Ddrunk – to write about it, it being the, it, of I me he him her she it

 
 
I was drunk when I started writing this so there are errors and repetition. It is from lack of inspiration for a whole story. It is just disparate thoughts from iver a month of chaos left in their chaotic order (asa 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 cock 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 a competion 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 forms out the way first and then told him that I have a 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. There was a centimetre 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. They told me that there is no point crying about it. I had told them that I cried myself to sleep two nights in a row this week. 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 speakin reverse? Man bites dog. god setib naM. The dog had to get a rabies shot. No, that is too obvious. What about, the water receded to reveal a lake? No. The Indians… no be more specific… the Native Americans forced the white man from their indigenous home? No fuck it; I shouldn’t talk about the Native American’s. I am a white man. Get real man, metaphors are for cowards. It’s probably best if I don’t write about it. The phone rang. It was a friend so I started speaking. They asked me how I was so I told them. I was repeating myself when my friend told me that they thought I was in denial. Wow. They said that 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 two 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 cried 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. I met a man the other day. He asked me if I remembered him. I shook my head then he told me that he once pushed me up the hill from the Icebergs one day. I shook my head and he looked sad. He said, that is the sort of thing that most people would remember. 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..

 
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 fto wish me well and tp asked 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 kept coming out my bum. My sickness was Salmonella and being disabled the way that I am it has stayed with me 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 –ha ha- I would take a video of the procedure to defecate. 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 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 boom-boom. I got to the gym once but have never been healthy since. Has the bug stayed with me because I was sad? Fuck. 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 chair and walk. What I am is what I am. By being sick you are attracting sick. Come on brain, this body Iis not broken.Your mind is holding on to the source. Don’t hold onto anything. With your mind you can do anything so come on, do it. Come on do it. My legs crumpled as I tried to stand 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. 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. 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 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 know have a clinically diagnose d erectille dysfunction. If that is not karma or fate then surely Peter Sellers is the Mster of the Universse

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. 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. I started getting carried away and deleted every one of my “friends” that didn’t wish me a happy birthday. I too am itchey finger. 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 told her I was happy to email her but I felt embarrassed that so many people hadn’t bothered to say anything. They don’t’ care I don’t carem Facebook tells you when it is a friend’s birthday so that even if you are not online on the day you can still wish a belated greeting. If they are not ar reeal friend what iss the point.? She told me that people would be offended at being deleted. I asked her who would be more offended, a fake friend or a friend that was faked? I would rather not than you/ She still has not replied to that one,

she has not replied. And so I come home in agony and write all this nonsense that squirts out. It’s like ejaculating while having sex in my mind. back when I started writing I could spend a whole day. Now I pump out these dirty tales in a week. 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 a story (drunk) that I wrote. SSsshe helped me set up my blog but was fucked off about/because of the content of what I write. 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. I take them from the back of my mind somewhere. It makes me feel good. I am writing about the right stuff. If their rage meant something it would be nice. Women actually hate men (((((( there, that’ll get some goat yahoo!Anarchy in Sydbey)

The battery in my good hearing aid had gone flat. The right ear picks up the sound from the left hand side of my head and mixes it with the hearing I have in the right. 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 in the left without the right. The tinnitus had got louder without me noticing it. 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

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 in a white coat to tell me that. A butcher could’ve told 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?
+
 
 
 
 
))))))))))00000000000
 
 
aa woman once made a piece of art talking about the complicated 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 f my dysfuntion to be beatable. i am only part man wheli the rest of me is still animal. Man )me( is so simple
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Andrew Stuart Buchanan

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