Mary,
welcome home. I won't ask you about the journey -I'm way too tired to hear about journeys or handmade cards, I,
hope that's okay. You'll find I have left the keys under the (once)secret shaft. If you don't find it there, it'd probably be around that red cactus tub on the landing. Yes, the flowers are quite pretty, no? Just don't get too close. (But you obviously will. Just wanted to say something..wise and ineffectual, haha.)
Once you're in, feel free to sing, weep, dance, sleep.. just suit yourself, see? It is, after all, your new home.
Only don't write in there. Really. Please?
These windows were not always blue, Mary. That was me, some eight hundred autumns back. That was me being a dodo. That was me being at home.
But like I said, that was some eight hundred autumns back, so don't you worry. You do one thing, paint
the windows red. Or paint them grey.
Paint them any fucking colour. But blues are bad news, okay? and then there's that uncold fridge you have to keep checking on.
If you like you meals cold, like me,whisper a few tender words to that moron of a machine. It will turn cold enough. Then there's the creaky stair-step. Sixth from the last. Ignore it, don't try to fix it..
It has a sighless voice. Yes,
terrible, isn't it?
And.. and.. and..of course, the bedroom carpet.
Cigarette holes. Like black holes, almost.
Almost.
Threads. Soft brown threads,
tangled up in each other's unfaithfulness . And
wayyyyy too many
Spill marks. Biriyani wala Raita, fake Tabasco, Strawberry icecream. That's
my bedroom carpet. Your
bedroom carpet now.
Mary, there's writing on the restroom walls. Use one of those extra large sponges that
they use in the Asian Piants Ads and you'll be good. I'll be
good. It's good that you are home now, Mary. Your's
is a nice home -
brilliant. lazy. destroying. peaceful.
But mostly nice. So.
That's it then. You are already here.
I'm already gone. I have told you all that I wouldn't have, and I
don't know why. Mary,
you are home now. Be comfortable. Be happy. Just, be, and all that
jazz. But Mary, when you step out to buy a bottle of old Port this evening, I'll be on a deep blue bus and praying. Praying that you never find your way back home. My
home.
Keys and Curses,
Usually Good Girl.
"I don't know how..nobody told you.."
welcome home. I won't ask you about the journey -I'm way too tired to hear about journeys or handmade cards, I,
hope that's okay. You'll find I have left the keys under the (once)secret shaft. If you don't find it there, it'd probably be around that red cactus tub on the landing. Yes, the flowers are quite pretty, no? Just don't get too close. (But you obviously will. Just wanted to say something..wise and ineffectual, haha.)
Only don't write in there. Really. Please?
These windows were not always blue, Mary. That was me, some eight hundred autumns back. That was me being a dodo. That was me being at home.
But like I said, that was some eight hundred autumns back, so don't you worry. You do one thing, paint
the windows red. Or paint them grey.
Paint them any fucking colour. But blues are bad news, okay? and then there's that uncold fridge you have to keep checking on.
If you like you meals cold, like me,whisper a few tender words to that moron of a machine. It will turn cold enough. Then there's the creaky stair-step. Sixth from the last. Ignore it, don't try to fix it..
It has a sighless voice. Yes,
terrible, isn't it?
And.. and.. and..of course, the bedroom carpet.
Cigarette holes. Like black holes, almost.
Almost.
Threads. Soft brown threads,
tangled up in each other's unfaithfulness . And
wayyyyy too many
Spill marks. Biriyani wala Raita, fake Tabasco, Strawberry icecream. That's
my bedroom carpet. Your
bedroom carpet now.
Mary, there's writing on the restroom walls. Use one of those extra large sponges that
they use in the Asian Piants Ads and you'll be good. I'll be
good. It's good that you are home now, Mary. Your's
is a nice home -
brilliant. lazy. destroying. peaceful.
But mostly nice. So.
That's it then. You are already here.
I'm already gone. I have told you all that I wouldn't have, and I
don't know why. Mary,
you are home now. Be comfortable. Be happy. Just, be, and all that
jazz. But Mary, when you step out to buy a bottle of old Port this evening, I'll be on a deep blue bus and praying. Praying that you never find your way back home. My
home.
Keys and Curses,
Usually Good Girl.
"I don't know how..nobody told you.."
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