Intro
Everything is so fucking damaged
There's something intrinsically wrong in the world
Or maybe not the whole thing, my eyes aren't that big
But at least the parts I can see and feel and touch
It’s all coming from one single point, one single horrible spot
The world
My world
Is crumbling around it
The spot is my boss.
(fucking dick)
I hate and pity him.
I loathe talking to him and I want him to not be alone
He tries to be the only thing in my life
I can’t stop him from affecting me when I’m away from him
I am my own person
But right now, that person is being pulled by another
(fucking dick)
~
The weight of a human life
He hands me his revolver, the one he keeps by his bed
“Show me how to load that whatever it is, I done forgot”
He fakes a country accent when he needs help with something
I think it’s to make people more likely to explain things in children’s words
He doesn’t like to think about anything
I start to show him, them realize what he needs it for
It gets heavy. So, so heavy. I almost drop it.
I ask him what he needs it for
He gives me a frustrated, sly look
“Target practice.”
I towel my fingerprints off the revolver and put it under a shelf.
“Well, I think I see how it goes anyhow. I got it now”
I nod and look at my hands
I won’t be an accomplice. Whatever that’s worth
Does a towel get rid of fingerprints?
TV said it does, but TV lies to people to make it easier for pigs to hunt
I cover up the spot I put it. Maybe he won’t think to dig through stuff
~
Jenny Wretch
There’s a woman that he knows, named Jenny Wretch
He met her a month ago, right after his first stroke
She is an evil thing, and she lays on the ground and looks beautiful
Her hair has trees in it, she wears a dress, and she is trying to steal him away
I’ve never seen her, I’ve been introduced, but I can’t see her laying there
There’s more people that come around too, some scare me
Big, tall featureless angels with spiderwebs of color for wings and no faces
They like to lean on my shoulder, their wings touching the ceiling
I’ve never seen them either, but I always get chills when he tells me they’re behind me
There’s little men in his house too.
“Little colorful bastard cocksucker piece of shit men that just want to fuck me over”
Every time, the same phrase. They’re knee high, and they “come through the colors, the colors that are all around, like… There, see that color? See it? No… You don’t see anything anymore…”
I’ve never seen them. Maybe I’m missing something.
I feel like the things around us that he sees are something more than just hallucinations.
I hope they aren’t
But the image of Jenny Wrench buried under his farmhouse that’s been rebuilt over and over for 300 years is still there
The angels that lean on me make me wonder if something spiritual is bleeding through his brain
And the little men sound like machine elves, but he of course had never heard of that when I asked
I hope they’re in his head. I really do.
But I can’t quite convince myself they are.
~
Speed as the output of emotion
My friend is making me watch his favorite racing movies with him
I never understood the way they talk about living for the speed and freedom, living your life a quarter mile at a time
It sounded dangerous, and scary
I got it today. Driving home from boss's house
(fucking dick)
I was upset and my heart was racing
(not that anything has changed since)
I was on a dirt road, and a turn on a hill was coming up.
I wasn’t thinking much about it until I was right there and couldn’t slow down in time to turn
I looked down, and I was going 80 in a 25
I yanked the wheel and slammed on the brakes and took the turn going 70
My SUV sprayed gravel across the trees and I felt weightless
I floated around the curve, and I felt the inside tires lift off the ground
All I could think was “Fuck. This is a $90k car. he's is going to kill me.”
My stomach clenched and I held my breath.
All the wheels hit the ground with a shake that clacked my teeth together
I flew down the road, unhurt, the speed picking up, feeling like I just controlled the world and made it my bitch
Only then, my mind said “I think I almost died”
And the feeling of bliss and euphoria rushed over me
I get it, Dom. I get it. A quarter mile life sounds pretty nice
~
Mediocre Manipulator
My Boss isn’t good at manipulation
(fucking dick)
He thinks he is
He really fucking thinks he is
He uses the most basic, kindergarten methods to try and get what he wants
“No no, we talked about it, you said you’d start working on saturdays, we just talked about it, I know I’m right”
No, we didn’t. I would have said no
Piece of shit
(fucking dick)
“Oh, it’s just one little thing, it’s one day out of your life, it’s not a problem
Really now, it’s just one day, you’re being selfish, this is my life we’re talking about
It’s not like I’ll be alive forever. When I’m dead you can do what you want”
No. I need time away from you, away from your bullshit and your pain
“Don’t I pay you enough? I pay you a lot… Not that I care about the money, of course
I just know I pay you a lot, and if you won’t even work one extra day a week what is it for?”
You do pay me a lot, you pay me a fair rate for someone of my skill level at my hours
You know this. We hired someone to set my salary.
Saturdays would make it go up 20%, pay me the 20%
“Oh, I gave you that nice car, with AC and the screens, and it’s a really nice car
Isn’t that car worth coming in on saturdays? Fuck, I paid almost $100k for it two months ago…”
No, I didn’t want that massive gas guzzling tank of an SUV. It’s not even my car, it’s a company car
I can’t drive my friends
I can’t get groceries in it
I can’t even drive it on the weekend
(oh the irony)
“Well, I guess you want me to just waste away and die then, I can’t last until monday, I can’t…”
Yes. Sounds like a plan
Have fun with that
~
Touching in my bubble
Stop touching me
(fucking dick)
Get your sticky hands off my arms.
Get your thumb out from under my collarbone
I don’t want a hug, you smell like piss and milk
Stop trying to touch me, I told you over and over
(fucking dick)
I don’t care if you like my hair, or my eyes
I don’t care how 'beautiful' I am to you
The ‘no homo’ ruins it anyway
Right in the dysphoria
(fucking dick)
It is homo, to you. That’s ok, but I’m 40 years younger and you still smell like piss and milk
Leave me alone, stop touching me
I told you before, stop.
~
Stacks of Mess
I live in a clean house
Nothing on the counters but appliances
Nothing on the floor but rugs and shoes
Everything is clean and pretty
I hate a mess, it makes me nervous and uncomfortable
My boss lives in a mess
(fucking dick)
His house is covered with a layer of honey, eggs, milk, and coffee
He won’t let me wipe it up
“I’ll do it, I need to do it my way”
Every surface is full of papers and guns and pills and medicine
He won’t let me organize it
“I can’t see anything out of my right eye, I need things to stay where they are”
Ok. Fair. I can be calm, I can be ok.
It’s hard, my breathing goes up and up and up, my heart rate goes up too
I count the seconds, I try not to touch anything
When it’s time to leave, I go home, and I clean
~
Death and the impact on the world
My boss is dying and he doesn't want to
My boss is dying and he wants it so so badly he can see it
He has two feelings, two men at odds inside him
His skin hangs and his words slur and he falls over all the time
He talks about how he needs to die fast but he never goes through with it
He keeps talking about it over and over and over for 18 months and the past month he's been talking like he'll do it right then and there now
Then just do it already, or don’t. I’m hurting and anxious, you’re blue balling death and there’s no hope of recovery
I want to scream and tell him he’s hurting me by going back and forth, but I think he’d like that too much
He keeps telling me “I want to live as long as I’m able, I don’t want to die, no way, no how”
He keeps telling me “I think I’m ready, I think this is the last time we’ll talk. Don’t come to my house for a few days, I won’t be here anymore”
Back and forth, pulling my mind and heart and soul, jerking my emotions around like a dog on a chain.
I don’t want him dead, I hate him, but not like that. In the “Oh dammit, he’s calling again” way, the way that fills you with dread, not the way that fills you with anger
He won’t die, I tell myself. He’s a real physical being, a constant of the world
Or rather, my world.
He believes in the rule of observation and the power of manifestation
It’s a philosophy he made up, or so he says.
He thinks that things don’t exist until he specifically observes them to exist, and that if he can make himself believe in something, it will exist and be true.
Sounds a lot like Schopenhauer to me.
Not his own ideas.
But he’s never read philosophy in his life, so maybe he’s this generation’s Schopenhauer
I think he won’t die, he won’t allow himself to see a world where that happens.
Then I realize his ideas have snaked their way into the back of my head.
They live there, like a poison.
He’s not the center of the universe, even if he genuinely thinks he is.
I have free will, so if anything it’d be me who is the center.
That’s stupid though. I am the center of nothing but my own problems
I keep thinking he’s faking it.
It feels like bad acting, like he’s trying to make people think he’s dying
He’ll snap back to his old self when he’s upset enough or if I tell him something unexpected
But then he fades back into the fog
I don’t know if he’ll die by stroke or heart attack or gunshot, but it’s coming, somehow.
~
Fire and screams and electricity
I wanna scream and fight and smash stuff
I wanna bleed or sing or cry or dance
I wanna run until my lungs give out
Or curl up inside someone’s chest cavity and sleep
I cut myself shaving again, sliding strips off of the skin in a slimy line
It felt like fire and fear, but it grounded me
I’m not going to do it again, but the surprise was nice
I want to smoke until I can see the stars inside
But my pen is being dumb again and won’t work right
I don’t know if it’ll work anyway
Weed is always hit or miss on me. Sometimes I get worse
I tried to get drunk but I only have a few cans of 4loko
I planned it out over the weekend already, one now, one then, one later still
Not enough to get drunk, just to help me through the social shit
If I have more now I’ll be a wreck when my friends are over
Focused me won’t even buy enough to have any during the week
“I’m cutting back for my health”
Stupid fucking responsible me
I need something to vent with, some outlet for my screaming darkness
I sound like a mid 2000s emo kid
They had it going on though
The fashion rocked, I don’t care who said otherwise
I felt like I needed to throw up the whole way home, but nothing came
There’s a bunch of worms inside me, crawling behind my eyes, kissing my brain
There’s a pressure there too, filling me, expanding me, trying to burst me
I don’t want to explode, but it might be nice
Just… letting it all out at once, feeling better instantly
I don’t know what that’d look like
I cried twice today, so it’s not that
Over music and dysphoria, not my boss, thankfully
(fucking dick)
I thank the spirits I’m not a violent person.
He mentions wanting to hurt someone when he gets worked up over his condition
I can’t imagine wanting to bring MORE hurt to the world
Who does that?
(fucking dick)
I gotta get my hands on some good downers
~
Outro
I can’t let him into my head
He’s a bastard, he doesn’t belong there
He fucks up everything he touches, and he has such long long fingers
I need to be calm, I need to be ok.
I need to find out what helps, and purge him from my brain
He doesn’t belong there
(fucking dick)
Thinking of it now
This helped