Author S. K. Nicholas

Something I once wrote, six long years ago;

the melancholy of a supermarket on a friday night is indescribable, it’s the saddest thing ever, watching all those people, all those traces of human existence, coming and going, it’s unbearable. i didn’t stay long but it was long enough to infect me. friday nights watching the world go by, i wish i was doing something but if i were doing something i’d be wishing i was at home writing. i ache to go back in time to days lost, go back and stay there in a moment where life and death could never touch me. driving past all those houses, watching people as they journeyed along the streets, outside the pubs, i felt sad, envious, frustrated and bored. on friday nights, there is only one thing to do, and that is to get pissed whilst writing and jerking off looking at some dumb blond licking a guys arsehole, it’s all so pointless, so boring. i had a dream where a girl bit my balls off, she had the eyes of a vampire, or something.

i don’t think i have swine flu, but i’m not bothered either way. today it rained as i was on my lunch break then it rained as i walked back from work with my smoothies, my chicken, my cigarettes, my bottled beer and my wine. i feel like watching eyes wide shut whilst writing later on but it’s too long. it’s two and a half hours, far too long to write against.
past days of nowhere, spent waiting, waiting for nothing. on the nature of the universe, there is none. featureless, days of lakes, eyes as snakes. i ran my fingers through no hair, kissed no lips, stood in the rain waiting for no one.
i dread having to walk in to town tomorrow to draw my rent money out. i want nothing to do with it, i want to see no people, engage in no such interactions, but i have to nonetheless. i want the plague to wipe out the lot of them so i can remain alone forever, untouched and removed from a vision of today. i want to place my hands on the hips of a young girl and degrade her, to make her feel how i feel. i want to taste a little flesh, not because i want to, but because i need to.

the idea of being in a relationship has been nagging at me for some weeks now, the idea that if i’m in one again i will be okay, that all these bad thoughts will vanish, but i know that to be false, because they are only numbed for a short while, then they resurface once again, ever punctual, ever there. i want to transform into a pebble on the beach, forever. i remember no events from my life, no history. my acts have remained hidden, even to me. i wish i was a junky, wish i was a wife beater, wish i was pimp. wish i had an excuse. i have no filters for my cigarettes, no soft drinks to ease my hangover in the morning, although recently i’ve been waking up at six, taking a couple of aspirins, going back to sleep again then waking up later feeling okay. i have twin revolvers in my head. i have no concept of sharing. forbidden colours. tedious conversations. watchful eyes. empty words performed by abstract figures. the days they escape me. i regard all phantoms as friends. pretend pretend pretend.