lIfe, bEEr And rEntOn
Yesterday, I texted a friend and asked her if we can have dinner. Unfortunately, she had other plans. So I just stayed home and watched rented films. Then she texted me this afternoon… telling me about the plan of a get-to-together with the barkada this coming weekend. As much as I wanted to see her ‘coz we haven’t seen each other for months I decline the offer. I don’t want to be with too many people right now. I just want to be with a few selected friends…Those that I can really talk to and be who I really am. I’ve started my hide-and-seek game again. The usual not returning of phone calls/texts, not answering e-mails, no-show on special occasions. I’m just not into the bonding mood right now. So I’m doing the underground…
For months I’ve only seen one friend… It just happened that he was at the right place at the right time. So, when I texted him, he arrived immediately. But of course, the group I’m with that night suspected that he is my BF (Haha! Need to tell him about that so we can both have a good laugh).
Although we seldom see each other I know that when life is throwing its worst prank on us we will be there to help each other out. But I still have hope that one day we will be drowning ourselves with beer, not anymore bitching about life but celebrating it. After all we’re both choosing life… that’s what Mark Renton taught us and that’ s what he told me before and still telling me now.
thE prOdIgAl pAddlEr
qUOtEs frOm trAInspOttIng... frOm thE wOrds Of A trUE jUnky
Trainspotting
film by John Hodge
Book written by Irvine Welsh
Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed- interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing sprit- crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing you last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life… But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who need reasons when you’ve got heroin?
one large tub of; Magnesia, Milk of, one bottle; paracetamol; mouth wash; vitamins; mineral water; Lucozade; pornography; one bucket forurine, one for feces, and one for vomitus; one television; and one
bottle of Valium, which I have already procured, from my mother, who is, in her own domestic and socially acceptable way, also a drug addict.
struggle. Sneaky fucker, don’t you think? And when all I wanted to do was lie along and feel sorry for myself, he insisted on telling me once again about his unifying theory of life.
all over again. Keep on going: getting up, going out, robbing, stealing, fucking people over, propelling ourselves with longing towards the day it would all go wrong. Because no matter how much you stash or how much you steal, you never have enough. No matter how often you go out and rob and fuck people over you always need to get up and do it all again. Sooner or later, this sort of thing was bound to happen.