I quite like taking things that don’t belong to me. It’s not that I am greedy or a thief, although really I am both, but I like the meaning behind the stolen stuff.
It’s all a metaphor.
I used to see this guy and take a can of beans from his kitchen cupboard every time we had sex.
He knew I stole them. The theft represented a no fucks attitude from me. I could be with him, have great sex, pick up my jeans, my beans, and leave without emotion.
They were good beans by the way, Italian Cannellini, or I wouldn’t have bothered.
Today I stole a handkerchief from someone else. Actually, I was crying and he said Oh for Fucks sake please stop, please please Jesus Christ no more tears, no tears, oh come on now, all right, you’re not going to stop are you, here, take it take it, use my bloody handkerchief.
I sniffed, stopped crying, took the hanky, wiped my tears and grinned.
It was a plot.
I wanted the handkerchief.
I wanted his smell on the hanky. I wanted to keep it close, to remember it, to in actual fact never let it go.
The hanky is my giving a fuck metaphor.
It represents my feelings. Memory.
Maybe even love.
I haven’t washed it yet. And I know that when I’ve washed it a hundred times, it will still smell of him.
But I’m not washing it. I am in fact, still using it.
I am also feeling a bit metaphored out with beans and hankies and I just spent the last hour sitting at a bar, drinking whisky.
I left without paying.
I have no excuse for that one.
I’m just greedy.
And a thief.