Fury and Peace

I'll fucking kill you bastard. I'll tear out your eyes. I have not learned to deal with my emotions, but I have learned to use a knife. With the tip of the knife I'll mix up your pupils with your iris and your cornea and create gray. And red and red and red!

Swirling, bubbling, the fountain of unlimited goodness is inside me so deep. I smile. You might not be sure I am human. I breathe. The fountain moves up through my veins to my skin and turns my demeanor a brilliant blue. I am at peace. I love you.

I'll cut your dick off. I'll fuck cut it off and shove in your goddamn mixed up color eye. It's not going to get hard anymore, so I'll have to stuff it in with the eraser end of a pencil. I'll watch your blood pool on the pavement and I'll smash your teeth in to delay your identification ten minutes. Your poor mama oh your poor mama. I laugh at her.

The fountain pools so nicely. I lie down in the fountain. It bathes me, and goosebumps pop. I float towards a better end, as does the world, as does the universe. The fountain springs from deep in Mama Earth. It is her blood, and I am pure. Mama help me. Mama helps me to be better, yeah mama, that's the stuff.
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The Bank

Today I go to the bank.
There are no men at the bank.
I am the Man of the bank.
Listen, goddammit.
I am the Man of the bank.
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Plunging for Ideas

I own two plungers: one to unclog the toilet and one to unclog the mind. To use the latter, I lie on the floor, apply it directly to the forehead, and plunge, careful not to inadvertently remove my eyes (I do not sew well). As there is much filth in the mind, I still have to wash it off in the toilet afterwards.

After such a treatment today, I pulled out an idea. It was blackish brown and had the sheen of a slug. It landed on my chest, and I threw it against the wall. Though it had no head, its legs and pincers scraped the floor. I smashed it with a can of kidney beans, then picked it up with several paper towels and deposited it in the trash.

I concluded that the plunger is not the best way to remove good ideas from the mind. There must be a tool more precise, a magnet perhaps. I like ideas like minerals: hard and shiny, iridescent, valuable.

I suppose that I could find Jesus, but I distrust any method that seeks to clean the mind. Like deforestation, cleaning removes all the ugly creatures that could provide a cure to some yet unseen disease.

Pairs of Assertions

From a paper under the bed dated January 15, 2002:

A fall on ice is better than a fall off an invisible ledge because a fall on ice is a smooth fall.

Smooth falls are less likely to hurt you than jarring ones.

There is such thing as magic, but it is caused by electricity.

Neither scientists nor electricians understand electricity completely.

If the body chose its favorite music genre, it would choose hip-hop.

The body could not dance without the help of the brain, who would rather listen to flutes.

People, when alone, should be permitted to laugh without reason.

A person who is caught laughing without reason will soon lose his privilege to use silverware.

Physically desirable people have no need for more than just token personalities.

The same goes for the retarded.

Poop is a less offensive word for shit.

Shit is a less offensive word for drugs.

A Fine Sunday

Adapted from a recent post on Sarah in Wonderland.

Last night I slept well and slept in, giving the ants and roaches free reign until one in the afternoon, when I resumed cold, detached insect-smashing using a pad of paper with "Things to Do" at the top and "murder vermin" written underneath.

The sun shines bright today. I have stopped seeing black shapes out of the corners of my eyes by taping to the walls black construction paper cut into nebulous forms. I am trying to concentrate on the fact that the best way to get rid of something that doesn't exist is to make it exist. I'm going to be concentrating for a while.

I am getting more and more excited for autumn's brilliant leaf-show, and I can't wait to disappear from work for a few hours and walk in the park and feel that strange, prickly sensation in the back of my brain. The colors will be vivid in the air so crisp. I will stick my tongue out and feel the chill, and mothers will gently guide their children away from me. My senses give me so much pleasure.

I don't work tomorrow, and I feel slightly guilty about that, but after spending Saturday unconscious, I need one more night of irrational euphoria. I am lucky to have the job I do because it gives me the means to an end. But what end? I guess we all get by, but it would be great to have an ultimate goal. That will be the mantra over the next year..."learn to play soccer."

The ideas were playful and adorable this morning, jumping all over me in bed. We were a giant pile of family laughing and playing. I can often see little bits of my precious and ill-fated "Dress up in Spandex and walk through the ghetto's" personality in "That hat isn't just for ladies" and "Rub aloe all over yourself." "That hat isn't just for ladies" is definitely the goofy, more playful idea, while "Rub aloe all over yourself" is cuddle-obsessed and perfectly happy to curl up and receive some good pettings.

I am feeling a bit crazy as I know there will be a lot of nothing to do until Tuesday. I should get out of the apartment and buy some ingredients for homemade dinner. The aroma of cabbage boiling will fill the apartment, and ultimately my belly, and later on as dawn breaks, I will probably pass out, comfy.

Hooray for long weekends!