Tag Archives: pity

A Do

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         A DO

Religion.

Marx called it the “opium of the people”. At high school I had a girl that liked me drag me along to her bible youth group. Her entire house was filled with love-struck empty-eyed kids all huddled together in clumps. They all had pupils like Japanese cartoon characters and were too interested in everything. I dragged her into the pantry and finger-fucked her from behind. She taught me about the clitoris. I breathed the word, Satan, into her ear until she came, all wet, on my finger

My apartment is full of moths and their larvae. I am constantly killing the grown moths and squashing their young. I do not believe in karma or reincarnation so I don’t feel guilty but it does make me feel sad killing something. I had too, they had chewed through the box and plastic bag and into my cereal.. I know that the larvae do not feel but what if they do? I saw one crawling out of the cupboard so I ripped off a small piece of paper-towel and squashed it between my fingers. It made a popping sound and some of it landed on my cheek. I need somebody to help me clean out my cupboards. Now paralysed I cannot reach into them in my wheelchair

I changed all the pillows. I pulled them out and saw that the once white was now yellow. A care worker asked me why the pillows were so uncomfortable? I told her because they were new. I went on to tell her that they were stained and smelly with sweat so I chucked them out. But… she said, they were really comfortable. Would you prefer comfort to clean, I asked? No, she said, I would prefer old to new

I have tried my hardest to forget her. I’m only reminded when I look in the top drawer. baby forks stab my hand as I reach in. **** baby forks are the last. They still stab me. I will go out and buy some adult forks tomorrow and then I’ll be able to forget about her.. The brain the heart and the mind do not get on well with each other so I am unable to completely forget a good woman. It hurts to be a man. I pulled my pants down and took care of business while thinking of her. I came but was still hard so I did it ‘til I came again. It hurt inside me the second time

I’d booked the car service and he turned up early. I didn’t have my phone with me but was smoking a fag on the balcony when I saw him. He was early so I decided to finish the smoke first. He leaned across the passenger seat, tooted, and waved up to me. I smiled and then held the index finger of my right hand up. He nodded as the nicotine filled me up. I keep seeing ads on the telly warning against smoking during pregnancy. My mum smoked while she was pregnant with me and wrong there’s with nothing me. He said my name loudly as I exited the garage. I had forgotten his name so I just said, hey

I’d forgotten his name but I remembered his face, he’s pretty hard to forget. He’s huge and as bald as a baby. He looks like George the Animal Steele. I pulled up beside his car and he got out. He asked me how I was using my name again? It used to make me embarrassed and my face would flush when I couldn’t recall somebody’s name but it’s now happened so frequently that the endorphins don’t flow. I had to ask him to tell me his name again. I was once told I would get used to having a brain injury by an occupational therapist. I will never get used to it

He’s a good man and we talked easily as he drove me to my appointment. He asked me if I had a woman yet? I told him no but I have my eye on one. So why aren’t you with her, he questioned? I don’t think she likes me anymore, I mumbled. He looked at me as he drove and told me that I should just force her to like me. He said, look at me. I’m a fat bastard but do you know what? Woman love it when I asphyxiate them. How do you do that, I asked? When I’m on top of them, he said. He pointed across me to a woman walking past and told me that he’d fucked her. I almost broke her bed. You should have heard her muffled moans. Muffled by what, I asked? My left tit, he replied. He told me to play to my weakness

I thought of what he said a while then answered. Women feeling sorry for you never gets you any sex. All that gets you is pity. Pity can’t be used as a bargaining chip. You’re wrong, he said. All you have to do is get them alone and then you can fuck them. Ham it up, he said, make them feel so sorry for you that they’ll feel so guilty that they’ll give it up. Do you think that would make me feel good, I questioned? What, he asked, having sex? Well of course having sex would make me feel good, I replied, but getting sex under false pretence’s would make me feel terrible. I remember what it feels like to have a woman need to be with me. It’s a big world. I’m happy to wait for the right woman. I want a woman who wants me not one that I’d have to trick. Yeah, he said, but it’s lawful game

I’ve learnt more about women now that I don’t have one than all the years I spent fucking them. A woman’s eyes give her away. Each has an agenda. I know one woman who wants a man with straight black hair and green eyes. Every time a woman gets close to me it’s for her own reason. I’m a man so I’m just along for the ride. One woman told me to let us, women, inside. I scream when I look inside. Every man does. When we look inside we see all the potential. Man is the conqueror but we do not rule. That’s why some men don’t talk at all. They sweat and try to get it out. Every man is his own King. We know it and that’s why we hate ourselves. We kill what is around us in fear

A man in the waiting room leaned across and told me he was fighting with his wife. Oh yeah, I asked? He told me he had done something insignificant and she’d been mad at him for a week and a half. I sat and wondered why he thought I’d care? And do you know what this morning, he asked? I shrugged my shoulders. She waited till I’d gotten dressed for work and then she walked up to the ironing board naked. She’s so hot. She’s got these massive breasts, they’re like great white watermelons, and she got me all hard. She bent over and started ironing with her big tits swinging so I walked up behind her unzipped and fucked her against the wall. She even let me come inside her. Then do you know what she did, he asked? I shrugged my shoulders again. He looked me in the eye and replied, she said,  I’m still mad at you. He was silent waiting for a reply until we both laughed at the same time

I got in there and sat and listened to the man in the white coat. I didn’t hear a thing. All I could hear was the pain in my back and the ringing in my ear. The appointment consisted of nothing and nothing of nothing. I waste my time at these consultations that they say fix my life. There is more piled upon more and I’m the only one who doesn’t care. I saw my reflection in his spectacles and I hated it. I wish I could get away from myself. His mouth moved up and down but I heard nothing. Words don’t mean a thing. He finally dusted his hands and told me we were finished. He asked, so do you have a girlfriend? No, I said, but I’ve found the bible. He chuckled and said, well that’ll kill you a lot quicker. I laughed and looked down in my lap. There were two of the larvae sitting there eating my pants, I hadn’t even seen them. I never see what is in front of me

I will wait for her ‘til the day I die. I will not let the new become the old. I will kill it first. Every woman I see has no face except hers. They only have a body. At home I tore another piece of tissue off and squished the larvae. I then got a sheet from the packet of paper and wrote all this down. I write it down to help me remember. The one-eye squints and squirts but the heart does not see. The mind holds no opinion. The phone rang so I answered. It was a woman asking me if I wanted to go to church with them. I’ve already been, I replied, I’ve wanked twice today. Bugger off, I said, leave me alone, then hung up and reached for my pen. I have reams of paper but the moths do not eat them. Respect. It feels like there is a force beyond me when I write, sometimes it writes itself…

                    

I will wait for her ‘til the day I die. I will not let the new become the old. I will kill it first

AndrewStuartBuchanan

X’S NAME

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X’S NAME

You can call me an elitist but I almost laughed in their face. They would not shake my hand. I was pushing my wheelchair up the hill when they stopped me. I put my hand out to be rejected. I was not wearing a pair of gloves. They pointed at my palm and told me it would be an infection risk to shake my grubby hand. I said, whatever. They told me they were friends with X who knows me. Who, I asked? They told me the name again. My face burned brightly as I struggled to put a face to X’s name. I can remember a face but never a name. They told me they were starting a business in motivational speaking. Silence followed behind the statement. They stared at me expecting me to join in their conversation. I had nothing to say. I stared at their mouth while they stared at me. It was uncomfortable. The elitist in me thought, good luck. They didn’t have any teeth… no sorry that’s a lie, they had one gnarled and yellowed tooth left in the bottom row. There were no teeth in the top row. I know that I have my faults. Most of my faults are visible like their lack of teeth. I thought to myself, how the fuck is a man with no teeth going to get people involved in his business. He coughed and told me that would be his second business. I looked him in the eye. He was being sincere.

I was telling my father about all the nutters that stop me wanting to talk. I told him how annoying it gets when all I want to do is get to the gym to work on my rehabilitation. I don’t want to suffer fools but I am too polite to not entertain. Does that make me a bigger fool? My father told me I was wrong in my thinking and that I should be glad that people want to talk to me at all. My father has had some clouded gems of wisdom since I landed in a wheelchair. He also told me that the only reason woman talk to me now is out of a sense of pity. He might be right but he maybe wrong. They made me see a psychologist. I talked to them like I talk to the nutters that stop me on the street. I talk to everyone that way. I have had all of my inhibitions stripped. There are no cards under the table.

I had to take my hearing aids in for a service last week. I am deaf in my left ear. I also have a hearing loss in my right ear so I wear two hearing aids, the one I wear in my right ear has a transceiver to pick up the sound captured from my left (deaf side). I rocked up to my appointment and the audiologist took both hearing aids to service and gave me only a replacement for my right ear. I have to wait for three weeks before they will be ready. Tinnitus. I’ll say it again. Tinnitus. Having the noise from my left hand side morphed with the sound I hear in my right has changed my life. It distracts my bruised brain into forgetting. I have only remembered this since I’ve been without my hearing aids. I’ve said that my tinnitus is like a banshee but that doesn’t adequately describe the discomfort. Since I’ve been without my hearing aids the tinnitus has taken me over. It rings and rings like a school fire-bell. I can’t sleep at night. There is no cure for tinnitus. Being able to hear from the left side of my head enables me to not focus on the ringing (will somebody turn the alarm off). I always focus on the wrong things.

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

WE ARE MEN

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We are men

 

 

We are men. We’re men and we are all running from something. Every man has done at least one thing in his life that he will see as inexcusable. It could be something so trivial that it would make someone else chuckle but that man will carry that thing of his like it’s armour. We have all done things that we think can’t be forgiven. If you’re a woman stare into a man’s eyes the next time you see one. Your stare will beat his every time. That’s because as men we know a woman can read our soul. That’s why I wear sunglasses. I don’t want a woman to see me before she gets the chance to know me. When I see a man with slumped shoulders carrying the shopping two and a half paces behind his wife I know that he’s told his wife his thing. Women can be kind. Women can be cruel. Women can be the kindest and the cruellest on the same day. A woman is a woman before you meet her so why bother showing up with flowers?

 

Men say women are talkers but men talk more than women. Most men will talk four hundred words before they say the word me. Most men would talk the leg off a chair before talking about themselves. If you’re a woman have a listen. We talk about rugby and league and cricket and cars and drinks but not about ourselves. If you’re a woman and at a party lean in close and listen to what the men are talking about. They’re talking rubbish. We talk rubbish so we won’t have to tell what we’re running from. If you are a woman wondering why your husband goes fishing all the time or is always playing some sport just try not to worry about it. He’s just doing it to get away from you so he won’t have to tell you what he’s running from. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to you it’s just that he’s afraid of what he might tell you. Most men only run away from one thing. I run (not really run since I’m sitting in a wheelchair) from so many ones I can’t count.

 

Men wish they were boys and boys wish they were men. Most of us will only have a golden dream. Very few of us are actually golden. The next time you see a man driving a sports car just be happy for him living his golden dream. Women have books about men and workshops and classes trying to figure us out. I think it’s so strange that they haven’t figured us out. They go to their classes and listen through female ears as to what a man wants. Men want to be boys and boys want to be men. We all want to be boys in men’s bodies. Sitting in a wheelchair makes me feel like a boy in a man’s body. I love women but they no longer love me. I now love women as I did when I was a boy. I masturbate and love them. I was golden once but now I’m not golden. Now I’m broken. I’m broken and still dreaming of being a man. I’ve come from dreaming of women to being with women to dreaming of women again. Most men my age are sitting around with their children. I’m sitting with my pants around my ankles.

 

Men run in the mind and in the physical. The proof is outside. Open your window and you’ll see a man running. Some men will run just so they don’t have to talk. I have to talk. Some men cannot run as they are. It’s hard to run when you’re always sitting. I only run in the mental. Women are always stopping me wanting to talk. I know some of them before they’ve opened their mouth. My mind runs while they tell me fifty things about themselves (revealing nothing) before asking why I’m in a wheelchair. A woman stopped me a few weeks ago and the first thing she said was asking me if I’d had an accident or a condition. I thought of how she hadn’t told me anything about herself but couldn’t help telling her the truth. I wanted to run but I am a man and she was a woman. She was trying to understand how I came to be in a wheelchair. I wondered as to what it meant to her. Women say they can’t figure us out. Well we’re even.

 

I’m a man. That means that every time a woman smiles or stares at me I think that she wants to have sex. That’s what most men think when a woman smiles or stares at them. That’s why the feminist’s and angry women hate us. They shouldn’t hate us for being born that way. Most men want to turn that smile into something else. That’s how it used to work for me. That’s how I was. I’ve made a lot of women squeal. Nobody wants to hear figures and everyone loves stories but tales become taller when a man is telling them so I won’t bore you. When I walked at six foot three I knew the combination to the lock. I looked down (literally) on women. I knew women as I was then. Now in a wheelchair I no longer know women. I look up (head-fuck) to see them looking down on me. I can no longer find the lock let alone figure the combination. A taxi driver the other day told me I should play up the pity. He said grope them and if they scream say, oh I’m sorry I’ve got brain damage. I opened my mouth wide, stuck my tongue out and thrashed against the seatbelt with my hands and arms gnarled. I said mamma and sucked at the air. He laughed and I laughed. I knew that I shouldn’t have laughed. We were talking rubbish.

 

 

We are men and we are all running from something. We are men and silence is golden.

 

 

 

 

Andrew Stuart Buchanan