> trapped

just finished Kill Bill on dvd, in a failed attempt to divert my gnawing frustration that's seems to be boiling beneath my phantomskinsurface, stemming from a worksituation that "developed" earlier in the evening ... and tis just that i couldn't pinpoint it, nor put a bloodiedfinger on it ... until a particular scene from Kill Bill struck me like a sledgehammer coming in at Mach4 ... and tis not one of the spectacular visual orgies that most peeps remember K/B for ... but suddenly i was Sophie Fatale, with a bloodied stump for a left-arm, scrunchedup in the boot of The Bride's car (and i think t'was "my" car in the first place) looking up with both venom-spittin'-anger and quiveringfear, at the helmet-ed blackmumba herself ... and as much anger as i feel and show, i am still trapped within the boot that which parallels my "situation" ... fearing the inevitable/possible horrendeous death that awaits my company ... and i'd felt that i've let myself be trapped, again ...

and the bigbadkiller (tho we already know who it is) still remains cloaked in a shell-of-hardplastic. as if we'd forget who she/he is; if even only for a moment ... and i've forgotten my archenemy for a while ... tho now face hidden, the identity of which is coming back into my consciousness ... the "villain" is an amalgam of myself and of whomever the baddie of the day is ... villain of the week! of the moment ... of the "job" ... and all i can do is offer poisonless venom spittle and cower in muthafcuking fear which i wallow in ... how fucking sad and pathetic ...

and i let myself be drawn into forces of uncomfortability whereby i swore i'd never let myself be drawn into ... and i fail ... and i wish i could get out of the carboot right now, limbs optional ...

and another movie comes into mind; one which i watched a few nights ago: Phone Booth (the one wif Colin Farrell) and suddenly, i too am the yabbering yob trapped in a phone booth with a sniper-scope and bullet aimed at me melonhead ... and no matter what i do, i still can't talk my way out of the booth (and i shouldn't have picked up the phone in the first place, innit? ) and the price to pay is: "speak the truth"?

doesn't work that way. not in the real world. as much as i'd like to believe otherwise, shitte happens and the truth means jackshitteall in the big scheme of things, dun it? and here i embark on another round of the dreaded rollercoaster-puke-ride all over again, wondering naively: "how the muthafcuk did i end up here again?" ... "emotions" mixedup in "practicality"? *shudder* and i dun wanna think too much into it ... for now ...

... and the streets are littered with my soul-suckin'-mistakes and murdered-bad-judgements ...

then i remember the "why": becoz i am me and i never learn.

fcuk >:@