Jun. 11th, 2012

levity: (all these things that I've done)
1. Offer the wolves your arm only from the elbow down. Leave tourniquet space. Do not offer them your calves. Do not offer them your side. Do not let them near your femoral artery, your jugular. Give them only your arm.

2. Wear chapstick when kissing the bomb.

3. Pretend you don't know English.

4. Pretend you never met her.

5. Offer the bomb to the wolves. Offer the wolves to the zombies.

6. Only insert a clean knife into your chest. Rusty ones will cause tetanus. Or infection.

7. Don't inhale.

8. Realize that this love was not your trainwreck, was not the truck that flattened you, was not your Waterloo, did not cause massive hemorrhaging from a rusty knife. That love is still to come.

9. Use a rusty knife to cut through most of the noose in a strategic place so that it breaks when your weight is on it.

10. Practice desperate pleas for attention, louder calls for help. Learn them in English, French, Spanish: May Day, Aidez-Moi, Ayúdeme.

11. Don't kiss trainwrecks. Don't kiss knives. Don't kiss.

12. Pretend you made up the zombies, and only superheroes exist.

13. Pretend there is no kryptonite.

14. Pretend there was no love so sweet that you would have died for it, pretend that it does not belong to someone else now, pretend like your heart depends on it because it does. Pretend there is no wreck -- you watched the train go by and felt the air brush your face and that was it. Another train passing. You do not need trains. You can fly. You are a superhero. And there is no kryptonite.

15. Forget her name.
levity: (Default)
Apparently Vicente del Bosque was made a marquis for winning Spain the World Cup. I did not know this- I didn't even know you could make someone a marquis (exceptions of course for felines in human footwear). If my comms turn out to be wrong on this I will be very, very sad.


One of these days I may yet be able to write about football matches in a way that, you know, actually reflects the match, while managing to be readable, with minimal to zero amounts of capslocking at everyone on the pitch. If ever, it would probably have to be a very boring match. In the meantime you're stuck with endless variations on I miss Guaje/EVERYONE misses Guaje/I miss Puyi/Wojciech Szczesny you are insane.


But seriously, Woj, who gets a red card on the opening game of the Euros?


My feelings for Mario Balotelli are similar to my feelings for the Intarmedkids- it's impossible not to love him, but it's equally impossible to love him continuously. I keep on saying that I have long since been over these brilliant furious stubborn kids with chips on their shoulders and something to prove, but no one has ever believed me, not even me. Oh well.

Regardless: look at Sergio Ramos's feet, that was a foul, stop berating him for not getting the goal.


My comms described Antonio di Natale as a busy bee. It is not an inaccurate description. You have Andrea Pirlo, who moves across the pitch like water, and you have David Villa, sharp and compact like an arrow singing home, and then you have Toto di Natale, who just keeps running and ends up everywhere.


My boy started. My boy started and my boy scored the other goal- which he had coming, really- and I am aware of how ridiculous it is to be proud of a millionaire footballer I will never meet and who captained my club and then left to go home (sometimes I am a very bitter person), but the fact remains.

Also, I will never stop being amused by the fact that Vicente del Bosque didn't start any strikers.


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