Just four more days of penitence

[dotinthesky]

Little Lamb, on a hill
Run fast as you can
The Christians, they want to kill you
And your life has not even begun

- Morrissey


I wasn't employed to edit anything Catholic. I’m the editor’s secretary. They gave me a chair covered with thick white dog’s hair. Seriously. I tried taking some off with sticky tape, but it’s a day-long job. On my desk, the photo of said white dog. With its tongue sticking out.

People were polite. Emails were about homosexuality in seminars, women priests, Iraq, the Pope’s Hitler. I was nervous and answered the phone like a 16-year-old bubblegum-chewing blonde. I could see the pain on the editor’s face with my incompetency. I couldn’t stand her bad breath. I fucked up and felt like I loser when I left. I would take down people’s name incorrectly… or forget to jot down their phone numbers.

My desk was covered with poems and postcards. Mostly Jesus but also a DONKEY motif! And a poem about donkeys aswell… Did I mention everyone was nice? Nice - nice – but oh so uncomfortable. And those accents – Oxford is stapled to their tongues. Throughout the day, one by one, they asked me where my accent was from. Accents are VERY IMPORTANT for these people. Also various types of books on my shelf. A biography on the Pope. Collections of poetry. And abridged tapes of Agatha Christie novels.

There’s another brazilian in the office but I didn’t meet him today. What lies ahead. What lies beneath. What did the editor mean when I was leaving and she said: “Good God”? She made me feel like shit. But I forgive, like a good Christian. Homo Christian. Cock-loving Christian.

I can’t stand my work situation. Every week a new place. It detonates my insides, my confidence. I have no prospects. The Summer looks cold to me. I feel lonely in London, lost. Keep telling myself: you have so much going for you, you are better off than most people. What a selfish thought to prop myself up.

***


Your dog doesn't bark
Because your dog doesn't exist

Comments

[commonpeople.livejournal.com]

That's because you've been drawing that pentagram on your porch. As I told you before, if you want to call the Dog, you must do it in your CELLAR.

[commonpeople.livejournal.com]

Ollie is very psychic. I also know you've been using the wrong type of human fluids in the composition of some of them. You clearly need to watch Charmed more often.


(Ignore your Teletubbies. The Cellar is the place to be.)

[commonpeople.livejournal.com]

I didn't mean your body fluids. How do you know what went into that paint bucket before you bought it, or even after you left it unatended in your own house? Hmm? Hmmmmm?

I'm psychic and you must not ignore my warnings. Right now, I'm sensing that you must collect your flashlight and crawl into the cellar. A happy secret awaits you there.

[commonpeople.livejournal.com]

LOL

There are no spiders there. But there is a Happy Secret, for sure.

[commonpeople.livejournal.com]

If you want a clue, you must ask the man from the office room beside yours.

[commonpeople.livejournal.com]

go into the cellar and draw a picture of him on the sand.

[commonpeople.livejournal.com]

Maybe she can strap a video camera on your helmet and communicate with you via Walkie Talkie while you explore.

[commonpeople.livejournal.com]

go ahead then, take a peek.