Author S. K. Nicholas

The kid next door cleans his car all day long. Over and over again he cleans it, whilst his girlfriend just sits there in despair playing with her phone. I want to take her by the hand, and show her what a real machine looks like. Leave him there shining the wheels, whilst I teach her a lesson she’ll never forget. But I won’t, because she’s hideously boring. Sitting there on the grass playing on her phone for hours on end, her face is blank and dull. Dreadful creature she is. The two of them deserve each other. How we fill our lives with junk! Useless junk, everywhere. In our bodies. In our minds. In our hearts. Gagging us whilst we don’t even care.

Somewhere, a plane falls from the sky. Someplace else, a train crashes. Bombs explode. Flesh and bone torn apart. People gone in the blink of an eye. Yet we waste our lives like it were some form of worship. Beauty and creation, reduced to trivial fancies. Not that I’m any better. I spent an hour sat in the garden earlier, watching leaves blowing in the breeze. And then I threw my ball against the wall until it went over the fence into next doors garden. It was like being a child again. It wasn’t a complete waste of time though, as I was going over a scene from my novel. Why would a man dig up one of his victims, simply to stare at its skull in the middle of the afternoon? There must be a reason, but I haven’t found it yet. It’ll come though.

These days remind me of how I was four or five years ago. I didn’t care much about other people then. The only thing that interested me, was writing. I was a shit writer back then. I’ve improved a little in my eyes. Those days, it was all I ever wanted to do. And finally, it’s come back, that passion and desire. That belief, that nothing else matters apart from doing what you love. And it doesn’t really. Might as well do something that has meaning. Don’t waste your time on people who don’t care, nor waste your life on a job just so you can buy expensive things. Quality of life is important I guess, but so poverty of the soul is to be avoided at all costs. I may be poor, but my soul is ripe with creation and wonder.

Love and sex bore me. I care about them deeply, but, they leave me feeling numb. People are too cheap for my liking, myself included. I think for the time being, I’ll stick to being lost in my head rather than wrapped in a womans arms. Fantasy and madness make me feel alive. Love just weakens and lets you down. And sex is just tiresome. I’d rather fuck a washing machine. Or soak in a bath. Reading some Bukowski. Drinking a can of beer, I’ll imagine what it’s like at the edges of the universe. All those galaxies, full of planets and stars that we’ll never, ever know about. The coldness of space, and unfathomable distance. It leaves me open mouthed and dazed.

They say it’s gonna storm. I hope so. Thunder and rain makes me feel peaceful. Late night therapy. Alone with ghosts and make believe. Laying here on the floor, I’m quite content doing nothing for the time being. No sounds. No words. Stillness. Clarity of thought. Things that are valuable to me. Things that can’t be bought. Drifting off into a world of imagination, I smile at all the faces that await me.