no empathy from the devil

I just wanted to get to the gym but all these people kept stopping me wanting to talk. They make my brain tired. I’d been stopped and had to talk to a fat woman in a purple mu-mu. It was the size of a two-man tent. She’d walked up to me wearing a bicycle helmet. Thick mascara dripped down her cheeks like the marks of a clown. I asked her why she was wearing a bicycle helmet when she wasn’t on a bike? She asked me why I was in a wheelchair? I said, all right fair enough. Her face opened and I heard her tell me stories about her life. She just needed someone to hear her. I wondered if she knew that I didn’t care until I saw her madness

A randy old lady I always see walked up behind me. Her bony hand was ice-cold as it touched my shoulder and started rubbing me. She said, see I’ve been following you. I sighed. I was turning around to say hello when she said, gee you’re always talking to women. She smiled and said, I’ve never seen you talking to a man. I nodded and smiled. Gee, she said, the ladies love you don’t they? She started talking about what a handsome man she thought I was and I switched off. I told her I had to go. I turned and pushed my chair away from her. I would rather be ugly and have the woman that I love

I always feel rude when I tell them I have to get going. As I leave I wonder why I hadn’t said it earlier? There is something kind inside of me. Maybe I should start pushing my wheelchair down the road instead of the footpath. I turned around to ask mu-mu if I could borrow her bicycle helmet. I turned around and she was gone. There was not another human in sight. Did I imagine her? I am surrounded by madness. I am surrounded when nobody else seems to be. I let go of the wheels on my chair and kept on down the hill. I’m still waiting for new gloves. Friction has burned a hole on the thumb of my right glove. The heat of descent on my thumb told me that everything happening to me was real

I saw the face of None and it cooled me. He’s a drifter who’d come back to Bondi for the summer. He reminded me of what it is to be human. I looked at the sincerity on his face and it made me hate him. It made me feel like vomiting. His face shone like a candle. Open all hours. He asked me how my art was going? I told him nobody liked it. He looked me in the eye and told me he’d give me an example. He told me that he used to be a landscape gardener. I rolled my eyes. I thought, what man hasn’t been a landscape gardener? I looked at his face and watched him tell me a story I was clearly not interested in. He spoke to me like he was explaining something to a child. They told me in a calm way that they had to keep the garden the way the owners wanted it, not the way that he would have kept it. He said that he knew horticulture and there were better ways to keep a garden

What an example. Comparing ownership to apples. I serve no master. I can do anything I want. I still do it even when I don’t have it. I don’t care. I write with my mind in mind. I know why. It’s because I can release the grubby little pervert who sits between my two souls. I told him that it wasn’t for him. I told him that I write to keep myself happy. He said, yeah but if you wrote what they wanted you could have an audience. I looked at the sincerity in his face. It made him look stupid. I grimaced shrugged my shoulders and said, what? They said, well I’ll give you an example. I rolled my eyes at his stale opinion. I used to be a landsca…

People recognise pain. People like to watch pain. They say if you’re being robbed or raped the best thing to do is scream FIRE!!!!!!!! People will come running then. Most people will cross the street to avoid helping someone in need. If you scream, fire, someone will come running to watch you burn. They will only want to watch someone else’s pain. They will stand and watch while thinking, thank fuck it’s not me burning. People like to watch others suffer. If you yell out for help they would turn their back

A strange woman walked up to me and told me I should come along to her church. She said that her congregation had made a man in a wheelchair walk. I looked at the sincerity on her face and it made me hate her. If people could be cured in church there would be no hospitals. Wouldn’t that be great? Just say ten Hail Mary’s. You’ll be able to give yourself a sponge bath in no time. Religion is a good thing for some. Show me your tits and open your legs. That’s my religion

The Church Built of Science is always trying. I’ve seen her three times at the gym. Sorry, she’s seen me three times. She pushes the line too hard. It’s the third time she’s come up and told me I should be a guinea pig for an experiment in Science. I am trapped between The Walls of Polite. Her eyes are too close together and her breath smells like rotten pumpkin. I told my Ninety Year-Old friend who said that I should report her. I told my friend that I’m not a snitch. Yeah but, she said, they might be pushing the same on to other clients at the gym. I’ll tell ANDRE the GIANT tomorrow

I was halfway down the street when I saw her. She’d zeroed in. She couldn’t take her eyes off me. I said under my breath please, just let me get out of here. I looked down. The curb cut was too high. I couldn’t cross in my wheelchair. She started running towards me. She looked like an ironing board. Once she had caught her breath she asked me if I went to church? I recognised the first part of the pitch so I turned my wheelchair on her and started pushing back the way I came. I felt rude but I’m sick of meeting women wanting to heal me. I know that I’m disabled but I want (will, please?) to meet a woman who wants me for the man I am. I’m sick ** **

A wonderfully stacked woman was walking towards me wearing a black bikini and high heels. We were five blocks back from the beach. Her chest jiggled as she walked. Every single man stared at her. She knew it and it was making her smile. She smiled directly at me as she was about to walk by. I leaned across and said, you are more than your breasts. She stopped and spat, what? I was halfway through saying it again as she reached down and grabbed the back of my hair. Her long red fake fingernails gouged my scalp as she took a fistful. She took my head and buried it into her pussy. What, she screamed, what did you say? I couldn’t find the words again. All I could do was smile as she released me. Her fists were clenched. My phone rang so I said, excuse me, to her and answered it. I put the phone up to my ear and my face back in her pussy. Her hand went to the back of my head again but lightly. Her phone rang so she answered it. She spoke to someone while fluffing the back of my hair. I hung up the phone and moaned into her muff. I sat smelling her wondering what she would smell when she had hung up

I was still only halfway home. I allow room in my life for magic but I’m a realist. I saw a thirty-something peroxide blonde walking towards me wearing a tight school uniform. She smiled at me so I smiled back. She lifted the hem of her kilt until it was under her chin. She wasn’t wearing any knickers and was bald down there. There was a thin trail of brownish blood running down her left leg. I told her that I once ate out a woman who had her period. Neither of us realised until I came up for air. I realise it, she said. Yes, I said, I suppose you do

I kept pushing the wheelchair towards my dwelling. I saw a bloke I know on the way so asked him where I could buy some mace? He asked what I meant? I said, you know mace, to spray at people to keep them away. He asked why? I said because today I’ve been chatted-up by a lonely old lady, I’ve had my head rammed in a woman’s crotch, a zealot tried to prime me up and a woman flashed her bloody pussy at me. I feel like I’ve been raped. Religious, at least you know she’s not a slut, he replied. Maybe I want a slut, I said. Do you know, he said, that some rapists still try to rape even after chemical castration. They still want what they can’t have. There was a moment’s silence as we both thought about what he’d said. Thanks, I said, after talking to you today hasn’t been a total waste. Saying it out loud has helped me realise something. She really is more than her breasts, I would rather have a slut than the woman that I love and a man is still a man even after you’ve taken his balls

watching me burn

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Andrew Stuart Buchanan

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