At the bar, the two of us were both mesmerized by the
bartenders exposed cellulite ridden thighs.
With her back turned and preparing our drinks – I a double check whiskey
on the rocks my friend a cheap light beer crap – we stared and stared at the
pale jiggling thighs and the ultra tight denim shorts which accentuated her
quaking cheeks. At some point we talk
about this. And it occurs to me that everything
is just animal impulses. We’re all so gauche.
Humanity is so gauche and I love that word. Sitting there at the sticky bar and looking
at all the assholes around us. I too
was/am an asshole. All of us trying to
forget ourselves and swilling poison. All
of us so pathetic. Desperately looking
for meaning when all we do is create and nurture piles of shit. And our eyes bulge and pulses quicken at the sight
of mounds of fat. All natural so I suppose
that’s saying something. And someone
asks how her shorts must be smelling at the end of the night because they are packed
so tightly into the crack of her buttocks.
They would be well lined with skin flakes and probably flecks of brown
shit or small pieces of toilet paper and that ripped and stuck during the messy
process of ass-wiping and dried sweat and encrusted with whatever juices have
leaked out through the night’s work. These
things like smell and taste, it’s all animal.
We’re just a bunch of dumb red faced monkeys. But it all looks the same after a while. There’s nothing behind it. All just for emptying balls. How sad we are. the smells of our body. The smell of semen and slits. Dripping dicks. Semen on the tongue. Semen in the eye. When did this all cease to have any
meaning? Finding someone attractive is
so awful. This is what we were created
for? For nothing. Somewhere someone has their mouth wide open
right now in preparation for eating fresh shit from an anal cavity and their
rocks are in the process of getting off. I go to the bathroom and take a piss and try
as I might to shake off my dick I still splash some piss onto my rent
trousers. Cribbing a little now: I
imagine my suicide by hanging and am amused to think about my manhood poking
out of my rent trousers in a death erection while the seat of my pants is also
full of my body’s last great evacuation of steaming corn infused shit. Talked about making money at some point and
wanted to cry. Discussions about money
promote more rot on the inside. This is
all a mistake. Everything has been a
horrible mistake and our creator must be so disgusted with us.
Listening to here comes the rain again and I realize the
alcohol makes me feel more suicidal and think about revolvers but it also numbs
things so I don’t know which is worse and i like the numbing and I like how
awful it feels. It hurts a lot of times
to talk to people thought I suppose I should consider that it must also hurt
them to talk to me. I scrambled a couple
eggs recently. I should make a big papier-mache
nest and live inside it. I wish someone
would buy me a fluorescent green or pink striped and collared shirt so I could
wear it under a cheap black suit. Or do
i? the more I learn the less I want to
know. I need to break open that
dekooning book asap. Lovely stuff. Here all alone is so nice. I might go to the bar later on even though
that would be a terrible idea. Why does
the production on these black Sabbath albums sound like dog shit? Is it my fucking speakers or my ears? Started watching a movie about space truckers
last night but the offbrand zzzquil and bottom of the shelf red wine had taken
it’s toll. Everything feels so gross in the
morning. Gotta read about some frogs
today. Need to read more about
technology. Order some more books. Not time for anything. Bullet making my brain explode makes the most
sense. That is the center of everything. Just utterly obliterate all this
uselessness.
I
did not realize John Carpenter was doing the soundtrack to the soon to be
released feature film adaptation of Stephen King’s novel
Firestarter. I didn’t realize it cause I’m a dumbass. I
love Carpenter’s soundtracks and his lost themes albums. I recently
listening to one of them while driving around and digesting oranges. This
makes me keen to see the movie on the big screen that I may experience his
newest film score work at high volumes. The movie looks pretty good
too (I liked the director’s first film) but I’ve always considered the book to
be near the bottom of all the King stuff I’ve read. I constantly
crank the ghosts of mars soundtrack. I need some coffee or something
right now. Or to line my teeth with tinfoil.
Flight attendants have me. There are two cellular
telephones near me. The wonders of technology. In a bar
recently. Need to stop going to bars. No good comes from
bars. And now the curating. Not quite the right
word. Styling. Started styling for you. Of
course, I think as my head goes light: how utterly
proper. Hooks. Long hard day of reporting the
news. Rich explosion. Crossing guard, great
performances. Really like the carpenter fog. Deep dive into
carpentry. Need to complete lost
themes. Need to reread bacchus. Campbell.
Need to order some books. And maybe
more used hosiery. Did I mention exotica
earlier? I’m thinking of two different
things. one with reptiles. Very hearty. I wouldn’t think they’re not hearty. And the other, recent in wax. Never sampled. Need to sample. Need to read pulp. I don’t like making idle chit chat at the
bank. Giantess. Giantess at the bank should crush me like a
massive futuristic forklift machine.
