Victor is Christ

Bored, so I open Microsoft Word, piss on the keyboard, and discover that "Christ is Victor"
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My name’s Victor.  Victor Christ.  No relation.  I’m sitting here at the bus stop, chewing a mouthful of cloves and wondering how I got here.  I remember everything that’s happened in my life…but only up to my sixteenth birthday.  The back of my hands look like they belong to a forty-year old and my back feels like I stole it from an eighty-year old.  The oil from the cloves is starting to burn, so I spit them on a dog tied to the bus sign and rinse my mouth out with whiskey from a brown bag at my side.  I only spit the first mouthful onto the dog; the rest is for me.

I remember that when I was ten, my little brother died of hair teeth.

I remember that at six, my mother had a vestigial ear removed from the right side of her head.  She used to wear dangly earrings in it.

I remember that at thirteen, while trying to get my father to the hospital after a stroke, I hit a raccoon and wondered if its life was somehow less valuable than my father’s.  By the time I got him to the emergency room, I never wanted to see him again.

I remember that at fifteen I was still buying comic books from the Star Market with my lunch money.  Sapper Dan and the Streetkickers.  Manor Myth.  The Guy with a Goat’s Head.  Magical Cape and Boots.  You know, the classics.

I remember that I’m not here for any reason at all.  Flipping off my author, I decide to go for a walk…hide somewhere he can’t find me.  After I turn the corner

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and that I really need to work on writing that's not just a waste of your fucking hard-earned time.

My computer at home is fucked up again and I have to edit appr. 400 pages by Monday and I have to write a wedding ceremony and I feel like writing about the Old Man Who's Sitting Beside the Pickle Barrel, Munching On Kosher Dills and Telling Us About The Frankenstein Monster's bits...

Tell your friends, but only when I write something worth a piss.

For now I just sit here and listen to the Art disc from the Pet Shop Boys' PopArt hits double album.
Instead of actually working.
Burnout Friday.

benjamin