Myriad

You know what?

Fuck all that cynical bullshit. Fuck pretending not to care. Fuck being a hard-case or hard-arse or hard-whatever.

There some things that just feel good and make you feel good.

And you know what? Most of those things are soft and gentle and sweet.

So go ahead, pretend that you like nothing better than to go through three dozen girls a month, treating each one like a vaginal life support system. Go on fucking your ego to new proportions.

But do not for one second try and tell me you don't enjoy just laying there. Next to her. Feeling her skin against your own. Her warmth. Her gentleness.

Now don't think I'm against fucking. In fact I am all for fucking. If you read this and think that I have something against fucking, well then you'd be wrong (thanks Bill).

What I am sick of is all this bullshit macho posturing.

Soft is good. Sweet is good. Gentle is good.

Don't pretend like your some badass pimp who can fuck any chick he wants, when sometimes (maybe most times) all you want is to hold someone who is willing to hold you back.

And shit, you don't have to be in love with her. Just connect is all. Soft and sweet and sensual.

And don't act like a cunt afterward. Even if you are one.

If you don't find the joy,
then what's the point?

If you can't scrape together a smile,
then why bother?

If there is no spark of light
within the dark that has become the world,
then why even get out of bed?

Whether this life has a point or not,
Whether your beliefs are true or false,
Whether you are here or there,
Whether you are man or woman.

We all need to find a reason
to go on,
No matter how small.


I found some joy today.

The flowers bloom in the meadow,
Nothing lasts forever.

The mountains are strong and stand tall,
But nothing lasts forever.

The rivers are deep and cool,
Nothing lasts forever.

The Sun burns with the energy of life,
But nothing lasts forever.

The universe stretches on beyond imagination,
But nothing lasts forever.

You said you'll always be mine,
Nothing lasts forever.

It's been ten years since we were together.
I still think about you sometimes.

I don't love you and I don't ever want you back.
But I still think about you sometimes.

All you are to me is a memory
Of a time when I was young
When I was happy.

When I think of you it doesn't make me sad
And it doesn't make me horny
I feel no pain
There is no joy associated with your memory

But I still think about you sometimes
You are one of my memories

And that's more than most people can say.

I'm tired.

I'm tired because I've spent more of this weekend drinking than I have sleeping.

I'm tired of the women who won't fuck me. And I'm tired of the ones who will.

I'm tired of seeing friends and acquaintances forging on with lives of their own while I still sit and do nothing.

I'm tired of not fulfilling my potential.

But mostly I'm tired of the aimless existence that I've created for myself.

Like most straight men. I like pussy. No. I love pussy.

Women are great to. But pussy's fantastic.

When you're with pussy it's all about your hormones and your urges and thousands of generations of your DNA screaming at you to "Eat it, lick it, suck it, FUCK IT!"

So you do, because it's what you were made for. This is your purpose in life. Everything you've ever done or ever will do is because of pussy.

It's the kind of realisation that can bring enlightenment. Complete and total inner peace. Inner peace and a hard-on.

This is the reason for your pathetic existence. And for a moment that existence has meaning. It's good. When she moans, and screams, and writhes, and comes in your mouth, and squeezes your cock, and crushes your ears with her thighs. When she fulfills HER purpose. You become one with the universe and all is well.

It's just a shame that nothing lasts forever. Perfection is fleeting. There's only so much time you can devout to pussy. Only so much energy you have to expend. Only so long you can spend with your tongue tasting like piss before you need to stop.

But the good thing is once you've rested you can go back for more. Once you've gone off one particular brand or vintage, you can go find another that will allow you to continue to fulfill your purpose. Because pussy is why you exist and you are why pussy exists. That is your meaning of life. If God existed, pussy was his reason for creating you.

Pussy, cunt, vagina. A sexual organ by any other name...

The other night I had a dream.

The dream took place entirely from my point of view.

The focus of the dream, the main character, was none other than the late great Bill Hicks.

The dream itself wasn't anything spectacular. Nor did Bill do anything wild, or crazy, or memorable. He was just kinda in it. It was some sort of party/function and there were kids in some kind of costumes dancing and singing and banging drums and shit. Just a party. And Bill Hicks was there. I don't remember what he said, or why we were there, All I remember is that I had a dream and Bill Hicks was in it.

I guess the reason I had it is because this past Sunday I spent the entire day reading a biography about Bill called American Scream. It's not the one written by his pal Kevin Booth, but it was still a great read.

I read Bill's story, some of which I knew, some of which I didn't know shit about. I almost cried when it got to the part at the end where he was dying. I guess I would've cried if I wasn't such a coward. Maybe I did cry and I'm just to embarrassed to admit it.

You see the thing is, a few weeks back I had another dream. This dream involved another comedian. One Doug Stanhope. It was after Doug's trip to the desert with a group of his friends and colleagues. I had read the stories that those good people posted on Doug's message board and the pictures as well.

This dream was, well, a little different. First of all, the entire dream was in sepiatone. The dream itself consisted of mainly Doug and some pals driving down some desert highway on the way to the party. There was Doug, Hinty and Andy in a convertible and another car that had Renee and Baby Arm Joe and Mat Becker (I think).

Basically the dream was just them driving and fucking around in traffic then they stopped at a diner. Then for some reason they stopped at a broken down, old, rusty tanker sitting in the desert. While there they rolled around in the sand, had some laughs. Good, clean desert fun.

Now all this got me thinking. Why the fuck am I dreaming about these two comedians. True, I had just absorbed a great deal of information about both of these guys prior to each dream. But? Is that sufficient?

Some would say yes. I would say, "I don't think so". I don't doubt that the information absorption was a factor but I think that there may be more to it than that.

You see the thing is, both of these guys are comedians. Doug Stanhope is a funny fuck. His humour is clever and filthy and he pulls no punches. Bill Hicks is a funny fuck also. Bill is quite possibly the greatest comedian of all time, definitely one of the best. I guess it all depends on who you ask.

What I'm trying to get at is that these two "comedians" changed the way I think. Or at the very least put me on the road to change. Although maybe "social commentators" is a better description. Regardless. I'm a different person after having discovered their work.

It seems strange that two comics were the catalyst for my own personal, intellectual sea change. It doesn't seem that such change would come from such a quarter. But then again where else would it come from? A priest?

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that you should keep your eyes open and your ears to the ground. You never know where your own personal 'enlightenment' may come from. I hesitate to use that word but fuck it. I'm not a thesaurus.

If you've never heard Doug or Bill, do so. If your easily offended, deal with it. It's a big bad world out there and you can't keep your head buried and pretend it's all rainbows and daffodils.

Now don't get me wrong. It's not like I worship at the feet of these guys. They influence my thinking. After discovering them, they way I thought about things changed. Not necessarily what I thought about, just the way I went about it. I guess I started 'reading between the lines'. Fuck I hate that phrase.

All I'm saying is, everyone changes. Part of my change involved two guys who are funny as fuck. That's all I'm saying.

Got fired from the bar today.


Fuck.

There are things in life that we choose not to talk about.
There are things in life that we choose not to see.
There are things I refuse to believe will affect me.
There are those who just won't let a man 'be'.

If I was more of a man I could speak the truth.
If I was more of a man I could tell you.
If I was more of a person who listened.
I'd be more of a person who knew.

Silence is where I live now.
It's all quiet in my mind.
Wondering what lays ahead for me.
Is there someone in kind?

Is that what I was meant to be?
Is that how it's supposed to go?
Is there some other way out for me?
Or must it always be so?

It's not that I wasn't into her. She was hot. On any other day I would have been in her pants in a heartbeat (or at least trying to get in there). The fact that I was more than slightly intoxicated was definitely a factor, but truth be told I've hooked up with women whilst I was barely breathing. Those evenings have usually ended in embarrassment for everyone involved.

She'd been hanging off me for about an hour. I know I may not be the coolest cat in the club, but I know when a chick digs me. This girl was definitely up for it, and judging by my semi-erect member I was pretty well up for it too.

I ordered two more drinks for myself and she got herself another Malibu and coke. I felt like Edward Norton in Fight Club, "After fighting, everything else in your life got the volume turned down." I hadn't been fighting, but the world was definitely turned down. She'd been talking shit for an hour and I didn't hear a damn word she had said. I think her name was Sarah.

Maybe she found my sullenness attractive. Perhaps she thought my silence was cool. Perhaps she was just another lonely soul looking for something, someone. Maybe she was reaching out to someone so she wouldn't have to go home alone and cut herself again.

After a couple of hours of this torment I found myself agreeing to go home with her. Everything inside me screamed to me to just go home and crawl into bed. This was a mistake. Not tonight. Call her in a week. Just not tonight. But sometimes when you decide something no-one can change your mind, not even if that someone is you.

Her place was close by. No time to sober up and think straight by the time we got there. As soon as we were in the door she was all over me. I tried to keep up as best as I could, but soon I was lost in a whirlwind of tits and pussy and all I could do was close my eyes and hope she didn't break anything.


Savage. That's how I would describe it. If you've ever seen a starving animal attack a fresh carcass, you have some idea of what it was like. I was the prey and she was a lioness, hungry and vicious. I never had the chance to find out but chances were she hadn't been to bed with anyone for a very long time.


That night passed in a whirlwind. Most of my recollections of that night are pretty hazy. There were a lot of sex toys. Beads, vibrators, whips, etc. Lots of lube. Lots of leather. She fell asleep before I did and as tired as I was I walked home as soon as she had passed out.

Come morning I felt like I like I had just run a million marathons. Every part of my body ached. My dick felt like hamburger and my soul felt like coal. I was angry and ashamed. Tired and sad. I wondered whether she would see my face again. I wondered whether she had any regrets. I wondered why I didn't just stay home that night.


I sat in my apartment, alone. It was Monday and I was waiting for the call. I spent all day Sunday moping in my room, expecting what would be coming the next day.

The phone rang on Monday. It was 1:43pm. The voice on the other end was female. Her voice sounded familiar. I put down the receiver and started to change. I grabbed my jacket and headed out. That walk was a long one. I shivered almost the whole way. I knew I had to go but every instinct inside me told me I should just turn around and run.

I opened the door and hesitated. This was it. I looked up the stairs and froze. I stood there for what felt like hours until the old guy behind me pushed his way through. I followed him up the stairs.

I sat there alone as I waited for her. My mind was racing. I couldn't sit still. Finally she walked in.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news... Your test results have come back positive... Have you had sex within the last three months?..."