Door slowly opens, Johnny sits on his bed, lays down and dies.
That's just like the best unreleased lyrics of all times. They make sth happen in my heart.
bitch i'm a kill ya you don't wanna fuck with me
Saturday, 31 July 2010
Friday, 30 July 2010
38.
14:00
Watching porn’s usually like watching a melancholy documentary to me, a documentary about sex as a failed utopia or something, I don’t know
Dennis Cooper
Watching porn’s usually like watching a melancholy documentary to me, a documentary about sex as a failed utopia or something, I don’t know
Dennis Cooper
37. this is not a tweet (5)
13.06
out of shower.
smell of bamboo flavored soapy thing under armpits and balls
hopefully up butt too
this noon, i'm gonna play with myself.
maybe leave the cam open, too.
maybe not.
i hate metal heads.
i hate heavy metal music.
sorry, it's all a matter of taste but i just had a vision
lure a metal head up at my room
grab him by his stupid passe hairdo
and bang his slack-jawed, empty head into the wall
we're gonna do some serious headbanging now dude
and then i'm going too shave his head
and make his stuppid iron-maiden-and-manowar-singing mouth
eat my dick
and then i'm gonna make him
no, i'm gonna shove his boot up his arse
and strnagle him with the shoelace
Oh fuck, and i hate the grandberries too(cranberries?)
and Bono, boy do i hate Bono
no changes yet
just getting a little erratic here
of course you realize these are all fantasies
right?
you do realize there's no shaved metal-head dude tied in my bed right now?
right?
with a smelly sodden sock into his mouth
peace, man. "enter night, exit light, dude."
it's funny how
when you need your friends
they forget all about you
not even a phone call
or a text message
their big fucking words
cut their tongues out and feed it to them
whatver
i don't have any friends anyway
i forgot
now it's 13:20 and nothing has changed still.
so many zeros make me want to slit my throat.
i never had the chance to tell them i'm needy
and when i'm needy
i'm dangerous
rage: check
motivated: check
active: check
energy: up
fuck, seems like the fall is gonna be massive. I can feel it as we speak.
13:23
insanity fast approaching.
it's gonna be massive.
wonder if it's a side-effect?
fuck, people who like heavy metal must be retarded.
you realize, this is not me speaking now, right?
It's the drugs.
Drugs come with love.
Why are all my memories so cliched?
13:25
over.and.out.
out of shower.
smell of bamboo flavored soapy thing under armpits and balls
hopefully up butt too
this noon, i'm gonna play with myself.
maybe leave the cam open, too.
maybe not.
i hate metal heads.
i hate heavy metal music.
sorry, it's all a matter of taste but i just had a vision
lure a metal head up at my room
grab him by his stupid passe hairdo
and bang his slack-jawed, empty head into the wall
we're gonna do some serious headbanging now dude
and then i'm going too shave his head
and make his stuppid iron-maiden-and-manowar-singing mouth
eat my dick
and then i'm gonna make him
no, i'm gonna shove his boot up his arse
and strnagle him with the shoelace
Oh fuck, and i hate the grandberries too(cranberries?)
and Bono, boy do i hate Bono
no changes yet
just getting a little erratic here
of course you realize these are all fantasies
right?
you do realize there's no shaved metal-head dude tied in my bed right now?
right?
with a smelly sodden sock into his mouth
peace, man. "enter night, exit light, dude."
it's funny how
when you need your friends
they forget all about you
not even a phone call
or a text message
their big fucking words
cut their tongues out and feed it to them
whatver
i don't have any friends anyway
i forgot
now it's 13:20 and nothing has changed still.
so many zeros make me want to slit my throat.
i never had the chance to tell them i'm needy
and when i'm needy
i'm dangerous
rage: check
motivated: check
active: check
energy: up
fuck, seems like the fall is gonna be massive. I can feel it as we speak.
13:23
insanity fast approaching.
it's gonna be massive.
wonder if it's a side-effect?
fuck, people who like heavy metal must be retarded.
you realize, this is not me speaking now, right?
It's the drugs.
Drugs come with love.
Why are all my memories so cliched?
13:25
over.and.out.
36. this is not a tweet (4)
12.42
I'm reading reset's blog.
this is dusty rose.
hey, dusty rose!
good stuff.
after shower i'm gonna come over to your blog and say hi.
but now i'm off to shower.
I'm reading reset's blog.
this is dusty rose.
hey, dusty rose!
good stuff.
after shower i'm gonna come over to your blog and say hi.
but now i'm off to shower.
35. this is not a tweet (3)
12.40
keep sitting here.
keep strolling down my page.
nothing's there.
nothing's new.
i'm off to shower.
keep sitting here.
keep strolling down my page.
nothing's there.
nothing's new.
i'm off to shower.
34. this is not a tweet(2)
12.35
still waiting for a change.
i need a change.
a dramatic one.
but it's not that kind of pill.
i think i'm gonna take a shower.
my armpits smell weird.
(there's always a vague hope i'll fall in the tub and break my neck)
i'm scared that i might fall in the tub and break my neck and my door will be locked and no-one will be able to come in and save me or collect my dead body until it starts to smell.
my door is a security door.
but two people have keys.
i have to be serious and careful and responsible about this.
lock the door but don't leave the key on.
nothing's happening.
still waiting for a change.
i need a change.
a dramatic one.
but it's not that kind of pill.
i think i'm gonna take a shower.
my armpits smell weird.
(there's always a vague hope i'll fall in the tub and break my neck)
i'm scared that i might fall in the tub and break my neck and my door will be locked and no-one will be able to come in and save me or collect my dead body until it starts to smell.
my door is a security door.
but two people have keys.
i have to be serious and careful and responsible about this.
lock the door but don't leave the key on.
nothing's happening.
32.
(First of all, I'd like to note that I dislike the last part of this piece. I wanted to write something else, in a different manner; what's down there is the sincere sentiment i wanted to express but not in the way i would have expressed it if i had a smidgen of charisma or vision. Anyway, the last part was a sloppy incompetent way of trying to communicate my concerns, hopefully someday i will be able to say what i mean.)
The bo(d)y just lies there, on its back, the bed only wide enough to contain last night’s struggle, call it massacre. On this bo(d)y the white linen sheet is placed, not quite white anymore but besmeared with stains of big and stains of old, an accumulation of memories, bo(d)ies, midnight tremors and terrors, the evocation of and escape from -Death- on this white bo(d)y this white linen sheet is placed, as if to hide, as if to consecrate, as if to enshroud the vestal white bo(d)y.
Whose long white leg is dangled from the ratty edge of the formerly white linen sheet, not quite white anymore, but studded with holes of blood and holes of fire, a long stretch of skin peeled off, some inches below the hip, he stood by the frame of the door, leaned there in pounding headache and lit a cigarette and gazed at it, the long white leg from where, some inches below the hip, where the thigh gets a curve of flesh and is juicy, a long flap of skin is missing, skid marks engraved into the flesh, from the thigh down to just below the knee.
He notices the bo(d)y cannot bend the leg to the knee, the long enflamed wound cannot allow any movement, so the long white leg just hangs there from beneath the ratty edge of the formerly white linen sheet, sticks out like a piece of bleached wood (bone?) and dried blood has made a dried snail trail down to the ankle, and across the side of the shank.
He was looking for connection, he was looking for release. The bo(d)y was all fleshy lips, and big violet elf eyes and a wild tangle of honey-blond hair. The bo(d)y could barely ask any questions or answer any answers. The bo(d)y shrugged for drugs and shrugged for sex yet he was sure, somewhere beneath all the perfect white skin, lodged somewhere between all the intricate bone structure, hidden behind the big violet elf eyes was a diamond of wisdom, a secret language kept well, a treasure chest full of bo(d)ily delights.
The answer to all the shit, anyway. If it wasn’t hidden in money and it wasn’t hidden in fame and ambition, if it wasn’t hidden inside books and history, then it must be hidden in the body. The more perfect a body seems, the more unknowable it looks. The absolute must contain the truth. Or maybe the truth lies in the human need to destroy and defile anything pure. Maybe the truth lies in this very instant: you open up a bo(d)y and it tells you no secrets. You cut into the flesh and the only fact it gives you is that the lower layers of flesh are whiter than the epidermis. White and defiant, you need the right sharp blade to cut through deeper, to excavate more truths. In aperfect world, the bo(d)y would spill its guts. But you pry under tendons and into veins and past that film of mucous surrounding the organs, and the bo(d)y remains mute, shut down, closed up, no secrets to whisper, no truths to reveal, no knowledge to disclose.
Except maybe: “You’re insane.”
[EDIT: okay, I guess what i really wanted to say is:
You've tasted the cum
You've showered in the piss
You've eaten the shit
You've drank the blood
You've chewed the flesh
You've smelt the bowels
You've punctured the stomach
You've worn the skin.
Now what?]
The bo(d)y just lies there, on its back, the bed only wide enough to contain last night’s struggle, call it massacre. On this bo(d)y the white linen sheet is placed, not quite white anymore but besmeared with stains of big and stains of old, an accumulation of memories, bo(d)ies, midnight tremors and terrors, the evocation of and escape from -Death- on this white bo(d)y this white linen sheet is placed, as if to hide, as if to consecrate, as if to enshroud the vestal white bo(d)y.
Whose long white leg is dangled from the ratty edge of the formerly white linen sheet, not quite white anymore, but studded with holes of blood and holes of fire, a long stretch of skin peeled off, some inches below the hip, he stood by the frame of the door, leaned there in pounding headache and lit a cigarette and gazed at it, the long white leg from where, some inches below the hip, where the thigh gets a curve of flesh and is juicy, a long flap of skin is missing, skid marks engraved into the flesh, from the thigh down to just below the knee.
He notices the bo(d)y cannot bend the leg to the knee, the long enflamed wound cannot allow any movement, so the long white leg just hangs there from beneath the ratty edge of the formerly white linen sheet, sticks out like a piece of bleached wood (bone?) and dried blood has made a dried snail trail down to the ankle, and across the side of the shank.
He was looking for connection, he was looking for release. The bo(d)y was all fleshy lips, and big violet elf eyes and a wild tangle of honey-blond hair. The bo(d)y could barely ask any questions or answer any answers. The bo(d)y shrugged for drugs and shrugged for sex yet he was sure, somewhere beneath all the perfect white skin, lodged somewhere between all the intricate bone structure, hidden behind the big violet elf eyes was a diamond of wisdom, a secret language kept well, a treasure chest full of bo(d)ily delights.
The answer to all the shit, anyway. If it wasn’t hidden in money and it wasn’t hidden in fame and ambition, if it wasn’t hidden inside books and history, then it must be hidden in the body. The more perfect a body seems, the more unknowable it looks. The absolute must contain the truth. Or maybe the truth lies in the human need to destroy and defile anything pure. Maybe the truth lies in this very instant: you open up a bo(d)y and it tells you no secrets. You cut into the flesh and the only fact it gives you is that the lower layers of flesh are whiter than the epidermis. White and defiant, you need the right sharp blade to cut through deeper, to excavate more truths. In aperfect world, the bo(d)y would spill its guts. But you pry under tendons and into veins and past that film of mucous surrounding the organs, and the bo(d)y remains mute, shut down, closed up, no secrets to whisper, no truths to reveal, no knowledge to disclose.
Except maybe: “You’re insane.”
[EDIT: okay, I guess what i really wanted to say is:
You've tasted the cum
You've showered in the piss
You've eaten the shit
You've drank the blood
You've chewed the flesh
You've smelt the bowels
You've punctured the stomach
You've worn the skin.
Now what?]
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)