chinese chips

ok. so i've managed to find my way back to the blog through tired eyes and with a full belly. it's take away night and i just can't stop eating those chinese chips. even when i'm close to bursting. damn those chips! but they are good. i passed a lorry on the motorway once that had the words 'eat more chips' on the side curtain. the universe communicates in wonderful ways sometimes. my hips would disagree with that. 'eat more chips big hips' it would say if it was my truck. so. not much has happened since yesterday. there's a poetry competition at work and i'm thinking of entering. but i probably won't. that's my way of keeping things the same. oh, but how i need a change. there's also this girls brother shooting a short film tomorrow and he needs extra's. thought about going to that. but won't. i'll be in bed til most of the morning has gone. then i'll spend the rest of the day on the sofa watching the food channel. rock and roll. that's almost the title of a piece of artwork that i've started. it's called 'i always thought my life would be...more rock and roll than this'. i say started, but i think it's finished. at least it's done and to deadline. miracle. so here's the poem i might (won't) submit:

i've been standing on the edge so long my heels are sore

and

i don't know what's behind me anymore - or what's in store

then

at 6 minutes past 2

i begin my journey through

the darkness, crying

magnified and multiplied by infinity

but now

i'm free

and flying

time to wind this up now. sleepy time.

not writing

you know the type. i'm more of a thinker than a do-er. i always mean to do something and have good intentions. but still i do nothing or at the most - very little. it's not just the lazy bug. i'm scared of success. i would rather take the easy option and fail than do well. self sabotage. it's in my blood. but i've reached the point i've reached before when i have to do something before it drives me nuts. i have to get this out of my system. like the poems and short stories i've written before. composed only at the point of desperation. written in the middle of the night when the words have kept me awake. writing them down is the only route to silence. i know i should write more often. that would stop this endless thinking. but if i start. could i stop? Let's see...