Rain Dogs


I sometimes wanna dance and sometimes I wanna type so fast that it hurts my fingers but I cannot I just cannot because the words don’t come to me, so I go slow and decide to paint it rather, patiently, but I suck at that too. So I swallow my tongue and turn my eyeballs right in and churn out what I see and taste inside of me. But it is all crap. Then I decide to read some and get myself inspired to write. And the words I read feel like shit and I want to paint the pages black, which would have a beauty to it, unlike the patterns of shit they scribble so thoughtfully in there, hoping to make it smell like eau du cologne. Them morons. So I just sleep peacefully because it’s no use getting angry over the indelible mistakes of someone else and break my things.
I do wake up next morning and take a crap. Sometimes I don’t. And when I don’t I feel like crap the entire day and want to puke all over the bastards who look so clean, even when they’re so full of shit inside. Sometimes I just let them be. Other times I come back home all disgusted and write bad words about them in a notebook and feel even more crappy writing crap about crap, which is not characteristic of art, but is surely a damnable characteristic of what they call art.
I sometimes forget what I was going to write and then I start to tremble and my spintcher gets all woozy and loose and I leak crap like it was blood from a vein. I come back to my room stumbling and woozier than before, but only this time I am really horny so I take my dick into my hands and shake the piss out of it. I feel a tiny bit relaxed after this but I still want to rack their brains into a freezer and then crush it into pieces, them morons.
Then there are the snobs, them fucking snobs. They think they gotten what they have by virtue of deserving it. My hairy ass they deserve it. They don’t deserve milk from their mommas’ breasts if you ask me. But who asks me, I just rot in my room alone scribbling dirty words on a white sheet of paper. Sometimes I wanna kick their face in, I wanna burn their houses and set their eyes and tongues on fire, the fucking snobs. I see them everywhere, even the guy in the mirror is a damning snob that bastard. I wanna kick his face in too. I did that once, only hurt my own hand so I don’t do it anymore. No use breaking myself over someone else’s flaws of character.
Now I bloody well can live with the world if these were the only kind of filth it had. But oh no wait! You gotta have all kind of crap to make it the best democratic toilet in the whole of the universe, which I am very sure is another giant shithole, waiting to be filled. There comes the real slimy shit now: the retards. Each one a unique shitflake, that is what they are. And they don’t even know that the joke’s on them, they fucking give me Goosebumps. I cannot even punch their face in because the shit will only splatter all over me, in my eyes and on my face and that is something I don’t like because you cannot look shitty even if you are full of it. The retards was what I was talking about but I cannot, since they are so damn laughable that no one wants to talk about them in a serious conversation.
And I assure you that it’s in your benefit to mind the seriousness of this conversation, you shitty listener.
Some nights I wish I was a rain dog, so I could forget the way back home and go sleep under a calming benign sky with the stars looking at me. Them fucking lucky rain dogs, they crap so happily.

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