New York City 1948


4:08 p.m.-2002-11-12

thorn under a scale

The eyes. The eyes are not happy. Focusing is difficult today. The screen is my anathema. Splitting pain darting behind my sockets will be my reward for an evening's work. Like to suck the virginal eye's out of an unsuspecting confused young man, and transplant them in my head. Luckily for the public at large I do not possess the dark arts. Or for that matter believe they even exist, cause then I'd give it a shot.

I believe I have decent perceptive powers. I notice hidden serenity and putrification in objects and events and individuals that others don't. I enjoy observing. Interesting how an observer has failing eyesight. Sort of how a person who spews verbal sickness into people's ears like Rush Limbaugh goes deaf. Which did happen.

Modern miracles of visual science are keeping me from going blind. Necessary to employ their medication for the rest of my days in order to maintain my sight. Relying on an HMO. Makes my stomach sour to think it. Especially residing in a country that has turned medicine into another cash crop. If I hadn't come up poor white trash, and wasn't currently one of the innumeral slaves plodding through rich white men's cesspool to survive, I might not even have a sight problem. Hooray capitalism.

Anyway, yeah. Quite the angry freak today. Someone clumsily attempted to ease my cranky a few minutes ago with misguided humor. His fault he couldn't take numerous hints to leave it. Spread the lack of joy as I told him to cram it. He walked away, head bowed, like an injured puppy. Grrrrrrrrr. Pissed even further that while I, losing my eyesight, can read body language very well, would know to leave a person alone who obviously has their aggravation nerves close to the surface, while he, with a specs free face can't perceive the same fucking thing.

Hopefully someone will want to fuck me extremely visciously tonight.

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