has offered me her 12 string to look after (one of the few things in this world that I actually covet - some peace offering, perhaps she knows me too well).
I suppose she has a good heart. So shall accept and try not to be at all sniffy. I am sure, however, that I have at least equalled her in kindness and good manners, and ergo am strangely comforted. No doubt I shall have to ask if she needs driving to Heathrow with all her goods and chattels, and will be in jolly mood even if strained to point of hernia. However, when I return home will no doubt spend two hours swearing at TV, or re-reading Catullus. Odi et amo indeed.
Reminds me of a poem 'what I wrote' about affair with inappropriate woman some years previous, filthy and not entirely appropriate, but sums up mood: however Glamorous recent ex's sins are somewhat different (as I suppose are mine at present). If you are under 18 and/or not familiar with Catullus's oeuvre, I'd advise you not to read on (because either it's very dirty indeed, or you're so incredibly jaded it smacks of old school solipsism).
If Lesbia were Clodia, I would be Gaius Valerius Catullus.
Even your spit is more poisonous
Than strychnine, and as addictive
As heroin. I wouldn’t trust your word
To hang a man; provide an alibi;
Or determine who’s the father of your children.
But then, Clodia, who listens to a word you say:
I look and salivate instead,
And dream of you, wanton, on my bed:
Piss-flaps spread, arsehole pouting,
Your spittle bathing my prick,
As you beg for a routing
Or some other magical trick.
Fat chance,
I think this someone else’s dance.
JB
15.03.01
The stuff we do for moral advantage (and to save face).
I suppose she has a good heart. So shall accept and try not to be at all sniffy. I am sure, however, that I have at least equalled her in kindness and good manners, and ergo am strangely comforted. No doubt I shall have to ask if she needs driving to Heathrow with all her goods and chattels, and will be in jolly mood even if strained to point of hernia. However, when I return home will no doubt spend two hours swearing at TV, or re-reading Catullus. Odi et amo indeed.
Reminds me of a poem 'what I wrote' about affair with inappropriate woman some years previous, filthy and not entirely appropriate, but sums up mood: however Glamorous recent ex's sins are somewhat different (as I suppose are mine at present). If you are under 18 and/or not familiar with Catullus's oeuvre, I'd advise you not to read on (because either it's very dirty indeed, or you're so incredibly jaded it smacks of old school solipsism).
If Lesbia were Clodia, I would be Gaius Valerius Catullus.
Even your spit is more poisonous
Than strychnine, and as addictive
As heroin. I wouldn’t trust your word
To hang a man; provide an alibi;
Or determine who’s the father of your children.
But then, Clodia, who listens to a word you say:
I look and salivate instead,
And dream of you, wanton, on my bed:
Piss-flaps spread, arsehole pouting,
Your spittle bathing my prick,
As you beg for a routing
Or some other magical trick.
Fat chance,
I think this someone else’s dance.
JB
15.03.01
The stuff we do for moral advantage (and to save face).
