From the “Self Saterized Anxiety” chap book
There is
red lipstick on
my cigarette butt
and
blonde hair,
from my wig,
keeps getting stuck
to the side of
my face.
I just
brush it away
like the pretty
ladies do in
the movies.
We drain a bottle of Jack
at about noon
and a case of Corona.
She has a tattoo
on her ankle
that says
cunt.
Larry sits in the
front seat and
laughs.
The night before
today
I spent at the docklands
watching the fireworks.
Well,
we missed the fire works
and my mum got upset,
but at least we heard them
boom,
and splash,
on the building
windows.
A lady took photos
on her phone
of her child in
a pram.
My dad says
“That fookin baby
should have a hat on,
that’s how kids
catch cot death.”
Photos of fireworks
always look stupid
and forced.
Like suspended lights
that should be exploding.
“I wish I was a
Fire work”
Says my dad.
For some reason
I think he
really means
it this time
I don’t think
I have ever seen
him
brush his teeth.
In fact
I love the smell
of his breath so much
it kills me
that he has to.
Once he pulled out
a tooth at the dinner table
with a pair of pliers.
I dropped a pillow in
the hotel hall
and I asked my sister Jess
If she could pick it up
She said
“Who do you think I am
Lance Armstrong?”
My other sister said
“Isn’t that the guy that
first walked on the moon”
I tell her that he is
the space man in
Toy Story.
She nods in agreement.
I don’t think
she heard what I said.
When I got home
I wasn’t wearing any underpants
and there was lipstick
smudged all over my face.
I stood up at the dinner
table
and
flipped my plate
in the air and said
“SHUT UP MUM!
CANT YOU SEE IM A WORLD
FAMOUS POET!”
It’s obvious she can’t
and I am sent to my room.
I wonder,
under the blankets,
if Bukowski
had to deal with this shit.
I tried to take a piss
out the window of the
moving car but
the wind gave me stage freight
and my foreskin just flapped
in the cool air
like a fleshy wind sock.
I remember once seeing
a photo of a man
cumming into the hollows
of a woman’s feet.
She had them in the air
and the jizz was running from
her toes and into her
mouth.
She looked like
that Latino chick
from White Men Can’t Jump
and I Imagined her
saying
“Don’t be so
Stooped Billy
How many foods
start with the letter Q.”
That was a peak for me.
Nothing will ever turn
me on as much
as that did.
I’m in
limbo.
Forever in
Limbo.
Like Major Tom,
Or Robert Capa
Or Crispin Glover.
Some kind of
self satirized
anxiety.
The internet
has taught me
that every one
is exactly the
same;
Except for me.
Sometimes.
But not always.
You see;
She always supports me
in every dumb move
I ever make.
I never support her.
I blew 100 bucks
on a portable DVD player
in China and I have
never even turned it on.
She spent 70 bucks
at an Indian fortune teller
in Thailand
and I threw wads
Of cash from our Tuk Tuk
as I yelled at her
for wasting our money.
I’m sure I have damaged her
No one can put up with
this much bullshit.
Tonight she took
half a bottle of red wine
to bed with her
and mistook
my Prozac for sleeping pills.
She took 4,
Then laid on the couch
and burped her
self
like a baby.
Sometimes when she wakes up
and I watch her change
the creases of the
blankets are still
cut
into
her
outer
thigh
and her cheek.
Her ass cheek.
I sent a message to one friend
asking if he could
please ring me tomorrow
because
“I have something important to tell you”
Then I rang another friend
who might be able to
get me a gun
today
so if I gather enough balls
I might be able
to shoot my self
In the face
tonight.
I swear to God
sometimes I think
I have lots of foreskin
She says
“What’s that honey?”
I say
“Nothing
Babe,
I’m sure you will
Find out
soon enough.”
She does her
hair in the mirror
and
if she keeps bending
over like that
one of us is going
to get arrested.
Again.
She wipes
potato and gravy
off her tits
and sucks her finger.
Things like that
sometimes
make me cry.
I start to
wrap a string of beaded pearls
around my dick
but she slaps them
out of my hands.
They get lost under the bath tub.
It wasn’t her necklace.
It was my mums.
I spend the next
three hours in the bath
drinking beer and
running more hot water
when its gets to
cool.
The radio is on
and when the water level
gets too high
I just let it splash onto the floor.
I have been playing
so much
World of war
I think I may
have shell shock.
I never get the recognition
I deserve,
I pretty much
won World War Two
single handedly.
I used to pretend to forget
my bathers for
school swim days
cause I was afraid
of my body
but now all I
want to do
is be naked.
She always
Says before a party
“Please babe,
your aloud
to have a
good time
but the girls don’t
always want to
see your dick
all the time.”
And I’m pretty sure their
boyfriends think
you’re a fucking
small dicked
scum bag.”
There is a
spastic beside
the bus
and he is marveled
by a flower.
He spins it in his fingers
and watches in the sun
with bug eyes
and his retarded
mind.
He laughs
a retarded laugh.
Smiles a retarded smile.
College students
walk by with a cigarette
and iphone.
They complain about
politics
and art
and spelling.
The bus leaves
and
I leave the genius
to his flower and
the complaining to
the fools.
People always tell me
that my mum is hot
I tell them to shut up
but I still feel stupid
cause deep down
I know they are
right.
Deep down is
where it always
feels stupid.
I’m pretty sure
I’m going to be happy
one day.
Happy or gay.
Possibly gay
but only
in a happy way.
If I was gay
I’d want to be with
either Elvis
or Kanye West.
Not sexually.
I’d just like to hang out
with them and play Xbox.
Maybe drink a few beers
and just see
where the night takes us.
I wouldn’t want to be
with Usher,
that’s for sure.
I’m insecure
enough already.
I’m certain
people hate me
on Facebook.
Strangers like
my status
but my friends
are all stuck up ass holes.
My status
at the moment is
“Ben,
Did you just
put spray tan
on your dick”
but don’t quote me
on any of this,
I’m paraphrasing,
It’s what I do,
you see.
My sister
thinks I should
do calisthenics
because I have
sexy long legs
and a good turnout.
It’s like when people
tell you that
they would make brilliant
piano players
because they have
skinny fingers.
They wouldn’t.
Well,
they could be
if they wanted to learn.
But they won’t.
They never do.
We live in them
moments.
The moments that
never happen.
We could always
be better than
we are.
Shit…
I could have been a porn star
if I had a bigger dick,
more stamina
and was confident to
fuck on film.
Maybe if
I could fit
a traffic cone
into my asshole.
My mum once said
You can be anything you want
I said I want to be Jim Morrison.
She said
anything except Jim Morrison,
You will never be as cool
as Jim Morrison.
I didn’t understand
what she meant until
Amy Winehouse died.
And then it didn’t
matter anyway.
I was beyond
worrying
about that kind
of thing.
Sometimes if I’m drunk
I try and catch my
Piss.
As if the stream
were a silver rope.
If I’m pissing in a back yard
and it has dog I make sure
I piss on its tree.
Mark my spot.
Fuck that dog.
Confuse the shit
outta him.
Maybe I’d piss on the cat,
try and sort this argument out
once and for all.
About time
they patched things up.
I was in the bath
once and I pissed on my chest
just to check if I had a urine fetish,
I didn’t.
I just washed it off with
a wet flannel.
I hope no one
ever reads this book.
I’m going to
quit poetry soon.
I’m starting a new form
of writing
and I’m going to call it
“Words beside each other
in story form
by the semi retarded.”
The first book
is going to be called
“I have a wedgie
But I’m not wearing
Any underpants.”
Its auto biographical.
Do you think
You could ever
find your self
so attractive
you could
to lather your self
in whipped cream and
jack off to memories
of yourself in the shower.
If you jacked off in the
mirror you could
Make yourself cum?
Saying things like
“Oh Ben, Oh Ben,
You really are one nasty
mother fucker.
Keep going just
like that, it’s perfect.
You’re an
amazingly unselfish
lover.”
How about
thinking about
yourself having sex
with your self
during sex.
Don’t know if
it’s possible
but I’ll try anything
at least
once.
Did you know;
Just a bit of
mindless trivia
to break up the
evening.
When you reach
60 your
60 percent
more likely
to have
down syndrome
complications
during child birth.
She says
“So as soon
as the baby is born
you get down syndrome?”
I say,
“Babe; I wish it was that easy.”
Now mind you,
These are not real figures
but its closer to the truth
than most stories you hear.
Well,
not really,
Maybe 60 percent more
true.
My grandma
used to tell me
“All’s well that
ends well.”
She was a real
trooper
my Grandma
A real optimist.
She
must have been
fucking spewing
in the end
cause it didn’t
exactly end well
for her and pop.
If all’s well
that ends well
then
all that’s well
is death
Or an orgasm.
But given a long enough time line
then it’s Always
death.
The orgasm ends
well before that.
Imagine it ended after.
Yeah,
I’m pretty much a
skeptic of heaven
myself.
Death is like one
of them annoying people
that you hate to hang out with
but have to get along with him
cause he is an important
client at your company.
When I die
if there is an after life
All I’m going to do
is worry if there
ss a life
after
the afterlife
And if there is;
I’m going to do the
same thing there,
Until forever.
Fuck em,
know what I mean?
I’m a pain in the
Ass like that.
Dick head should
have never gave me
the choice if
it was going to depend on
so much.
I vomited
about 2 pints of
blood tonight.
Outta my mouth,
outta my ass.
I think I pushed this
drunk writer
bullshit a little too far.
At the hospital a boy
fights with his father
and walks out saying
“I hope you die in here”
A baby fights for life
through wet phlegmy breaths
and an old man looks
at the floor with out
a single thought running
through his peanut shaped
head.
At least if this
is
“it”
I can’t imagine
I’m going to miss
out on much.
I usually check my Facebook
every 6 to 8 minutes
at least.
Once on a cold
winter day in November
no one posted
for 3 of my refreshes.
I thought maybe I
had finally died
and this was
some kind of
online
purgatory.
I felt alone and
so anxious I couldn’t
leave my room
until a woman
in Canada
said that she had
left her Boyfriend
I breathed again and
went to the fridge for
a beer and
a packet of
shaved Virginian ham.
My mum must spend
so much money on
ham because I just eat
It straight from the
packet in a thick slab.
People always make
jokes about spam
but I don’t understand them.
I think spam is
pretty cool.
Underneath her
pillow in the spare room
I wrote
“Are you laying
down babe”
there was no answer
for a few days
so I wrote
“Babe?”
With a question mark
beside it.
Maybe she thought it was
a statement and
it didn’t need a response.
Silly bitch,
I have been stressing out
about it
for years.
There was once
so many cum socks
under my bed
that there
was a sock
shortage in the house.
I’ll always remember it as
“The great sock outage of 99.”
Me and my dad
had to wear crocks
and get blisters from
our work boots.
Shit was hectic
until I had the house
to myself and
did two loads of sock
washing.
Then I threw them all in
the next door neighbors bin…
What was I going to do
for the love of Pete?
Slowly
introduce them back
into circulation?
Not an option.
People would
start asking questions.
Now we use
toilet paper
and I just pretend
I have a cold all
year round.
I hope my children
never turn
out the way I have
but I if they do
I hope they
find a love
like mine.
There would be
nothing worse
than growing old
with someone you hate.
Making love
at 80 would be hard enough,
or not hard,
enough of the time.
I am lucky
In them ways.
Unlucky
In others.
Tonight I went to
bed,
after a few too many drinks,
and I had a dream
that I wrote a book
called
Self Satirized Anxiety
That was
filled with all my secrets
and not only did
I read em to a crowd
I actually had them for sale,
and some sick enough
mother fuckers
even bought them.
It’s a god damn strange place
this one,
filled to the brim with
creeps
and
perverts
house wife’s
and desk clerks.
Rainbows
and
lollypops.
Bukkake
and
bourbon.
People looking at me
waiting to finish
this ridiculous pile
of self indulgent,
over the top,
vain attempt at
white middle class, witty
and subversive, look at me,
egotistical and wanky,
self absorbed
bullshit.
