In the Nude


I need to keep myself occupied, or I will regress. I am a coward, sure, but I must live on. I picked up a book the other day, wait, why am I telling you this? But I do need to keep myself occupied. So, I picked up a book the other day. Picked up, hmm, interesting phrase. Strange how things acquire different meanings just through intonations and repetitions. I need to see a psychiatrist. I also should take a bath.

I saw a girl the other day, very sensual. Gave me a boner. Wanted to fuck her right on the road. Thought against it, thought about not thinking too much. I hope they have medicine for me, for whatever is wrong with me. I am fucked up. But I have a choice: to remain fucked up, or to become sane. Being fucked up has its advantages. I am superior.

I am easily startled. A phone call makes me jump. Sometimes I shriek on seeing my own hands. Doctor told me to write so I don’t think too much. Stupid doctor. I am confused. Does he know anything at all? I am superior to him. I follow patterns hard to decode, that’s all.

This is surely not worth posting. I am doing injustice to good thought. I am writing purely for writing sake. I should look around, for inspiration. Oh no, I shouldn’t. I might see something scary. That would scare me to death. But I am not afraid of death. I am afraid of fear. The doctor can never understand this. He has never felt like me.

I am a liar. I can lie very effectively and can convince myself as well. Believing in my own lie. Isn’t that an expression? I don’t know. Don’t want to look it up. I am too scared that I might find other paranoid people. That will make me a nobody in my own eyes. Why can’t I have an erection? Erica Campbell’s been touching herself for too long. I should just shake it till I come. Yeah, that’ll do it.

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