mad drunk genius

I used to have all sorts of problems. Now there's just the one.

Tag: cannibalism

Ants & maggots, sun & stars — Several Papers from a Severance

I’m interested, but I
didnt quite understand.
——I like making people
——happy & keeping still.

My girlfriend’s nickname in high school was ‘Fuckzilla.’

But my dental dam
cant stem the tide.

Teigen: For a while
I thought you were
useless, but now
I know.

Have a job that does 
good & have fun
doing it.

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Nothing drives me wild like redheads

Except blondes. And brunettes. And girls with hair jet black or gray or white or any unnatural dye. And I love clear, pale skin. And freckles and tattoos. And dark, perfect tans. And tan lines. Oh, if I had a choice, I’d want a girl with eyes green like emeralds, but I like girls with eyes blue like the sky best, and all I really want is my brown-eyed girl.

I like girls white and Asian, Mexican, Injun, Arabic, Persian, Slavic, Mediterranean. I want a pure Nubian princess, but I really want a girl of mixed blood.

I like my girls skinny, almost anorexic. I like to see the skin go over the ribs, but I like a girl with curves better, the hourglass figure, almost as much as a girl with a bit of a pooch, or more. And there’s nothing like an athletic girl with muscles sculpted perfect like marble to drive me mad.

I like them best 17 or 27, 7 or 48. I like them young and naive or cunning and sure. I like having to take it slow and teach them everything, I like it when they teach me something new. I like it when they first turn wild for it, I like it when they know exactly what they want and don’t bother pretending anything else. I like being the first to have a girl and being the latest. I like it when she gets hers first and then is tired of it and knows just what to do to make me finish and how to do it so there ain’t no use at all in fighting it. I like my mouth on a nipple like a baby trying for milk and I like the the coos that escape her mouth near like a baby, too.

I like them shaved and trimmed and bald and hairy, cleaned and washed or after a full day’s sweat, and I like them bleeding (with a towel down if it’s my place; anywhere if it’s hers). And I like every shape and fold because it’s as individual as each of them.

I like the satisfaction of desire, and I like the thwarting of desire, and I love the desire itself for what it is.

Give them all to me! I’m famished. I just want to look, to taste, to nibble, just to gorge.

Well, at least it rhymes

I ate her as she disappeared
I ate her as she cried
I ate her as she wept red tears
I ate her as they dried

It’s morning now, the churchbells ring. They sound like churchbells ought. The church attends to folk so poor, their souls are all they’ve brought. But these are what’s desired most, these souls that need be cleansed. Wash fresh the sins of naked flesh, the sins of naked men.

Too quick she left and took my fun
Took quick she ran home sobbing
But home at last is where she rests
While I’m alone, yet throbbing

You don’t quite seem to understand the service churches render. They remind us that we’re more than beasts, give reason to be tender. The laws of man are easy broke, man’s justice easier still. But the laws of God are absolute, and find us, good or ill.

Little girl, little girl, don’t lie to me
Don’t lie and spread your fibs
Was snake, not God, who made mankind
Eve’s children, Adam’s ribs

Salvation, then, is rarely found, in nature or in heaven, but here on earth it’s all around, all week, all day, each second. Salvation comes from Christ above, Christ the true Messiah. Christ alone can save weak souls, and rapture the pariah.

Too late, too late to change your ways
Too late to even try
Too late you fin’ly realize
To whom you owe your eye

Sick. I’m sick.

Sick to the stomach, sick with hunger, sick of life, sick to death. Sick from head to toe, but it’s all psychosomatic, so I guess I’m just sick of myself. I just wish I knew where the problem came from.

My daughter, she came up to me and said, “Daddy, daddy! What are we going to do today?”

“Nothing,” I told her, “You’re no daughter of mine and I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

She started to pout and said, “But why would you say something like that, Daddy?”

So of course I grabbed her round the throat and slammed her head into the wall until it came open and then I turned her upside down and drank her and ate her in pieces until I was full.

I woke up a moment later and found my fever still raging, along with an erection. I felt guilty for a moment but then consoled myself that dreams are dreams and we can’t control them. Can’t control whether we enjoy them or not, for that matter. On the bright side, my throat was dry no longer and my stomach felt sated. My fever still burned hotly, so I called for my dead mother to care for me.

She came in the room and then told me I needed to rest up.

“If you don’t preserve your strength, you’ll never get better.”

“I know that,” I said.

“Of course you do,” she said, “How else would I know it?”

She led me to the field of flowers and told me to lie down. I did, but then I started coughing up blood and then so much came up that there was a black pool beside me, and out of it rose up my daughter-who-wasn’t, reformed perfectly, though only to the waist.

“Hello big brother,” she said, speaking with hairy lips, “What are we going to do today?”

“I’m going to kiss you, little sister,” I replied, and did so, though she giggled when I attempted to do it in the manner of the French. Then I felt my tongue go inside her, face, too, head next, and then it was all wet darkness and I was afraid.

I woke up and turned on my side and threw up in the bucket beside me, but it was only chicken noodle soup and nothing rose out of it, not even a chicken.

I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, I was in the middle of space, gazing at an infinitely large sphere from the outside. All else was darkness, save this sphere, which was blue and cold. I looked and then awoke, and I have never been more frightened than I was then.

Sleep abandoned me after that, and I spent the rest of the day coughing, shivering, and throwing up food I hadn’t eaten.

The mind can cure almost anything, I’ve heard, but I think mine is too weak even to try.

Get Up

To love the spirit is worthy,
To love the flesh divine.
— Proverbs 14:40


A man from the crowd said, “Rabbi, my father was murdered last night and lies dead in our house as I speak.”

Jesus answered him, “Who can cut short what God has laid out forever? I tell you the truth, the spirit is eternal and everything God does will endure forever.”
-Matthew 22:36-37


“I warn everyone who hears the prophecy of this book: If anyone adds anything to them, God will add to him the plagues described in this book. And if anyone takes words away from this book of prophecy, God will take away from him his share in the tree of life and in the holy city, which are described in this book.”
-Revelation 22: 18-19

 

I was plagued by self-doubt all day. Why, I couldn’t say.

I had finished all of my chores and errands for the day and had nothing to do until dinner, so I felt like enjoying the natural serenity around me. The sky was blue, the grass green. Birds chirped and frolicked without care. I was in Eden again, though the Tigris and Euphrates were on the other side of the world.

Being hungry and somewhat tired, I sat down on a bench to enjoy my paradise, relaxing and basking in the warmth of the sun above me.

It had not been but a moment when from out of heaven there came down to me a large white sheet, held from far above at its four corners. As I looked into it, I saw a multitude of human forms, feminine and nearly divine, but ultimately mortal. There were all kinds: light skinned, dark skinned, tanned, red-headed, black-headed, brown-headed, blonde, freckles, dimples, short, tall, slender, stocky, young and mature. They were all healthy, clothed in nothing but the work of God, and the bounty of God rose in me immediately.

Then I heard a voice say to me, “Get up. Kill and eat.”

“Never, my Lord,” I replied, “I would never make myself impure in such a way.”

“Do not call anything impure that God has made clean,” I was told, and three more times I protested, but was chastised. Then the sheet ascended back into heaven and left me alone.

I woke and found myself back in Eden, a dark cloud over my head where the sun had once been. A raindrop fell on my hand, and I rose from the bench where I had dozed to go back to my bed and sleep. Once there, I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes, but tired as I was, sleep would not come. Instead, my mind watched the vision, reviewing it over and over again for errors and new revelation. I saw none.

My instructions were clear as scripture, clearer even for scripture come from God to man to words then back to man. This had come from God direct. What to do, what to do?

A voice—my own or the Lord’s I cannot say—spoke to me then and reminded me that the spirit was not a finite thing and endured forever. It was revealed to me that the eternal spirit survives even when the body does not. I then saw Elisha inherit a double portion of his master’s spirit and saw by how this was done. Elijah’s body was taken up to heaven, this is true, but the chariot was Elisha’s throat, and his bowels the whirlwind.

It was a miracle, I was told, but not a miracle of Elisha’s doing, for God alone determined who received such spirit and who did not. Did the Lord not use Elisha to even greater glory? Surely, this was a good thing.

I awoke then, and found it was morning and I was greatly distressed. Was Hosea not told to marry a prostitute? Was Ezekiel not told to prophecy, “This city is a cooking pot, and we are the meat”? Was Jonah, commanded to prophecy to the city of Nineveh, not swallowed by a great fish for failing to do so? How much more I, having been twice told.

Yet I also remembered King David who was incited by the Lord to give census to his nation in a time of peace, and whose punishment was the nation to suffer three days of plague, of which seventy thousand died. Unlike him, however, I have no shekels to buy an altar and am not the Lord’s anointed.

My plague was self-doubt, and I saw not how else to cure it.

One day I’d like to eat God

I think God resides inside children, so if I just bash one open and let the blood of life run into my mouth and sieve the flesh through my teeth and throat and stomach and bowels, I’ll find God and the breath of God, and the Holy Spirit, really, and find what makes everything animated, and find beauty and eternity and be happy forever.

I just like watching children run around, you know, and seeing the skin slip over the rippling muscle and sinew and bone and realizing, “This is life, this is what we’re here for,” and the idea of tearing it out and letting it drip on my chest makes me erect and mighty and full of vigor.

Jesus! I need a small child with me, or a young woman, or anyone just to cut open to let spill out somewhere for me to appreciate.

Gutter of consciousness

The unseen, the unheard, the unknown, the unavailable, the infinite, ineffable, indolent, incapacitated, articulate, article of faith that sweeps me off the threshing floor into the Great Fire as it burn higher and consumes my dry flesh, not meant for consumption in this world or the next.

I am a whore and a harlot, a slut and a starlet. I devour the flesh that pleases my eye without concern for source or why, but I need it. I need it like I need air and I must have it or else I’ll die. Starve and shrivel up and my unquenched thirst will parch me.

But to eat, to eat is to sin, to eat is to enjoy and that cannot be. It cannot be. The utterly vile desires of a base mind, a corrupt mind. But I live in a corrupt world. Do I not deserve to enjoy myself as I see fit? As it is fit. Is not God at fault for being pure in a world that is not?

I am justified in my action because I am a natural man and I behave naturally doing the things that come natural to me, and doing them with pleasure. Nay, gusto. Shall I stay in a moral torpor when I can be sinfully vigorous?

Is not sloth a sin?

If I do as I please, then it pleases God. He wants me to be happy and it makes him happy to see me happy. So that should be my greatest method of honoring him, no?

I am a created being and if he is my maker, my faults are his. Not mine. Certainly not mine. I am a wind up doll and he wound me up wrong and the wounds I feel and inflict are from his very hands, albeit it indirectly.

I am justified in doing evil because there is no evil. There is only existence and nothing after and I should feel rapture because I shall not be taken away from this place. I shall die and find myself disappointed with oblivion.

What greater sin is there than disappointment?