Monday, November 06, 2006

Damage Inc.

I ripped my out my mothers insides in an attempt not to be born. Dug my nails into the plump walls of her soft vagina and held on for all it was worth; doctors lugging at me with skewed eyes and a corrupt smile, tearing me away from a balmy refuge to the icy steel of the infirmary table. Slammed me there like a chunk of freshly slaughtered mutton waiting to be butchered, brainwashed and obliterated. To expunge whatever was good, communal and authentic to replace it with hate, corruption and mendacity. I would be programmed to cooperate in the game like a fucking android, a warped reproduction of my factual identity in the hands of the enemy, a puppet led by the strings of idiocy, held by artificial fiends. I was born to be like everyone else, but fucked up somewhere down the human assembly line.

Sitting in front of the full-length mirror, immersed in an opaque fog of nicotine smoke, spilled ashtrays and empty Jack Daniels bottles scattered around me, I look at my face, staring into vacant, deadpan sockets. Straight nose chiseled adequately by lofty cheekbones and naturally scarlet lips, topped off with long dark hair hanging wet over lucid skin. A dark goatee structures a strong jaw-line with a sneered mouth missing one back tooth.
I suck a long haul from my cigarette and blow the smoke at my reflection, philosophizing back to the good old days, reminiscing about how it used to be....the early morning sun shining affectionately on my face as I awoke, the birds chirping outside my window....the aroma of freshly cut grass filling my room. My childhood days were gone now, erased and replaced with a cold, barren jungle, plugging and poisoning every pore and vein in my body like the plague, an epidemic of self destruction; poisoning me like rat poison slowly kills a rat. And now I sit here in my asylum, staring at the malevolence in the reflecting glass and drowning myself in nicotine and liquor to try to escape from what I’ve done, where I’ve been, what I’ve become and what they’ve distorted me into.

A droplet of sweat slids down my face and teeters off the edge of my nose, falling and splashing onto my naked thigh. I butt out the last of my cigarette on the hardwood floor in front of me, turning my head slightly to the far dark corner of the room. An eerie blackness cascades over the walls and shadows dance across the floor from the light of a single candle I have lit in front of me. Gently laying down on the floor in front of the mirror, I curl into the fetal position and quietly fall asleep, escaping into the twisted dream world of my former years....

I shot out of my mothers cunt like an oversized blood clot, her jellied afterbirth spilling out over my new naked male skin, on July 3rd, 1973 at Toronto Memorial Hospital.
The first three months of my life was shut up in an incubator, hooked and stuck with tubes and needles, being shown in a glass container like a dead guppy. Jaundice mixed with pneumonia they called it, debating whether or not i would make it to see my fourth month. But nonetheless, i proved the doctors wrong and pulled through the sickness and am now sitting here attempting to write my life story on WordPad.

It’s odd to look back and remember myself as a diminutive timid, introverted child because now, at 33 years of age, I am exactly the opposite of that. Life has a way of pilfering innocence from you like a thief in the night, or at least mine had, I really had no choice in the matter.

None of us really do in the cesspool.