I was told (once) that if I could only make up a perfect story, that, that woman, who stole almost everything from men, would fall for me; would, maybe destroy me and leave me for dead. Would, maybe, ship me off without my pen and belt, and force me to paint her with no training. She’d want something that resembles something by Claude Monet; Do you know how difficult that is? That’s the fun though; she’d cut me off so many times; she’d remind me how many others could paint better; she’d explain, in beautiful detail, just how useless my hands were. Well, I hope she’s satisfied with my work; I’m sorry I finished early; I’m really no man; Goodnight, goodnight, I hope you’re sleeping; so I can finally leave.
And there’s the funny part. Away from the orange tinted, whore infested, misogynistic air, I could finally feel the common sense of numbness slip away; my diet of self doubt seemed to leave me starving. But that’s the ship wreck; Do you know what happens to people who get ship wrecked? They find themselves having to find a place to eat, shit, pull themselves off. It all becomes a sort of home; with a sort of relaxation; it’s like what happens to in those prisons I romantically think about. I would never leave; It’s a relaxation; you’re used to violence and you’ll find it everywhere;
Orphans with nothing but oranges and rearrangement; as to make up for their lack of oranges and arrangement. Homing their organising skills, giving them guns. Feeding them peanuts, teaching them to salute.
“You know they can’t kill you, not here”
- “Then why did we give them guns?”
“We didn’t really, we only gave them permission to hurt us”
- “You want them to hurt us?”
“It’s what God wanted”
Crimes against God; which one? They say it could be the Bible; the manual on dealing with defeat. Composed on top of Calvary, where they often let me sleep. But they fucked me and kicked me out, at around book thirteen;
- “You’ll never understand, until you’ve fought in World War Three”
My heart is no good, and my hands are tired from fighting; I tricked myself into thinking I was worth something.
- “Creation is the catastrophe; and you are the cause”
Worthless empty hands