The sadness floats through the sun lit air and sticks to us like a leech. It sticks and it scabs our skin. We scratch our arms till the old scars have a new sheen of red anger on them. We try to pick the sadness off, to get it out of us, or at least off, and our skin flakes off like sin on sunday.
A new crust of dust in the old carpet. A parapet of dead skin, of loss. Something to stand on to jump off.
The sadness we feel is a real thing. It overwhelms. It smells like dying lilies. A crust, keeping our tears trapped in, stagnating them.
Sun like yellow paint, thick on the walls. Suburban walls sweat. We look at my wardrobe. Want to hide in a thick jumper, but we can’t because of the yellow heat. We can’t. We cannot.
This is the linen shirt we thought would evoke walking along a Mediterranian beach in the evening, on our way to eat some fish. These are the chinos we thought looked just like the ones that guy in the magazine wore. An obit in an outfit, transparently.
A lie upon a fallacy.
We stagger through the days, stunned. The sadness, ah but who cares about that. Let’s take a last long lingering look at the knives, and the pills and the bleach and move on.
We saw this in Asda, having need of a toilet cleaner.
First impressions, not great. The lazy 99% claim. The contradiction in the claim it’s ‘Liquid Gel’
Then there’s that fucking name.
It just reeks of laziness, doesn’t it. It’s following the yellow footsteps of the brashly named ‘I can’t believe it’s not butter’. But where that was brash and brazen and cheerily 80s, this just sounds second rate. A copy of a copy
Second impressions. It’s very yellow. Very yellow. Whilst this may make it look appealing on the shop shelf, after all we bought it, it looks less good when you squirt it down your shitter:
It looks like the end of sick. Like, when Mr Bleach used to drink and we went on a bender the day before. We’d lie shipped and wrecked on the bathroom floor, washed up. We’d puke and puke and puke, the only solace the spray from the flush. By the end of the session, we were puking bile and we were delighted. It was a sign we were, finally, empty.
That may be a great feeling but it’s not a great look. Do we want to replicate that in our toilets?