Girl, you have no faith in medicine.

A stuffed jackass barely in my arms as I lay on wrinkled sheets begging for sleep, staring at the fluorescent glow of an aquarium, wanting to see the minnows but they’re hiding in the plants. I shut off the lights, stare at the glow of a streetlamp discoloring the blue curtain instead. What color is that?

“It’s like being a fourth year transferee all over again. Everybody has their own cliques and it’s difficult to penetrate any group – y’know?”
“That’s what it’s like over there,” Michael says. “It sucks.”
“But it’s okay. I mean… I’m getting a lot of time to read. And I have my camera.”
“That’s good. Are you seeing anyone?”
“No. It’s probably a good thing. I’m getting tested on the fifteenth and I shouldn’t get involved with anyone ‘til after.”
“Yeah.”
“…So how are you?”
Garbled static.
“Hello?”
Silence. Static.
“You there?”
Dial tone.

I know the lonely ocean and
The lonely ocean knows me

Vivid as the imagination is, masturbation only gets you so far, only makes you so satisfied. Do I still have the stamina for sex?

I contemplate fucking a pillow to find out, discard the idea, pick it back up again, throw it in storage. I wonder what facial expression my lola in heaven would wear if she could see me screwing the furniture on an experiment. Would she simply find it silly, smirk, and roll her eyes? Did she ever do the same? Would she be disgusted and pray for my soul’s redemption? My train of thought wanders in that direction then brings me back to a better question: Do I have the emotional stamina for a sexual relationship?

I contemplate masturbating again. Maybe a second time will wear me out enough for sleep. If not, then surely a third…

When was the last time I did it? …Oh right. That time. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? It would’ve happened again after the Christmas party but he was drunk as fuck and smelled like my father. This makes me recall the men, their signature aromas, sharper in my mind than any memory of their naked bodies. Fried food, motel soap, dried sweat, saliva… Nivea, Gauloises lights, leather, licorice… Latte machiatto, Rexona, hair goo, cheese…

I wonder what they remember about me and wallow in self pity for a while in the idea that they don’t recall a thing. I get over it and go back to jerking off. Oddly enough, the man in my mind is someone I’ve never known and his face changes with every spasm, there is no smell of him to recall afterwards.

The lonely ocean sees the end
The lonely ocean sees me

The lonely ocean in my hand
The lonely ocean hands me

I woke up today and felt pointless. But I’m taking a shower and cooking breakfast at lunchtime. There’s still a movie and a half I haven’t seen in the stack of rented DVD’s and a Christmas tree waiting to be stripped and tossed - our holiday whorenament. She’ll find herself on a street corner collecting frost until the garbage men take her corpse. As minor revenge, her needles will hide in the carpet and stab our soles.

The lonely ocean swallows sand
Swallows loneliness, swallows me



... Okay. Casting self-indulgent dramatic monologue aside, I recommend you view the movie, "Little Miss Sunshine" starring Greg Kinnear, Toni Colette, Steve Carell and others. It made me laugh until my stomach hurt and it's been a while since that's happened. Steve Carell is great! He should do more dramatic roles. Can't believe he was also the star of "40-year-old Virgin". Which reminds me: Happy Birthday, Moncho. :) Love ya, bai.