there is a devil under your room and he comes out between the wooden beams you sleep on at night when you sleep which is later than you’re supposed to. you don’t have furniture. in 3 months you will get a blanket. until then the devil comes out between the wooden beams and laughs and says things to you like: faggot, cunt, pussy. sometimes he mumbles whole sentences and you forget after he says what he says and you think to yourself you’ve been cursed by devil magic but it’s something boring and regular. you’ll realize that in 1 year. the devil has red skin and wears blue pants and has horns and black hair and the horns part his black hair in funny places when he moves. you sleep in a corner and he sleeps under the window at night when no one will come find him and you see his shadow under the purple sky before you knock out you see a heaving body curled up as sad as yours only just bigger. you think: only just, and all the ways that can mean a lot or not a lot. you’re 12. what do you know about meaning a lot or not a lot. never means nothing. nothing ever means nothing. you talk to yourself because the devil thinks it’s funny to not understand. you don’t know what it means. just that it’s not nothing. only just not nothing is funny words. you talk wrong when you don’t talk regular. i’m can’t hearing myself. i’m’t’s normal.
he points at the ground and the dirt under the floor you can see. you look out your door and your parents are sitting watching tv all abnormal. they are sitting legs up heads down hanging watching the commercials and they say it helps them understand them better, lots. they’re laughing and their jaws look like the tops of their heads like people in reverse and the devil demon fucker makes a sound and you’re looking behind you at the wooden slat he’s lifted up for you to crawl under. he points around in the dark at new things under the floor you’ve never seen or saw before. you breathe normal looking at them and it feels funny to breathe regular seeing wet and used condoms next to piled dirt and clipped nails and beneath your parents’ bed a 3 weeks-long rotting cat with its bones all out and ribcage open about to speak with chapped lips. the devil smiles when he pokes the body. you see a star of david under its body. the devil demon fucker made a funny mistake on purpose. you’ve gotten to know him a little better now. do you like to give him a gift?
the demon devil dickhead is funny but only when he’s doing anything and right now he’s limp under the floorboard sad and picking holes in himself. his face is bloody but he’s all red and you can’t tell. you wash him behind the house and his hair gets wet. you laugh out loud. people say LOL or wwwwwww.
the devil is going to dig a hole and he digs a hole and he digs a hole and he digs a hole and gives up because his shovel is so tiny. the hole is fit for a potted plant. you say: my childhood is dead and i will hold a funeral. if someone saw you right now they would say: you’re trying to grow up so fast you’ve grown into a spoiled teenager. if some other person saw they might think different but the person seeing it first is a more regular type of person and everyone would think what they thought and who cares what everyone would think about what you done and think and anyone who spends so much time thinking about what everybody else would think thinks too much about themselves and everyone else and they’re just the everybody else too and you find out about how fun it is to look at navels when they’re on pretty people.
i’m in the middle of liking boys and girls for the first time and it’s making me feel ten years of sweat all dried in my clothes for the first time, my skin’s sensitive now. to the west there are trees and to the north there are trees and to the south there are trees and to the east there are trees, normally it’s: north, south, east, west. you can fix it later. not you, you. you have a blanket now and the colors on it are all like the colors native americans put on their sheets and things. all blocky patterns and the things that look like stairs and you don’t know what a native american is because you’ve never seen america. you ask if hawaii is america. technically it’s part of the american continent, maybe, you don’t know. there are holes in what you know. america is a funny shape and lots of places. you’re further east. you could learn it all of of wikipedia but you’re looking behind yourself paranoid using the family computer to watch cartoon boys and girls die all blended together into something like, i dunno. it’s overflowing heat. it’s all of the heat in my chest, and they’re poured into me, and i’m just something like a mold, what comes out, i can’t see, i’m just the vessel.
after i learned to jack off to boys proper, when i thought harder about cocks, realized where and i how i wanted them i learned the english word for scream. the teacher showed us a painting. it was: the scream. his terror was so total that he was something like a pool of tears, against himself, formed on himself, his own dish, a pool of himself, reduced. it was a lot. my teacher was american. when he showed me this, i imagined that this was something that must have meant a lot to americans. this is what a scream was, what it was to scream, right in front of me. it exceeded my own word that was supposed to mean the same thing. it was a new word, something new, and in my head, there was a whole continent of human-like shapes smudging under their own weight, all of them like god’s tears, just terror across a whole place like wind through a field, shivering long bodies until they seemed like one fluid mass.
do you think there’s gonna be a highway all across the world one day? like, everything connected.
well it’s here i guess.
it’s a disappointment, though, right?
i stared at that painting a lot. it was google images that let me do it. i thought, deep down, there’s a whole place full of people like this, that means something to me, like anything meaningful i don’t wanna say it. i wanna protect it, like it’s all i have, in my hands, like i’m a thief who knows he stole something useless. a failure of a criminal, i can’t even fence this shit i’ve got in my hands
that’s what i care about, that’s all i care about.
fuck off for ten to twenty minutes.
the devil runs around outside making cars nearly crash. you can see it between the trees. you don’t know when he’ll be in. you touch yourself thinking about a pretty girl in a wreck and you ejaculate or cum or spill seed. you feel violated by yourself having cum and you feel a funny feeling in your stomach. this is not the most important moment in your life it is only just a moment in your life. you know you won’t forget it and go to jerk off to something more regular. you feel the same way. you know something funny now.
evil demon’s wearing a shirt that says destroy all human life on it. in ten years i’ll know what that cloudy sky and scratchy writing means but right now it’s all prophecy. right then it was prophecy. it’ll be prophecy. right now it’s prophecy. then, it was prophecy. it’s gonna be prophecy. sort of. god’d(‘ll(‘s)) ride(id(ing)) in, on all the blurry weight of the clouds and sunlight snuffed like a burning projector, ride in like it was horsies. but he can’t, he’s just not up there at all.
evil demon cocksucking faggot’s under the floorboards while i fuck myself with my fingers the first time, the feeling’s like what a branch does when it hits your ass, what it does before that too, it’s breaking sound, it’s screaming through air and then it’s not anymore. where’s all my energy going? i’m fucking myself.
my stomach hurts reading people be mean online.
everything is mostly just funny but you don’t always laugh at it because it feels rude to laugh at things that are so quiet and half acknowledged like being somewhere between sleep. the sky is red every day until it’s not day and then it’s purple. the trees are black and blot out everything like arrowheads and you cum and wonder about the weird miracle substance that confuses you every time it leaves your body like a touch of a soul or ghost spewage or too much glue leaving the bottle. you wonder if you can glue things together, and you do. you run around the house leaving papers glued with semen together everywhere, misused gohei to ward away spirits and the demon devil dicksucker sees and chases you around with a bunch of branches whipping them at you praying in the back of his head he won’t be sent back to the hell he was spat forth from and he sees your wide eyes and knows you did nothing on purpose and he still feels vindictive. his souls is different from other souls. you don’t know what that means. i don’t know what i/you mean and: your parents see the cum charms and get mad and yell because the devil put one in their bed. you tell him to go back to his hell. he is sad. he cums on paper and spreads them around like gohei and your parents yell again. he won’t stop, in two weeks to one month it’ll be funny and regular. i’m laughing out loud and thinking www and it goes on in my head over and over and over because laughter is looping behavior, it’s getting quiet then loud but the image or floating ghost or suggestion www is always the same, it doesn’t have a volume or if it does i can’t measure it because i’m too full up with it because it’s looping and laughter does that over and over, a lock groove losing sight of where it began and only seeing itself going on over and over. wwwwwwwwww in my head and it’s still there when nothing’s going on out loud and i’m so full of it now i can’t tell what’s happening to me. it’s like it protects me, from penetration, if i go catatonic, drown in it, then nothing’s happening, it’s just blurred out laughter in my head. i’m watching it, like a sunrise, a wholly natural thing that doesn’t need me there for it to happen. i’m kicking my legs in sunlight in my own head, my eyes are like, not working, i guess. it’s just empty, just over and over and over and over until i can wake up out of this.
your cum is less sticky now but it’ll be stickier later on and when you’re 20 you’ll make a sculpture out of your cum and call it “child” and it will be displayed in a museum and you will activate the sprinklers and lock the patrons in with the sculpture and i will soil all their clothes and soil their mouths and i will flood the world with myself for a few moments and i will incur 500,000,000 dollars worth of damages or something and i will be like a gaping hole in the world and i’ll be not nothing.
but you are busy right now, on play station 2, playing baroque. you wish you were the angel you meet at the start because he is cooler than all the malformed freaks populating the rest of the world. you know your place mostly.