Tag Archives: AIDS

Protected: 40

20 Feb

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Morning Diary: Standard Time

10 Nov

How to describe this feeling. Hollow. Normally I’d despair about the work day. About girls. Sucks but at least it’s a feeling. Today: don’t care. I’ll work demeaning jobs forever. Don’t care. Never have a relationship. Don’t care. No wife, no kids: good. To create another being that could feel this way: worse than Hitler. My dick would make 80 years of pain. Cauterizing my nuts off in a campfire would be a mercy to the world. Continue reading

Protected: Don’t Take Your Love to Town

12 Oct

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Protected: Diary: I’ll Die Alone if I Don’t Get Famous

16 Sep

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Reader Mailbag: Where the Fuck Did You Go

10 May

dong

“C” asks:

Where the fuck did you go

I’m not hurting anyone. I’m not fucking anyone. So: nothing happens.

Wake up. Eat granola. Healthy stool. Shave. My car is broken. Imprudent to spend the money to fix it. Take the bus to the train to my workplace, where I struggle to be of service to the best of my ability. 9 hours of that. Train to the bus to the walk back home. Call the cat in. Eat leftovers. Jerk off to a black man impregnating an overweight Asian woman. Read three pages of A Feast for Crows. Fall asleep. I dream that I’m drinking. The feeling is: oh no I fucked up. Continue reading

Protected: Diary: On the Road to My Solitary Death

14 Mar

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Diary: Worst Case Scenario

15 Dec
Aythya collaris

Aythya collaris

Let’s assume I never get laid again as long as I live. What happens. I have no children. Fine. I die alone. Fine. Age slowly, rot; disease, brain turned to mush. I forget who or what I am. Trapped in a state nursing home. Surly orderlies snap my arthritic fingers to get my rings. Shitting myself, fed from a tube jammed in my throat, no one to hold my hand as the pain takes forever to kill me. Each instant containing lifetimes. OK– this exercise was supposed to end in “that doesn’t sound so bad.” Fuck.

Try to hang myself but my bony arthritic hands can’t tie a knot. Wallowing in weeping sores in a hospital bed; I roll out and try to aim my head at the floor but it only breaks my face, my pelvis, thick needles ripping out of my arms…. you lose your ability to move but not your ability to feel… Jesus Christ. A friend from the past shows up; I mutely plead to be smothered with a pillow. He just kicks me in the nuts.

Only way to avoid this is to have kids. Only way to make kids is to get some ass. Right back where we started. Continue reading