Cigarette budgeting. Im smoking the stub of "one I made earlier", and pissed off with myself for not going to the shop before it closed. The shop is thirty seconds away and with hindsight I see the need to reevaluate my approach to life. My shitty crappy fucky bollocks job is turning me in to a mean spirited miserly bastard, blurbs like "I worked for that damn money" flow freely from my mouth, pushed to the fore by the rapidly closing mind of the manual labourer. I feel surrounded by unhappy people. And I am sponging it all up.
Payday next Wednesday and its a fuckin stretch. I cant seem to find peace to do anything, my head the scribble of an irritable six year old, lashing out at inattentive parents in the only way he knows how. I need to destroy. Not something beautiful, something ugly, fuck ugly, something theirs, the world.
TV is pissing me off. My mind is no longer fully my own. I am losing patience with myself and I attempted to apply for the civil service. Desperation. Razor licking, bleach drinking, cigarette budgeting desperation. Somebody help me.
There have been times in my life when death felt like a holiday, temporary and relaxing, full of liquour and sandy sex. Glamorous, I clamoured to it. Longed and crawled to it, soaked in vomit so alcohol laden it tempted me. God knows how low a man can fall. Luciferian. I am no morning star, no star in the morning. There are times I hate the sun and it blisters me as revenge. Yet I win mexican stand offs with dogs of all breeds, slipping under knife to my throat I calmly slip away, then return holding a jaguar.
The love I feel is separated from all of this, craziness. By oceans, by personalities. She mends wounds, sanitary, salivary. I dont and do deserve her we have decided. She will read this and worry. I will tell her not to and she will pretend. We will love each other more after a conversation, but she will still worry. Dont baby.
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3 comments:
I know....
i'm gonna comment on the merits of the writing in this piece, not on the sentiment. suffice it to say that i've been there before, buddy, and i remember feeling that i didn't particularly want someone to cheer me up or psychoanalyze just 'cause i felt like getting my brain down on paper.
what i'll say about the writing is that this is the best piece i've read of yours yet. i'm trying to isolate a favorite part but i really like the whole fucking thing. it's honest and harsh and beautiful.
ever read american psycho? if not, you should. you'd like it. cathartic.
Thanks man. I havnt and oft meant to read american psycho, its one book that keeps popping up, alas as the piece reflects im all over the place right now and have started and put down several books, i will though, promise! This piece pretty much mirrors a style i worked with just after college, i worte a series of "tramp" pieces, which were angry and raondom, but worked, i guess because i wasnt so self concsious. If I can find them, buried away like they are, il post them up so you can read them, although they do start to lose a sense of themselves after a while, get a little wanky, hence the burial!
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