It took me two years. Two years. I'd have the day for you, but I'm not that picky; two years is enough to scream about it. I'd best find a gun or at least something sharp.

Thing is, you know yourself well in advance, to the fact that you damn well won't have any use for it when you get it. What? Doesn't it go that you get angry, look her in the eye, she spontaneously explodes, and then... ... ...? Where'd the knife go? Hmm, sonny? She explodes and suddenly you're in Costa Rica dancing with a moonbeam? Or in the middle of a bridge in God-knows-where? Or... fuck... I dunno. I've no idea... See! I'm me talking to you (also me), and I can't even think this through. Ineffective's the problem. Completely ineffective. You get these ideas in your head and they seem so grand, but they fizzle out like cheap butter... you ought to try harder.


Anyway, the book. That bitch, my book. I should look up. She was there a second ago, screaming. Where'd she go? I'm trying the door but it won't open. Imagine that. I suppose I'll climb the fence, then? You know, I'm not that bothered. I'm busy remembering the one before that. It was about a dragon named knob. Or knobby. Not sure. I figured I needed a push in the deep end and didn't care what way it went. Fix it as you go along, damage control, steer up... Except it was more like a Messerschmitt right toward the ground. 100 feet and approaching... trying to remember my prayers so I can say them... oh what's the use....

Fantasy... ugh... wait, that was the one before, when I was...?... I'd have to be pretty fucking young to take something like that seriously. Was it the one before THAT? It's been four, right? There was the noir wherein he chased that dame who what maybe killed her husband and I was aiming for a faux generic thingy with a big twist in the second part. See, a nice generic turd to ease you in and after that you get dynamic. Start 'changing the game' and so on. Except, our hero was a little too clever and figured it all out by the third chapter. I really stretched them out, too, you know.
I tried looking to The Orient after that, you know. Hit upon some arcane mixture of never before combined combinations in my deviousness. I jumped into the Bhagavad Gita AND looked into some old samurai tales (Shang dynasty? Sheeyang?). I even took up a Tao stage! Though, that lasted just slightly less than that second samurai story. Something about a fat jap who spent 20 pages cramming his hole with rice-cakes and talking about nature. The sooner he'd go and shit in the woods, the sooner we could get back to scheduled programming i.e. samurais, honour, that sort of thing. If a fat chinaman shits in the wood, does anyone really finish the book? Ask yourself that...


Oh, I really wish she hadn't put it through the woodchipper. Look at it. All this pale history. It's like the ghost of dalliance past. You know, when we ordered this thing I couldn't stop imagining what I'd put in there. I dug out the old basketballs and shoes from the basement and saved them by the door. One a day. I even snuck one of her old handbags. She never used it. Gave me much pleasure. I'd stretch out my breakfast routine, just to pace the excitement, and on weekends I'd have a field day. My own personal holiday. Except, of course, the days after the nights I'd have those dreams. The awful, awful, awful ones where I'd stand for days in front of it, beckoning me, book in hand, afraid some invisible wind would come and knock it away ---> straight forward into the jaws. Bastard. Absolute bastard. In the worst ones I'd manage to get away; somehow find myself a house or two over, safe and sound, but then I'd blink (once) and I'd be back there, a foot closer, beckoning... Me before it! Me before it! Bastard.

...

...


American Sissy

....


Hey, that's not bad. I should use that... "American, Sissy"...
It "flows" quite well, actually. Say, a man is disillusioned with society, this modern one, alienated, cornered, trying to free himself from capitalism, trying to find a way. Out from under the beast. Trying to survive. Maybe... maybe. Out from under the beast!!

I should get rid of the woodchipper first, though. I can't work with it out here.

Bastard.

Actually, it was particularly bad the past few nights. We left the curtains open for the breeze and I could see the moonlight glinting off it from my side of the bed. She looked at me like I was a fool when I asked her to switch sides. Told me not to wake her again "or else". Twat. I did wake up, though. What would you expect? It was taunting me, out there, in the cruele night. Fiend. I ended up pacing the floor at 4am. Too wound up. I tried to psychoanalyze myself and stood in the kitchen in my underwear, ate a schnitzel. That made me laugh, actually; peculiar. I woke her up to tell her. She wouldn't budge the first while, so I accidentally poked her a few times, elbowed her as I turned over from where I was sitting on the bed. It cheered me up to no end, though she didn't seem to "get it". The fool...