I forgot to tell you all the name I have given my style of painting. I thought I would do it on WordPress so that it will live on in perpetuity. I call my style neo-infantile
this has to go first
I told her to take off her top and she did. She didn’t have nice (she had shitty tits) breasts so I told her to put her top back on and she did. Her bra had fooled me. She took the half empty glass of gin and sat down in the chair and crossed her right leg over the other. She leaned back in the chair and sat there in silence. Her foot started kicking towards me. She smiled at me smugly. She looked comfortable. I wondered what she would tell me to do after she saw my (shitty) dick?
The phone rang so I answered it. It was a friend calling to tell me that they wish that they didn’t feel anything. They said that they felt too much. I told them that feeling the other way is worse. When I came out of the coma they made me take anti-depressants. I didn’t feel anything for that year and a half. Everything was nothing. It felt like I was in a shell. Anti depressants don’t stop you being depressed. They just mask it; they mask everything. I was discharged from the hospital and was only gone a week when I fell out of my wheelchair entering my new property and broke my hip. This happened because the property was not wheelchair accessible. It just happened. I felt the pain but didn’t feel angry or sad, it just happened. They put me back and kept me in the hospital I just came from for a plate and four pins and then sent me to an Old Peoples home for physio/rehab and bacon and eggs on a porcelain plate. Then I woke up. I stopped taking the anti-depressants. Now I feel the frustration. I am stuck within the wheel and it is making me sad and facetious
I was waiting on the street for a ride. I grabbed the horizontal bar of the frame and pushed myself up and out of my wheelchair to relieve the pressure on my bum. I did a fart in mid-air. The fart sounded wonderful but scared me ‘cause I didn’t feel it coming. A young woman was walking towards me. The wind waved her hair as she smiled at me. I lowered myself down and smiled back at her as I sat up straight in my chair. As I straightened I did another, this time it was a long whining fart. It must have lasted two and a half seconds. She looked down and laughed as she walked past. I took that as a good sign, in my mind, as I cringed and apologised. She had a soft delicate laugh. It reminded me of innocence. There is no need to fear a woman who laughs at farts
I got to the hospital. The car dropped me at the gate and I entered the foyer. I pulled out the piece of paper and asked the lady at reception and she gave me the directions. She said the directions quickly and I wondered at how I would get there? You’re in the wrong building, she’d said. She started telling me how I would get there. I stopped her halfway to say, I’m sorry. I told her that I’ve had a brain injury so she may as well be talking another language. I said, I will never remember. I asked her if she wouldn’t mind drawing a diagram to show me how to get there. She got up from behind the desk and told me she would take me. She walked with me for just over four minutes. She walked me across the hospital to the Private section and led me to the lifts. I made the sort of small talk you must make when you are in somebody’s debt as we ascended. She took me up to the door where I extended my hand, said thank you and asked her name? She told me but I will never remember
You would be fucked if you were sick and a racist in Australia. I’m glad I’m not, a racist that is, I am sick in Australia. Most of the nurses and orderlies were from Asia and Africa. A white nurse led me to a cubicle and told me to take my singlet pants shoes and socks off. She asked if I could do it myself and I said yes. She tossed a white blanket on the bed and pulled the blind. I leaned down to put my left foot on my right knee and unstrapped my orthotics and pulled my shoe and sock off then repeated the same procedure on the right foot. I transferred to the bed and took my pants and singlet off and unfolded the blanket over me. She was gone for just on long enough for me to start to get annoyed. I smelled her before I saw her again. She had just applied perfume and she smelt sexy. After pulling the blind then the blanket off me the first thing she did was place large splodges of clear gel on the insides of my ankles. She stood over me and got a silver pen wired to a machine and placed it on the right splodge and listened. It was loud. I could hear it too. The noise sounded familiar. I know I’ve had this test before but I mean it sounded familiar familiar. It reminds me of (I think) a noise from Doctor Who
The technician apologised for the cold of the gel as she splodged it on the insides of both my thighs. I did not flinch because I couldn’t feel it. I’m sick of reality so I lied and said, yesss it was cold, bbrrrr, and shivered my shoulders. I looked up and she had lovely pale green eyes staring at mine. She started to say something but stopped as she put the pen on the inside of my left thigh. Her hand lightly brushed over my penis on the way to the splodge. Wuuch wuch-wuuch wuch. Wuuch wuch-wuuch wuch. Mmmm, she said. What, I asked? It’s very nice, she said as she looked up at me and smiled. You should see it when it’s not in a hospital, I replied. My husband, she said, is a forward gunner in the military… … ……. …? So what’s wrong with me, I asked? I dunno, she said, as she placed the pen up my nose. Wuuch wuch-wuuch wuch wuch, wuuch wuch-wuuch wuch. Your pulse is good. Then how come my feet look dead, I asked, and why are they covered in pressure sores? I don’t know, she said as she took the pen and started running the pen up and down the front of my abdomen. The pen felt greasy. Wuuch wuch-wuuch wuch. It was all I could hear. She got firmer with the pen against my skin. I looked at the screen, the noise of the machine made me feel like I was watching TV. I looked down and saw she had my balls in her right hand. I could hear my pulse get quicker as I realised. She started moving that pen up and down my abdomen slowly. My dick started growing. She started to mumble. Pardon, I asked? She said, I like doing it with other men in front of my husband… he sits on the couch and watches, then bit her lip. I shook my head slowly. He likes watching, she said timidly. I looked her in the eye and shook my head slower for her. She straightened and inhaled sharply as she released my nuts
It was an uncomfortable silence as she got a towel and wiped the gel off of me. The towel felt scratchy but the scratches reminded me that this was not a show on the telly. I put my clothes back on in silence as she busied around me. I felt bad because I had killed her hope. The silence felt heavy. Should I fuck her in front of her husband? No I shouldn’t, I’m not that kinky. I turned and looked to see she was looking at me and I could tell she had been reading my mind. I was quick though and raised my eyebrows and pursed my lips as a question. A woman multi-task’s like a man breathes. As a matter of fact there’s nothing wrong with the circulation, she stated as she glanced down at the machine. She pulled a docket out of the side and looked at it before handing it to me. I shook my head again. I could hear it inside of me, wuuch wuch wuuch wuch wuuch wuch. Well then how come I keep bleeding, I asked? I dunno, she said as she turned and put the pen back in its holster, maybe you’ve got your period? Alice Cooper, I replied, said only women bleed. He has a woman’s name, she said. So what are you saying, I asked, I’m a woman with a man’s name? She turned to me smiling and said, I don’t think so, you’ve got those big hairy balls between your legs… … … We stared at each other silently for too long so she left
I got dressed and waited at the front desk for my discharge summary and a referral to see a surgeon. I have to see another doctor. They were making me wait at the desk. I looked at the clock on the wall then turned and saw her pushing a stand with a bag of saline above it towards me. She had a fibreglass neck brace on and there was a cannula in the top of her right hand. She was walking down the corridor in bare feet wearing a short tight lemon nightie and an opened short white bathrobe. As she got closer I saw she would have been in her forties with a healthy tan. She had held together well with nice breasts and her nipples were erect. I knew she was coming up to talk to me as soon as I had seen her eyes looking through her glasses. She looked nuts but not nuts enough to be mistaken for crazy. She was crazy. It has always been the crazy ones. She stood right in front of my wheelchair and asked me, did you know that the aliens have already landed? I shook my head. Yeah, she said, they landed in Sydney and nobody noticed because they were all too busy on their I-phone’s. Oh, I asked? Nobody saw the mother ship land because they were all playing Candy Crush. They’ve been going around sticking their long thin green dicks into women. They hang around Kings Cross after midnight. They only ever want to fuck a woman… I’ve never seen a female one of them! That’s probably why you haven’t heard about it. So how do you know about it, I asked? I’ve been fucked by lots of them, she stated calmly; I’m one of the women, she said.
I had to get away from her. There are different types of crazy and hers was making me sad. It would be easy for any one of us to fixate on one thing but we don’t. I asked a woman walking past with a bunch of flowers where the lifts were. She turned and pointed so I said thanks and headed towards them. I found the ground button and pushed it. The lift was somewhere above me. I looked down at the trashcan as I waited. I wondered how I would ever remember the way out? I turned and saw her coming towards me. It is always a crazy woman. I’ve fucked crazy women and I’ve fucked sane. Sane always beats crazy. Crazy is only cute while you’re fucking them. I was watching the saline bag above her swing as she paced towards me. I heard her say loudly, you probably haven’t heard about it! She said, it’s probably ‘cause you’re a bloke… and even if you had heard about it who would believe a story about being fucked on a Saturday night by an alien with a green dick?! The lift opened and it was empty
She was following me. This shit fucks with my head. I had forgotten so went back to the reception to get my referral. Her pace was just behind my wheelchair. She kept blabbering and I became silent. All she cared about were the aliens. I can’t take another’s madness. It is too ugly. I finally got my referral and the nurse nodded towards the woman and glanced up. I shook my head slowly and the nurse laughed. I had to ask her where the lifts were again. She rose from behind her desk and started gesticulating. I turned and saw that I had made the mad woman jealous. She said loud enough for anyone to hear, the alien’s dicks are too thin but they are long enough to hit the G-spot. The aliens give me multiple orgasms, she said with a smile, over and over again. She kept blabbering. She would not stop talking. One of them told me, she said, that all the women on their planet are frigid so that’s why they’ve come here to fuck us! The lift eventually came as I pretended I couldn’t hear her. I pushed myself into the metal box. She knew I was pretending to not hear her and desisted as the door closed. I only wish one day would feel normal. The lift will get me out of here. The lift took me down back to where I had come from
On the way out of the hospital a tall blonde woman in a white jacket smiled at me. My day just got better. I asked her if she would like to come outside and have a cigarette? No, she said, I’m an oncologist. What, I said, does that come after Aquarius? No, she said, that means that I’m a doctor that specialises in cancer. Cancer, I asked, I thought that came before Aquarius? No, she said, I specialise in cancer the disease not Cancer the star-sign. Fair enough, I replied, well do you mind if I have one? Whatever, she said, it’s your funeral. I turned away from her and started to leave. No, I said as I shook my head. Victory belongs to the brave. I turned my body back to her and asked her to come and keep me company. I could see it in her eyes as she decided. For my pleasure, I asked? She nodded and smiled. She unbuttoned her jacket and walked towards me. It was her and her alone that could make my day better.
I alone am the only alien I know of on this world. Once again I spent a whole day with other people trying to figure out what is wrong with my new (changed) body. All of these tests are performed for analysis and not for cure. These days just keep getting longer. None of this makes any sense to me because I alone cannot hear my heart beat. The doctor shall always be but we will all die one way or another. This life is slowly killing me. My body has forgotten how to feel. I cannot feel my heart beat. I can no longer feel but a woman is the only sensation I miss. If only there were women aliens I might have some sort of a chance. Do you understand me? Sing out if you do. Tell me if you do? Can you understand how difficult this is? I will never again properly understand anything so I shall try and cry when I get home. I will try to cry to get rid of it….
(I flirted with her over a cuppa but she wasn’t the one so I left alone)
Andrew Stuart Buchanan III
****** DRUNKEN TOUCHTYPING
Ddrunk – to write about it, it being the, it, of I me her him she it
Ddrunk – to write about it, it being the, it, of I he him her she it
I;m still using my old version of Word for Mac and the spellcheck won’t always automatically fix all mistakes. I knid of liked it that way in this 9 one, it sh0ws the meaning. For me ths works, so well
4VV6 (an explanation) I was drunk when I started writing this so there are errors and re]itition. Ut;s not that] I think it/s cool or am advocating drunken behaviour but it ( I am) ammerely exp.lains ing how this happened/ I kept stopping starting and cutting and pasting trying to get into it a second or third time. It is from lack of inspiration for a whole story. It is just disparate thoughts from iver a year of chaos left in their chaotic order (as I found them_. I put the bit about my dick first not because it happened first but because my dick is always on my mind. A pieco (I’m drunk again now) of me has stayed alive and looks on in horror. The errors are not intentional but I have intentionally kept them. I liked how they looked on the page when I was sober so I left them in because I was drunk when I started writing this
Dear Santa Claus,
You know how I got here so I’ll start like this, thanks for my two front teeth. Now all I want is unc0nditional love
I showed my dick to a man today. Don’t worry. I had to show it to the doctor. I had several other issues but that was the one I was most worried about. Thyme had asked me earlier in the week how many times I had been to the doctor in the last year. Pass; next question. If it s a competition I win. I go to the doctors so often that the receptionist knows me well enough that I don’t even need to show her my card. I got all the prescriptions out the way first and then told him that I have something wrong with my dick. I started telling him that I have had trouble maintaining an erection since I’ve become disabled and have been using a cock-ring as I loosened the drawstring on my pants. Don’t tell me, he said… it fell off? No, I said as I laughed and pulled my pants and undies down. I took it in my hands and removed the Primapore to show him the damage. I hadn’t felt the pain as it happened but had seen it when I removed the ring and ejaculated. There was a 2 centemetre long blood blister running down it that I waited a day and a half to pop. It has never really healed properly sitting so close to my big sweaty balls
A friend said to me, I think you’re in denial. the blood keeeeps coming back. It hurt to hear it but they were right. All I have ever wanted was to be was a ******. My friend said, get over it. I didn’t tell them to make them feel sorry for me but just to let them know how and why I am the way I am. It’s not that I wanted to cry but it helped and I felt better the next morning. The friend told me about their lot’s troubles and it helped me realise that we all want ******
I was going to write about it, it being the it of I he him her she it but I can’t. I don’t have enough energy. Anyway writing about it only diminishes some of the sting. In my mind I survive. A friend of mine talked about the sting but could only imagine it. –PULLING THE STING OUT STILL LEAVESS SSOME OF IT IN THE BLOODSTREAM-. Maybe I could try and mix it up in a metaphor or speak in reverse? Man bites dog. .god setib naM (esrever) The dog had to get a rabies shot. No, that is too obvious. .suoivbo oot si that, oN What about, the water receded to reveal a lake? No. .oN The Indians… no be more specific… the Native American’s forced the white man nam etihw from their indigenous home? No fuck it; I shouldn’t talk about Native American’s. I’m a white man. Get real man, metaphors are for cowards. It’s probably best if I don’t write about it ti tuoba etirw t’nod I fi tseb plbaborp s’tI.
The phone rang. It was a friend so I started speaking. They asked me how I was so I told them how I was feeling. I was repeating myself when my friend told me that they thought I was in denial. Wow. .woW . They said that it was the way it was so deal with and get over it. I had told them that I had cried myself to sleep thinking about it three nights in a row. I told them that it was an easier thing to say than do but ever since our discussion I have learned to
The Neuro psychologist said I presented well for somebody with an acquired brain-injury. I had to fight to get a copy of her report and I had cried (again? ?niaga) when I read it. It showed all of my deficits. It said because I act on social cues I do not give away that I will not remember. What has just been said no longer applies seilppa regnol on. I met a man the other day. He asked me with his eyes if I remembered him. I shook my head then he told me that he once pushed me up the hill in my wheelchair from the Icebergs one day. I pursed my lips and shook my head again and he looked sad. He said, that is the sort of thing that most people would dluow remember rebmemer. I told him I landed on my head. He nodded slowly as he said, yeah you told me before. He had caught me out. It’s not hard to forget. Remembering problemmssssssss sssssssmmrelborp gnirebmemeR.
I surrounded myself with apathy. I wasn’t a nice person before. I lied, I cheated – and cheated – _I cheated – and stole and I ended up like this.
it being the it of I he she it but I can’t. I don’t have enough energy.. eve felisseddddddd
the morning of my birthday I spent three hours on the toilet. I know I’ve said it all before but how I defecate is complicated. Not on my birthday. I sat on the commode chair and I couldn’t stop. Later in the day a friend text me f to wish me well and tp pt ask how I was. I text them back that I was sick. They asked me if I was sick or sad. I told them that I was sick and explained my bowel problem. My friend asked a profound question. I have thought about it ever since. I put a wad of toilet paper in my undies and considered it finished,
it has never finished. The poohs keep coming out my bum. My sickness was Salmonella and being disabled the way that I am it has stayed with me rof for months. I have never gone back to a consistently hard stool (why am I writing this????? right yeah) and my shit often smells sour. If I had the guts – ¾ah ha ha hah hah h- – I would take a video of the procedure to defecate. It’s Clinically Disgusting. I have been sitting over the toilet for two hours at least twice a week. Even after two lots of antibiotics I am still sour and runny at least once a week. There has been so much sadness ssendas that I wouldn’t be surprised if it has decided to join in,
and so yeah, the days went on and on just staying alive. I spent all of my time next to the bathroom in case of pooh-pooh. I got to the gym once but have never been healthy since. Has the bug gub stayed with me because I was sad das? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck kcuF. I’d never thought about it like that. Just like my brain holds on to the tinnitus my heart holds on to the sickness. Okay, I said aloud, get up out of your wheelchair and walk klaw you bastard. What I am is what I am. By being sick you are attracting sick. Come on brain, this body is not broken nekorb ton si ydob siht, niarb no emoC. Your mind is si dnim ruoY holding on to the source. You do not need a mirror. .rorrim a deen ton od uoY .Do not hold onto anything. With your mind you can do anything so come on, do it. Come on do it, stand up. My legs crumpled as I tried to stand and landed, on my, face,
my face is now different. I pretend that I am normal every day. I often try to think about the way it went down but I never get very far, remembering gnirebmemer. Christmas day I spent over three hours on the toilet. Three hours just getting all of the sadness out of my guts. The body is trying but the mind holds on to it. My brain and body have been linked but never connected. Does that make sense ?? of course it does, to me em ot. Nobody else understands. People get mad with me for missing appointments like I have a choice
Thank you so much for my two front teeth, all I want now is unconditional love! Animal mineral or vegetable will do. I’m not too proud to be seen hugging a tree. I have an excuse. I was never taught how to love properly. I mistook sex and affection for love and so now here we are
I surrounded myself with apathy. I wasn’t a nice person before. I lied, I cheated – God how I cheated – and stole and I ended up like this.
… was going to write about it but I can’t. I don’t have enough energy. Anyway writing about it only diminishes some of the sting. In my mind I survive. A friend of mine talked about the sting but could only imagine it. –PULLING THE STING OUT STILL LEAVESS SSOME OF IT IN THE BLOODSTREAM
it being the it of I he she it but I can’t. I don’t have enough energy.. eve felisseddddddd
I now have a clinically diagnose d erectile dysfunction. If that is not karma or fate then surely Peter Sellers is the Mster retsM of the Universse essrevinU. It’s probably because I don’t have a woman. I ddkeep trying to varying degrees of semi. My dick is a beautiful thing when it works
if you have over a hundred friends on Facebook and you don’t work in advertising or marketing you are a prick. I’m sorry to put it like that. I was born in an age of pen pals and nobody ever had that many (how many of your friends on Facebook do you actually know or can regularly make you laugh – delete five of your ‘friends’ ‘sdneirf’ today that you don’t yllautca communicate with). Facebook started as a way to keep in touch. I had to delete no.1 after they put a horrible comment on my page. I started thinking so I deleted no.1’s number two. I also deleted no.2 and their no.2. they are all too dangerous and trigger-happy yppah-reggirt dna. I started getting carried away and deleted every one of my “friends” that didn’t wish me a happy birthday. I too oot am itchy finger. Facebook is wasted energy. The insecure tally their worth in numbers. it is a new sickness and the only cure is to switch it off
A young girl that I had become friends with asked me if I had deleted her. I asked her if she wished me a happy birthday.? ?. She said no so I told her that I had probably deleted her too. I asked her what type of friend she was? I told her I was happy to email her but I felt embarrassed that so many people hadn’t bothered to say anything. What is the basis of the online friendship? They don’t’ care I don’t care. m. Facebook tells you when it is a friend’s s’dneirf birthday so that even if you are not online on the day you can still wish a belated greeting. If you do not know somebody they are not a r reeal flaeer r friend so what iss ssi the point of staying in contact.? I already have enough “fair-weather” friends. She told me that people would be offended at being deleted deteled gnieb. Offended by what? I asked her who would be more offended, a fake friend or a friend that was faked? nbdw I would rather not /than you/. She still has not replied to that one. I do not want/need to see her photos or see what she is doing from moment to moment. i do not miss our online friendship
she has not replied. And so I come home alone in agony and write all this nonsense that squirts out of me . I ejaculate in my mind. When I am into writing I could spend a whole night just thn]dinking abouy iy (t) (t) yi yuoba. I take my time and consider every word. Even if it doesn]t make sense to you it means everything to me. I got told off by a women (a, not e) all about (all drunk) aa story (extra a means) that I wrote. SSsshe helped me with my blog but was fucked off with me / about / because of the content of my stories. Nobody believes me when I talk but as a sentence it is taken as gospel. I don’t even do half the things I write about. Now limited by my body and memory I instead have to take inspiration from inside ny mind somewhere. I couldn’t say where, possibly somewhere below my righttt ttthgir ( fake deaf faed ekaf ) ear. It makes me feel good. I am writing about the right stuff. I made her think. If her rage meant something it would be nice. Women actually hate men (((((( there, that’ll get some goat yahoo!Anarchy in Sydbey yebdyS)
i wear two
the ringing on the left side of my head had gotten louder. It was all that I could hear. The battery in my good hearing aid had gone flat. The right ear picks up the sound from the deaf hand side of my head and digitally mixes it with the hearing I have in my right ear. The extra sound and added perception helps mask the ringing. I reached down to the bag under my wheelchair and pulled out a packet of batteries. I looked at the wheel and I had used them all up. My memory is getting better but there are still holes. I cannot hear from the left ear without the right. The tinnitus had got louder without me noticing it. I couldn’t think for the ringing. I concentrated on my breathing trying to lower it (a trick I have used once before). it only works a bit and for as long as I can keep focused. All I can do is breathe
ssimple simple, it’s simple
The battery went flat halfway down Bondi Rd and I realised how hard it is when you can’t hear. It’s dangerous. I saw a blind man walking up the street towards me. He walked with a dog and a cane and I thought wow. I find it hard to accept my disabilities. The discharge note from the psychologist in the hospital I was placed at said, Andrew has had great difficulty coming to terms with having a brain-injury. No shit. It didn’t take a doc+or ro+cod in a white coat to tell me that, a butcher could’ve. I woke dumb. I pulled mu wheelchair into a driveway. AAas the blind man walked past me I leaned across in my wheelchair and told him he was an inspiration. What, he asked? I told him what I said again. I was counting, he stammered. Counting what, I asked? Counting my steps, he said. .dias eh ,spets ym gnitnuoC He asked where we were and I tol d d lot I him (had to tell him) I didn’t know the name of the street +
I had to go to the post office, that’s why I left the house. I’d only pushed one hundred metres from my front door when I saw the postie. Did you get the ticket for your parcel, she asked? I turned to face her and I fell out of my wheelchair. I haven’t fallen out of it for the longest time. There was a branch lying on the footpath htaptoof eht no. The postie and a strange lady walking by helped me back into it. They both fawned over me asking if I was okay? I told them I was fine. That was a lie. All you have to do is smile to fool them. I am so sick of everything. I got home and stifled the tears… no sorry that’s also a lie. The tears came but I managed to control them. It is the only control I have
I aaam always hearing women talking about not understanding man. I feel lucky that I a m honest and/or dumb enought to be me. the try=uth is not as we know it. I I belieieve all o f my ym f o lla dysfunction to be beatable. i am only part man wheli the rest of me is still beast. Man )me( is so simple, elpmis os si )em( naM
u ]]] y\q I will neve \r[ p44p\\robablyy nevfre\r understand this new body and dna who I now want or who will want me, wo\m\am ma/m/ow, (n, but you know) byt I can’t stop?
ii can’t t’nac ii / ddon;t stop po ts
llew os ,
Andrew SStuart Buchanan
Akk id]]] kk akk all of t’i\h\his nea] means nothing but ulitmatel7nbn nothing means something
Andrew SStuart Buchanan