My only sickness, really, is the constant throb and hum of my body. It is in perpetual need. There is no relaxing, just a pure drip stimulus. It needs bars and freeways. Books and paintings. Foreign nude bodies, women with shouldered hair. Women with a lost language of rolling breaths and warm huffs.
What I want right not I cannot have so I look to the future and want that portion as well. I want the 25 pounds I can have at this moment, plus my coming years of 25 pounds, but all today. All now. My demands, they are never met.
This constant need leaves me disappointed. I might be the growing monster. An ego, an appetite. Crush. Want. Drink the blood, eat the body. As I might evolve from childhood to adulthood, I might evolve from man to monster. In a matter of days I will have claws. A jawbone I can dislocate to take in more food.
My eyes, they will see in the dark. Smell the fear.
This is a disassociation with the world. With reality. There cannot be monsters here because they lack the desire to talk. They ravage.
A monster built the Empire State Building. A monster built the Empire State. Made ships of wood and set sail across pitch black water. Who knows what I am, what I will become, but a dream of mine is to end this much need. To feel satisfied someday. To find that moment of calm, and live in it for the rest of my days.
2 comments:
This blog entry inspired me to start my own. I do have to say that all of your blog entries are pretty excellent.
When did this hunger start? Where does it come from? Lately it's occurred to me that it's all about sex, or love or something. But I think I've been a bit deluded about that...it's really more about self-realization, which my inner puritan--the only voice I really trust, though it is often prudish and tiresome and begging to be ignored--says can only come through hard work, and definitely not through sitting around on a Sunday afternoon doing absolutely nothing but contemplating one's toe-nails.
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