Southern comfort on the rocks
Drinking southern comfort on the rocks normally makes my balls tingle and my cock crave cunt juice, but not tonight. Tonight I don't feel like fucking anyone. It's kinda strange, all the fuss I made about this girl, that girl, but now I just find myself tired of everything, people, everything, limp dicked and slumped in my seat. Not even the tender commerce of a prostitute appeals.
Outside, in the world, people go about their lives regardless -- and fair enough, I am, after all, after every bean is counted, mere text. Ordinarily I would whip my mind into a lather of rage, pick an opponent, go straight for the throat, the kill and the glory, but I am totally exhausted. They say, them, they do, that power is an aphrodisiac, but in the right quantities I find it is also an effective anaesthetic, a pain inflicted on others is a pain cleaved, surgically carved out like a scalpel, if cancer patients could by force of will gift their tumours to the healthy then I'm sure they would. It is a grim day indeed when not even the thought of psychic vandalism can give me a hard on.
Sometimes when I cough into my fist I find it covered in a thick black tar.
Eros and Thanatos, sex and death, the honey and it's venom -- I'm far too tired for any of these pleasures. I do not want any of you. I do not tip the milkman extra, or leave for him special instructions sealed in lipstick. I do not eat green eggs and ham, although I have tried them (in sandwiches) on occasion.
Outside it is sleepy, hazy with the midday heat and tired, so tired, so tired.
- - -
I'm glad Sass is coming to visit.
Outside, in the world, people go about their lives regardless -- and fair enough, I am, after all, after every bean is counted, mere text. Ordinarily I would whip my mind into a lather of rage, pick an opponent, go straight for the throat, the kill and the glory, but I am totally exhausted. They say, them, they do, that power is an aphrodisiac, but in the right quantities I find it is also an effective anaesthetic, a pain inflicted on others is a pain cleaved, surgically carved out like a scalpel, if cancer patients could by force of will gift their tumours to the healthy then I'm sure they would. It is a grim day indeed when not even the thought of psychic vandalism can give me a hard on.
Sometimes when I cough into my fist I find it covered in a thick black tar.
Eros and Thanatos, sex and death, the honey and it's venom -- I'm far too tired for any of these pleasures. I do not want any of you. I do not tip the milkman extra, or leave for him special instructions sealed in lipstick. I do not eat green eggs and ham, although I have tried them (in sandwiches) on occasion.
Outside it is sleepy, hazy with the midday heat and tired, so tired, so tired.
- - -
I'm glad Sass is coming to visit.