One More Brief Memo Before I Give The People What They Want
There was a book shelf and because I am the “dorky, bookish type”, I of course had to take a look. How I ended up in Kathy’s bedroom matters about as much as who won the World Series in 1939, it’s nothing more than logistics.
Anyway, the first book I see on the shelf is Ape and Essence by Aldous Huxley. For a split second I thought “maybe this bitch isn’t worthless” (I found out later it was her roommate’s) but I also saw it as a sign. I use to avoid saying I believe in that psychic shit, but I will now admit to being a confirmed believer in that psychic shit.
For those of you without a fucking clue, Ape and Essence is about an explorer who goes off to a lost continent (which just so happens to be California) and gets trapped there with these strange people and their unusual customs. The oddest thing about this lost civilization is their sexual culture where one week out of a year the women basically go into heat and rape the men and each other. Brutal and intense the prose exposes the extent to which, people inhumanely treat each other like fuck toys. It all made sense, it was all adding up.
And I swear to God I wish I could make shit like this up...if I could, I’d be fucking rich...but instead this unbearable reality is my life.
He Has Always Been Honest With Me
Everything was set, including the date. I placed everything I ever wrote on my computer...ready to be mailed to Jonny Little so that he could be the executive of my literary estate after my death (considering that I have nothing else of any value). I wrote a poem called Planned Suicide Note (which eventually landed in Via Dolorasa Press Collective #14) that would act as the obvious. Everything was ready to go, all I had to do was wait for April first (which is also the same day my mother died) when my grandmother’s valium supply came in...when it arrived I would take 90, 5 mg tabs with a scotch wash down thereby chasing away the demonic scrapping of crack cans always heard around my house.
I met Mr. Chris on March 24th. I know this because I am still alive and there is no doubt in my mind I would not be had I not met him. There I was, a day like any other. My filthy flesh was squaloring away in a pile of clothes that I hadn’t changed in a week, high as a kite and half on the nod, when suddenly...half way through one of my nod-outs...I opened my eyes and there he was.
He picked me up like a broken egg shell, mangled bird with tarded feathers. We were backwards convalescing through drug abuse. Two gushing wounds, festering yellow geysers of pus. We would roll over in each others slime, both warning: “if we were ever really together we would either heal each other or kill each other” and looking back on those words now...I think it is more probable that one of us would drive the other to suicide...more likely my death than his. My heart became dependant on him when he saved me from death...and this is his reward. He became my ray of hope, that someone out there understood and could care about me in a way I craved. He never told me he loved me, or give me any reason to believe that he did. In fact, he’s always been quick to say he “doesn’t want to be that way”.
All I ever wanted was for someone to love me, the way I could love them...but he has given me, with his own selfishness, the greatest realization of them all, no one is ever going to love me as much as I can love myself.
2:40 When We Entered Her Bedroom. 3:45 By the Time I Escaped.
“Do you mind if I jump in the shower real quick”-Kathy
Yes. “No”-Me as I sit down on her bed. Her room was a trash heap, way worse than mine. Art supplies everywhere but oddly, no art...a few crank/crack pipes and I was also examining the debris for syringes. Of course I told a couple people I found some syringes because it made the bullshit story that I was telling people to cover my ass more interesting, but in truth there weren’t any (that I found).
Did Kathy take a shower? Fuck no Kathy didn’t take a shower, instead she walked out of the bathroom naked (or so I thought) with a magic wand vibrator.
What a turn off, it was bad enough that I had this cracked-out cunt who I didn’t even fucking know ready to do things to me that no one else has ever done, but then the vibrator was the last straw. As if this whole wonderland of venereal disease wasn’t detached and oddball to the extreme on it’s own, she had to get an appliance involved. And for the life of me, I kept forgetting her name. I had to remind myself about five times, “It’s Kathy, like Joe’s sister, Kathy”. God I wanted to leave.
So what’s a person to do? You’ve got a strung out half-human, rabid on speed standing in front of you with a twirling dildo in her hand, the person you’re totally absorbed with doesn’t feel the same way and you can’t say you blame them, you’re past is so fucking wretched it’s putrid smell is stinking up the future, when you’re honest with yourself you know there is no end in sight to the curse of your existence unless you pull the trigger yourself, and you just may be legally insane.
What the fuck is a person to do? I’ll tell you what this Mongoloid did, I got up as she turned around to look at herself in the mirror, came up behind her, wrapped my left arm around her and placed two fingers on her clit. There it was; our conjoined form glaring back at us, looking back at ourselves from the light in the bathroom, to the darkness of the bedroom.
Hey, this is what people did with each other wasn’t it? This was what all the cool people did. It was hot and sexy. Risky. Every other person in their right mind would have been ecstatic beyond written limits; guys would have bent that mass of skin right over and rammed their stiff pricks to her gullet, hard core dykes would have thrown her down on the bed and put their face right into her dank slop hole, but I am not every other person and I probably haven’t been in my right mind for more than five minutes in the last three years. Look at me! My reflection was smiling that crude disgusted smile I get when I’m about to start really being a smart ass. I kept thinking of the boys back home and what a kick out of this they were going to get. Why did I do it? Because everyone else I know would have. Simple. As. That.
“Now that’s hot, feel how wet I am for you hunny”-Kathy
At this point I just nodded. I kept wondering how long I was going to have to deal with this bizzaro scenario. Promiscuous sex has never been my deal, I barely like fucking as it is but this was just too much.
“I want to be the highlight of your trip to San Francisco”-Kathy gurgled out in what I suppose was an attempt at SEXY PORN STAR VOICE.
Getting V.D. for the first time is always a pretty memorable experience I’d assume, I thought but instead I said “This is the highlight for sure”-Me, thinking in context of all the miserable things I had to put up with over the last 12 hours, yeah, this was defiantly gonna take the cake.
Because That Is A Thing About Me, I Rarely Ever Say What I Mean
Unless I really like you, or don’t feel sorry for you. I felt sorry for this one.
How The Fuck Can Killing Yourself Be Illegal When Being A Fucking Idiot’s Not?
We never kissed. Not one time. I had no interest in touching those chapped and crack lips but I’m letting everyone know that if you’re looking for some “hot” lesbian make out session described in painfully accurate detail...you aren’t going to get it here. What’s coming up is the description of a person nearing the logical conclusion, closing in on the breakdown, coming to terms with the nastiness and heartbreak of every day life. I’ve realized I don’t need recovery, I don’t need “healing”, fuck I don’t even need the Final Solution because I’ve got Auschwitz fully operational in my mind.
“Let’s get in the bed”-Kathy
I comply and sit down. She sits across from me and spreads herself open, placing the human contact replacement machine to her crotch allowing me to watch the whole thing.
(At some point in time during this chaos I did have her bent over the bed and was smacking her ass. I don’t recall at what point exactly this happened but I was standing with one hand over my mouth and the “uh oh” expression on my face, “Wow, isn’t this so neat!”, “What a slut!”).
“You’re really shy aren’t you”-Kathy.
Fuck no, “Yeah, sort of”-Me, who figured, lying at this point in time would be easier than trying to explain what was actually taking place within my brain...which is why I lied about what happened with this psycho bitch initially instead of immediately using Mr. Chris and Sam as confession booth preachers.
Fuck it, I thought and put two fingers into her body while she used the device on her clit.
She reaches her free hand out towards my chest...
“Please don’t touch me” -Me, the breaking point was on the horizon...shit was about to get interesting. As a base principle, I can engage in any sort of sexual contact with another person as long as they don’t touch me. Generally, I have to be obliterated on drugs to allow someone to touch me at all, unless I genuinely trust and care about them.
“Oh hunny, you just need to let the Goddess out of you, I want to lick your pussy and make you cum...do you want me to lick your asshole”-Kathy
