Just do it.
If I just did it.
I couldn’t do it again.
Or at least I’d have to wait an hour.
Or two.
Depends.
Takes care of the problem however.

NOT – an ad(s)

mind is created
like feces or ***** and
we live in it all

LONG AGO,
            I     S P R A W L E D.
I WAS THE OCEAN FLOOR
            I WAS AN ASTRONAUT, A COSMONAUT
            Still impressive,
                               I am now
                               Harry Houdini
                               in the worlds'
                               smallest box

Less impressive,
I am covered in my own ****
which is soaking into the cracks between the linoleum tiles
in the ****** kitchen
of the ****** apartment
i live in
with my ****** ex boyfriend
(But he is not home)
  
Serenity, alone
It's rare
To feel love
From inside

Serenity, together
It's hard
To have help
from outside

An hour and a phone call later

A friend hoists you up and carries you
Mopping your floor
wiping your genitals
Tenderly, platonically
The way we hoped had already happened for the last time
A moment between you as a baby and you as a parent
Before you gained a real memory
But that moment is happening right now
But, somehow, your whole childhood is ahead of you still

Le nom du court métrage c'est Miction Première.

Le personnage: un homme nu. On ne voit de lui que ses deux membres du bas et son membre viril

Les décors : une chambre de jeune femme bourrée de livres sur l'art et les oiseaux

Un matelas queen size sur un lit en bois verni couvert d'un drap rose et deux oreillers roses

Au mur un tableau

On entend le bruit des pales d'un ventilateur.

Près de la fenêtre un fauteuil en velours rouge. La lumière de la nuit filtre par les persiennes.

Une armoire occupe tout le pan du mur à côté de la porte de la chambre. Cette armoire possède un grand miroir.

A la droite du lit il y a une table de nuit ou se trouve un portable branché sur son chargeur.

Juste à côté de la chambre c'est la salle de bains close par une porte

Dans cette salle de bains il y a une ****** italienne, un évier, une cuvette d'aisance, un bidet. Les murs sont en faïence bleue.

Le script: Il est entre trois heures et trois heures et demie du matin

Un homme se réveille et saisit son portable. Cette lumière éclaire la pièce et donne l"heure
L'homme qui était allongé sur le côté est désormais allongé sur le dos.
On ne voit de lui que son sexe qui frétille dans un demi-sommeil au-dessus d'une forêt de poils blancs

Sa peau est aussi noire que la nuit est bleue.

Il dort nu, se lève.

Et se dirige vers les toilettes en tâtonnant

Il allume la lumière qui inonde la pièce.

Et se présente au-dessus de la cuvette

Où il satisfait un besoin naturel.

Il pisse en un long jet de 45 secondes

Colorant l'eau transparente de la cuvette

D'un jaune mordoré

On entend clairement le bruit d'un ruisseau ou d'une source qui se déverse

Puis la chasse est actionnée

Et on voit le sexe qui palpite pendant que ses eaux disparaissent dans la fosse septique

Tandis que perle la dernière goutte d'*****.

My flesh burns,
Irritated by the rough carpet
I kick and scream
But they won't let go
Holding me down
My legs are raw
No one can hear me
Down in this old
stale ***** drenched room
Hacking away
Cutting my hair
With a thin blade
The handle thick
Sending blows to my head
What have I done
To deserve this?
My arms
Are bleeding
Skin
Is peeling
They won't let go
They won't
They won't
Blood
In a scratchy carpet
***** scented
Face down
Feet
Kicking blows
Into my ribs
Tears
Mix with blood
What have I done
To deserve this?

Imagine figures of sanitation.
Drenched in ammonia and urination.
Insane perceptions purge in disfiguration.
Imagine ***** beneath blisterd bloodied feet.
Rest on alter sharpend blades.
that cut flesh quaintly deep.  
Sick at sights of dreaded sheep.
Hahahahaha
In the woods once more to be disdained.
Pleasure be the self inflicted pain.
Druged up and floating far away.
**** everything.
Despair and anguish ****** up all things.
Rhyming words with words cause **** creativity.
Just pet the duck with that tweaked out sad lady.
It’s all just jokes that leaves even the ill laughing.
Yet once more reality and mockings become blurred in such confusion.
Living life laughing while crying in delusions.

Starving for meaning, an agnostic
bruising grey and white matter,
choking on maybes and half-truths,

finds indifference too easily. Never
pushing further through, cloudbursts
condensate but never conceive rainfall.

Something and always something
more gives pause, upon bathroom wall.
Scribbled as an epiphany lightening bolts

eye-opener, and its leakage capitalizes.
Each tagger finding more prophetic
words to denounce anything mystical

or godly. So, what's being fertilized
beyond the tinkling drain of insistence,
slumps downgrade to ebb of sewage

reaching sea. There amidst flotsam,
aeon's class of power perceived become
one with Supreme Being, an ocean.

I want to write you a poem concerning how I feel.
It has to come across as meaningful and real.

So I wrote a little bit about my gratitude for plumbing.
Praising pipes and faucets just sets my fingers strumming.

Then I thought this wasn't good and to this make amends.
So I started out on lust, counting down my favorite sins.

What am I? A charlitain? A purveyor of filth and ****.
Someone who speaks of things he wants to stick up in your ****?

No my dear tis not the case at least not this time around.
I'd rather set your mind to ease not run your ship aground.

So let's start by whispering something soft meant to ease.
You can use my sleeve to wipe your nose should you ever sneeze.

Wasn't that not good enough? A little gross for your taste?
Let try to redeem myself I promise I'll make haste.

She approaches draped in honey surrounded by an amber glow.
Knowing things I can assure, you may not want to know.

Like the sun was to Icarus it is her smile that melts my heart.
Without her works to inspire I wouldn't know where to start.

So it's her you have to blame if it's this line you do not like.
I gotta warn ya, if she likes, I'll put your head upon a spike.

Lips like fire smoldering under eyes an emerald green.
Yes I know I got it wrong Todd my eyes aren't so keen.

I'd like to say in closing a great many things.
To spout a song so beautiful like the first few days of spring.

But alas I'll fail you and end this ridiculousness.
By saying I adore you and I need to take a ****.

So tis here I leave you but never for much too long.
I'll cross your mind again one day when you hear my favorite song.