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Prostate Nodule

11 Sep

I can accept death. But not the mechanics of it. Nothing else in my ass, ever. They found a nodule on my prostate. The prostate is a walnut-sized gland under your colon. Nodule is a synonym for tumor. Per Web MD a knuckle-like hard protrusion. Knuckle-like. Of course it’s H.R. Giger. Knuckle-like protrusion twitching under gunmetal-color Berlin college girl face with steel fangs and no lower jaw. She quaffs hydraulic fluid from ridgy black intestinal tubes, tangled nightmare quasi-organic hoses pumping ooze from disembodied black chrome tits on some Satanic Contra boss apparition… Nodule means tumor. But “tumor” just means swelling. It’s nothing, he tells me. They’ll check my PSA. Some chemical you make when you have cancer. Confirm it’s nothing after I fast, get my blood drawn, go back for his next available appointment in 2032. Until then put it out of your mind. Continue reading

Alaska

31 Aug

Coming over some mountain pass in the taiga and reception comes back on the radio out of nowhere, it’s the classic rock station playing Led Zeppelin’s All My Love, and it comes on as John Paul Jones’ wizardly baroque synth solo is playing, and you crest some big height in the road and a valley opens up before you vaster than anything, Roger Dean green mountains with 10,000 foot waterfalls climbing up forbidding dark crags above the treeline, glaciers snaking over them as it transitions to Jimmy Page’s answering guitar solo, simple phrases on the nylon string, and as Robert Plant’s vocals kick back in, he is a feather in the wind, you remember it’s about the guy who killed his son in a car accident and you’re going 140 in a 3 ton rental truck. Continue reading

The Beating

30 May

Pic unrelated.

Someone left a mean comment that I’m getting old. Stop Muay Thai, start jiu jitsu because I won’t get good at striking. Which is true. But I don’t plan to book a fuckin cage match. It’s just fun. Something to get better at. I pay a man to beat me up and praise me. Clinch work, he cranks my neck down with freakish monkey strength. Later I can’t beat off because the smell of another man’s hair gel won’t wash off my palms. If something smells like a man within 20 feet I can’t get hard. He tells me the bars are good again, there’s pussy. The only manly thing I can talk about. But I can’t drink. I’m on Hinge looking at age appropriate Southeast Asians. Because Michelle Malkin and Stephen Paddock’s wife look good to me. 15 months of quarantine. 
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The Shower Drain

8 Apr

The shower drain used to work. And I used to not notice it. Then some ball of fat got stuck in the pipe by the sewer connection. One out of three showers I’ll hear the toilet bubbling and the drain will back up. I’m standing in an inch of lukewarm shit water I have to tiptoe in. Wash my ass and armpits fast and get out of there.

And now when it does work I’m grateful. Watch the water spiral down. Perfect little cyclone with its silvery throat. It’s not backing up today. And I think: I love this shower drain. I have the greatest shower drain in the world. This is why women love a drunk.

Brain Damage Diary

14 Mar

Rain at 2AM and one big thunderclap. Brain damaged from sparring. Brain and face damaged. My instructor whose day job is at an elementary school, who cheers you hitting pads like a kindly dolphin trainer– he wore shorts for the first time. Calves like cinderblocks. Veins thick as gas hoses snaking over them. He has 15 lbs on me and was a professional kickboxer. He went easy. I’m brain damaged. Driving home. Each stoplight had to relearn I was sitting in a car I needed to operate. Thinking ten times did I miss my turn. Is that McDonald’s supposed to be there. Continue reading

Birthday 2021

20 Feb

This year sucked. I want my money back. Can the damage be reversed. A year alone. Year as a male self improvement caricature. Year in the Joe Rogan Expanded Universe. A guy talked shit so I learned boxing. Watched MMA. When you box you put your front leg out. A guy can kick it. How to prevent this. I learned Muay Thai. Primitive instinctual bare bow archery. Bought and customized a rifle. Put 3,000 rounds through it. Waiting. Waiting for savage Robert E. Howard hordes to swarm the stairs. Waiting to make my stand. Nothing happens. My ears just ring. Continue reading

Vaccine Report

16 Jan

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I got the Moderna. The first shot. Yesterday felt like I got punched in the arm. Today like a mule kicked me. Otherwise just subtleties.
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Woodbury

3 Jan

This guy kept me alive. I’m gonna keep him alive. A lonely, lonely year but I’d go out and my savage bear size feral cat Woodrow came and sat with me. He lives in the yard. It took me a year to touch him. A year of leaving out food. Water. Crouching down saying hey man I’m not gonna hurt you. Don’t be scared. Continue reading

The Ending

30 Dec

This year was like a movie where the first two acts were good and the ending sucked. You gotta write the ending first.

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The Red-Whiskered Bulbul

1 Dec

  

From Savage Spear of the Unicorn

I went to pray this morning, looking out the front window. In the front yard the grass has gone to seed. A little wren came. And then finches with red faces, I don’t know what they are. Landing on the foxtail grass making it sway under their little weight. Throwing their heads back to swallow the seeds. They inspect the weeping ficus I have outside in a pot. Investigate the undersides of the leaves. Maybe looking for aphids. A female hummingbird, a rufous or Allen’s hummingbird, perching on the ficus branch, fluffing her neck, stretching out her long exotic tongue. You can hear the mourning doves out back. The mockingbirds. Ravens with their tock-tock sound like that hollow ribbed wooden thing you rubbed with a stick in music class in third grade. Not so bad. Power lines come down from my house, down the hill to the street, and the other day the rare red-whiskered bulbul landed there and looked at me. He was with his four children. I was afraid he’d die alone. But he caught a break.