Tag Archives: beautiful

I AM AFRAID

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I AM AFRAID

It’s the second or third time that they’ve approached. I feel like I must have a bullseye painted on me. Being disabled attracts weirdos. They always have something to say. Today they started talking about their woman. They told me that she was driving him crazy. He started talking about how illogical she was. He told me that she didn’t want solutions; she only wanted to fight. He told me that she was always piling shit on him. That’s what she’s there for, I said. I don’t think he heard me. He just said the same thing over and over again. He kept repeating what he had already said. She only wants to fight. I said it again, that’s what she’s there for. You’ve already said that, he said. I thought to myself, no, you’re the one who’s already said it. He told me that she was always complaining that he was at work. Well quit your job, I said. He said, I can’t, I’m the breadwinner. He continued talking about her and his problems. I told him, women are insane; don’t look to your woman for logic. He nodded then repeated everything he had already said. I was bored so told him I had to go. He started repeating his problems again. I sighed but he didn’t hear me. He didn’t know logic either so I turned my wheelchair on him mid-sentence and started pushing away

I prefer Bondi in the winter. I like it when there’s nobody around. A strange woman walked up to me halfway down Bondi road. She asked me if I remembered her? I said, no. We were together one night, she said. Are you sure you can’t remember me? She had a nice big bum and long sexy legs. Her boobs were huge and at my eye level. I looked at her face. She was beautiful and I was angry that I couldn’t remember. We were together and you couldn’t get it up, she said. She smiled smugly. I was glad I couldn’t remember. I asked her if she was a slut? The smile drained from her face as she said no. I took my sunglasses off and told her that I can’t get it up for a woman that’s too wanton. I couldn’t remember her. She was European. She had obviously wanted to fuck for an Australian child. She has a child now with an Australian man so she can stay here. I had a girlfriend once I could never fuck. She would try desperately to jam my flaccid penis inside her. I remember her because I wrote a story about it. Every time we were together she was all over me. She wanted me too much. I could not gain an erection from the feeling it gave me. It felt like she was raping me. She died young. I think she knew she was going to die young. That’s why she wanted it

I love her too much. I loved her at first sight. She walked up to me smiling. She had a face and a mind. She liked me, I could tell. I don’t like me but I don’t think she could tell. It took weeks of seeing her everyday before I had the courage to ask her out. She said, no she couldn’t, but suggested a later date. She had to finish. Once I found out the disparity I considered myself an idiot. I’ve only had my heart broken once before and that was by a younger woman. I do not hold a grudge but I will never forget. A young woman can break a man’s heart easily. A young woman is not emotionally responsible enough to see my love. I am now an old man too damaged for young love and too emotionally damaged to play that game. I have already lost. I love her too much. I couldn’t see a reason why she would like me. I love her but didn’t like that she liked me. Strange thoughts play through my mind. I cannot stop them. I hate myself

Going down a hill in a wheelchair is easy. I was halfway down Bondi Rd when a Spanish man walked in front of me. He had a big black moustache. His sweaty head shined like amber. I could see up his nose. Long black hairs advanced down and met his moustache. He leaned down and asked if I believed in God. I don’t know, I said, I think I’m agnostic. What, he said, is that like Anglican? No, I said, that means that I don’t know if God exists, nobody knows. If He is real I believe in Him but if He’s not I don’t, it doesn’t really matter anyway, nothing really matters. The day man thought of a higher power was the dawn of civilisation. That was along time ago. People see Science as a God now. They look for divinity in acquisition. Everyone has forgotten Him. God now stands at the back of the line with the fat kids. There is no time for prayer after deadline. Only a few can still see Him but they use it like a gift. They wear their love for Him like a shield. It is a code for them to live by. I told him I believed in some sort of God, just not his. And besides, I said, I thought there was no room for God in public. You know, don’t talk about religion or politics. Tell that to the priest, he said

I continued on to the gym. Just let me get there. Just let me get to the gym without having to talk to anyone else. I saw her before she saw me. She was walking towards me talking to a friend. She was in her late thirties. She was alone, just like me. She looked lonely, just like me. Faded white lines ran down her cheeks. The scars from the man who broke her heart were all over her body. When she turned and saw me she straightened slightly. I had to smile. She smiled a shy smile back and her right arm withdrew past her purse. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Her walk turned to a half-swagger as she looked out the bottom of her eyes at me. Her left leg peeled out. She looked so beautiful. I saw her neck click as she inhaled my pheromones as I wheeled my chair past. I turned around and saw her backside. She was magnificent. She turned back to look at me. I smiled at her again. She smiled for a second but kept walking

I wasn’t able to stop blushing and smiling from the fact that I had smiled at her and she had smiled at me. I thought of the electricity in our smiles until I remembered I had done nothing with it. I cannot remember myself. I only remember young love. I turned around. There was another beautiful woman standing right in front of me. Just let me get to the gym. She had a bookmark in her hand. She handed it to me. She stood silently and smiled as I read it. It said that they had a cure for everything. I looked up at her and saw an idiot’s glazed smile. She had small tits but a big bum, God’s greatest curse. Maybe that’s why she believed. She told me to come along with her. She said that they had made a wheelchair-bound man walk. I looked at her and saw one of His idiot’s. Everyone’s crazy for something

My father once told me I should be glad that people want to talk to me. I am too polite. I don’t know how to ignore. There’s a madman with lips bigger than Mick Jagger’s. He wears army pants and a tight bright-orange fluorescent t-shirt. I shook his hand the first time he came up and introduced himself. Someone walking past me nodded at him and told me he had AIDS. I have not shaken his hand since. I have not shaken it because it would feel dirty. I am ignorant and I am a coward. He just stood and slurred words. He said words I could not hear until it was comfortable enough to tell him I had to get to the gym. The gloves I wear have handled the friction of hanging on. I finally got down there. I told the lifeguard at the pool that I couldn’t go for a swim ‘cause I had a cold. That’s not like you, he said. I just feel crook, I said. A strange man walked past and said, no you’re just getting old. I am getting old so I smiled. The smile lasted too long. I thought of my situation. I didn’t think of it for long. My situation is bad

The mind has taken over the body. The body sits angry and fuming. I am ignorant and I am a coward. I love her but I’m afraid of young love

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

SOMEONE ELSE MASTURBATE

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SOMEONE ELSE MASTURBATE

 

 

The bus groaned as it started making it’s way up the hill. I sit at the front in my wheelchair looking back. I heard the bus change gear as it climbed. I turned my face to see her. She was so beautiful. I wondered what I could say to please her. I couldn’t think of anything but I started talking anyway

-It’s not that I really care. I only do it for myself anyway. It keeps me sane…

-Sorry, are you talking to me?

-Pardon?

-Were you talking to me?

-Sort of but not really

-Does that make sense?

-Not really

-So what, you sort of weren’t talking to me?

-I was just saying…

She pointed to herself and asked the same question but asked differently

-Are you talking to me?

-When you do it for yourself it’s like a gift

-A gift of what? What gift?

-Well for any other person it’s like watching someone else masturbate

-What the fuck are you talking about?

-I meant that you’re only watching someone else getting off

-I’m not watching anything

-That was why I was saying that I don’t really care

-Excuse me. You’re annoying me. Can you look the other way or talk to someone else

-I probably could but you’re beautiful

-You’re annoying me turn around!

-I turned around and saw everyone on the bus. Everyone was staring at me like I was an alien. I sat and wondered wether it was because people don’t talk on the bus anymore or because I did look like an alien?

 

 

 

 

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

I DOUBLE IN SIZE

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I DOUBLE IN SIZE

 

 

I piss in my pants and shiver. I look in the mirror and don’t know who I see. The dry-cleaning bag is off my shirt and it’s okay. I don’t care. I can’t anymore. I can’t when I has become me. The button is undone. I have fallen down. Nothing matters. Nothing at all matters. I am not as beautiful as he says. I am ugly and I don’t mind at all. There’s just something about drinking. Sorry, scratch that. *****’* **** ********* ***** ********. There’s just something about being drunk. I am ten foot tall and invisible. I am no longer sitting down. I am running past the dawn. I could do anything. I am a giant in the land of the small. I don’t care. I don’t care and nothing matters. I want to tear through walls with my hands. When I drink I want to lay her down. When I drink I look at her and I see her and see everything I should be. Drinking helps me forget the probable and remember the infinite. With every raise to my mouth I forget who I am and remember who I could be. I love drinking. The best of times swallows the worst of times. With every drop I double in size. With every drop she looks better and I look the best. With every drop I forget who I am and could be. When I drink infinite becomes finite and I become me. I love beer. I love beer more than I love myself…-

 

 

 

 

 

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

Aside

LEAVE WELL ENOUGH

 

 

  

I never should have Googled her name. It’s my own fault. I couldn’t leave well enough alone. It’s not that I don’t want her to be successful and happy, it’s just that I didn’t know she would be successful and happy without me. I no longer wish her harm. I did at first. She dumped me and left me in hospital. I couldn’t sleep for the longest time. I would lie awake thinking. I would lay awake at night wishing plagues, typhoid and scurvy on her. I have since apologised to God, and to her (not physically, she told me she never wanted to see me again and her mother threatened to take an AVO out against me if I didn’t stop calling her daughter). I now know why she left me. I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, accept it for the longest time. She had asked me to move in with her so I did. I loved her to bits. I was her non-professional gigolo. She would squire me out to dinners and buy me clothes as a reward for being long, stiff and ready. If I couldn’t please her, for whatever reason, she would sift around her high ceiling apartment with her shoulders and arms raised pretending not to see me until I would have to put the moves on her. We both loved and hated each other equally. Some relationships are good like that.

 

I never should have Googled her name. It’s my own fault. I couldn’t leave well enough alone. She is now a professional while I am a failure. She has completed two degrees and now works as a ********* while I struggle to rub two sticks together. That’s why she left me to rot in hospital. Her mother was a motormouth and involved in her life and her father was a ******. I’m sure he, and she, would have told her of all the complexities and complications of an acquired brain injury and damage to the spinal cord. I have worked ever since the age of twelve. I’m sure that both of her parents would have told her that I would probably never be healthy enough to work again. If they had told her that they were right. People have told me that money’s not everything. I’ve told those people to tell that to the man at the shop. I remember lying in my hospital bed begging her for a kiss. She would never kiss me. She told me I was infectious so I lay in bed feeling sicker than I probably was. Some people are hypochondriacs while others deny the fact that they are unwell. I am one of the latter. I would only look in the mirror once a day as I was bathed. That was enough of my face for me.

 

I never should have Googled her name. It’s my own fault. I couldn’t leave well enough alone. I have been on workers compensation ever since the accident that left me brain damaged, deaf in one ear and stuck in a wheelchair. I once heard somebody say that they were jealous of me not having a job, not working. What a grade-B moron. No money no honey. Now you can call me vain (you really can, I’m completely past caring what anyone thinks about me) but I started worrying about losing my hair recently. A female friend told me not to worry as she thought it looked as lustrous as it ever has but I could notice. I noticed by the fact that my hairbrush would be full of hair after only a week of brushing. It would normally take three or four weeks to get to that stage. It took me a while to figure out what was going on. It was from the stress of a life like this. They’ve been fucking with me recently… the big three that is. So anyway I thought about the company that advertises on the telly. They say that they are at the forefront of hair restoration technology. I may be dumb but I’m not an idiot. I decided to Google the side effects of the company’s product. The number one (1) hit said side effects, impotence. Now what would you rather be, bald or a soft-cock? My hairbrush is still full of hair.

 

I’ve only seen her in the flesh twice since I was discharged from hospital and discharged from her life. The first time I saw her I was being taken shopping at Coles by a carer when I saw her a few metres down the cereal aisle. I blushed. She blushed. She is beautiful beautiful beautiful. She was with a man but still blushed when our eyes locked. My eyes narrowed and asked hers how she could break my heart. Her eyes narrowed like she was watching a car-crash. I blushed harder as she said something to the man who stood on the spot as she approached me. The carer I was with knows how much I crave women so hung back while we talked. She told me I looked great and asked how I was? I lied and told her I was okay and asked her the same. She said she was well. I am not sure if she was lying or not. She blushed again as she told me that no one would have ever thought I would have come as far as I have. No, I thought to myself, you would never have thought that I would have come as far as I have. With my voice gone I let her condescend me. She asked after several of my friends and talked of this and that and filled the void between us with small talk. She shut me out when I needed her the most. I wanted to make her feel as bad as I felt when she ignored me. I wanted to say something to make her feel bad but couldn’t. I waited for her to stop speaking. With my voice gone all I could do was listen. When she was finished talking I raised my left hand up and said, oh well it was really nice to see. I said it, smiled, and turned my wheelchair on her. As I wheeled back up to my carer she had a tone to her voice as she told me off. She pointed at her. She scolded, Andy you’re always saying that you want a woman. That woman wanted to keep talking to you and you turned your back on her. I looked my carer in the eye as I told her that was the woman who left me when I was in hospital. I told my carer she was lucky I spoke with her at all. The timing and the way she left me made me hate myself more than I already did. It would have been fair for me to not even talk to her at all. The second time I saw her at Taste on Bondi Rd. I saw her with a man again (can’t remember if it was the same one) sitting inside the chicken shop. I stopped my wheelchair in the middle of the front besides the outdoor tables. I looked at her and said her name loudly. I saw her flinch. Her man turned to see me. She did not look at me so I waited a second and said her name a second time but louder. I watched her face turn crimson. She did not look at me again so I didn’t say her name again. She did not want to talk.

 

I never should have Googled her name. It’s my own fault. I couldn’t leave well enough alone. My father has asked me if I begrudged her happiness. I told him no and I don’t. I’ve Googled her two or three times since but I don’t know why. I can never sleep after doing it. There is a photo of her above her qualifications and the details of her particular field of expertise. She looks beautiful. Ageing has suited her. In the photo she looks blonder than she used to be. She is obviously not as blonde as she used to be. She is blonde now from a bottle. I know someone studying to be doctor who has told me that blondeness dies as we age. I hope my inquisitiveness about her dies as I age. I hope my love for her dies as I age. I hope that I will die as I age. I never should have Googled her name. It’s my own fault. I couldn’t leave well enough alone.

 

 

 

 

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

jbjb(p(p

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jbjb(p(p 

 

 

 

THE SECOND COMING IS NOT WHAT I WANTED TO SEE

 

 

 

I got a thing in my mailbox the other day telling me the second coming is drawing near. It was a small piece of white paper folded in two and was coloured green white orange and yellow. It was folded so that a drawing of the back of a Man on a horse was on the cover. The Man was wearing a golden pointed crown. The Man was holding a golden sword up in front of His face. He had pants with King of Kings and Lord of Lords written down the leg (I wear Adidas). The horse was white and had a white mane. The Man on the horse was wearing a cape like Skeletor. The cape was rippling. The Man was hovering in space looking down on the earth (with clouds above the atmosphere) brandishing a golden sword. He was somewhere between the earth and the moon’s orbit. The horse had its neck back and front left leg bent up at the knee. It looked like the horse was about to rear. The Man was looking down on planet Earth and you could tell by the way He was holding His sword that He was preparing to charge. Inside it told me the second coming of Jesus to the earth is called the RAPTURE.

 

The piece of paper told me that if I didn’t repent I would be damned. It told me that putrefying painful sores, seas of dead men’s blood, rivers filled with blood and the stench of dying aquatic life plaguing man and beast are coming. It told me the sun would scorch the flesh of blasphemous men (I am sunburned today) and then disappear into the blackness of full darkness as men gnaw their tongues (it’s been years since E’s) for pain. It told me the Euphrates River is going to dry up (is that in Sydney?) as great earthquakes pound the remnant of earth’s inhabitants. It went on to tell me that God will say it is done as his wrath is satisfied. This piece of paper told me that if I miss the RAPTURE that I would be a deluded non-believer and burn up in Hell for all eternity. I read it and thought wow. If you don’t believe like I believe you’re going to burn in Hell. Thanks a lot. Is that what its come to, scaring people into religion? Did anyone else get this in the mail or was it just me? Anyway, that’s all beside the point. I’ve already said sorry.

 

Everyone picks they’re own ideals. It’s a means to an end. It becomes a reason when people can’t see a point to life. I can hardly see a point to life but I can’t believe like they do. I sat in my wheelchair trying to imagine what sort of people are trying to recruit followers to a vengeful God. Do they look like you and I or do they have it written all over their face? They’re normally easy to spot. They hang around train stations smiling inanely. It’s come down to pamphlets in the letterbox trying to recruit. I had an encounter with a beautiful woman in Bondi one day. She looked like a princess from a Golden Book. She was smiling (too much for a stranger) at me as she approached. She stopped in front of my wheelchair to tell me that she was part of a congregation that ran a healing clinic at a church nearby. She told me that I should come along and that they would cure me (I already knew better, there is no cure for what I’ve got, but couldn’t help wondering if I went along and joined up would I be able to fuck her?). I asked her what religion she was? She said Christian. I asked what denomination? She said Christian again. Yeah, but what denomination are you, I asked again? She looked at me like I’d just caught her kissing her good-looking cousin (you know guilty yet pleased) as she told me; I guess you could call it evangelical (I knew I wouldn’t be able to fuck her). For those of you who don’t know what that means, that means she goes to a church where people collapse. You’ve probably seen them before on television with their eyes closed and their arms waving above their heads in the air trying to catch God. You’ve probably seen on TV a preacher touching someone on the forehead and then the person collapsing. The person collapsing from the supposed power of God the preacher carries with them. I told someone that I was thinking of going along. Really, they asked? Yeah I said; it would make great fodder for a short story. They asked if I would be taking the piss out of the congregation. Of course, I said. The person frowned and told me that it would anger God if I did that. I haven’t gone along yet so I still don’t yet know how He’ll feel about it.

 

I had a bad day yesterday. It got me thinking about God. I had a day where I questioned the reason for my existence. I woke up feeling that way. I felt like I didn’t belong. I prepared then went through my morning bowel routine. It told me I wasn’t normal. I lay in bed and injected three enemas via a plastic syringe and length of catheter into my rectum. I lay in bed awhile then transferred over a blue sheet on to my wheel commode-chair and pushed it into the bathroom. I pushed the chair over the toilet, removed the blue sheet from under my bum, and waited to hear a plop. I sat for five minutes wishing that I were allowed to smoke on the toilet (oh Heaven, anyone remember that?) until I heard two plops. I put on a glove and stuck one finger in my bum to pull any stragglers out. I was clean inside so I took the glove off, chucked it in the bin and pushed the commode chair next to the shower. I transferred on to the shower commode char. I reached up and got the showerhead off the wall and turned the water on. I asked Him as I sat on my chair washing the tears that had started to drop down my face. I turned the water on to my chest and said give me a sign. I reached down to get a squeeze of soap. Just give me a sign that there’s a point to all this. I told Him that I understood why He hadn’t given me a sexy neighbour to spy on through my bedroom window but couldn’t understand why I was still alive. I told Him, just give me one sign. I need one sign. I turned the hot water up. It burned me well. I felt my stomach cramp. It suddenly smelled bad in the shower. I looked down to find I’d shit all over the floor. The shit was dark brown, almost black (too much seasoned seaweed) and was made up of three long skinny turds. I hadn’t even felt it. I asked Him to show me a sign (I meant give me a woman you Bastard) and He showed me by making me shit on the floor. I wanted Him to show me but that’s not what I wanted to see. I had to pick the wet turds of the shower floor. As I bent down to start picking them up another plopped out.

 

That’s how my day started. I washed myself then transferred out the shower. I put on a glove reached down and picked the poohs off the bottom of the shower. I flushed them down the loo. I wheeled back to the shower and sprayed it with disinfectant. I dried my face armpits balls and bum got dressed and pushed my way to Icebergs. It’s straight down Bondi rd to get there (sounds like fun aye? downhill in a wheelchair, it’s no fun pushing back up the hill in your wheelchair). I’ve worn holes in four pairs of gloves from the friction of hanging on to the wheels getting there. I love that place. It’s beautiful and the people there are nice to me. I did some standing and then swum two laps in the pool. It was on my way back from the gym I met her. She was with a friend and they both smiled at me. She introduced herself (I promptly forgot her name) and told me that she always saw me pushing myself ‘round and that I was an inspiration. I said, don’t say that. I didn’t tell her why. An inspiration? Fuck! Didn’t she know? I stared into her eyes. She really didn’t know. Everything I do is based on necessity. She told me that she always saw me pushing my wheelchair up the hill. An inspiration? Fuck it. I don’t want a woman to be impressed by my actions. I want a woman to want me.

 

Just last week it happened again. There was another woman who I’d met at the Icebergs before. I saw at the start of the week in the middle of the morning halfway down Bondi rd. She stopped and wanted to talk. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to go to the gym. She had dirty uncombed hair and came at me from a deep and low tone about spirituality. She went on and on about the forces. She told me I was an inspiration several times in the conversation. I wanted to get to the gym so eventually put my hand out to shake and go when she told me she was sincere and had meant everything she’d just told me. She put her hand out. I shook it. I looked at her hands and saw dirt under her fingernails. Her voice changed as she said that it wasn’t the booze talking. I smiled and asked why? Did she have a few drinks the night before? No, she said, I’ve had a few drinks this morning. The smile dropped from my face. All the things she’d said were tarnished knowing she drank by herself in the morning. As I pushed my wheelchair away from her I understood and acknowledged that we are all broken. It’s just that you can see how I’m broken. I wanted Him to show me but that’s not what I wanted to see.

 

I met a twit as I approached Knotts Ave. He stopped walking and stood in front of my wheelchair to block my way and yelled at me, I WISH I HAD ONE OF THOSE! One of WHAT, I asked? A WHEELCHAIR, he yelled back at me. The look on his face said he was impressed. I don’t think I frowned but I remember my face dropping thinking what an idiot… he wished he had a wheelchair. He obviously had no idea of the ramifications of most wheelchair users. Now know that I’m not talking about old dears being pushed by their grandchildren. I’m talking about damage to the spinal cord. I’m talking about loss of bodily functions. He’s as bad as the twit who said he was jealous of me not having a job. I’ve pretty much had some sort of a job since I was eleven years old and I hate the fact that I’m not healthy enough to work. Twit obviously hadn’t thought properly about not having a job. No money no honey. I remember reading something where a man said that, no woman actively sought out a dishwasher. What chance do you think a man in a wheelchair without a job has?

 

Most people will go their entire lives without ever seeing a psychologist. A large percentage of those people could do with seeing a psychologist. I woke in hospital to have lost the use of my legs and have a balding …fat man (I’m a customer come on play nice) with a clipboard asking me questions. I may be dumb but I’m not an idiot. There was never a good question asked. Even with a brain injury I could see he painted by numbers. The GOLIATH has made me see two more within the last week. One was a garden-variety psychologist and one clinical. My life was made harder for me and it hasn’t stopped. I woke out of my coma to find them slowly pulling the rug out from under me. I’ve got a good DAVID fighting for me but all he’s got is a big bag of stones (he’s a good shot though). I sit (literally) and wait while the Avocado tries to smear some guacamole on GOLIATH’S sandal (doesn’t God wear sandals too? no wait, that’s Jesus… God probably wears high heels or gumboots). The GOLIATH had arranged the appointments. Seeing the clinical shrink made me feel dumb. She first read out a list of twenty-five words. She’d told me to remember as many words as I could from the list and repeat them to her. She spoke in a monotone (I would give you some examples but I’ve forgotten). I remember initially remembering the first four words. My ears were hearing the sequence she was saying but my mind was trying to remember the first four words (what where they again?). She repeated the same test three times. I got progressively worse before she told me she would read out words and I would have to tell her if they were on the list. I couldn’t remember. I had even forgotten the first four. The whole experience made me feel dumber. Now I know I wanted Him to show me but that’s not what I wanted to see.

 

Tomorrow’s got to be a better day. It can’t be much worse than yesterday. I keep getting up hoping my view’s going to improve. It has to… it better.  People keep telling me that there’s a reason I’m still alive. I’m not so sure about that. To have then to have not is something else. It’s character building if nothing. Apparently He only helps those who help themselves. Well I have helped myself but now I need a little help (I need somebody, Help, not just anybody).

 

Some day He’s going to show me what I want to see.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PS. I hope I haven’t offended Him by writing this and I don’t want people to think I’m seeking pity or am angry.  I don’t think I have offended Him. I’ve been smiling writing this. He’s probably got a good sense of humour. He must have. After all He sent his Boy down to us and we hammered him to two pieces of wood with three nails

 

 

 

 

 

 

Andrew Stuart Buchanan