image stolen from movieposters.com
I was unemployed for a while. Now I’m a gray corporate worm. I have a 401(k). I wear loafers. I use Powerpoint; Excel. Advanced proficiency in Microsoft Office Suite.
I’m in a small branch office of a large corporation. We share a bathroom. This means that the 4 times a day I piss, which should be a respite– 3 of those 4 times a man from another company will piss next to me. Often it’s a particular bear of a man. Six foot eight, fat, bearded, sweat along his widow’s peak from walking to the restroom. There are 2 urinals. I must stand right by him. The heat from his fat arms noticeable. One side of my face hotter. Unbuckle my reversible genuine leather belt, black on one side brown on the other. Unclasp my pressed business slacks which have a metal tab as well as a button. Withdraw my penis. Which had begun to recoil, already, upon seeing this man from 50 feet down the hall as he keyed in the bathroom door code. By the time I get it out it’s a shrunken acorn head. The other man is slow with his pants. He has only now released his member as he’s heard me keying in the code. His penis too has recoiled. Continue reading
image stolen from cromedicor.com
At the doctor’s office. The primary care physician Healthnet assigned me. Cesar Vialpando MD, of the Mi Familia Medical Group. Off Alameda south of 62d. The way here was all Chinese frozen squid warehouses, giant chemical silos.
Waiting room is packed to the gills. Artificial pine paneling. The guy’s desk at reception is just a mass of random papers. They don’t have a computer. It’s Mexico in here. I’m stunned no one has a goat or chicken. Except in Mexico I could have just gone to the Farmacia and bought the cheap pills I need. I have strep throat. All I need Cesar Vialpando MD to do is write a script for penicillin. All I need Healthnet to do is cover this simple trip to to the guy they assigned me. I will leave here with neither of these things. Continue reading
image stolen from allleftturns.com
You will be raped. Your children will be sex trafficked. You will be denied Equal Pay by a White Male. Sexually harassed by a White Male. Sent an inappropriate OKCupid message by a White Male. A White Hetcis Male, to be clear. The gays are OK. You will be stranger raped. Flailing with your keys sticking out between your fingers like they taught you in self defense class. It does nothing. They didn’t teach you how to throw a punch to begin with. When I can walk down the street without fear we will be equal, you say as you recoil from a house spider. You will be catcalled. White Males will shout at you on the street. You will be raped. You will be date raped, gray raped, you will be date rape drugged. You or your children will be sweet talked into drinking Everclear and group fingerfucked by the White Male football team. Your rapist will be someone you know and trust. The call is coming from inside the house. He will rape you with his Rape Culture. Your White Male boss will sexually harass you. Strip you of your equal pay. The White Males in congress will throw WOC’s and genderqueers in rape camps. If you don’t know what “WOC” means you are a rapist. You will be oppressed until no film, TV show or magazine adequately reflects your point of view. The writing staff of your favorite series will be understocked with Black and Latina women. The network made a whole diversity program and everything. Then all they did was hire one Korean broad out of Harvard. You will be raped. Yoga pants will not be available in your size forever. You will cry out on the internet. And a man, a man, a White Male will tweet something at you in response. Something mean. A rape threat. A death threat. You will be raped and murdered and raped by raping rapists on Twitter by tweets and comments and trolls. Check your privilege, you cry vainly. You will shout your pain into the wind as you are raped. Continue reading
Woman in the next building opened her blinds this morning. T shirt and underwear. I was out smoking. She looked out at the morning sun kissing the trees. Surveyed the world for a moment. I was in the parking lot shooting lasers into her crotch. Scanning the slit of her skinny cunt like the Terminator, for later use. She looked down and saw my Kubrick stare. Neglected cigarette dangling. Recoiled in horror. Continue reading
image stolen from marcusstevenson.com
I got it from a cheating ex, they say. In the 50’s girls would say they broke their hymen horseback riding. They fell on their cunt jumping over a fence. I got it from a cheating ex. Look, I know you got it from a third rate bass player in a bar toilet. I don’t give a shit. You think if I had a pussy I wouldn’t be fucking everything on two legs? Good for you. But that’s the one lie. Otherwise they’re real up front. Listen, I have herpes. I get outbreaks about once a year. When I get sick. Sometimes it kicks up when I shave. Yes, it hurts. Anyway, would you ever sleep with me?
Sorry. Fuck no. Continue reading
My dad is 65, was diagnosed with bone cancer 15 years ago and given six months to live. Since his childhood he drank like a fish, smoked a pack a day, and used hard drugs. He is still living. Came to visit me. He’s beat up. Can barely walk up the hill to my apartment. His mind is slipping. He speaks slowly. Moves slowly.
But he is still alive. I introduced him to a couple of the women in my life. His mind is slipping, but he still knows nice eyes, nice skin, nice ass, nice tits. I took him to Joshua Tree. He’d never seen it. Hard to show that motherfucker something he’d not seen in this country. He’s been all over. But this was new. He had trouble walking. Had trouble speaking. But every new bird, every new rock, every new flower blew his mind. When night fell, every new star– there is so much to see in this life. So much to know.
Of course, the old man was also deeply interested in the 19 year old Hong Kong chick walking on our hiking trail. Son, you better make a move on that. She’s interested. Tell her to take your picture.
You will lose your mind, your body, your dick– whatever you value. But life still has things to show you. Life isn’t done with you. I get why people kill themselves. I get it, but they’re wrong. Seeing a god damn road runner drinking from a mud puddle changes my life every time. And it changed the life of a 65 year old man who I’d thought had seen everything. You could live for a thousand years and never run out of wonderful shit.
I get why people kill themselves. I contemplate it every day. Still. Don’t. It’s an arrogant thing to do. It’s saying: I know all the secrets. Bullshit. You never know. Tomorrow a seagull could steal a kid’s ice cream cone in front of you and you’ll laugh harder and better than you ever have in your life.
Driving to work today. Not taking the train. This means my future wife would have been on the train. A beautiful woman, in a good mood, primed for conversation. Ready to make the first move. What are you typing, she would ask. I would have been working on my book. Certainly not some bullshit blog post about some bullshit topic and every other word is “fuck” and “cunt.” No. I am writing a novel, I would have said. She would be impressed. Let’s get off in El Monte, she’d say. Take my hand and we’ll run up into the mountains. Forget about your job. We’ll find some place with flowers and just fuck forever.
Now she’s sitting next to an empty seat, or some hobo. We will both die alone.