NEEDLEWRITER

Some nights ago, I was sitting in my room, starring at the wall. The dot was there, my dot. I thought what a successfull dot. She was just successful at being a dot. No worries or anything alike, just doting around on the wall. So it happens I got bored. So I made myself open the drawer and take a bottle of fine whiskey ( just a small lie, it was apsinthe) and drank, drank till I was unconscious. Total black out of the world before my very own eyes. „Drop dead” they screamed „Kill thyself” they screamed further „better off dead and rotten” they whispered. They even started throwing up, shitting, pissing, shooting their fecal souls at my catatonic body. My R.E.M. eyes just started to bleed colagen. It was starting to be obvious – Death of me is what they want – but poorly prepered Death of them is what happened. We realised while he was lying down, by „we” we mean his eyes, that he was slandered all the way up, down, left, right, and alike, accross the whole globe. Didn’t care much. He, we mean didn’t care. But what about us, his eyes. About that what we see everytime he goes around his dayly and nightly deeds. We ought to admit we would rather be blinded by anything – if that were possible. We do all sorts of things when he drops in deepness. but to be honest – they have it worse – because the ears tell him everything when he wakes up, if that could be called, if that could be called waking up. And it’s nausiating – poor little thems’ – the fecal people are they called, and the big question around them is, was, will be – Who gonna flush that away? And just after waking up, moments later he lits his cigarette, drinking his coffee, and prepares for the day. By shitting his own shit out after his morning routines. And his drunken night before. And hearing out what the rest of the organs felt while he was deep, deep and far away.
All he would hear the poor thems’ theys’ whatever, had another „Human centipede” TRANSaction. Good lord, what a train of thought. Bye.