Haul my ass out of bed
Sharp mind
Forget last night
branded with its scars
a snarling monster in its cage
within the hearth of my heart
Snaking through the veins
till it’s tattooed on my arms
I fart when I pee
I shatter the corridors silence
My neighbours surely getting the gravity of the situation
As I bare a perhaps intimate sound
A sure-fire way of knowing I’m taking a leak
For the crescendo of my farts
Sound like rattling teeth
Echoing and reverberating
Along the walls
Like ping pong balls
Prey
I took the bait
now I’m hanging from your hook
I’m in dire straits
I was supposed to walk away
But I guess you were the bear that day
And I the salmon in the bay
Make history if you can’t make kids… I don’t know why

I recall a night back when I used to frequent a support chat room when I got to talking to someone who was questioning their entire existence and point of living. Their issue was(without going into details as to the why) the chance of them reproducing offspring were at best extremely minimal, at worse zero chance. They suggested that this meant that there wasn’t a reason for them to continue. “If a person doesn’t leave behind a bloodline what is their point,” is mostly what their argument entailed. On that very night for reasons unfathomable to me, because I’m often the most pessimistic, grumpy little fucker there is, I came out with this(not exactly these words it was a while ago): “You don’t need to leave your DNA behind if you can make history.”
I think I knew what I meant at the time I said it, within the context of the entire conversation. Now that my memory is hazy, I can’t say I really know what I meant.
Perhaps I meant that he should go out there and become so famous he would be forever written into textbooks for generations to come, or maybe I meant it in a much more subtle way. Make history with those you come into contact with, spreading your metaphorical seed in peoples minds, perhaps that is a way to ‘reproduce’ without those pesky, grubby kids running around like the maniacs they are.
I don’t know what I meant. But for some reason from time to time, this memory comes back to me, and I remember saying that and then I wonder what the hell I thought when I said it, I know I was in a hyperactive, fighting frame of mind but that is all I can remember.
Perhaps you have some ideas as to what I could have meant?
I, The consumer

“It’s a happy pursuit, the inscription of oneself” – Dr Haggard from Dr Haggard’s disease by Patrick Mcgrath
When I hear humans describe ‘consumerism’, I imagine nostrils flaring as things get sucked as they inhale and consume.
Such an ugly word Consumerism. Yet I guess it’s an appropriate term. The idea of being a ‘consumer’ consumes me with repulsion.
I picture plastic bottles being squeezed in sync with a human sigh of desperation for more.
I went through a phase where I’d listen to podcasts about topics that essentially amounted to the politics of consumerism and ‘consumerist’ rights. I always felt a twinge of discomfort when I heard them say the words, “We the consumers”, or “Our consumerist rights” because all that played in my imagination was a reel where peoples nostrils opened up and consumed without thought.
The irony is that by listening to a podcast about these things, I was consuming media they produced and so my own nostrils were doing the same thing.
And that is what repulses me the most in the end, that no matter how much I hate the idea, I am a consumer! What I’ve often found ironic about people like myself who shit on the idea of so-called ‘consumerism’ is that we’re often just as much a consumer as everyone else. You see it behind these peoples back on their youtube videos while they talk about the ills of society and this wretched world of the constant need for ‘goods’.Yet behind them, they’ll have a mess of nonsense stuff that comes to no use whatsoever other than for aesthetic purposes.
But perhaps I’m expecting too much on the part of people who see the ills of this world while also taking part in it.
It’s something I find myself doing a lot when on the youtubes. I find it absolutely fascinating to see the interior of the room they’re filming in, the objects they have on their shelves and the things they have hung on their walls. Some of them like to make it appear as if they just simply put their camera on and roll with it, but I suspect even they take some care as to what can be seen in the background.
To some extent, i guess I idealise the idea of merely leaving society and going off-grid, living in a log cabin and ultimately having that self-sufficiency to survive on one’s own without help.
Unfortunately, I’m not deluded enough to believe I could manage this feat. The woods aren’t wheelchair friendly for one, or very friendly to anyone who uses walking aids for that matter, not to mention all the medication I need just to be alive.
I guess I am just another consumer after all.
A great pain
Folded into crazy homes
Frozen behind windows
Staring out, eerie eyes
Hazy behind rasping gusts of breath
Before curtains close
To hide this poverty
Of mind
Society loves…..

Society loves to protect women.
Retribution towards those who are perceived to be ‘harmful’ towards women is the highest ‘honour.’
Some may perceive this post as harmful and outright reject what I’m saying because pointing out potential flaws in our current narrative that supposidly men and society as a whole ‘hates women’ is seen as ‘harmful.’
Too late
Brimming underneath the sounds of ordinary
A loud humming silence is brewing up a storm
a thirst the world could never quench
disturbing dusted ground
Shimmering lights and the creaking of lips
Forced into smiles
But it’s too late to be okay.
Anger
Once swept aside
In anger
Anguish always follows.
I know this. But I’m an angry bastard anyway!
