Archives for posts with tag: short story

Just because the stretch of her skirt exposed the curvature of her smooth, posterior, my work mate said that he would smash it. He would smash it all night, he said. He would smash it into the bed and if there were no bed he would smash it in thin air, my colleague said, as he chewed his big, fat sandwich full of shit. That she bent over in the table in front of him to take some hand wash out of her bag was, in my colleagues view, not just an invitation to be smashed but a forceful encouragement to be smashed. My colleague chewed his big, fat sandwich and said that he would ruin her. He would ruin her skirt, her body and the very environment where the ruination would take place. I will fucking destroy that, he said, with relish. I’d smash it, ruin it and relish it, he said, with relish. It would take a riot squad to pull me off that, he said, chewing his big, fat sandwich full of shit and relish. That she bent over in her skirt wasn’t just an invitation but it was, my colleague said, an act of war. She has declared war on me, he said. I will split that thing in two! The stretch and fabric of that manmade skirt is a fucking pisstake, he said. The way she bends provocatively in that skirt, knowing I can’t have her, is just as insulting as if she were soiling it, my colleague said. I would fucking ruin that, he said with relish. My colleague never explained what conditions would have to be met to smash it, but his intentions were clear. That thing he said referring to the object in front of us, who was massaging hand wash into her hands, is just flesh and bone. That’s all it is. That’s all it’ll ever be. Flesh and bone, he said, munching his big, fat sandwich full of shit, and I want to tear at her flesh, grab it, tenderize it, claw it and smash it. I would, my colleague said, pin that thing down: finger it, chew it, suck it, hammer it, slap it, gob on it, frig it, bore it, bone it, knob it, drill it, kill it. That’s all flesh and bone is good for, he said. To use. To bugger. To kill. To burn. To eat. It didn’t matter if you wanted to smash your mother, sister or daughter, it was all the same; they were all the same, he said. They’re pieces of meat, said my colleague. The only reason, he said, that I won’t do it, is because we have fucking laws against it. I’ve already done her in my mind anyway, and I can go back there whenever I like, he said, washing down his big, fat sandwich with a liberal swill of fizzy piss. I can at least go over to her table and look the bitch in her face, he grinned like the ugliest animal ever farted into someone’s imagination. I will look at her eyes, knowing that I have smashed her in my mind; that I have shot my load over it, knowing that she can’t do fuck all about it. I can smash anyone I like. I do it every day. No-one is free, he said.




I will fix everything. I will repair everything that is broken. I will repair the world. I’ll attempt to write something that will transform everyone’s perception so much so that they will no longer be able to see the world the same way again. If I’m successful it will be unthinkable to see our lives the same way again. I’ll transform every relationship, so that it will be unthinkable and impossible to see the world in the same light again. It must be my only goal since everything in the world is completely incapacitated beyond repair. I’ll attempt to write something that will render holy books more ridiculous than they are already. I’ll attempt to record the world the only way I know how. I’m doomed to fail though because the world is beyond repair. I’ll attempt to fix everything that we’ve directly and indirectly broken. I must explore, with clarity, what needs to be fixed and how it should be fixed, with absolute precision. I cannot leave this existence without attempting to explore every avenue from all possible angles. I must go further than any one individual has gone before, even if it takes most of my life; even if the life I have allocated to my attempt is not ENOUGH and the planned repairs remain unfinished. Before I can even attempt this major restoration I must define what it is that we’ve collectively broken. Whatever it is, we must have failed. Every previous attempt must have collapsed. So I will attempt to create something that renders everything that went before not only meaningless and useless but obsolete. I will attempt this not for personal gain but because I’m compelled to, even when I know that I’ve always failed to create or repair anything of any worth. That is a fact. I wouldn’t even be attempting this project had all previous attempts failed. I’m not naïve. I’m aware that my attempt to establish what it is I want to repair will be subjected to the most spectacular futility and waste of time. This is a futility I’m willing and able to carry. To give my project the slimmest chance of success requires definition and knowledge that I don’t possess. It requires time, skill and persistence. To give my project a minute chance of scraping the impenetrable surface I need structure and focus: solitude, complete solitude. It requires sacrifice. I must not be distracted by the unfixable things available to all: materials, frivolous pursuits, companionship. I must have the correct tools. If the correct tools aren’t available I must design them, once I’ve defined what the correct tools are. My attempt will require the most efficient organisation not available anywhere. Probably not even in existence. There isn’t an organisational structure efficient enough to prepare me for my attempt. Once I have defined the objectives of my attempt I must devise an organisational structure that would render previous organisational structures obsolete. I need my health, which means I have to attempt to repair the whole system and structure of biology and chemistry. I may have to reinvent SCIENCE. So much so that it renders previous scientific theories irrational. I must not give up my attempt to repair the world even if all my attempts fail, as I predict they will. I’ll attempt to write the book that rewrites everything that ever was and was going to be, once I am able to define what it is that needs to be defined and repaired. I will attempt to devise a completely innovative understanding of medicine. I will redesign the necessary tools I may need and, if necessary, a whole new language to calculate and assess my chances of success. I’ll attempt the book, or whatever format it needs to be, to right every wrong. I will attempt to rewrite the world. I will sweep it all away. There can be no compromise, distraction or deviation. I must rewrite every law and structure. I must attempt to elevate my existence and my understanding to accommodate the space I require. Nothing must stand in my way. I will attempt to transcend the mind and body in order to occupy a vessel that is abundant enough to allow me to attempt my task. I will rewrite the laws of nature to prepare me for my attempt. Nothing and no-one must divert me from my attempt. I will attempt to write the book, in whatever format it takes, in whatever form I take, that when shared with the world, will repair everything. I will attempt to REVEAL myself. I must attempt it, even though I predict that I won’t complete it. I’ll attempt to redesign and repair existence. Its success will depend on the fact nothing else will exceed it. All I need is courage. Courage and knowledge. Courage and time. Courage and no distractions. My attempt will change and maybe even damage me beyond recognition. Such a change may be horrific. The fear itself is just a distraction. I won’t allow myself to be distracted by weakness. I won’t be distracted by noise. I won’t be distracted and diverted by emotions. Nothing must distract me. Existence must be sanitized and therefore every distraction needs to be decontaminated in order for me to attempt to repair this contaminated existence. I have to see it through even if my ideas, and nature itself, is imperfect and damaged. If I have the slimmest notion that there is a problem that needs to be fixed then I have to see it through, once I can define what tools I need and what new methods and theories need to be devised. I have to attempt this project. I don’t have any other productive alternative. So I’ll attempt to establish what I need and attempt to identify the perfect conditions. The conditions have to be absolutely perfect. If they aren’t perfect I must attempt to redefine or even redesign them. Anything less I must discard and forget. Every previous event was at best a distraction and a deviation from the only goal I’ve ever known: It is I who have been tasked to repair the world. Once the conditions are perfect, once I have rewritten everything in order to lay the foundations, then I will attempt to fix it all. My solitude must be absolute. My health must be unspoiled. My mind must be emptied. I cannot allow critical voices in my head to distract me. I may never even know if I’m successful. It will be the last book that is ever written.

My voice will be the last voice you will ever hear.

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