Freewrite, May 3rd, 2006
- Fuck and leave babies in the street. Awesome.
Oh my god, I’m sitting around a bunch of sentimental idiots. Fortune and family; the main flaws of humankind. Gone should be all the contraceptions, gone should be the cellophane wrap, the pills, the family planning videos! We should all fuck and leave the babies in the street, and let the strongest survive. If we’d been through that we’d not be such fucking imbeciles. Imbeciles need culling worse than mad cow disease. Focus, talent, rubbish.
Is idiocy contagious? I feel its ebb, that’s why I hate it so. “Intellectuality: the recessive gene.” I was just throwing that out. People get so wrapped up in their relationships. I never will have one. I’ll never turn out like that. I will be an artist, a philosopher, my testicles in a vial on the mantelpiece, with passing women wondering what life with me would be like, the fantastic mind, the intuitive, caring father, but not knowing that they’d never feel fulfilled with me, and then they’d hate themselves for cheating on me, unaware that every second of the day I am swilling about in humanity’s ovaries, in the womb of every woman out there, it’s just the physicality of it all that has me stopped. My standards aren’t high; they are impossible. I want to be married to a ghost.
This could be the start of my book, the mind of the outrageous braggart, the philistine with a pen, the non-artist, bereft or reason and just on it continues. You can’t feel at one with the mojo, the mojo is not us. Superman, now there’s a man who had it right from the beginning. An alien who tries to fit in with humankind by turning himself into an idiot — perception beyond his physique. What is the basic question? What is the endless toil? Why bother yourself with those questions? It’s like death’s vice-like grip on us is numbing the flow of blood to the head, forcing us to consider the present in terms of our lifespan. Will we be happy, lying there on our deathbed, the motor of our cars sputtering and wheezing as our life is squeezed out by the vice? Ridiculous. Pointless. Why bother to ask ourselves that then – before long we will all be dead. Afterlife; now that’s a reason to exist. Forget the now, get yourselves a religion and be consumed by the endless future, a promise not experienced by any of us.
The collective idiocy of humankind. Humankind! Even there a waltz or symphony is implied, and yet what’s left other than the beat of the drum, the beat of the drum, the beat of the drum………………………… Bullet holes spewing dust in front of the smiling firing squad. “good job”! That’s what we all want to hear. What’s wrong with them, as long as the perpetrators of such villainous apathy are content to be so? Live your life as a fuck-up. Live your life full of death, full of violence and anger, full of sex, of contempt in our idealistic refrain, but never feel pity for the idiots. Never feel pity, for pity brings humanity down to the level of our worst.
