I didn’t write this weekend. Instead I fucked an aborigine. The backs of her hands were burned. Giant nipples. Weird stuttered demarcation between regular and areola skin. A calico mole or meta-nipple coming off the top of one regular nipple. So much going on. Full untrimmed pussy but not too hairy. Not too tight either. IUD scratching my tip. Blasting in her with her on her stomach. As soon as I turned her over, felt her all squishy at that angle, I wanted to cum instantly. I did. Continue reading
Can’t look at my Sedona pics without that bad acid feeling. Haunted house feeling. People are right. There’s energy there. It’s evil. There was a massacre, something. I hiked to one of the attractions, a giant sinkhole. Hundred ton rocks had plummeted into the bowels of the Earth. I felt like an antenna picking up a TV station broadcast by Pennywise. Feel it again now talking about it. Last night before I slept. I carried it with me.
Why don’t you quit your job, she says.
It’s not that simple. I need insurance. What if I get cancer. What if I have to spend eight hours a day in chemo getting my blood poisoned. Brain erased. Plus commute. It costs a lot for them to kill you slowly. What if I get someone pregnant. The baby gets cancer. What if I can’t provide. What if my rent goes up. What if I had to move. To get an apartment you need good credit. To get good credit you need to borrow money. To borrow money you need to have money. To have money, you need a job. Don’t you get it. I work, then come home. Go to bed early. I got a better shot at cancer than at a girlfriend. Continue reading
image from joshobrouwers.com
Missed call.12:32 AM from Gracie Tinder August 2016.
Who is that. Did I say bad shit about her? Could she accuse me of rape? AIDS? Pregnant? August 2016– 8 months ago. That’s not an abortion call. That’s an I’m having it call. Good. Finally this all means something. Continue reading
Don’t quit smoking. Don’t go to work. Don’t save money. Don’t pay taxes, bills. Don’t be kind to women. Get a new name in a new country where you can beat your 13 year old wife and live on 2 dollars a day. Continue reading
She was a fat. Guatemalan– no, Costa Rican; she had a wide nose with crudely painted contouring makeup on it. She had autoimmune diseases. Wouldn’t tell me what they were but not AIDS. Some third world thing because her mother couldn’t breastfeed her. She took tramadol and about 10 other pills I couldn’t recognize. She had IBS. She was a vegetarian and also can’t eat milk eggs wheat. I can basically eat potatoes and water, she said. She was 22 though. That’s enough. But she wouldn’t come back to my apartment to have raw sex and play Far Cry Primal. I kept asking, she kept saying no thanks. Continue reading
I was on a podcast called Not A Huge Fan, talking about why I don’t write under my real name.
I read some shit out loud at 18:02 and 49:13.