mad drunk genius

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

Tag: sex

Piss in my bed, piss on my life

On a Friday, I lost my job & with it my healthcare.

On Monday, I learned that my longterm ex had been sleeping with my housemate, and that his infidelities in their relationship—and her complaints about him doing so as her direct superior—led to his firing & her continued mental breakdown.

On Wednesday, I learned my teeth are in need of much attention that will need dental coverage I probably can’t afford.

Thursday morning I awoke to find a sexual partner had drunk herself to excess & pissed herself in her asleep (again).

Thursday afternoon, a woman who’d just gotten out of a break-up let me know that when she wanted to hang out with me, she had no sexual interest implied.

Very little in this actually related. All of it feels like it is.

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Ninety percent of self-control is having something to get up for in the morning

June 2, 2016
Being an asshole is like halitosis.

——Your essence projects farther than your breath.
Learning who not to date is like riding a bike
& people’s advice only matters so much.
——Politics is joining people you can stand
——to stop the people you cant.
Franchise restaurants seem like safe bets till
you eat at one.
——I dont know when I got antisocial.

June 11, 2016
The politics of spite & purity mean you’re OK to hate
something without further examination, but any support
will be torn apart if it isnt perfect.
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Love has many homonyms

——I dont know anyone but myself
——& the images I make of others.
All images are hallucinations & all love self-love.
——Sex is masturbation with yrself.
I keep expecting to see her car disappeared.
But then I never expected she’d come.
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Everything is still just as wonderful as I remembered

For weeks, I’d been hoping to get ahold of some Psilocybin mushrooms and sort of turn back the tide of self-obliteration that always builds so much, especially when I’m not writing anything (good). Someone did, and we took them together, and life got better.

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Don’t be fooled

So this is the way of things, the always-going-to-be way of things, where people in our each & own individual realms of selfish ambition do behave without regard to anyone else tho we like to tell ourselves we are acting in that way all the time do behave.

Hey! You know what you’re up to. No one else does.

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And yes it’s a stupid holiday.

Me: I keep getting with women whom I tell, ‘Look, fuck who you want, but just tell me when you do alright?’ And they fuck ex boyfriends or some random dick & don’t tell me for weeks if ever, and for the latest time I realize I am a real asshole, and value your friendship & personage even more.

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In the end, my eyes were dry but my chin was wet

I was getting out of work after another long but OK day & I’d been told about that Connecticut thing & how 20 kids had died, but I hadnt had any time to really think or care about & anyway, it’s my job to tell people on the street that everday 19000 kids dont make it to their 5th birthday because of things like diarrhea & getting bit my a mosquito, so I didnt think it was or could be a very big deal.

And on the way to the bar, because that’s what I do, I was putting my iPhone back in my pocket but it missed & hit the uneven rocky part of the pavement & cracked the front screen in a half dozen places. And I said, ‘Fuck,’ and got upset, but continued to the bar because now I had a proximate excuse for my drinking, so I was weirdly happy.

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A napkin with scribbles harpooned into yesterday’s bloated corpse

I got very drunk and saw lots of wonderful things, and had many lovely conversations with interesting people or at least had many conversations with interesting snippets and imagery, and wrote so very many down on my napkin that I carried from bar to bar to bar to back ‘home’ as I’m calling it now, and then I lost it, and with it, everything from the night in all its stupid beauty.

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January 2012: What stringy wonderful flesh that fills & exceeds libido’s imagination

DARLING I eat FIRE — or rather drink it — & it burns down my throat into my belly but sets alight my mind with all explosive primal yen.
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December 2010: It was worth it / But of course, it does all even out in the end.

County Road 271 is a good road.

‘The good news is we’ve found a cure for AIDS. The bad news is, it’s death.’

  • Her: After the weekend you had, please don’t talk about AIDS.
  • What I do in airports’ men’s bathroom stalls with or without proper latex barriers is my own private business and I don’t appreciate you talking about it.

‘I tried to pick her up and accidentally grabbed her vagina. … I’m sorry I grabbed your vagina. And kissed your ear.’

[@MadDrunkGenius] is sleeping on the floor beside the heater as substitute for the flesh warmed by capillaries. Yea, ’tis such unfulfilling methadone.

  •  I need to move until my throat tastes of copper. I need to run until I feel the full body orgasm of painful exertion that sends me coughing crying dripping snot and phlegm on the ground.
  • Grah Grah Grah. I lost the good idea.

Ho ho, threading the Friday night reel thru again and again finding many frames missing, some scattered on the floor’s brain to be picked up later, some (esp. the tail end) gone completely, never to be found except in someone else’s cranium theater or perhaps, frighteningly, someone’s camera.

To warm flesh and good friends.

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