oh yeah, there you have it. there it is. yep- pissed on my own testicles again. urine in my foreskin, dripping down the balls- i swear, this dick is so small it appears as if it may shrink back into my body.
slept fifteen hours last night, after a day inside watching miscellaneous sporting events on t.v., and ordering in the food stuffs. itching, belching far too often. absolutely could not go out. and when i awoke, i noticed i had sweat out the bed, meaning some sort of psychosomatic disorder had developed fully.
was it the cartoon script rejection? hard to say- but i knew i was incapable of writing a thing. did one of those list exercises to spur activity, in hopes to create something positive. butterfly species- the swallowtail, skipper, orange tip, hairstreak, fritillary, sulphur and copper; trees- acacia, ginkgo, holly, beech, spruce, cypress, dogwood, etc.; tile options- ceramic, stone, porcelain, travertine, marble, slate and limestone. but when i created a fourth list heading, titled, 'things that bore me,' and started it with, 'butterflies, trees, and tile,' i knew this had all been quite futile.
it would be nice to go to the café and make an attempt, but last time i was in this state, that whole scene drove me mad. tried to listen in on my fellow patron's conversations, to fuel the writing, but their material truly lacked zest. got a lot of, "dude," talk and an occasional, "you know, what's up?" interaction. even more grossly verbose crap, like- "yesterday, this is literally what i did- i got the laundry done, scrubbed my toilet," please, please, no- someone slap her. i became slightly uncouth, and forced myself to leave.
a friend called and asked if i wished to go for drinks. this is always a kind offer, in my opinion, when one wishes to help another out of his doldrums. a stiff beverage, a good talk, a contrived moment to remember- all brought on by alcohol. but unquestionably, with my well-developed dipsomania, i would drink far too much to remember anything, even if it were totally memorable. and, i'd vomit- and that is something i cannot write about, for i have written so many vomit tales already. so i could find no point in this activity for me. thusly, i had to decline.
my grooming always leaves much to be desired during these periods. i would consider growing a beard, but they always appear highly rodential due to my sparse growth capabilities. as if i have endured some sort of botched electrolysis. staring down at my gelatinous musculature, it suddenly occurred to me that my ass felt a little dirty, so i went sprinting to the restroom to give it a wipe.
there, i reflected on the talents of the great american comedic artist chevrolet chase, in hopes to bring about some elation. that fletch series- how truly magnificent. but unfortunately, the hilarious images i conjured could not bring the slightest smile to my cheek, or even the most subtle feeling of relief, from this my darkest of moments.
i began to re-live those bitter talks from long ago, when anger paralyzed me, not allowing my feelings to properly flow. those twats who testified against me in court. lackey stoolpigeons- wastes of humanity. my boss- that pathetic milquetoast sycophant. that pus-oozing vagina- coming down on me for the most trivial of infractions, while i do all of his work. worthless motherfucker!
ah yes- the dentists office, going insane in the waiting area. screaming while 'the girl from ipanema,' played on the over-head speakers. why didn't they kick me out? no idea- but i got lucky, for my mouth was filled with seven cavities, all of which were in dire need of treatment. unless, of course, that old bastard was lying to me. i brush well- i bet you they did gouge me! agah!
how i once loved to go to the movies by myself, when i felt sick of existence. no one tries to frame your opinion afterwards, no, "oh, i liked it," or, "i hated it," to deal with, no silliness about a wonderful or awful camera angle, or how beautiful a certain scene was lit. get to encode it in a way which is uniquely your own. though, in truth, i find that i file most of these films under, 'indifferent,' in my memory bank. but now when i am down, i can feel a physical aloneness that never occurred to me before at the theater. there is a warmth in the air all around me; it's as if i am being attacked by my own negative space. i become a walking chalk-outline. so experiencing a film in this state is no longer a solid option.
in the bathroom mirror, i noticed that my nose had filled with a dangerous amount of boognish. "how can i even breath?" i asked myself, prior to a period of persistent blowing. this, of course, led to a minor bleed.
angie- that wretched bitch! always mocking me for my lack of sexual experience. first girlfriend- i had erectile difficulties, sure- tried to stick my nub in her honey pot. wasn't able to talk about it with her. what- i was just too damn young! anna- had to ask her to go places with me seventy times before she'd even respond. made me feel boring, "you are always suggesting the same thing," she would say. but it was she who was the bore, in truth. or, perhaps we both were. but luckily, i do not have these sorts of problems any more. my analyst says i am unable to find humanoids attractive due to a drawing i beheld at the age of twelve. a three-urethraed extra-terrestrial image, from a story book my neighbor owned. so i do not trouble myself over women any longer, and i cannot relieve myself through masturbation like other fellows can. though i could search for that picture of the alien; then maybe onan would find another friend. of course the repulse of my gut, the over-hang, and the red ripples i see could effect these self-loving transactions rather negatively, i'm thinking.
decided i would go out for the newspaper, in hopes that fresh air would stir up positive emotion. but right away i remembered why the cloistered life is the rule when mentally ailed. yelled at a couple who walked hand in hand in the snow, for there was only sufficient path for two to stroll in opposite directions at once. called them 'a gaggle of camel rectums,' or some such ludicrous appellation. all of the wet dog shit on the sidewalk, it absolutely makes me want to puke this mother out. careless pet owners- they should have their faces smashed in it, right? they must be properly trained. a man shoveling his walk way nearly threw salt on me. thought i might kill him. out of the corner of my eye, i could see two broads in high heels staring at my aviator-style winter cap, giggling. this city's mass of cosmetic cosmopolitan cunts- can't stand them. may they die a painful death expeditiously, i pray. my anger did go a little too far, though, i believe, when i called a black cat 'ass wipe,' that sat near the neighbor's front lawn. completely uncalled for.
snot ran down my upper lip, so near to my mouth that i had begun to taste it. as i ran to the bathroom, it felt like some sort of acne was growing in my ear lobe, and then, after taking off my shirt, a pimple revealed itself on my shoulder blade. and, there was a zit developing on the inside of my nose. my breasts were pointing outwards at varying degrees, and i began squeezing them to see if they might lactate. no. the blotchy chest-hair pattern looked like brown paint applied lightly with a sponge. as i adjusted the mirrors, i could see that hair had grown more fully on my back, and the bald spot had widened greatly.
went to the living room, put one of my favorite sad songs on the stereo, sat on the couch, and cried. "and when my love for life is running dry, you come and pour yourself on me." i could weep with the sorrowful utterance of any child, no matter how near or far he be, when i am falling apart like this.
could i count the number of times i have been criticized for my ineptitude with language? is that possible? i don't know- but in this life, i have constantly, since the day i was born, been pummelled by the verbal and spiritual ignorance of others. trapped in servitude to idiots, to neanderthals. "is there anyone in this world who does not want to make me their nigger!" i screamed, then hoped the neighbors did not hear. wait- even thinking that word is a sin- i am the precambrian man, the spiritually unawakened mongrel! felt i should run to the cabinet and get the nail file to sand off a nipple or cut off my left pinky toe as penance.
i sensed my insides were eating themselves. the world's worst stomach ulcer. but i had just gone and gotten it checked- the x-rays- they revealed absolutely nothing was wrong!
staring into the mirror, i saw an endless spiraling abyss in my pupil, and began to run. i flopped to the floor in the kitchen, and screamed- "THERE IS NO GOD- SUICIDE!" at the top of my lungs, then laid for a moment, in silence.
but when i rolled over, i reached for my note pad, and began to write this. and now, at least for the time being, everything seems all right.
- Dan Gleason