I am Such a Huge Poser
I dare you to look in the mirror and tell yourself you're truly happy. Chances are you're more likely to holler "YOU"RE SUCH A FUCKING LOSER," turn around, and try again. In this sense each of us are one of many little hairs on a fat man's belly, jiggling with the laughter and shuddering with the sobs.
Have you ever waited until 1:01 am to light a cigarette, only to watch it burn in the ashtray? There's tobacco on your lips and smoke in your eyes, but the nicotine stays in its place, in that little ceramic bowl on the desk while you stare blankly at the wall.
The racing heart can't pump enough blood to keep that gross hemorrhage under control and then after too much blood little scabs coagulate in your nose and then it's hard to breath, the heart beats the heart beats the heart beats the heart beats and the lungs just...just...collapse. Is this panic? Your bodiless head is tossed into a basket and your headless body just sits there and stares at the wall, eyeless.
Was it Brad Pitt who said it? That we have no famine, no great war to fight, no great depression--that the only depression is our own? That we're all trained into thinking that we'll grow up to be movie stars and famous critics and brilliant drunken writers, but we wont, and we're very very pissed off?
Isn't it true? Nothing feels good.
Paul S. Blood
"Let's find our salvation in porno and strong drink. Let's mutually detest the presence of the other--those dead ghosts and sad apparitions looming behind us while we try to read our books and eat our tuna fish sandwiches. Isn't there supposed to be something more, some kind of humanity? No, and it's better that way." --Eds.
"And fuck that. I hated that post and it's 1,000 times better that noone will ever see it again. Sad sappy suckers have no space on this blog, and anyone who argues otherwise should face the knife, preferrably one attached to a guillotine." --Eds
Have you ever waited until 1:01 am to light a cigarette, only to watch it burn in the ashtray? There's tobacco on your lips and smoke in your eyes, but the nicotine stays in its place, in that little ceramic bowl on the desk while you stare blankly at the wall.
The racing heart can't pump enough blood to keep that gross hemorrhage under control and then after too much blood little scabs coagulate in your nose and then it's hard to breath, the heart beats the heart beats the heart beats the heart beats and the lungs just...just...collapse. Is this panic? Your bodiless head is tossed into a basket and your headless body just sits there and stares at the wall, eyeless.
Was it Brad Pitt who said it? That we have no famine, no great war to fight, no great depression--that the only depression is our own? That we're all trained into thinking that we'll grow up to be movie stars and famous critics and brilliant drunken writers, but we wont, and we're very very pissed off?
Isn't it true? Nothing feels good.
Paul S. Blood
"Let's find our salvation in porno and strong drink. Let's mutually detest the presence of the other--those dead ghosts and sad apparitions looming behind us while we try to read our books and eat our tuna fish sandwiches. Isn't there supposed to be something more, some kind of humanity? No, and it's better that way." --Eds.
"And fuck that. I hated that post and it's 1,000 times better that noone will ever see it again. Sad sappy suckers have no space on this blog, and anyone who argues otherwise should face the knife, preferrably one attached to a guillotine." --Eds
posted by Esoteric Clique at 12:56 AM
1 Comments:
I'll take "brilliant drunken writer" and a hysterectomy, please. Never really wanted to be a movie star. Never really wanted to to have my fluids oxygenated by some hulking machine, either. Worse than fetters, that. I saw a colostomy bag once and it scared the SHIT out of me. That's why the guillotine is a humanitarian instrument... there's a difference between fruitless loins and death, brain damage and death, leaky mechanical organs and death.
(Which would you rather?)
Re: the Affinity® CVR, I especially liked the bits about "excellent defoaming capabiliies" and "compatible left and right hand setup". Recalls another bodily function, another ancient conversation. Something about blood and other foaming life juices.
I remember everything.
Audrey, Too.
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