att skriva

Disease

juli 25, 2009

Min engelsklärare sa åt mig för evigheter sedan att jag borde skriva mer på engelska för att försöka bli bättre på det skriftliga.
 Gör ju aldrig det.
Men det är roligt. man blir alltid lite lagom handikappad på andra språk.

My first boyfriend tastes like cigarettes and loneliness. If I’d been an author, I’d probably never described a taste as vaguely as "loneliness". No reader knows what loneliness tastes like. Most readers know nothing about what anything tastes, sounds, or feels like. That’s why they read, you know. They think it will teach them something about the world, which they will never know.
I laugh at all those stupid people, reading books like that. They never get to know the world that way. Just the standardised, fictionalised, analysed version of the world.
It doesn’t work like that.
My first boyfriend tastes like cigarettes and loneliness. I never became an author, just like I never became a lot of things. Sometimes, you don’t become a lot of things because your simply busy doing other stuff. Winning beauty contests. Travelling the world being the part of an amazing freak show and sleeping with a hell of a lot of fascinating people. Sometimes, it is like that. Sadly, though, it never was for me.
– I find you very attractive, Edith, my boyfriend says as he puts his hands inside my bra and I contemplate what I should eat for dinner.
Oh well. I find that very funny. Not that he finds me attractive (or, that too, I suppose, that’s always quite hilarious when people do) but that he truly feels the need to express this opinion while his tongue is so deep down in my throat that I seriously doubt I will live much longer before I’ll suffocate. Very well. I suppose the men I meet are always great at that. Stating the obvious. Good for them.
– Edith, I don’t think I have ever been this attracted to anyone in my life.
I smile, and I think, pasta would be nice. For dinner, that is. Or maybe just generally. I do eat lots of pasta.
– And it’s not just attraction, you know, Edith. It is so much more. It is about love. Have you ever felt love, like this? Have you ever felt love before?
His tongue is not deep down in my throat anymore. Still I feel it, I’m choking.
I don’t like this. I don’t like people talking. People always talk, but I never get what they’re saying. Then they look at me like they are expecting things. I don’t know why people tend to do that, I’d never do things like that. All you have to think about in life is to save yourself. But, for fuck’s sake, never try to get anybody else to give a damn about it.
– I try to save myself, you know, I tell my first boyfriend.
The air between us tastes exhalation and desperation. It’s winter now, when I’m not making out with my boyfriend so intensely I think I will die, I watch people’s breaths and wonder what they would smell like if I came really close to them. Oh. Smoke under streetlamp lights against star-sprangled December skies. Most of the time, it makes a really pretty scene.
I like watching people. I like to think I’d know how they smell.
But the truth is, I’m standing here so close to my first boyfriend that you can’t distinguish our breaths, and it doesn’t smell much at all. Maybe he smells like cigarettes. Maybe it’s me. I don’t know if I smoke. I really can’t remember.
My first boyfriend, he laughs. He’s very good at laughing. He tends to do it all the time. It’s fascinating, you know, that a person like I would end up with that kind of a boy. Maybe I did it just to provoke myself. Or like some kind of test. How long, Edith, can you endure spending time with a person who laughs?
It’s fascinating, though. I wonder if he thinks that he really is happy. If he’s that naïve, I suppose it’s almost grotesque.
My first boyfriend. He laughs.
– Edith, you can’t save yourself, my first boyfriend says. I thought you knew that.
I frown. Not very much, but I most certainly do frown.
– How would I know such a thing? Nobody ever knows if they’re going to be able to save themselves.
He looks down at his feet. When the angle of his head and neck changes, the smoke caused by his breath changes direction for a few moments. I watch it and inside my head, I smile.
But everything smells, and everything tastes, exactly the same.
All changes in this world are just beautifully covered illusions.
When he looks at me again, he smiles. I think it almost looks as if he pities me. If that is the case, he is indeed the stupidest boy I’ve ever known.
– But Edith, he says, that’s obvious. I mean, in your case. Everybody has always known that, right?
I bite my lip. Actually, at the same time, I also bite my own tongue. And, deep down in my head somewhere, I think I bite my brain.
– You know nothing about those things, I say.
And I shiver. Because it’s December, and it’s cold. I’m constantly cold this time of the year. It doesn’t matter where I go or which time it is because it’s always dark and cold.
He shakes his head. I want to punch him so hard in his stomach that he wouldn’t be able to walk in weeks, but I’ve never been good at hitting what I aim for, so the consequences could be dangerous. Maybe I’d hit more private parts. This is my first boyfriend, and I would like to fuck as soon as possible.
In the light of that, maybe punching him in the stomach wouldn’t have been that good of an idea, either.
– I know everything about those things, my first boyfriend says.
The stupidest little boy I’ve ever known. When he’s said that, I kiss him. Not because he’s very good at kissing, but because I don’t feel a need to hear that kind of rubbish. He’s a liar, and I don’t think he knows it yet. I hate liars when they haven’t even realised yet what they’re doing.
I kiss him, it tastes like cigarettes and loneliness.
I like cigarettes, but I don’t think I like loneliness.
Maybe I should buy him some mint pastilles.

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1 Comment

  • Reply Pelle juli 26, 2009 at 6:41 e m

    Jävligt vass bild! Fint skrivet med, hehe.

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