138 lines
8.2 KiB
Plaintext
138 lines
8.2 KiB
Plaintext
s$
|
|
$$ .d""b. .d""b. HOE E'ZINE #1098
|
|
[-- $$""b. $$ $$ $$ $$ -- ------------------------------------------- --]
|
|
$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ss$$ "This Story Doesn't Matter"
|
|
$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ by, Effy
|
|
$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ 06/16/00
|
|
[-- $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ -- ------------------------------------------- --]
|
|
$$ $$ "TssT" "TssT"
|
|
|
|
I was walking down a street, somewhere. It was sometime near
|
|
midnight, and I was lost. Walking. In an unfamiliar city...in a strange,
|
|
foreign place. But the stars gazed down upon the windows of my eyes and
|
|
reflected back such an instinct that I knew where I finally belonged that
|
|
this cold, unforgiving emptiness called reality was only an option of true
|
|
living.
|
|
|
|
The stars reflected off the nearby river like bright, hazy pools of
|
|
urine. My mind was traveling in circles. A circle of thought circling
|
|
rapidly around an intensely magnifying center. The center of my intention,
|
|
creeping up upon me, then hitting me senseless and defenseless. It's an
|
|
amazing thing to find out you truly have no control left over yourself.
|
|
It makes you peacefully self-destructive. There is no other way to achieve
|
|
this mentally. As long as you have control over your emotions, your
|
|
thoughts will be plagued with negativity. It's common nature among those
|
|
like us. When we finally fuck ourselves up completely, we slowly slip away,
|
|
one by one, into a self-torturous hell called Death or The Dying.
|
|
|
|
But I paid little attention to this, as I neared the water. I
|
|
stopped, and vomited on my shoes without really caring. Was I drunk, or
|
|
did I do too many drugs? Am I sick? What is wrong with me? Nothing, not
|
|
a thing, is wrong. That's just what I'm talking about. Everything in the
|
|
world is wrong with me, but it doesn't, and never will, matter to me again.
|
|
|
|
After removing my socks (I had lost my shoes, or had they worn
|
|
themselves off from my endless walking?), and the tattered cloth that used
|
|
to be a shirt, I walked to the edge of the river. There was a dock that
|
|
extended approximately ten to fifteen feet into the water. I made my way
|
|
to the end of the dock. I looked to the sky. Then I looked at the water.
|
|
Where did I fit in? It doesn't matter.
|
|
|
|
Memories flooded back to me like swirling lollipops. It was only
|
|
slightly less sweet. Gratitude is only a lesser attribute of love. I felt
|
|
gratitude for being able to finally become apathetic after every moment of
|
|
my shitty life. Gratitude, almost real love. But only almost. It'd
|
|
always been almost, hadn't it? I was so glad I didn't hate myself anymore
|
|
for subconsciously following my own, personal, real-life melodrama. Every
|
|
other person on the planet deeply despises himself somewhere for it,
|
|
because it's part of the inescapable delusion of reality. But I could
|
|
conquer it. I was about to conquer it. I will let myself go...
|
|
|
|
And so I was gone, or so I thought. I floated in the river on a
|
|
tiny raft that had been tied to the dock. I figured I'd get run over by a
|
|
barge or something, at least by morning. Or I would end up baking to death
|
|
in the early August sun. Or vultures would devour my rasping carcass.
|
|
Perhaps I would suffocate in a pile of my puke. Maybe I would shit out my
|
|
heart. What if I drowned in my piss? The latter is more likely to happen,
|
|
taking into consideration the possibility that I had probably been drinking
|
|
massive doses of hard liquor again. But no matter the method of demise,
|
|
I was convinced that it was that night that I was destined to die.
|
|
|
|
I was one with the stars shining on the lake for a few hours,
|
|
perhaps. Then the sun came up. I was completely horrified by the sky's
|
|
newfound light that I pissed myself, again. I realized had come close to
|
|
the outcome I had most suspected, as I washed the urine off my face and
|
|
body with dirty river water. I noticed a fish flopping wildly next to me.
|
|
I reached out and somehow, in my still completely deranged state, managed
|
|
to grab it. Then I ate it. It was a gar. It was the best meal ever,
|
|
because the taste had no effect on me whatsoever. I was numb. Any person
|
|
who experiences the complete loss of sensation, physical as well as mental,
|
|
can be completely at peace. Every human emotion is a mental sensation.
|
|
Take those away, and emotion is inevitably erased. Without emotion or
|
|
physical pain (due to the loss of physical sensation), there is no fear
|
|
of anything, because all of our fears are due to being hurt mentally or
|
|
physically.
|
|
|
|
I figured out a way to kill myself. I would eat myself to death. I
|
|
would chew away my flesh, bit by bit, until I bled so profusely that I
|
|
would die from the loss. And I could watch it all intently, my mind
|
|
unfocused on the non-existent pain, and not be mentally disturbed by the
|
|
sight of my own decaying, gangrene infested limbs. And I could once again
|
|
sense a touch of love for being granted something that no normal person
|
|
could ever experience without the act of self-destruction by years of abuse
|
|
(physical, drug, mental, alcohol, self)...
|
|
|
|
My toes were just luscious. I couldn't feel myself move. I don't
|
|
even really know how I did it, or how I still do it. Mysteries of existing
|
|
divinity must not be questioned, for they do not matter. It doesn't
|
|
matter. Nothing matters at all.
|
|
|
|
I watched the blood trickle down my remaining half of my foot, and I
|
|
smoked a cigarette. I almost missed the feeling of smoking for a second,
|
|
and then dismissed it in a frightened manner. I did not want anything,
|
|
least of all smoking, to make me question the permanence of my serene state
|
|
of mind.
|
|
|
|
I gnawed off a bit more of my bloody stump, and then devoured part
|
|
of my other foot. I wasn't sure if I still had teeth. I could've been
|
|
choking right then, for all I knew. I hoped I would. But I just kept on
|
|
eating myself. I had to die sometime, eventually, even if it took getting
|
|
right to my brain. I wasn't sure exactly how I would eat my own brain, but
|
|
it really didn't matter at all anyway. I decided to eat my arms lastly
|
|
before my head, that way I could still break off various body parts and eat
|
|
them without having to use my neck to reach them (thus limiting my perfect
|
|
view of the personal spectacle). I ate my penis just like I would've eaten
|
|
a corndog. I even drank blood from my colon to wash it down.
|
|
|
|
The early afternoon sun shone high in the sky, increasing the
|
|
previous night's temperature threefold. My bloody, raw, exposed flesh
|
|
seemed to turn a pale shade of reddish brown. By late afternoon, I was
|
|
almost surprised that no one had found me yet. I had not even spotted or
|
|
heard a barge. No boats. It was still, eerie silence.
|
|
|
|
Two days later, I still laid in a grisly pile on the raft. I had
|
|
eaten off both of my feet, all the way up to the ankle. My lower torso was
|
|
caved in a bit due to my indulgement of the lean meat of my abdomen. A
|
|
trail of dried blood came out of my anus (which was torn due to my large
|
|
intestine being shit out). At this point, I wasn't quite sure if I was
|
|
alive or dead yet, and it actually started to bother me a bit, which
|
|
bothered me a lot. Nothing should bother me. Nothing matters. If I keep
|
|
telling myself it doesn't matter, it will all be ok, because it won't
|
|
matter as long as I keep telling myself that.
|
|
|
|
And I'm still telling myself it doesn't matter. It could've been
|
|
days or even years since my last day on the lake, but it doesn't matter
|
|
how long ago it was. Even though it doesn't matter, I think I was
|
|
eventually found by someone on the lake, practically carnage, and taken
|
|
somewhere where they cut off the remainder of my libs, stitched up my
|
|
torso, and given a sex change. I am pretty sure of this because I have
|
|
seen the results of it all, which was also long ago, and therefore does
|
|
not matter either but then again just because today is the present does
|
|
not mean that today matters either because in essence neither today nor
|
|
yesterday is important if nothing really mattes at all, right?
|
|
|
|
Wait. Why am I asking you? You don't matter either.
|
|
|
|
[-------------------------------------------------------------------------]
|
|
[ (c) HOE E'ZINE -- http://www.hoe.nu HOE #1098, BY EFFY - 6/16/00 ]
|