English translation HERE!
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Vina-i o nicovală grea
a dead body in the room
there was a dead body in the room
Had to be
Else where did the smell
come from?
Every time he’d turn around to catch
a ghost or a zombie
from the corner of his eyes the smell
would slap him
A smell of death
He decided he’d look around for the
dead body
but later
He didn’t have the energy now
or the disposition
or anything
He only wanted to sleep
some more
He just woke up and needed a good
nap to recover
Perhaps there were times when it
didn’t make sense
but now, today, nothing made more
sense that this
All you need is a healthy
dose of chronic depression and it makes
sense
Just like not cleaning the room
and not taking a shower
in a time longer than memory can be
bothered to remember
So he paced back to the bed
and climbed in
and dragged the blanket, heavy with
caked dirt, on his body
and closed his eyes
He fell asleep in spite of
the smell of death
coming closer still
The dreams were always a little bit better
in the nap taken after
waking up from
the night’s sleep
One time he even dreamed he
was a published author. Not a great or
even a good one, but published
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sub asediu
Check out the English version HERE!
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broken toy
it was dark and
hot
and every breath entered
with salty sweat
inside the nose
the mouth was
gagged and the whole head
covered by a
black trash bag
with two very small holes,
unaligned with her
nostrils
Her skin was itchy all
over
but there was no scratching
with hands and feet
bound to the chair
She didn’t realize that she
was in hyperventilation
and it was making things
worse
After the four hours
it took him to come back to
the basement
he found the greatest
disappointment of his life
He found her dead
There’s no feeling like
paying good money
for a toy
only to bring it home
and find that it’s broken
before you get to
play with it
He broke down and cried
for a whole hour
as he sat on her dead lap
and caressed her hair
and kissed her gagged
mouth and sucked the
snot from her nose
She was beautiful
too
Weeks later he was unable to
forget her
He carried her eyeball inside
his mouth wherever he
went
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gun nut
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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
high commandment
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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
Daydreaming as a profession 