Obituaries: Women

[Sepia]

You wake up this day and you feel completely normal. You know it's not going to be a shit day but it's not going to be a good day, it's just going to be a day. There will be a desire present to kill the hours of that day, like waiting for a plane or waiting for her to be satisfied in some way so you can take your cock out of her because it doesn't feel like anything and you should have been numb but you're still on x. It's a normal day and you're disappointed for you wanted a day that would feel right from the start, something that took you and shook you and made you feel alive, something that was so different from every other day that you've had for as long as you can remember and you don't want to know what day was the last you remembered, you just want something to take you and shake you and make you feel alive. It's not this day for you feel it from the start, you do not feel like time machine go you feel like you're trying to figure out how to describe the fourth dimension using only a rubiks cube. This is your day and I'm sad to say it but this is your life.

The keeper of the marigolds say that Love is not the strongest emotion, it is Longing. If you've ever been in love and divided by something archaic like time, space or geography, this rings a certain truth in your heart. The person or icon you build in your mind with memories from the past and sometimes from the future, you automatically build something that is bigger than life. You cry when you see sleepless in seattle on a wednesday night or perhaps you read shakespeare for the first time but you've already forgotten that you should still walk before you ride a bike. Is it about upbringing? There is no story. Wait. That's wrong. There are no good endings. Do you know why? You think it might have to do with interpretation and you invoke magic and you begin talking about gysin before heading into burroughs terrain and telling us that language is a virus and we'll tell you no, existence as we perceive it is a virus, everything is a virus, a system, a concept of truth or order, everything is everything and the way you are able to handle day to day basics by waking up on your normals days is because you have attached the labels to everything even though you don't believe in labels but every day there is a man in a kitchen longing for the dishwasher that quit, there is a woman longing for the times when she was not stuck in this life and there is a man longing for the perfect end which will make everyone understand, not agree.

Then there's the other days. The remarkable days, the memories that help define you instead of being blurred snapshots in the eye in the back of your mind. I will tell you of two things now, I will tell you of women and I will tell you of writing and since writing is short and women are long, writing comes first. Some female writer once said that giving out a book is like delivering a child and I feel the same way, almost. I have no possibility to experience childbirth like that but every time I write something I know is not just filling, I feel the same way I do as when I wake up on normal days and take a shit and the shit is perfect. Perfect amount, perfect smell and perfect percentage of farts, perfect weight and perfect disgust in the face of the next user of the toilet. Something child like, schadenfreude as when it was natural and not trained. That is writing. Writing is a biological necessity and you have to do it regularly or it will fuck me up.

So I write about the women. For they are beautiful. Come spring where everything shows more of themselves and while I haven't yet found arousal by watching at the men, I have of the women. The sexual attraction, the sheer retardedness of it all, the biological imperative yet again screaming in the back of your head and you've always been a good boy, you've basically been a slut but no one is calling you that and you could fill in a std form in your sleep but even though you coveted another man's wife you never went that path, never to break or make, skipping to and fro, chickenshit if the road was to take you to the crossroads where old Bøygen sat with his spoon and his plans. You were a good boy and you treated the world like glass, forever a painted white elephant in that one store and here stagger lee, is your life. Do you recognize it?
Then. You met a woman. She was ordinary at first but she lashed out and gave you a desire for the very same biological need and you drank her in as you would close to drown in her stories, her skin, her eyes and her bed. She was everything you ever dreamed of but found in the last place you'd go looking. Funny how some of these old plotlines keep returning even though we are aware of them? Anyway, you'd find her there and you'd see beyond the veil of someone and cupid had his flaming arrow in your heart and you were left shivering on the couch, dreaming of the end of the world. Every good love story begins with a no. Everything interesting begins with a no. Love the word, for it is a catalyst of destruction. Love the women for they are in their own right.

It is known she has a boyfriend but he seems so dull. Then, your mind processes it and you interpret it and there is no conclusion. Like standing on your knees with a semiboner wanking yourself, thinking that you as a human being is impotent. You shall not covet another mans wife. It's one of the things you don't do same as you don't go drink at work when you know they're going to be busy and you don't steal stuff that others need to be professional. You're not an ass, you're a good boy. Scared shitless but a good boy none the less. Now you're at a crossroads. Do you grow out of your narrowmindedness and into something else? Into reality, into adulthood, into facing the facts? Do you take what you feel you have no claim to, do you twist proudhons words in your mind, do you remember our good old mascot hassan i sabbah? How he was so drunk that one intermission that he stumbled and fell and his tights ripped open and he had this gigantic cock turning into

Do you go deeper or do you deny these allegations? You see these women on the walls and they're both smiling, both wonderful and when you see them like this, two different kinds of wonderful perfection, you wonder if there is an alternative to pancetta in a carbonara. I think it's important to talk about food when talking about women, like it is talking about wine when talking about women. I'm writing this from perspective so any kind of deviation from my perspective as you would interpret it, completely openminded, like that dude you hang out with sometimes because you know he's a liar and he'll have a few good yarns before going to the next pub. These are all lies. I have always written lies and will always do. What others call it differs but for me they will always be lies like the man on the telly when you realize you can't touch him or the kid from home alone being taken for sniffing cocaine at eleven or something, the death of santa. I'm writing lies and the funniest lies are the obituaries. Sorry.

Women can get away with following tacky trends or being retards when there is little clothing involved. I hope the same goes for men but I'm not betting on it. Here sits Bøygen in your crossroads good boy, here you meet him and while you think it's about the soul, that's only a faint memory from the future. For he's here and he has a special spoon for you and you can see in his eyes that he's not fucking around. Here, little boy, sit, as I will tell the tale.  Good old Tristan, good old Isolde, this is a truth. You lie in your garden as you did when you were a little and good boy and you watched the clouds through the apple tree and as an apple fell you dodged and repositioned yourself, you jumped away from all of life's miracles, you jumped away from the war and the battle, you skipped over the fray and why was it? Did you seek your perfect ending for too long?

There are no endings. Initiation never ends.

This is what you tell yourself when you sleep, isn't it? This is the truth and  hope you cling to, never explaining it to others, exploding in tantrums saying you wouldn't understand and one day a prince on a fucking unicorn will fuck you with its horn. Until then you are lost in your own bog of self-pity. Fret not, self-loathing is where it all begins so there's just one more drop until the bottom where you break or make something because everybodys always watching the end of the abyss like everyones always looking up at the sky. Now, you hate yourself but you still have problems and jay-z was wrong and you can feel your world caving in because this is something that should have been worked out weeks ago but you're still here, desiring to break hearts in the darkness.

[Cramulus]

Jesus, Bren

honestly
thought I was going to cry


I demand demand demand (beg) that you send me a doc with your writings

which I will pour into an intermittens layout or something

more people need to see this stuff

[Triple Zero]

Wonderful piece! Question, would it hurt to add a littlebit more punctuation? If it interrupts your personal "flow" of getting words from your head to the keyboard, I can understand. But if it's meant to be a stylistic thing, perhaps better let it go in favour of readability.
Because honestly, your writings do not need the stylistic element of lack-of-punctuation to signify a stream-of-consciousness atmosphere, it's clear for just what they are.

[Dysfunctional Cunt]

WOW, I'm stunned at how great this is!!

[Sepia]

Wonderful piece! Question, would it hurt to add a littlebit more punctuation? If it interrupts your personal "flow" of getting words from your head to the keyboard, I can understand. But if it's meant to be a stylistic thing, perhaps better let it go in favour of readability.
Because honestly, your writings do not need the stylistic element of lack-of-punctuation to signify a stream-of-consciousness atmosphere, it's clear for just what they are.

Well, most of these rants are just streams of consciousness and I'm usually high off of something when I write it plus the fact that none of these have been revisited and revised. Pure brainfilth. I've also read much beat and I think it's influenced both my writing and my thinking and while there's still some sort of evolution about it in my head, I have no idea.

Thanks for the kind words and a pdf will come around when work isn't being a cunt and it will be all of the old tales you've heard before and it will be fabolous!

[the last yatto]

[Honey]

Trembling! 

WoW!  Yum.

[navkat]

Well, your streams of consciousness satisfy all the little places David Foster Wallace forgot.

[The Wizard]

God, these are wonderful...

[Pope Pixie Pickle]

that was .... shit cant find a good enough word to express its.... fuck... awesomness :head desk: Sometimes i let myself down.. but dude... nice.