Tuesday, 14 June 2011


Come on Jason, I refuse to let you die. Come on fallen star, I refuse to let you die.

I’ve come to hate my body and all it requires in the world. My soul sits shining in this shallow, broken casket of a cadaver and I do nothing. Welcome to the winter of discontent, where the sun has drowned beneath dormant hills, and where solemn men come to bury their dead. Winter has killed everything, and even though it’s dark December forever, I’ll remember sun. I am tied to this world by coarse and vicious thickets, six foot thorns piercing my very flesh. I shall take these wounds, and worship them. I shall wear my lesions like a crown. I am Christ. I am fucking Christ. I fucked Christ.

You want to kill me, you want to destroy me, but god has gotten there first. You may think you have had the last laugh when you string me up in that field, bound to a tree, you penetrating me viciously, thrusting your wood and your metal into my body, my chest, my arms, my breast, my heart, but it is I who have won. You have not destroyed me, you have saved me, you have immortalised me. I was to stand alone and diseased, struck down by vicious plague and malignant frost. Those boys from New York knew the fear, they knew what could happen to them, and yet still they went, fucking their misery and pain away.

But that’s what we all do isn’t it? We fuck away our lives. The exchange of lingering looks, the exchange of gentle touches, the exchange of precious kisses, the exchange of hallowed vows, the exchange of bodily fluids, the strenuous thrusting, the rattling headboards, the shaking bed. I sit here and look at you, a creature of exquisite beauty and what do I think about? I think about you grinding me into the ground like a cigarette, forcing yourself so far inside of me that I rip. When you see those rivulets of precious blood coursing down my thighs, know that my body weeps for you. I don’t know how to tell you that I love you without using my blood, my saliva, my orgasms, my semen, my excrement. I would write your name in my shit across the town for all to see if only you would be mine. If only you would love me.

I am human. I am only human. I can only use my body to express myself. This flesh and bone is disgustingly vulgar, repulsive in every way. There are beautiful things in me, in all of us. The fluttering child like heart, the swelling lungs filled with life and laughter and all my veins and arteries, rivers of love and existence, all bound together, trapped, incarcerated by my cage of bones, my ribs my vertebras, my spine, bound together by shameful folds of skin and meat. Take me and butcher me. Crack open my sternum, let my insides out. Let my heart be free, let it soar amongst the clouds, let it bleed into the rivers and the land, let it fall and drift to earth, another bloody leaf in another disappointing autumn. Butcher my flesh and grill my meat. Eat me; I taste like blood and sex.

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