Drinking beer whilst the rain pisses down outside. Eating rice noodles and pretending it’s the end of the world. I want to be utterly alone. To be a millionaire swimming in the pleasures of solitude. My bed contains all of my fears. It cuts me into pieces every time I fall asleep. Stomach cramps and indigestion. Interstellar boredom as I curl into a ball not noticing the calender days falling off in the distance. Like bombs and desperate lovers, they fall without glory. Just another week that’s all. Just another month gone and never to return. Looking at jobs but I don’t want a job. Listening to the same old shit whilst admiring the patterns that are found in nature. Don’t want to do anything. I’m lost at sea. I’m convalescing from an illness called life. Plane crashes and ulcers. Winter so afraid as spring spews the same old crap it always does. It’s like a movie but not as interesting. People talk, but they never seem to say anything. They just chew the fat like they always do. Put them in the pot. Boil them in their own lies.
Masturbation. No kids. Wife beater next door, single dad the other. Girl dyes her hair. Paste makes me wretch. Pissing too much. Thinking too much. Chemists and doctors surgeries. Collecting pills and talking about all those things you can never put your finger on. I was born at a very young age. I’m a survivor of the big bang. No theories, just illustrations of topless women. Brunette, curvy. Names in the loop. Bed bound from collective hysteria. Big in Japan I am. Worshipped like war, my features are carved into mountains and teenage arms. Bruises on my back, they don’t shine they just peel off like scabs. Nausea is a delicacy as far as I’m concerned. I’ve put it on a pedestal, have done for years. Fucked like Welsh miners. The ones bathed in fifty shades of coal. Rescue me from a lifetime of thankless tasks. Make me feel alive by advertising my madness. Let others know that I’m coming apart. Let them see the worlds slowest suicide. Ain’t nothing but a freak show. The elephant man redeemed. Slaves to false causes, just let me be. Let me sleep with all the other losers. Let me do what makes me happy. Journal for plague lovers. Journal of a hanged man.