fifteen

Depressed and hungover. Guess it could be worse. My belly growls like a beast, it wants food and grease thrown into its pit. It wants to consume and be full. Be full and be happy. Impossible things, it asks of.

The world depresses me. I'm like, from Mars. Or a galaxy far faaar away. Nobody gives a shit really. I do give too much of a shit, obviously. I'm standing there with tthat dumb fucking smile on my dumb face, watching in disbelief, wanting to cry out "pick me, pick me instead!" and thinking of ways to destroy my bumb self or find release in something that just won't work anymore.

Fuck post-modernism. It just made our lives more complicated, and we've lost touch with everything anyway. Is...that...cool?

It seems everything revolves around sex, but I'm not gonna have sex, not any time soon, until i become this pathetic, bespectacled, pot-bellied dude, mouth stitched close by invisible powers, maybe i'll pay for sex, maybe i'll rape for sex, right now just the thought of it. Well, it's absurd. An absurd thought. My body's made from white light and dark heat. It cannot be touched, caressed, stroked, kissed, felt, but it can be pushed through walls.

I am the heir of a shyness that is criminally vulgar. My shyness cannot feel, caress, stroke, kiss, touch. it cannot be permeated, penetrated, perpetrated.

You will go to him because there's this chemistry between you. Or maybe it's physics, hahaha. it's something that gives me a hard time understanding. fathoming the extend. absurd. absurd! open your legs. be his woman. take it. take it like a bitch. take it like a man. be his woman. spread yourself wide open. let him slobber all over you. your naked body. your virgin body. eww, yuck, and all that stuff. can't picture it. if i do, and i do, i lose my sex drive. i'll be a monk and watch porn in my super secret notebook pc. sex can't be as good and as smell-less as in porn.

i have a problem connecting. bitches, dogs. men, women. sometimes i think i feel a distant fragile tentative connection and i dream up the rest. end up gasping in the middle of the night, with a knife stabbed between my shoulderblades. it hurts where my wings should be. fuck this. if i knew something, anything, it would make things better and endurable. now i'm speechless. mouthless. just a fucking stupid grin, where i need a snarl and teeth to cut through their fucking throats.

people suck. as a vague concept, people are nice. I can't relate to their personal shit, though. It's like, whoa! really? huh. i see. boring!

i don't want any of that conventional, virginal, tender sex stuff. the relationshipy sex. let's get to know each other first. how do u get to know someone who's constantly lying? all a fucking pretext, cut to the chase, man, you wanna fuck. you wanna spread the thighs and shove it right in. let's make babies. let's reproduce and reinvent ourselves. let's fuck and make the world a better place. we'll afterwards sit by the fire and sip tea and like, bond. that will make the grunting fucking sweating smelly shoving awkkward pushing grinding yelling moaning rolling OK. that will consecrate the animal urge, the act of desecration. we'll be together for three years and then get bored of each other and find someone else through whom to find ourselves. what a load of crap.

human nature, man. kill it. stab it. run into the wild. be a god, not somebody's bitch.what am i talking about? he teetered and he fell, blood gushing from his forehead, vomit gushing from his mouth into the stars. I want to be cleansed. in a dark room. never wash up ever again. lie ethere and stare at the ceiling which i cannot see. let the others have their stupid lives and dances and fucks and families and jobs. i will just stay here and wait. i'll feed myself with obscure incomprehensible art. i'll study Lynch. i'll become post-post-modern. i wil become nothing. people don't even look at me.

this is my secret diary. in reality, i may be someone else. someone you already know. this is where i heave my poison. my poison is fuuny, is ridiculous, is powerless. i'm litle twisting writhing maggot. i want to scream with insanity. i want to carve a hole in my face. i want the red water to come out. i want to break every finger. i want pain to erase me.

fuck it. it's over.