First impression

Well they say that you only have one opportunity to make a first impression. Too bad...

A couple of months ago I decided I should quit smoking. Not that I've been a proper smoker or anything, truth be told I only smoked fags at parties (hmmm), and the occasional Billy Bong Thornton. But I decided it would be good for me to never smoke a cigarette again and so i quit. It took my brother (and a glass of Scotch) half an hour to make me realize a cigarette isn't so bad after all. I have no illusions.

Hell, I have a lot of illusions. They keep me going in this day and age when fashion and various shitty magazines try their best to kill the romantic haze in which men used to dwell.

I don't drink CocaCola anymore. I saw a documentary about a CocaCola factory in India pumping up the ground water and thereby causing a major dry-out for the farmers in the area. A felt nauseated and opened up a Pepsi instead. I have no illusions.

I just got back from my brother's place where I spent the weekend getting drunk, stupid and dressed up for Halloween. It was a good party indeed, but I won't put any smileys in the margin here, I hate smileys.

So much for first impressions. If anyone reads this I want you to know that I probably don't like you. Let's finish with a poem of sorts, just because it feels like a nice touch. Speaking of that, my girlfreind is waiting for me in my bed so I've got better things to do than blog.

Modern girl
For she is a modern girl, split in two:
one part the delicate, sweet and innocent --
there is a lost artist in there;
the other part cynical and tainted
created from sex and television,
sex at an early age (twelve), guided
by Cosmopolitan Magazine,
stupid realityshows and MTV;
it is the plague of today
that slowly kills romance;
to once have had a romantic view on life,
I am blinded, she is blindfolded
for she is a modern girl, split in two:
one part closed in, the lost artist, the romantic,
never to escape
the premature adolescent in a girl's voice
saying "yes" and never "no"
until it is too late and she is forever spoiled,
locking away the artist within,
facing, mouth wide open, the dread
of a cynical world;
for she is a modern girl.