Anti-climax

Yesterday, in my quest to find out how virile I am, I gave a blood and semen sample. The doctor told me my semen needed to be at the lab within 2 hours after "unloading", so he gave me only 30 minutes to run home, bust a nut, and get the sample back to him. It was weird, but worth it for the uniqueness of the experience. On the hurried way home everything was in my favour - the traffic lights turned right when I approached them, the elevator came right when I called it. I hadn't touched myself impurely for a while (over 1 day) so I'd have a good, big load to give him. After I'd done the deed I rushed back and proudly passed my urine and semen to the nurse, who huridly stuffed it under the counter and said I could go. What an anti-climax. I was hoping for a cup of tea and a biscuit at least. Note to anyone who is going to do this - remember the arm they took all that blood from is going to be a little sensitive.

Live

“Mixed media piece – pastel, acrylic, ink and whiskey on torn paper”. This is the result of finally acquiring the one Velvet Underground album I’ve never heard – “Live at Max’s Kansas City”. I’m incensed. Veritably alive.

Closer to god

After another night of "Songs for Drella" I'm starting to understand what it must be like to be a religious fundamentalist. I listen over and over, each time I practice drawing, and each time I learn something more. Each time I become one step closer to Andy Warhol. Each time I become closer to eternity.

A Lifelong Romance

Spring is in the air and a young man's thoughts turn to slamming. This is me something like 15 years ago. I don't remember who I was then, or who I wanted to be. Hundreds of self-portraits later and not a lot has changed. Apart from the general disappointment in the human race and the diminishing blind insistence that existence is consequential, the overall lust remains, and the fundamental pleasures still lure me into a perpetual momentum; constantly lunging at beauty like a tethered, frenzied dog. Mindless, desperate longing.

Coming to a Head

Hi G, The world is coming to a head; I am drunk on Jim Beam and full of dogmatic passion, ready to kill for my cause. As soon as I define it I’m going out and starting the slaughter.

I was speaking to Kiriko about loss and suffocating inability, and since then I’ve loved her without restraint. If only I could take the pain of the world and strangle it into nothingness with my bare hands. If only the cause could submit to the effect.

Constant Nagging

Hey G. If I only had the balls to remove my balls, I’d be free from all this nonsense and be able to get down to business. I do, sometimes, also worry, though, that by removing the incessant distraction I’ll also remove the drive that provokes me to do anything of consequence. Man, I hate being half animal, half god. Dogs and deities have no idea how good they have it. I masturbated this morning to get rid of that constant nagging. By this evening I was back at it again.

Admire

A while ago I met a brain-damaged man selling tickets to a duck race. His contorted, half-shaven, spittle-crusted face seemed twisted from agony. He walked like he had to drag half his body but spoke with clarity. He told me that the doctors had said it would be impossible for him to walk again after his accident, but after 14 months he had learned to walk. He said “What can I do? I have children, I have a family, I have to stand up.” I’d never met anyone with brain damage before, and he was amazing.

Yesterday a young girl approached me with a donation box as student pests often do. As I waved her aside she looked up and smiled and I saw the same twisted, contorted face that belies brain damage. When I returned along the same street I searched her out and found her facing the street, pretending to read her phone. She was so out of place, in a society that prefers to keep its disabled tidily behind closed doors. She had guts to stand out there trying to make money. I gave her money and she gave a big smile and said thank you in English. She was pretty, despite her tortured muscles, and I felt something like admiration. Exactly admiration.

Gross Bravado

Another day, another night full of whiskey and “Songs For Drella”. I’ve decided to ‘publish’ my drawings. Partly as an impetus to do well and partly to feed my relentless self-absorption. Looking back over my existence I have very few memories. I remember the more extreme violence, passion, every single death and every single bike crash, the overdose and the occasional dream. Apart from these landmarks the only other thing I remember is drawing and painting. When I lie, grasping for my last breath, one of countless animals slipping from gross bravado to non-existence, I will remember these moments and cling desperately, pointlessly, to them.

Get on the Good Foot

My good wife, Kiriko, has introduced me to a phenomenon rarely understood or practiced in the Western world - the Japanese art of being able to take off your shoes without untying them. For years I've watched in envy Japanese people coming home and effortlessly slipping off their shoes at the doorway then, in a simple dance, getting them back on when they leave. What you need to do is not pull the laces too tight, and tie the knot a little loose. I have a freedom I've never experienced before. At airport security a couple of days ago I had my shoes off and in the tray in seconds, and I no longer fall sleep in my shoes - so easy is it to take them on and off. Brilliant. What will they think of next?