All posts by manny@savo.us

frags

you cant say no, can you?

you fucking fool, you cant say no can you? you cant muster the fucking courage and say no to this wretched fucking existence, to this fucking parking space of a life, to your cock in your hand jerking off uselessly into the mouths of rats

you cant say fucking no to the lice you pick out of your crotch and swallow. you cant say no to the whole world fingering your caked and dry asshole. you cant say no to the split and torn mess that is its pussy, clotted and thick and full of choked fetuses and you put your mouth right on it, and lapping it up like a stew, like the stray fucking mongrel you are

you cant say no to jamming one dirty needle into your balls and thrashing it around until the urine and blood and sperm blend into one and the pressure shoots a stream out your sack as you pull the needle out and slide it your into your nipple, not even a fucking twitch you sad sorry bastard, plunging it along, hitting the plunger, shitting yourself, hot and itchy down your leg, the needle even deeper, you cant fucking say no as it pierces the aorta and you shoot it all up, your cum, blood and piss, right up in there, right into the blood stream.

you realize, clumps of feces around your ankles, what you’ve completely forgotten in your little cocktail, what you’ve left out. you pull the needle out, bend down and scoop up a handful. of course, of course, you fucking cant say no, can you?

done

head twat

like most men, she made the mistake of thinking with her twat for the short term without using her head for the long run.
sometimes i wonder if i would ever know how truly greedy she was.

general, internals

pretend with me

i love being a father because i learn to be all the things he wasn’t. i learn how to control the rage within me as my child throws a tantrum and i want to do nothing but hold her in her place, to let her know that i am the rock upon which all her fears can break.

i love being a father because i exaggerate my face and make funny sounds and keep all the howling within me at bay. i can redirect the tension and the confusion of just being in the world into sharp focus: take her hands, teach her to dance, try to get this silly little clown to follow some sort of rhythm.

i love being a father because i get to make it up as i go along. i get to be someone other than myself. i learn to be something bigger and stronger and more beautiful than i could ever be. in my child’s eyes i get to be alive even when i am dead inside. i can pretend that i am not broken. we can pretend all the scars inside are healed.

frags

subjugation

they laughed, they took a bite out of his shoulder, chewed on it, thought it over. they spat it back in his face. not enough, they said, you’re worthless, you’re spittle after a meal. you’re our urine after we take a shit. you’re the cum we forget to wipe off that dries down the length of our thighs.

they took turns, they tickled him until he bled, until snot came out of his nose in thick drabs of bloody mucus. he cries, they said, look, he cries like a monkey without his banana. they ran a nail along his scrotum, a testicle bled out. just like a monkey, they said and with a thin pinky fished out the other one. they skinned his penis to dab their mouths.

and when they began to separate the ribs off his spine, plucking them as they went along, as if they were listening for a tune, he was relieved that the choice had been his, that whatever laid ahead the second after they reached over and pierced his sternum, was his and his alone.

done

the creepy crawlies

these fucking hands all over me like they fucking know me like they’ve been there millions of times before, these dirty fucking hands from work, from washing dishes, from breaking up the street, from piercing tongues, from counting money, these fucking hands that think they know it all poking and prodding me along, up my ass, up my spine, jammed into the back of my throat, fat cruddy fingers with split nails and cracked skin grabbing a hold of my hair like i want it, grabbing me by my teeth, like i’ve been fucking waiting for them, waiting to fuck them of all people, like i’ve been waiting to be fucked when i’ve been fucked over and over already by hands just like theirs, just like these, just like mine pushing my eyes in.

frags, internals

from the surface

from the surface i need this, i need to trace the line of this fracture, follow it where it goes. does it lead to something solid, somewhere safe, a cave, a tree, a water fall, a cliff? i need to trace the line of this fracture with its jagged edges and angles, with abrupt, haltering steps and rapid shots. i need to to follow it to see if leads to something even stronger than myself and i’ve done much to myself, i’ve armored myself to the point of heartlessness. but what if it leads to something weaker, something broken beyond repair, something that will keep me from breathing, something that will beg to bring me into despair? some dark truth i can no longer deny, some revelation that i’ve always been lost, i’ve never ever begun to be whole.
this is the vile dance, the tripping over. this is the rush of gambling with your soul.

frags

bile and suicide

bile and suicide, she said, i feel like bile and suicide.

driven to a point where it becomes blind hate, blind desire, blind rage. looking for blinding time, to be struck across the eyes, blinded, to be what she sees, to be what you see when she looks at me. how marvelous, how beautiful, how utterly disgusting.

i am the broken window that shatters each view, provides no warmth, keeps nothing out, cuts anything that tries to leave.

and there another scar she has traced, another scorched eyelid. i can erase everything but i am too greedy, too hungry, too nostalgic. i want circuits for memory to never forget her taste, her breast, her laughter. i can fuck your mind as much as you want me to but in the end, i need to remember when you go away and leave me with nothing. i need to remember who i was and who you made me be.

she looked at me as though i was the owner of wounded animals

frags, internals

it’s a balance between

it’s a balance between momentum and pressure. steam rolling forward while keeping the center intact. if you look too closely at anything, inside, outside, your guts or the scenenary outside, focus on anywhere for too long, you’re lost, the momentum gets lost, the center flies apart.

you need to go fast enough to keep going but not too fast lest the centrifugal force breaks it apart.

and by keeping your eyes moving, roving, attentive, alert -but never closed- don’t you dare close your eyes- you just might be able to strike a balance, to find some middle ground that is safe.

but until then, it’s all bare knuckles and clenched teeth and utter complete madness.

frags

can you survive this?

he said to me, can you survive this? you must be sure.

and i laughed and thought him a fool. sure, of course i can or i wouldn’t be here.

he leaned back, almost shocked, somewhat disappointed. too soon, he muttered, too soon. you really have no idea what is being risked here.

come on, i was annoyed, what the fuck do you care? what is there to think about? i’m here, right? obviously i don’t give a fuck one way or the other.

ah, he leaned forward, wild eyed, finger pointing, that’s exactly the point, if you are risking nothing then there’s no point.

i know, growling now, exactly what i am risking and i don’t give a shit one way or the other. i am done here. this city holds nothing further for me. i’ve bled them all dry and they’re hunting. do you understand? they’re fucking hunting and i’m done if i don’t do this. i spat to my left. can i survive this? can i survive this? i locked eyes with him. either i survive this or i don’t survive at all.

fine, fine. he leaned back again, nodding off, slow chin movements, this we can work with. that is a place where we can begin.

oh fuck, where do we go with this?

general, internals

nothing is beyond apparently

nothng is beyond reproach or suggestion, nothing is beyond repair apparently
we can fix this, we can fix everything, everything but the damaged bodies
it’s built upon. there is no way out, there is no end in sight, perpetual emotion machine
perpetual fault machine. precariously and vicariously, living another life through yourself
watching yourself living another you.
i’m sick, in robot mode, pure sinew and tendon
muscles beat, skin beat, head beat, heartbeat,
just a few hours more. maybe even the liquor, although of course
that would just be catastrophe (there’s nothing inherently wrong with the liquor
except for the fact that it literally speaks to me, it literally says, “aren’t i elegant?
am i not pretty?”)
and the little elf inside goes completely apeshit.
he cackles, “you’re the worm in the bottle goddammit.
you’re the goddamn worm.”