Saturday, June 28, 2008

One thing I promise not to do is...

I promise not to caress my bare chest with a pinky ringed finger while I breathe heavily into the phone with you. I don't care how bad I miss you. I won't wear a leather coat if you wear a leather coat, because I don't like to hear the squeaky sounds leather coats make when they rub against each other.

It is too late to be eating, but I am on my second helping of fudge brownies. Fudge brownies that I burned in the oven, because I was watching Netflix in the computer room and I can't hear the timer on the oven from here.

How are things?
things are fine.
or they seem to be
but I find appearances
to be full of useless information

I am drinking minute maid brand orange-aid and minute maid promises me that minute maid orange-aid is made with at least 10% oranges. If Minute Maid is satified with their 10% then so am I. Fructose and corn syrup sugar makes me feel better than company.

I snuggle on the couch alone.
I sit and watch movies.
I join the gym
but I won't count calories.

I stare at her pale grey eyes that
pretend to not see me
watching her

She pulls her hair back in a pony tail
she wears sweat pants to the store
and pats the bums
of young boys
without a clue.

I wander around this house aimlessly
my balls sticking to one another
each year my
testicles creep a
bit closer to the
ground

i won't worry about it
or a paycheck that doesn't last
a full week
or the
reams of things
that can't be

Instead I will make promises I will not keep
because feelings can't last
at least I am not the romantic
who thinks they will

I am just the kind of person who knows the right way to make a tuna fish sandwich/ you boil an egg/ maybe you don't know that/ but I can help you/ I can fix that

I can't fix the other things. I am afraid the car is falling apart. You better call my brother/ he is listening on the other line/ and I waited while he went downstairs to get the blowjob.

She told you that "I am not in to him watching."

you just wanted me to know that. she will be calling her boyfriend soon, so you better get going. Except I don't live upstairs with you.

I hear a knock at my door and a woman asks me If I Drink beer.
"I like your house," she says.

I say thank you, but what I really meant to say is that this is not my house.
She asks me since I am "not drinking then what am I doing outside?" I tell her I am outside because I heard a knock at the door. I thought some one might be trying to break in.

she tells me she has not seen a soul, but if she does she promises to kick ass for me. And she walks not carefully away.

I am looking for a threesome. me, you, and a bottle of patron. we will drink ourselves silly and I will film you saying "yes" so that when you pass out you can't call it rape except maybe silently to yourself at night in between the text messages from men trying to ignore you.

wait a minute. is it alright if we go back for a second? If we talk about my balls again? I keep finding things is them. like tiny sponges. I mash them and know all that does is spread the cancer. When the cancer comes they will make a mask and tear my skin off and the nurses will stand there and watch me bleed out, but I feel better when I squeeze them.

I figured out my poop. finally. no one told me antacids turn your poop pale. I chew buckets of antacids and when I tell you how I spit up acid from reflux you make one of those icky faces. I know I can stop looking at my poop now. I just want to send it away. flush it down the toilet that takes two flushes to send anything down. i need to adjust my diet and get some fiber just a little fiber so all this weak shitting will stop. I don't need a proud bukowski shit. not his fire filled beer shits.

I won't wipe my ass again in pain from some weak carmel colored shit that leaks it way out from my colon only to stop halfway like the sludge filled fuel in my carbureator/I want 30 minutes to form a bowling ball sized shit that requires me to read the whole newspaper while I sit .

I need two days off to go fishing, so I can ask my friend if he forgot to bring his pills. He will. I know all he ever brings with him is his guns and I will wake up in a pool of blood. my throat closed from acid reflex. chest electrified and drowning like the ex communist, the ex neo-con-now- water-boarded atheist. I will be sorry then. I will be terribly sorry I made that crack about the pills.

but only because I am dying on the moist ground in a sweltering tent that smells of beer and sweat.

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

so ummm, that was disturbing.

DrugMonkey, Master of Pharmacy said...

Romius,

I suspect at some point you slipped your pinky ring off, just so you could keep your promise.

Freida Bee said...

Is that what is meant by a pinky promise?

Oh Romius, How I have missed you and tales of your shit and now balls. (sigh)

Romius T. said...

anon

the post is actually about 5 or 6 posts that I put together when I could not write any one of them good. none of it made much sense so I added a post facto linear narrative which is only moderately effective in giving the post some sense.

I was going to write about how to make a great tuna sandwich, odd encounters with people, etc\

Drug monkey and freida

the pinky ring thing comes a movie called the fall written by my hero eric shaeffer.

Anonymous said...

just when i think i have read the worst blog on the planet, i come across yours. you make me wanna kill myself