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9 October 2012

Cold

human-skull-x-ray

Cold heavy depression clings to me like frost. My gut is as frozen as the bitter end. The razor inside twists, my blood is clotted ice. What hideous dead end led to the creation of a frozen man? What travesty of justice warrants such a sentence?

I heard them say “Stay away from it – it’s a walking corpse” I might have rotted away years ago, if I wasn’t so cold. How I long for the warmth of an opium flush, that heavy head and nodding quiescence.

The unaware don’t see – can’t see (which is a blessing) some are insulated with comfort; others are kept snug and warm in an opiate haze. Some are too thick skinned to see. They constitute the heroic archetype. I shot one once – just for sleeping – lazy type had it coming. Put a 30 calibre in his brain – he sleeps real well now. Men in sensory withdrawal often lose their bodies, or feel like they are in another body. My body is cold – very cold. It shivers inside like a wet bag of snot – it drips internally into a bucket full of cum and slime. Even my thoughts are slow and cold – syphilitic and palsied – I talk with a leprous tongue; my very words are poison to the ear of any sane man.

My pistol jumps in my hand – recoil – cold jism splatters and crystallizes sticky on my trousers. I didn’t realize it was loaded – I’d never have pointed it otherwise; unless to shoot some sleeping hero of course. There are aliens amongst us; homo saps who never learned common grace and who have not a sympathetic bone in their pasty bodies. Some style themselves as artists and bleed goodness and light onto their canvas like puppy dogs on an evangelical charabang. Paint me the colours of the rainbow. Paint me pink. Paint me gold. Paint me out of here; I’m freezing my tits off. Just don’t sing to me – I’m way too old.

I’m possessed, of course. Some alien entity occupies this body. I know what it is – it’s me. I don’t belong here – I’m a parasitic delusion that has to be sated with drink and drugs.

“Methylenedioxy-N-methylamphetamine?” – yes please, and throw in a little diamorphine to ease the ride. Life as a parasitic delusion isn’t easy – especially if your host is a drag. He is a drag you know; all he ever does is complain and his body is cold, so very cold.

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