Another Day.

He wakes up. He licks the taste of red wine fuzz from his teeth and makes some bacon and eggs and drinks some carrot juice. He enjoys the feel of the haircut that he got yesterday. He looks young and fresh and he feels optimism which is a rare feeling for him but he feels it and it makes him happy. He thinks about his trip to the gun range that is going to happen at the beginning of next month and he thinks how interesting that will be as he has not been to a gun range since he was a teenager in Scotland. He has recently finished reading Y The Last Man which he thinks is terrible and this makes him sad because he has wanted to read it for years. He wishes that he had read it when it first came out as he may have been a little more forgiving of it then because he was more ignorant and willing to accept awful plotting and character at that time. He is not that person any more so he is not willing to accept awful plotting and character. He watches more My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic but he is not a brony because he watches far too many cartoons already and he has never been part of a club for them so he does not feel any reason to be in a club for this particular cartoon. He reads a powerful and honest account of one woman’s search for herself which he enjoys. It is authentic and rings true although sometimes it lacks focus. He lacks focus so he understands. He plays some piano. He is not ready to go two handed but he does learn some new notes. He is enjoying teaching himself to play piano. He eats tacos for supper. He eats the tacos with people. People who he likes. He reads some Bertrand Russell and he reads some Diary of Anne Frank and he reads some Daniel Clowes and he also masturbates. He is probably doing this too much but the fact that he has done it more recently may mean that he is getting less depressed and his libido is returning or he is getting more depressed and he is acting like chimps who have gone insane and sit squatting on their zoo pen floor fucking their crooked hands as they rock back and forth to the rhythm of shutter snaps. He goes to sleep.

Published by

The Sleepcoat League

Armchair anthropologist, sometime scribe, freelance philosopher, amateur artist, part-time poet, musical maven, alliteration aficionado.

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