Day 813 of Thinking
Climbed up the tree of life, kicked out of paradise
Livin' good, livin' evil is the toss of the dice
Couple of wild eyes, cup full of high life
She's an angel and a devil of her own device
I’m sitting at computer in coffee shop. I have writers block. But? This is a lie. I have writers mountain stream of ideas yet no decisiveness in which idea to explore… which do I share… which do I expand on, immortalize in a book that will be read by everyone I know and 100,000’s I dont? I’m thinking too much. I’m thinking about thinking too much. I think this thinking too much is making my brain rot with logic. Will you let me play with words a minute? Be patient. I’m going to vomit.
I’m thinking of our daughters turning into whores. I’m thinking of our sons turning into faggots. I’m thinking my daughter might be born non binary. I’m thinking my son might be injected with pre natal chemical that gives him the anatomy of a man but complete with a vagina. I’m thinking of my middle school sweatheart turning into a drug addict. I’m thinking of my church collapsing on their own pillars. I’m thinking it’s time.
Let me tell you a dystopian story. Arm yourself with context that this is real:
Friday night. Warm wind made my nerves bounce as I’m sure you can understand. There’s something about a summer breeze in middle of night that makes you think of nothing but how it feels landing on your skin. I’m invited out by a woman I haven’t seen in 7 years. Formerly, mid. Now, gorgeous. Maybe the same can be said of me. Unlikely. I was born gold, grew into platinum, now tease diamond.
Her friend was there too. It was cohesive, natural, no awkward moments. The nights dwindling and the man her friend had eyes on has evaporated so she’s third wheeling under the disco lights. I dont mind this, the more, the merrier.
Some fat girl at the bar keeps pinching my tricep as a ‘joke’ and is ‘laughing’ ‘with me.’ I am seeing red. I imagine slicing off her foopa stapling it to her forehead and ‘laughing’ ‘with her’. It’s time to go. “We’ll walk you home” I tell the 3rd wheel. Under my mask of evil I am gentleman. Plus I don’t want her to get raped by one of the homeless, call my friend crying, ruin our night. Selfishly selfless.
So we trek. I’m enjoying the night city. I let my eyes roam to dancing apartment lights, into empty store fronts, to the clouds crowning the buildings. I’m dressed in all black and I’m walking 5 feet behind the ladies. I don’t say a single word. At times I make it a point to stare at the back of their heads to terrorize them. Or turn them on. The result of this action I don’t think much of. Plus their conversation was making my nauseous and I want to put this evil onto you now, dear friend, dear reader:
“You know I haven’t dated in 6 years, Claire! I’ve been single for so long and now I want to experience love, romance. I’m glad Blake left earlier. If I’d gone home with him I would have fucked him. I don’t want us to not be like that, I don’t want to ruin our chance for something real.”
The writing on the wall is beginning to become as clear as the amateur graffiti I’ve been judging on our walk. I tense up for the blow.
“Like I said, it’s just been so long since I’ve been in a relationship that I don’t know how to really begin one. I’ve spent the last 7ish years casually hooking up. We were roommates in college and you saw some of those guys. It’s gotten to the point where I don’t know the last names of everyone I’ve fucked. I have to remember them by ethnicity and even then their face gets blurred. Plus it’s good Blake went home because I fucked Jimmy two nights ago and if my period doesn’t start this weekend I need to go to planned parent hood. I want something real so I also need to get checked before starting to try getting romantic with Blake.”
I punch the glass out of a shitty brick and mortar retail store. They turn around in horror as shards of glass clothe my hands. The ground is covered in it. I’m beginning to take my shirt off to get on the ground and roll my naked body around in the glass. I’m thinking I need pain. I’m thinking my future son is doomed.
Said girl is cute, 22, sweet looking. This girl is someones daughter. This girl has fucked 75 men. She’s trying to now settle down. She can’t remember everyone that’s been inside of her.
She’ll probably see this writing and hate me. This will be a gift. Welcome to hell.
Art loses all magic when it’s over-explained. But setting that aside I do wish to ellaborate: You’re not condemned to be with a whore. And to sweet female readers, you’re not condemned to be with a dork. There are millions of great women and men. Only sometimes Hell roars its ideas through the mouths of innocent looking humans and it’s here we must fight off despair, focus on the Light.
Send me something; this is safe space; i’ll judge every word you type through unapologetically rude eyes.
WINSTON
SOULED IDEA
THE BLUE EYED BANDIT
THE TORMENTOR
