Tag Archives: catheter

THE PAIN IN SOLITUDE

Posted on by
3

THE PAIN IN SOLITUDE

 

 

 
-stirred not shaken X18+

 

 

 

I got to my mate’s place early. I knocked on the door and waited. There was no reply so I knocked again and yelled her name. Her neighbour leaned out the window and shouted, be quiet! I rapped on her door loudly and the neighbour screamed at me to shut up. I sighed and then started making my way down the side of her house. I saw her standing on a chair sticking a wire coat hanger into the metre box. What are you doing, I asked? Cheating, she said. I asked, but won’t they know that it’s you? I hope not, she said, I’ve tampered with the whole streets

I had to go home. I was over-due. She had been away for a month and a half and I had not been changed. I lay on the bed and took my pants down. I am no longer embarrassed. Since becoming disabled more people have seen me naked than all the years I spent fucking. She pulled the old one out and showed it to me. Look, she said! I was looking. The old catheter looked like it was filled with shit; no sorry it looked like it was filled with death. The Prof put me on to a new one. I can’t remember if the reservoir tip is closer or further away from the hole where the piss enters but I’ve had fewer UTI’s since. The new one went in and I could start living again

I really want to self-catheterise but it scares the shit (piss-groan) out of me. I tried once before and was no good. I tried just before I was discharged from hospital and didn’t know what was happening from minute to minute. I think I was washing my hands but I still got a really bad bladder infection. I wanted to walk out of the hospital I was wheeled into smiling but had a bowel accident that morning. I cried because I pushed myself out in a chair. I know there is no tone inferred when you write but I’m not writing this for any of the reasons you think. I am writing this because it is a good story. My dick led me around the world and I still don’t know it

It has taken a long time to get good staff to help me. I’ve been through more nurses than the Crimean War. I once had a nurse perforate my bladder wall. She didn’t know what she was doing and pushed the catheter right through. She didn’t wait to see the urine and pissed (?) off home. I waited for the urine to start flowing. I normally don’t look but I feel the contents of the leg-bag through my pants. I’d drunk over a litre and a half of water and could only feel about forty mls of urine. Eventually I pulled my pants down to see the bag was full of bright red blood

I’d been fucking her from behind for at least five minutes and she hadn’t made a sound. I smacked her arse and she moaned oooohhhh. Aah, I thought, all right then. I pulled out and bit her arse as hard as I could then put it back in. She groaned in joy. I looked down and saw I had drawn blood. Fuck me, she screamed, you bastard! Here was this little thing screaming for it. I had her completely and I knew it. I started to go soft. Now that I had her I didn’t want her. I wanted the next one. She turned her head around at me angrily and clamped on as she slowly pulled me in. It’s funny the things that turn a man on. I got hard again as her body relaxed and she submitted. She knew what I wanted and shut up. I fucked her in silence. I came on her swingers and watched her lick it off. Give me a slut that looks like a saint. Give me a woman that understands. All a writer needs is pain and solitude

 

 

 
Andrew Stuart Buchanan

ALL THE DEAD CHICKEN HEADS

Posted on by
4

 

He chopped the chook’s head off with an axe and we both watched it run around the yard until it realised it was dead. Once it knew it dropped to the ground and it’s left leg twitched a moment and then that was it

 

 

 

 

I’d only seen him for five minutes and he charged me two hundred dollars. Shit, I should have stayed in school. The Guv stood down so I had to see this new one. His receptionist gave me five hundred pieces of paper to fill in and sign. I took it to the waiting room and started filling in what I could. I looked up and saw her pushing her wheelchair towards me. She was smiling and looking for my attention. I kept my head down trying to remember my life. I forget how she broke the ice, what she said, but she couldn’t wait to. She started telling me that in America they no longer catheterise. So how do they piss, I asked. She mumbled an answer I would never hear as I nodded and smiled. If what they did in America were standardised they would do it here. She started telling me about alternative therapies as I nodded and said, right. She asked for my phone number so I gave it to her. As I relayed the number I asked myself why I was giving it to her? I told her to say who it was otherwise I would forget her. She sent me a text and I pushed delete

I need another camera up the willy to have a look. They told me they would text the date and time. My body and I don’t know each other and it makes me feel hate. I pushed my wheelchair outside and saw it had started raining. The appointment was short but it had taken all my day. I sat waiting for a ride and asked myself, what the fuck are you doing here? Now I knew why I was at the hospital, I meant what the fuck am I doing on this Earth? The pleasures are seldom and short but the pain lasts all day. The rain came down and I had the urge to cry. I sniffed and told myself not to. Hold it in you fool; there are other people around. I looked up at the rain and a gust of cold wind sent shivers down my neck. I know why I wanted to cry. I had to go to the appointment by myself and I was returning home by myself where I would sit by myself. I managed to keep the tears inside. They are now stale and have lost their meaning

The woman I met there was just lonely. I am just lonely too but I keep it to myself. She really thought she was helping me. I only think of what to say afterwards. I should have said, for all of your alternative therapies we have both ended up in the same place. The difference is that she thought that there must be a better way. She talked loudly about the ‘system’ and that it was full of piranhas and parasites. She was right but she was just another parasite trying to inject her philosophy into my bloodstream

I used to be angry that I can only hear out of one ear until somebody told me, at least you can still hear out of the other one; imagine if you couldn’t do that? Then you’d have something to complain about. I went back inside the hospital and asked the woman at the reception if I could borrow a pen. She said yes and handed it to me. I placed it standing up on the table and then slammed my head down on it. I felt the tip go into my ear and then blacked out. I woke up and could hear nothing. I will not complain.

 

Now I have a reason to feel lonely

 

 

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

A COCK-RING PLEASE

Posted on by
Reply

A COCK-RING PLEASE

Old Father (is it? why do we say it’s is a man? Most good things come from a woman) Time has already taken a chunk out of the year and nothing has changed. Sorry now that’s a lie, I’m older and I’m slower. I just meant that I’m still in this fucking chair and she’s still threatening to rape me. It was kind of funny the first time she said it and I could laugh. I may have even laughed the first half a dozen times but I can no longer do it. Think of something new to say. If a man said it he would be arrested. She drove me there talking a mess of filth

The store was up a long flight of stairs so I asked her to go in for me. They are always either up or down a long flight of stairs. Very few are on the street level. She didn’t understand what I was asking for so she got me to write it down on a piece of paper for her. I did, I wrote it in block capital letters with my black pen, a COCK-RING please. She was gone for a long time so I supposed she was looking at vibrators. She finally came back outside with a tall skinny gay man. He asked if I wanted a noose? I didn’t know what he meant but said yes please. I will string it up tonight

I am too sick to live properly and I’m not sick enough to die properly so I just sit here half-living and half-dieing each day. The nurse came around to put a cork in it. I told her I missed pussy more than I missed walking. She said she would find me a Filipino woman. What the flip (pun intended)? She started telling me that I would have to…. And then stopped. She though about what she was telling me and finished saying, you would have to look after her. She meant I would have to pay for her. It‘s a love that I’d have to buy. I don’t know that much but that’s not worth my love

I write all this horrible shit down because I’m actually a good man. I twist it and add my own filth and make it better or worse than it really was. Sometimes I can’t properly remember what had happened and that’s when I get twisted. I can sit here in my room and write what I do not have the ability to say or do at the time. I only remember the things that hurt me. I write them down on bits of paper and then when I cannot sleep I will run with them in my mind. I sit in the audience

I met a man who was complaining about Big Daddy today. They were whinging about the system. They talked and talked but they could still walk and still had a good brain so I could not feel that sorry for him. I listened to them whinging about how hard they were finding negotiating the system. I told them that they were lucky. I am lost within the system. I cannot read the compass. The Godfather watches over me and he told me to deal with it so I did. I have. I build it up all around me when it has already been built

Father Time is a cross-dresser and Big Daddy no longer has balls. Two grandparents walked past me. The grandfather was carrying his little grandson on his shoulders while the grandmother pushed the empty pram. The little boy turned his head and stared at me like I was something interesting. He wouldn’t stop staring. I considered giving him the finger until I heard the grandfather tell him not to stare at me. He should have told him sooner. A man walking towards me smiled and told me to get out of the chair and walk. I told him that I would give him the first punch. He smiled again and told me there would only be one punch. I am too slow for a reply so I tried to smile too as he walked past

My dick used to be my life. Now he mostly hangs there. I used to think it was funny and I’d say all the time how I was going to chop it off and sell it on Ebay: 1used penis, well road tested. I woke up with a long tube coming out of it. Somebody had shaved my pubes and he looked bigger than I remembered. I felt good that my dick looked so big but I felt bad that there was a tube coming out of it. I tried to piss but the command did not go through

I’ve probably spent months alone with doctors and nurses hurrying around it. I can’t believe that this is all for Andy’s dick. My dick has led me around the world and I still haven’t found the perfect pussy. It doesn’t work the same and I hate myself for it. That’s why I will tie the noose around him and think about that perfect pussy. My penis doesn’t remember me. He must pay. I will string it up tonight. My love will have its worth

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

jbjb(p(p

Posted on by
Reply

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