March Was the Drizzling Shits

…Alright, look…I’m not going to bullshit you guys. The month of March in 2024 has been absolute dogshit for me. I’m grateful to get off of Risperidone, but there’s a price to pay for doing that. I thought I’d been over the worst of it when I stopped sweating profusely and when I wasn’t boiling hot all the time. But there’s another side effect that I’m still dealing with today that I don’t talk about very often. I don’t talk about it because it’s a creepy subject. Ever since I got off Risperidone, I’ve been incredibly horny 24/7. I’ve been living in my own head thinking about these elaborate sexual and romantic fantasies while being completely disconnected from the real world. Anytime I’ve had to step outside my own “heaven” as I call it, I’ve been cranky and irritable, even if I’m doing something that’ll benefit my family like doing laundry or going grocery shopping. I was shopping at Safeway one time and I was getting frustrated that I couldn’t go home to my room and…take care of business. But “taking care of business” only keeps the horniness at bay for a short period of time. And then I’m banging on “heaven’s gates” wanting to be let back in. This has been my entire March in 2024. Three poems and a stream-of-consciousness essay came out of it, sure, but not much else beyond that. I haven’t cracked open “Elantris” since early February. I haven’t written a chapter of Rainbow Ranch since January. I haven’t written a chapter of Beautiful Monster since last year. Last! Year! I haven’t drawn a picture since February. Everything is piling up while I’m trapped in my own fucking head. Take it from me: being horny all the time isn’t the kind of fun that most incels and alpha males would make it out to be. It sucks. It absolutely fucking sucks. How much longer do I have to wait for my brain to recalibrate? Patience is not one of my virtues, in case it wasn’t abundantly clear. So if you ask me what my plans are for the day, I’ve got none. My schedule is clear, but my head is not. I’m counting down the days when this bullshit will end. Thanks for listening to me for a while. Sorry if me talking about sex makes you feel uncomfortable.

Temptation

PART ONE: TEMPTATION IN HEAVEN

In my head, there is only heaven

The angels here are stuff of legends

Manic Pixie Dream Girls don’t exist

Except in a euphoric state of bliss

 

Lovely teachers in dresses and sandals

More than my chemicals could ever handle

They catch me staring and only smile back

Give them some wine and help them relax

 

Whoever said You Tube isn’t eHarmony

Never met the angels that are charming me

Closing distance with hugs and kisses

A future with all of them as my missus

 

When wrestling women get done in the ring

They turn up the sweetness and make my heart sing

They’re more than the skimpy gear that they wear

They’re reasons to stroke their soft silky hair

 

It doesn’t matter if I’m weird or lack money

They call me cupcake and call me honey

I get to be a star and then kiss the sky

Kiss magical women and make them cry

 

TELEVISION DIALOGUE

“Heaven? Hmph! Whatever made you think you were in heaven, Mr. Valentine? This IS the other place!”

 

PART TWO: THE AWAKENING

I spent too long in my own fantasies

The real world has so much they’re asking me

Family and friends haven’t seen me in weeks

My clothes are piling up, my body reeks

 

I got work to do and a legacy to build

I’m still creative and I’ll die on that hill

These novel characters are stuck in limbo

While I spent my days with imagined sex symbols

 

Read a book and your ignorance will die

But I can’t find the energy, can’t find the time

Drifting in and out of consciousness

Another reason to be lacking confidence

 

Build Legos like I did when I was a kid

I’m still a kid, but just a little bit mid

My hall of fame is showing its shame

When my broken promises are all the same

 

Do chores around the house, make it clean

Your domestic mistakes should be heard and not seen

Scrub the dishes and take out the garbage

For god’s sake, it should smell like a botanical garden

 

Talk to your people, talk to your pets

One chance in this life is all you get

Tell them you love them no matter what

Save them from your pain that deeply cuts

 

PART THREE: BACK TO HELL

I’m exiled from heaven, but I can’t go back to hell

The demons were the reason I was so unwell

Fighting and fucking, two sides of a coin

Stroking the tip before a kick in the groin

 

I fought so many battles with the forces of hell

That they’re often too traumatic, I shouldn’t tell

Screams, rage, death, blood

Spending so many nights face down in the mud

 

I’m just too tired to keep swinging my axe

I wish there was some sort of therapy tax

I wish there was somebody that I could ask

To kill the demons for me, but don’t let it last

 

I was born in the fire and I’ll never retire

It was never a reason for me to be a crier

Suck it up, suck it in, get back in the cage

Until I hit senior citizen age

 

If I live that long, my brain will turn to shit

And my hospital gown will be a perfect fit

Go under the knife for the rest of my life

As the memories fade of an imaginary wife

Final Fantasy

VERSE 1

Magical woman says, “I did a line of cocaine

It numbs all the pain in my outer space brain”

Magical woman says, “They hate my penis

They either shout shit at me or pay me to see it”

Magical woman says, “I haven’t showered in weeks

Every shirt I’ve worn is covered in blood streaks”

Magical woman says, “You have very pretty eyes

Is it okay if I look into them for the rest of the night?”

 

PRE-CHORUS 1

“Hold my hand, touch my face

Please take me away from this dark place

Hold me tight, touch my hair

Please help me, I’m scared”

 

CHORUS 1

Who am I kidding? It’s a final fantasy

In the real world, magic women run away from me

It’s a place in my head, got no choice but to stay

Waste my time on limerence, throwing my life away

 

VERSE 2

Lonely bohemian says, “I stole things that aren’t mine

Everyone online made me pay for my crime”

Lonely bohemian says, “I don’t want to be alone

But I’m the only one who was asked to atone”

Lonely bohemian says, “Let me live another day

In case you’re wondering, no, I’m not okay”

Lonely bohemian says, “Can I stay with you tonight?

You’re the only one right now who’s keeping me alive”

 

PRE-CHORUS 2

“Kiss my lips, rub my back

Please protect me from all these attacks

Hold my hand, lay with me

Please don’t let me bleed”

 

CHORUS 2

Snap out of it, son, it’s a final fantasy

Brain ghosts shouldn’t even be asking me

To do emotional labor, save you from the haters

Of all the candies you chose, I’m not your first flavor

 

BRIDGE

I got so much to do, so much to live for

But magical thinking keeps me wanting more

It’s a cycle of addiction no different from crack

Lock myself in my room, don’t know when I’ll be back

 

VERSE 3

Magical woman meets lonely bohemian

Two twin flames, two lovely human beings

Do what you must in your hotel room

Get out of my head and do it fucking soon

Get married, have babies, buy a whole house

Watch a lot of Netflix on your leather couch

My work here is done, now I watch for number one

Ain’t no mystery in this land, it’s all in my hands

Bullet With a Name On It

…I’m not a violent person. I don’t carry a gun with me at all times. The last time I got in a fight was in high school. It was a miserable defeat to a guy who mounted my chest and punched me so many times that I got a black eye, numb cheeks, and chewing difficulties. One of the administrators cracked a terrible joke about how I was a lover and not a fighter. I’d expect that kind of humor in the UFC or WWE, but not at school. But I suppose there was some truth in that joke, because ever since that day, I’ve responded to any amount of stress the same way: freezing like Walt Disney eating a popsicle in the middle of a tundra. Fight and flight are gone. Freezing is all that remains. Staying perfectly still and not being confrontational is supposed to be a survival mechanism. But what am I surviving?

 

While I don’t have a violent life or a criminal history of any kind…I have so many violent thoughts swirling in my head. So many people have taken advantage of my freezing response and said whatever the hell they wanted, like the first amendment was made specifically for assholes. No amethyst colors here, just red, white, and blue. I’ve been fat-shamed, called the R-slur, called a pussy for not joining the military, I’ve had slanderous rumors spread about me, and I’ve been accused of laziness when I didn’t want to get a job and go to school at the same time. These people who abused their first amendment rights…they bear the brunt of these violent thoughts. So...many…violent…thoughts…

 

Punches in bunches. Sprawling and brawling. Knees to the face. Kicks to the balls. Maybe a piledriver if I’m feeling strong that day. Hell, let’s go full UFC and throw in a rear naked chokehold. In my brain I’m undefeated, even against well-trained marines and martial arts blackbelts. I justify these victories by saying, “Whose dick did they have to suck in order to get those accolades?” I’m sure they can explain the bruises on their faces, but how will they explain the bruises on the inside of their mouths to their dentist? Dentists can tell what you’ve been up to in the bedroom. Or under the sensei’s desk, wherever you feel more comfortable.

 

But it’s not just unarmed brawling that I fantasize about. Sometimes I’m armed and dangerous. Sometimes I’ve got a big fucking knife. Sometimes I justify those knife victories by saying, “A blackbelt doesn’t give you puncture-proof skin.” Come to think of it…what is a blackbelt good for anyways? Holding up your pants so that we don’t have to look at your Sailor Moon crotchless panties? That kind of intimate wear would never withstand a few strokes from a big ass knife. And neither would your skin. Just hack, slash, hack, slash, an arm there, a leg there, a throat somewhere else, and a glorious bloodbath that will never make me want to shower ever again.

 

But why is it just melee ranged weapons? Why I can’t I shoot a gun? Surely, it can’t be that hard to shoot a gun. It’s like using America Online: point and click. Maybe I’m oversimplifying complicated technology, but remember, it’s my brain, I’m undefeated. If some bozo driving an obnoxiously large truck drives by me and shouts the F-slur, I’ve got a bullet with his name on it. It’s weird to think about, because in order to have a bullet with somebody’s name on it, I have to know that person’s name. Drive-by loudmouths don’t give you their name or any information about them. That’s a big part of what makes them cowards. Not only do they shout their shit, but they drive away before facing any real consequences. Sure, your truck has a badass engine, but can your truck outrun a bullet? Will a V8 engine matter if there’s a bullet in the gas tank? Will all the horsepower in the world matter if the bullet shatters glass and that glass cuts you up? And what good is driving a truck if the driver gets shot and the vehicle flips on its back? Drive-by loudmouths don’t think about these things in advance. Then again, I wouldn’t call anything they do thinking.

 

Violent fantasies are so much fun to have. I love bathing in blood. I love listening to screams. I love the symphonic melodies of bones snapping and organs sloshing. I love listening to my insulters plead for their lives only to lose them anyways. But it’s important to remember that these are fantasies. They don’t exist outside of my brain. If they did, there would be serious consequences. Seeing this many dead bodies would break so many hearts. I’d have my own broken heart as I sit alone in a prison cell with regret on my mind. That’s what you have to remember as you go through life with an imagination: fantasy and reality are not one in the same. That’s why people caution against porn being unrealistic. Porn isn’t designed to tell a realistic story. It has one purpose: to help masturbators achieve an orgasm by any means necessary. If you can’t separate fantasy from reality, you’re already waiting to get fucked.

 

So go ahead and listen to gangsta rap on repeat. Dream of killing your enemies in cold blood. Drink that cold blood like it’s as refreshing as Coca-Cola. Hell, you can even write about some of these daydreams in your stories if you’re an author of some sort. But that comes with its own set of responsibilities. As authors, everything you put on the paper is held in high esteem. Your readers will take everything you say literally and they’ll apply it to their own way of thinking. That doesn’t mean they’re stupid, but they are impressionable. If you’re being held up as an arbiter of truth and you tell a bunch of violent or sexual lies, that’s going to have a bad influence on your readers. Think of all the BDSM rookies who wound up in the hospital after reading Fifty Shades of Grey. Think of all the women who will get pregnant because of birth control misinformation in The Missus, which is written by the same author. You can have your bloody fantasies on paper, but don’t lead your audience astray.

 

If you’re watching Quentin Tarantino movies, don’t duct tape your enemy to a chair and cut his ear off while dancing to 70’s music. If you’re watching WWE television from the 2000’s, don’t simulate sex with a corpse as a way of insulting someone who wronged you. If you’re watching Mind of Mencia and I hope to god you’re not, don’t throw racial slurs haphazardly and then later wonder why you’re being “canceled”. And by the way, cancel culture isn’t real. If you write a shitty story chock full of irresponsible violence and rape, your audience has the right to react in a negative way, because criticism isn’t censorship. Criticism is the other half of free speech.

 

If you must have violent fantasies, reign them in. Don’t unleash them out into the real world. If you’re a peaceful guy in real life, but you have violent fantasies, don’t let anybody judge you for it. Truth is, everybody thinks about violence at least once in their life. At least once, don’t let them lie to you. Nobody’s this candid about their violent fantasies, but we all have them. Some are more mild than others, but they still exist. It’s a normal part of the human experience. Thinking about something is a healthy way to process it. Thinking is the best way to travel. Doing these things in real life will cause so much heartache, for you and your victims. And for the love of god…don’t join the military just because you happen to be good at playing Halo.

Shock Value Village

VERSE 1

I got my devil horns for only ninety-nine cents

Going to hang some dildos from the white picket fence

And some fetal dolls from the cherry blossom tree

Your shock is priceless, but I got it for free

Got some flammable bibles, two for the price of one

Got a crucifix thong tucked between my buns

Got a whole bookshelf of the shit I can’t read

When you stab a book banner, a fascist bleeds

 

CHORUS 1

Shock Value Village

Raid, rape, and pillage

Shock Value Village

You’ve got the devil to thank

For not breaking the bank

 

VERSE 2

Ronda Santis has some cloves of garlic

He got them from Wal-Mart, ‘cause he’s banned from Target

He’s got a buckle on his hat and some buckles on his shoes

And some holy water boiling on the teapot brew

That shit doesn’t work, so we all point and laugh

The rumbling in our bellies measures on a seismic graph

The crusade was over before it ever began

He died on the hill of a few pointless bans

 

CHORUS 2

Shock Value Village

Raid, rape, and pillage

Shock Value Village

It won’t cost a fortune

So enjoy your abortion

 

BRIDGE

The youth of tomorrow don’t want to hear your sorrows

The churches are empty, you got nothing to envy

You promised paradise, you forgot to ask nice

Check it out for us, you’re the table sacrifice

 

CHORUS 3

Shock Value Village

Raid, rape, and pillage

Shock Value Village

Dollar store prices

For your favorite vices

Shock Value Village

Raid, rape, and pillage

Shock Value Village

Traditions left behind

For a stack of thin dimes

Theocracy be damned

You lost all your fans

Lay Down and Die

VERSE 1

You’re having a book barbecue

I’m burning the red, white, and blue

We are not the same

Mental chess is my only game

You play checkers like an amateur, dude

 

CHORUS

The things you’re fighting for

Should be kicked out the door

Don’t want to hear you cry

Just lay down and die

Keep on rolling

Rolling

Eat some humble pie

Just lay down and die

 

VERSE 2

You’re killing the chicks who won’t date you

No wonder the whole world hates you

Spit out the black pill

Don’t call the pharmacy for a refill

And pray your next victim escapes you

 

CHORUS

The things you’re fighting for

Should be kicked out the door

Don’t want to hear you cry

Just lay down and die

Keep on rolling

Rolling

Eat some humble pie

Just lay down and die

 

BRIDGE

You want to rule the world and fuck all of the girls

Can’t abide by your lies, give them the toilet swirl

You want to burn the books like a badass cook

Can’t let you, I detest you, you’re the real crook

You want to jail me because I made you see

You’re not the king of everything, you too can bleed

You want Armageddon, bar us all from heaven

Buckle up, buttercup, crash your seven-forty-seven

You sacrificed it all

Just to drop the ball

 

CHORUS

The things you’re fighting for

Should be kicked out the door

Don’t want to hear you cry

Just lay down and die

Keep on rolling

Rolling

Eat some humble pie

Just lay down and die

Mosquitos

You’re buzzing all around me like a mosquito

Feasting on flesh like a microwave burrito

Puking your poison over everything I love

Amythest colors drowned in shit from above

Every insult against me is a secret confession

Yet you yak your ass off like it’s your profession

If you buzz and bite for a long enough time

You buy space in my head for pennies on the dime

Just when I’m ready to stare into the void

Here come more mosquitos to keep me annoyed

There’s not enough bug spray on the planet

To make the army of bastards suddenly vanish

There’s not enough fire to match all my anger

To turn this epic war into an apocalyptic banger

I sleep for the night, no buzzing in my dreams

Then I awaken to see them swarming in teams

Being fucked up in the head is a lifelong job

No vacation days, those are only for slobs

No lunch breaks when I want to eat the rich

No free healthcare, pay for every single stitch

If fighting mental mosquitos is a real vocation

I’m the regional manager of every location

I ain’t the CEO, because I have no control

I ain’t the president, just look at the poll

I’d ask for my flowers, but the bugs like plants

Just keep kicking my ass, I’ll drop my pants

They don’t call it an insect infestation

They call it schizophrenia and call me a patient