He went nine years without doing
it. Five of those
were spent in prison so it
was just normal
but the other four he spent
desperately trying and failing
He did look fine before
he got into hardcore drugs
and crime
Well, there was this
cute drug dealer
down the block
from whom he kept buying
only to get to see
her and try to strike up a
conversation
He didn't care that
she was pregnant
He called up almost daily to
meet up and
buy but he wasn't too
good at
conversation. Had no game,
as others would put it
And on the other side
she wasn't so
good at putting the products
together
She constantly laced the weed with
some other shit
and one such shit was so
bad that
when he smoked it
he got all horny and creative
and desperate
He grabbed a black
permanent marker and
drew a cunt across his
left forearm
It wasn't good enough so he
cut it open with
a razor and began to
lick at it and finger it
around the bone
and eventually fuck it until
he came
He came about four, five
times until
he passed out
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the absolute worst part about
being locked up
in the psych ward was having
no access to guns
No greater torture
for him
He spent his creative hours
in the workshop
drawing chicks with guns
and jerking off to them
“You're pretty good at this,”
said one of the
nurses
He snorted. “I'm hella good at
everything that involves
shooting, babe.”
“Oh sir, I didn't mean... I
meant drawing. You're pretty
good at drawing.”
“Yeah, fuck drawing. I wanna
shoot shit. Say, could I
at least get some gunpowder. I just
wanna snort it. Nothing more,
I swear.”
She gave the usual answer. “I'll
check with the doctor
and see what
can be done.”
and was gone
He wasn't mad enough to believe
her
He was just mad enough to
use the tools in the workshop to
shape a wooden gun handle from
a small log
and staple it to the
base of his penis, to make the whole
thing resemble a pistol
He held the wooden
handle and moved it
up and down while staring at
his drawings
until he shot his load at them
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high school dropout
out of a job
out of options
soon to be out of the
rented studio
apartment
he went to the local bar
and drank himself
to the point he had to vomit
to make room for more
and next thing
he knew
he was dating a woman
named Cactus
Life can get pretty
weird when
you don’t live it
consciously
I knew the guy and heard
he moved in
with his lover
and started a new life
I really, really hope the
headline
“LOCAL ALCOHOLIC DEVELOPS SCHIZOPHRENIA,
DISMEMBERS GIRLFRIEND
PLANTS HER LIMBS IN FLOWERPOTS,
STICKS NEEDLES IN THEM”
is not about him
from the violet cloud above
God stretched a
hand and passed down to him
the dagger with
a blade made of frozen shit
“Take this,” said God, “and pose
yourself at the
gates of the school. Offer to
clean the
students under the fingernails
and toenails with it.
Now go.”
He woke up when
the mongrel dog whose tail he grabbed
and squeezed and pulled
started to cry and bark
and turn to bite at his hand
He screamed and backed away from
the poor thing
and watched it run away
He looked at himself
Naked and smeared with soot
and mud and whatnot
He looked around him
The landfill
just outside town
He fell to his knees
Damn, those were some good mushrooms
He stood and walked
back towards the town
it was a charming night
She really
liked a man who could
drive her from
the restaurant after having
quite some glasses
to drink
and he was that man
He drove her to
his house
and helped her out of the
car like a
gentleman
and even held her hand
all the way to
the door
Her heart was pounding
and her brain too. A voice
kept saying
'He's the one. He's the one!'
It was silenced
when she saw two small
animal heads on his
doorstep. A cat's and
a bunny's. The doormat
was soaked with
their blood
She froze and
the gentleman said, “Oh crap,
not this shit again.”
And he walked up to
them and kicked them
to the side like mini soccer balls
“My ex-wife,” he said with a shrug. “Just
another one of
her antics. You get used
after a while.”
He opened the door and
motioned her in
She hesitated
Daydreaming as a profession 