Skip to main content

Will and Testament

Last day of freedom. But why just now.

The more I say, the less I do. When the clock begins ticking, it's me that does the reverse. Does that make me the anti-clock? Probably.

Eleven months later the plan goes into full motion. Hopefully this time it leads to fruitful results. A little bit unprepared really but the plan is already set in motion. Honestly, I just remembered it five minutes ago. Fuck.

So they say I should honour my own principles lest I be buried within the shadows of my doubts. I always have doubts, everyone has their own doubts. No matter the issue, there will always be doubts, and doubts give me reassurances. Reassurances that I need to overcome obstacles. Obstacles I need to overcome to gain maturity. Maturity that I never had, ever so evasive, ever the trickster, ever the pain in the fucking ass.

We swallow the pride. Our pride. Yes, I am poor. We are poor. Poor in spirits, poor in wealth, poor even in hardships. Yet I stand here bearing the potential that I can never see or touch or smell. Except the lingering scent of shit in this room, from last night's poo party, I reckon.

The end of vices, whichever ones, begins today and ends tonight and goes on mirroring the next day and the next day after the next day and the next day after that day and so on.

Put my pen to paper. Finally that audacity, that well-needed urge. I should have done this a long time ago.

Speaking of scents, worry about hygiene constantly. Why constantly? Just because. Tidiness should be a priority. A changed man's itinerary almost always begins there.

Talk about fucking moving one's ass. Find a job and stop fapping. It's not good for the blue balls.

It's time to eat the fucking world. Shout, don't whisper. Run, don't walk. Punch, don't slap.

The real man, the one true man, it growls when its internal organs harden. It hardens when it's threatened. It's threatened to remain tame. The one true man controls both.

Getting laid, of course, is a given. Not the hardest adversary really but potentially the trickiest. There are many a factor involved, most of which are known to even the imbecile.

Fix the fucking sleep. Not just sleep there, sleep then. Find a motion, if you will. Take advantage of the fact that the sun disappears and reappears over and over even when you're non-existent.

Go outside. Smell the fresh scent of others' faecal breaths. Get run over in the streets while on a bike. Pick a fight with a chav, act a loon. Read books in parks, but in reality eyeing little girls with bad intent.

Imagine a life of dystopia. Remind yourself of the dreams of well-informed men. Make it your nightmare. Piss yourself into thinking the time, as the anti-clock would, has finally, and inevitably, come. Revolve your thoughts into a basin and put a piledriver in the middle. Somehow smile at that image while coercing the heavens to do the same.

I would order people to bend to my will. Even to no avail. Exert your authority. Burn the cesspool of filth if needed.

Climb atop the mountains of Central House, knowing fully well the lift is down and out.

Create a paradox dedicated for myself. Linger at the idea and create a barrier between reality and imagination. Do what you fucking can to rule the world. It's ours for the taking. Our enemies are none the wiser.

Start dancing anywhere you see fit. Be the master of the plains. Commit arson, commit treason, commit even your own god-fucking-damn daughter.

Complete global saturation of the pig population, literally and metaphorically. That includes the pigs itself.

Take evidence of it all. Full accounts, interviews, videos, photographs, photographic memories, even taxidermy. Cut your heart out for souvenirs.

From atop my own balcony, I wait. I wait for that one particular moment. Full of intent and disgust, flood the mind with tragic melodies. Be glad no one's there to witness it all. The grandest spectacle of all.

And lastly, make friends with your selves. For they are the only true company.

Popular posts from this blog

Strange Fruit

I had recently adorned a vow of silence for myself with Miriam for no apparent reason whatsoever other than to suit my whim, and, regardless of the pettiness associated with this misdemeanour, I pray this will only strengthen us both in spirit for the coming days. The coming days are definitely not meant for one such as me.
In the next few hours, not shortly before I am done with this piece, this vow will be disavowed. Miriam is sleeping soundly in my right, broken by the exhaustion that seemed to catch her unaware. This was not what she had prepared for when coming to London. This was not what I meant for her when I asked her to come. In order to alleviate the guilt of me making it more difficult for us both, I do what it is that I do best, and that is to love her hungrily and wildly. And some little bit of swag on the side to cure her state of frustration albeit temporarily.
My days are long and yet wields very little. For now I do and take whatever I can, whenever I can. A grand f…

Snippet: In her darkest days, Elaine (worldbuilding), unfinished

Voices of strange busybodies could be heard on the other side of the edifice. Elaine reckoned she recognised one of them. An old friend. Perhaps not necessarily a friend, or not technically a friend. A friend is a rare commodity for her these days. She could walk right past them and not blink an eye, but Elaine waited for a little bit more until the lot toned down. Having a group of opposites around her, poking her skin through their eyes, meticulously making sure she was an enabler who to them an abundant source of entertainment, was all the reason needed to convince herself to back away from the complexity of it all. Home is an awful lot more awful than this place though, Elaine thought, as she gripped her handbag tightly, hoping the ray of darkness from the moon would envelope her and shield her from the attention of the lonesome trail.
"This would not have happened had you only listened to me, Elaine," complained Darco. "Half the people out there would skin us both…

True Blue

Bits and pieces of things long lost have started appearing out of nowhere all of a sudden. Memories of people, places, and thoughts associated with my belongings knock at the door waiting to be let in, never to be left on its own accord. I am to be the master puppeteer of this cerebral construct, of nightmares I wish were forgotten, of people I wish to rid all manner of associations with.
Mother had surprised Miriam with a message for me. Of a very far-fetched idea on how to maximise my potential to become something which I totally am not. A preacher for a religion I have absolutely no faith of of all things. Perhaps as a way to once again fuck up and atone for the totality of my insufferable existence. Fortunately for me I now have total control of my destiny. Something of which has never brought me much satisfaction, in fairness, true, but still the freedom to be a clueless and monumental buffoon is much more satisfying than to be a scholar trapped in the confines of virility, prej…