Early works. Self portrait. 2010.
Corruption
“The surest way to corrupt a youth is to instruct him to hold in higher esteem those who think alike than those who think differently.”
In Due Course
She asked Me what I did for a living, a smug smirk fermenting underneath her bloated self-importance. To which I replied:
"If you were to pick out a piece of scrap wood from a lumber yard and bring it home, grow out your fingernails, and claw at it for a devoted length of time each day, eventually, you'll penetrate its hardness–leaving behind the visible marks of your knuckled-down strain. That's what I do–basically."
"What do you do?" I retorted.
"I'm a real estate agent," she replied.
Although she had accrued a comfortable living, it had become clear to the both of us that her entire life up to that point had been an undisclosed letdown. People spend their lives chasing wealth, status, security like a dog chasing its tail, but in their futile pursuit they lose sight of the truck barreling down the street toward them, apathetic in its course.
The Exaltation of Tarn Devium Pusa
Over the western ridge, beyond the hinterlands of the Zoriahex, exists a particular wildwood believed to imbue an early-morning Delphic fog, containing within it the decapitated figure of Tarn Devium Pusa, an enigmatic nymphet fabled to possess areoli of ambrosia–the likes of which I have savored, and exalted with My depravity incarnate.
Ham and Eggs
Those who can make peace with the absurdism of life–that unrelenting chafing that exists between the feeling man and the apathetic universe–are those who will enjoy their ham and eggs in the morning.
Yet, most people choose to eat cereal instead.
Thus spoke, The DragnMastr.
2nd Kings 2:23-24
From there Elisha went up to Bethel. As he was walking along the road, some youths came out of the town and jeered at him. "Go on up, you baldhead!" they said. "Go on up, you baldhead!" He turned around, looked at them and called down a curse on them in the name of the LORD. Then two bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the youths.
2nd Kings 2:23-24
Why Abuela Hates Cats
I called a chat line last night, and had phone sex with a woman suffering from a brain tumor.
In My defense, I was unaware of her mental disability, but as the phone seduction wore on it became apparent that I had unknowingly entered into a precarious moral dilemma. Frankly, it was unsettling, and there was a heavy sense of shame as I gently lead the call to its vulgar culmination, finishing inside the efficient toy My friend Blaire had brought Me back from her recent trip to Japan.
As I laid there in the dark, a pool of ejaculate congealing in the crater of My bellybutton, I contemplated what had just happened and rationalized My selfishness so that I could sleep easy. Sure I was a degenerate, but the guilt festered, like lingering mouth ulcers scattered across My bleeding gums–I had told her I needed to do something really quick and would be calling her back, knowing full well that I had no intention in ever doing so.
I set My phone on silent, and went to bed. In the morning, there were 27 missed calls, and 9 voicemails. I blocked her number, made My bed, and went to the kitchen to brew some coffee.
I ate breakfast with My Abuela, and she told Me a funny story about why she can't stand cats. When she was a little girl in El Salvador, a feral cat once snatched up her supper and made off with it–a chicken breast her mother had fixed especially for her, and 82 years later she's still griping over it–it was a cute story.
A Swing Set for My Batibat
One afternoon, I ventured out to My favorite papaya tree to pick some fleshy gems. On the climb down, I clumsily slipped and sprained My ankle on the landing. As I writhed, squirmed, and agonized about pitifully, I heard a taunting chuckle emanate from the mango tree beside Me.
"You stupid boy," she muttered.
Apparently, the Batibat that resided among it had awakened during the cacophony. It actually surprised Me, since she always ignored My existence–nevertheless, My anger seethed.
The following evening, I returned, not with an axe, but with a wooden board and some rope.
Many had tried to cut into her impenetrable exterior, but their efforts were in vain–I had other plans though.
She looked at Me with apathy, as she always had, while I got to work. Half an hour later I was swinging joyfully from her branches. You see, rather than inflict My vengeance in a direct, yet predictable blow, mine was more insidious, like a formless vapor that filled a confined space.
My retribution wouldn't be seen, only felt. I would use her for My own personal pleasure from now on, and there was nothing she could do about it.
A Secreted Smile From Overhead
"Get off the stage!" yelled the crowd.
"Let someone younger entertain us!" they demanded.
She was 20, and her presence over the years had become intolerable. I couldn't help but to secrete an oblique smile, as I watched the spectacle from the rafters, concealed in shadow.
Their fickleness and stupidity became the night's entertainment, and those of Us who chose not to sit among them relished in it.
Fleshed Flukes
We are fleshed flukes, experiencing the statistical anomaly of life, collectively during the same blip of time, as death beckons–forever plunging into its bottomless sinkhole of darkness.
When our lifeless bodies will splat on the other side, nobody knows–but we can laugh at insignificant things in the meantime as we linger about, pre-carcass.
Self Portrait: C41 Roll #1, Frame #2.
“For a long time I have not said what I believed, nor do I ever believe what I say, and if indeed sometimes I do happen to tell the truth, I hide it among so many lies that it is hard to find.”
Beef Nuggets
"Did you enjoy your beef nuggets?"
...
"Good. I thought you would. But you shouldn't speak with your mouth full. Swallow your food first. You don't want to choke on half-chewed meat, do you?"
...
"It's always the half-chews that bruise our gullets. Now start getting ready for your bath. I'll start running the water for you."
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"What? Don't speak to Me like that."
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"I really don't care if you're not 'feeling' like it, I'm bathing you whether you like it or not missy! You've been walking around here all day with a soiled little cunt, and I need to wash away the day's sins before you go to bed."
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"You have no choice in the matter. It has been decided for you."
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"Got it?"
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"Good."
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"I'll meet you in the bathroom in 5 minutes."
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"And don't forget the loofah this time. I'm going to need it to build up an appropriate lather...you're going to need it."
***
"There. All clean. Now, was that so hard Kitten? Give your DragnMastr a kiss and get ready for bed. I'll join you in a few minutes after I get the toys ready."
...
"And chew with your mouth closed this time, will you?"
...
The Ecstasy of the Rats
I'm sorry, but I refuse to see you again.
You've discarded My heart like a piece of excess ribeye fat.
You meticulously sliced Me out of your royal court, and left Me to get gobbled up by the alley rats in the dumpster.
I live with that reality day in, day out. And I'm reminded of My grim fate every afternoon, when I wake up and see your black choker collecting dust on My nightstand, forlorn and lost at the base of My 3-legged, porcelain egg.
But I'll get past this gloomy season. Afterall, the rats are My saints.