today i walk five km through the woods - past the thousand obnoxious dogs and their more obnoxious owners - to the local pathetic concrete university into its concrete pathetic library and go to my favourite spot at the top and back where the chairs are designed to send you right to spinal emerg and sit at a concrete desk to write porn surrounded by horribly dressed plastic students studying how to conform to conformity then return on the selfsame five km - past the selfsame dogs - to the beautiful crumbling disaster i presently ambivalently confusedly misanthropically call home
two of those i know recently get prostate cancer and so of course - being one of those who yawns when everyone else is yawning, who had covid constantly when everyone was yabbering about covid, who feels anxious just because everyone else is feeling anxious - perhaps this hyper identification to compensate for my being a nonconformist in just about everything social political emotional aesthetic and religious - i begin urinating often - little difficult dribbles - urgent pee calls - never emptying - it's clear i'm dying
i stick a finger up my anus to feel the thing - it feels nice - it's supposed to feel nice - it's not difficult or disturbing at all like the idiot internet says - it's soft and smooth easy to find regular painless - i want to run outside and tell strangers how good my prostate feels and feel sad that i live in a society where the consequences for sharing one's joy in this way are likely unpleasant - you have to say stupid things like - o aren't the 69ers so wonderful these days - and a litany of other inanities i don't mean at all
it's not joy really and it certainly has nothing to do with whether or not i have cancer - i didn't have covid either, i yawned but wasn't tired, yet i'm certainly anxious - i was briefly joyous only because my prostate feels so nice - i'd like it as a pet, to carry it around with me on my shoulder, to enter it into contests and have it win prizes as the prettiest prostate
i like writing porn surrounded by concrete and education pretension - if you think it's creepy that's your problem - i'm not paying any attention to the vacant nubile superficial undergrads piled around me like discarded tires - i'm not fantasizing about groping them or having them strip for me in their facilely decorated dorm rooms or casting them lecherous furtive gazes while pretending to read schopenhauer - i need mind to get turned on and the academy's the last place i'd go to find mind - which is why i go there to write porn - the porn writes itself through me by means of drawing on the necessary energy arising as compensation for the lack of environmental mind - i can't write porn in the forest or in the midst of smart people - i'm way too turned on already
if you don't get that stick your finger up your anus - even if you don't have a prostate there are other things to feel up there and if some of them are turds ... well ... maybe you have a spiritual constipation issue - your anus tells a lot about your health
i think i should write porn with a finger up my anus - if it's somebody else's finger that might change the nature of the porn - and if it's one of mine it only leaves one hand left to type, which slows down the cum talk - but nevertheless this is a fine bucket list item which isn't on many of the lists i see - they're all dumb things like - go to aruba, write pope leo a love letter, start a vinyl collection with all the taylor swift lps right omigod wotnot sick, buy a komondor
