Monthly Archives: May 2015

JUST GIVE ME HALF YOUR LUCK

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JUST GIVE ME HALF YOUR LUCK

 

 

 

The room was quiet except for the machines. Nobody said a word. Nobody was winning. All they did was watch their money go in beeps. It was a room full of men living for their luck. Nobody smiled. The wind had changed and their faces were stuck like that. The room smelt of sadness and BO. I looked around and I felt sad. I know that I didn’t but it feels like I spent half my life waiting in the car for gambling. I used to pretend that the gear stick was the control of a fighter jet. I flew around the world. I looked around the room and saw emptiness. All the people in there were devoid of hope so they gave everything to chance. I kept looking around the room and didn’t see a smile. It was a room full of old men, head bowed to their fate. Their mouth’s looked like they had been scrubbed off with steel wool. I asked the man next to me if he had any luck? He turned from his machine to face me and I saw that his mouth was sewed shut with fishing line. He held his hand out so I went to the other end of the room

My friend gave me twenty dollars for the poker machines. The first game I doubled my money. Shall I take it, I asked? No, they said, keep gambling, so I did. I won one hundred and eighty dollars so I took the money out of the machine and gave them back the twenty. Don’t you want to keep gambling, they asked? No, I said, that machine right in front of you tells the odds of a jackpot. One in two and a half million doesn’t seem worth it. But you’ve got to be in it to win it, they said. I’m going for a piss and a beer, I replied as I headed for the bar. We all escape individually. I get confused easily so I escape easily

I got to the other side. There was no disabled toilet so I pushed open the door of the men’s. As I was going in a man was coming out. Watch out, he said as he squeezed past. For what, I asked? He nodded back into the loo. I got in there and saw a short bald man standing with his back to the urinals nodding while talking to himself. He was wearing a red white and blue pin-stripe tuxedo and was staring at the floor. He looked up and gesticulated to an invisible friend on his right and said, exactly. He pulled out his dick and started pissing on the tiled floor. What, I asked, is it Bastille Day? No, he said, it’s your lucky day. Lucky how, I replied? I’m going to let you sell your soul, he said as he shook it and put it back in his pants. He looked up at me and I saw the right sleeve of his jacket suddenly catch on fire. I yelled at him, you’re sleeve’s on fire. He said, I know. I thought, you’re not the devil. He looked down and his puddle of piss caught on fire. You can have whatever you wish in return for it, he added. I already sold it to you, I said, don’t you remember? You gave me all those women. That wasn’t me, he said, I had the night off and left my brother in charge. So how did I get to fuck all those women? That was your own luck, he said as he bit the end off a cigar, not mine. He brought his arm up and lit it from his sleeve and breathed a plume of aromatic smoke in my face. The man reached into the right pocket of his jacket and pulled out a frothy pint. This is my luck, he said as he winked. I reached for it and said thanks

The pub means different things to different people. For me it has always been the escape. I used to go there to forget. My friends and I would get wasted every time. We would drink to forget that we are human. The people in the gaming room were all escaping too. I used to work with one bricklayer. He earned more money than I did a week but would always come to work on a Monday morning and ask me “if I was flush for a quid”? What, I’d ask, do you spend all of it? He would look at me sheepishly with his hand extended. He lived upstairs and down in a pub. I can appreciate that some men study form and technique but he studied defeat. I studied the gambling room thinking of how many ways a man can lose. It is easy to understand a man when you are one. We are waiting for the chance to elevate ourselves from routine. We need to forget to remember

The man in the tux walked out of the pub and pulled it out. He started pissing as he walked and I thought, how cool. I saw the moment his piss caught on fire. I watched the burning trail turn into an alley. An old man staggered towards me. He was holding on to the end of his dick. He leaned on me to steady himself and said, the vig’ is killing me. Well it’s not just the vig; it’s also the devil. We are all, I said, at his mercy. The devil is killing us all in our own way. He’s walking right behind you pissing flames. His eyes narrowed as he stared at me. The end of his nose was covered in big blackheads. Why don’t you squeeze all those things on your nose, I asked? What things, he replied? His breath smelt like stale vinegar. He could not see himself and that is all I wish for. Tux ran out of the alley. He picked the old man up and threw him across the road. I only heard him scream half way. You know I am the Devil, he said, I spunked on a sewer rat yesterday. I masturbated and the sperm landed in the hole for my SPC, I replied. I don’t want, he said, what you’ve got for sale. It never was for sale, I replied, you were just fishing. He smiled then I smiled. We simultaneously reached out and shook hands then he walked away

 

 
f

r

o

m

 

 

 
m

e
 

 
. The Devil is a man

 

 

 

 

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

THE PAIN IN SOLITUDE

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THE PAIN IN SOLITUDE

 

 

 
-stirred not shaken X18+

 

 

 

I got to my mate’s place early. I knocked on the door and waited. There was no reply so I knocked again and yelled her name. Her neighbour leaned out the window and shouted, be quiet! I rapped on her door loudly and the neighbour screamed at me to shut up. I sighed and then started making my way down the side of her house. I saw her standing on a chair sticking a wire coat hanger into the metre box. What are you doing, I asked? Cheating, she said. I asked, but won’t they know that it’s you? I hope not, she said, I’ve tampered with the whole streets

I had to go home. I was over-due. She had been away for a month and a half and I had not been changed. I lay on the bed and took my pants down. I am no longer embarrassed. Since becoming disabled more people have seen me naked than all the years I spent fucking. She pulled the old one out and showed it to me. Look, she said! I was looking. The old catheter looked like it was filled with shit; no sorry it looked like it was filled with death. The Prof put me on to a new one. I can’t remember if the reservoir tip is closer or further away from the hole where the piss enters but I’ve had fewer UTI’s since. The new one went in and I could start living again

I really want to self-catheterise but it scares the shit (piss-groan) out of me. I tried once before and was no good. I tried just before I was discharged from hospital and didn’t know what was happening from minute to minute. I think I was washing my hands but I still got a really bad bladder infection. I wanted to walk out of the hospital I was wheeled into smiling but had a bowel accident that morning. I cried because I pushed myself out in a chair. I know there is no tone inferred when you write but I’m not writing this for any of the reasons you think. I am writing this because it is a good story. My dick led me around the world and I still don’t know it

It has taken a long time to get good staff to help me. I’ve been through more nurses than the Crimean War. I once had a nurse perforate my bladder wall. She didn’t know what she was doing and pushed the catheter right through. She didn’t wait to see the urine and pissed (?) off home. I waited for the urine to start flowing. I normally don’t look but I feel the contents of the leg-bag through my pants. I’d drunk over a litre and a half of water and could only feel about forty mls of urine. Eventually I pulled my pants down to see the bag was full of bright red blood

I’d been fucking her from behind for at least five minutes and she hadn’t made a sound. I smacked her arse and she moaned oooohhhh. Aah, I thought, all right then. I pulled out and bit her arse as hard as I could then put it back in. She groaned in joy. I looked down and saw I had drawn blood. Fuck me, she screamed, you bastard! Here was this little thing screaming for it. I had her completely and I knew it. I started to go soft. Now that I had her I didn’t want her. I wanted the next one. She turned her head around at me angrily and clamped on as she slowly pulled me in. It’s funny the things that turn a man on. I got hard again as her body relaxed and she submitted. She knew what I wanted and shut up. I fucked her in silence. I came on her swingers and watched her lick it off. Give me a slut that looks like a saint. Give me a woman that understands. All a writer needs is pain and solitude

 

 

 
Andrew Stuart Buchanan

ALL THE DEAD CHICKEN HEADS

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He chopped the chook’s head off with an axe and we both watched it run around the yard until it realised it was dead. Once it knew it dropped to the ground and it’s left leg twitched a moment and then that was it

 

 

 

 

I’d only seen him for five minutes and he charged me two hundred dollars. Shit, I should have stayed in school. The Guv stood down so I had to see this new one. His receptionist gave me five hundred pieces of paper to fill in and sign. I took it to the waiting room and started filling in what I could. I looked up and saw her pushing her wheelchair towards me. She was smiling and looking for my attention. I kept my head down trying to remember my life. I forget how she broke the ice, what she said, but she couldn’t wait to. She started telling me that in America they no longer catheterise. So how do they piss, I asked. She mumbled an answer I would never hear as I nodded and smiled. If what they did in America were standardised they would do it here. She started telling me about alternative therapies as I nodded and said, right. She asked for my phone number so I gave it to her. As I relayed the number I asked myself why I was giving it to her? I told her to say who it was otherwise I would forget her. She sent me a text and I pushed delete

I need another camera up the willy to have a look. They told me they would text the date and time. My body and I don’t know each other and it makes me feel hate. I pushed my wheelchair outside and saw it had started raining. The appointment was short but it had taken all my day. I sat waiting for a ride and asked myself, what the fuck are you doing here? Now I knew why I was at the hospital, I meant what the fuck am I doing on this Earth? The pleasures are seldom and short but the pain lasts all day. The rain came down and I had the urge to cry. I sniffed and told myself not to. Hold it in you fool; there are other people around. I looked up at the rain and a gust of cold wind sent shivers down my neck. I know why I wanted to cry. I had to go to the appointment by myself and I was returning home by myself where I would sit by myself. I managed to keep the tears inside. They are now stale and have lost their meaning

The woman I met there was just lonely. I am just lonely too but I keep it to myself. She really thought she was helping me. I only think of what to say afterwards. I should have said, for all of your alternative therapies we have both ended up in the same place. The difference is that she thought that there must be a better way. She talked loudly about the ‘system’ and that it was full of piranhas and parasites. She was right but she was just another parasite trying to inject her philosophy into my bloodstream

I used to be angry that I can only hear out of one ear until somebody told me, at least you can still hear out of the other one; imagine if you couldn’t do that? Then you’d have something to complain about. I went back inside the hospital and asked the woman at the reception if I could borrow a pen. She said yes and handed it to me. I placed it standing up on the table and then slammed my head down on it. I felt the tip go into my ear and then blacked out. I woke up and could hear nothing. I will not complain.

 

Now I have a reason to feel lonely

 

 

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

BETWEEN THEM AND PARANOIA

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BETWEEN THEM AND PARANOIA

 

 

 

She walked in the door and collapsed. She fell on the floor face down. She lay there crying. I watched her body shudder and bounce up and down off the wooden boards. I wheeled my chair up to her and picked her up. She’d just returned from a trip to her country. I asked her why she was crying. She told me that the last time she went home her country was ruled under moderation. It is now ruled under the iron-fist of religion. She went on to say that she had to wear a scarf and cover her entire body when she was there. She told me everybody dressed the same and had the same haircut. Before she left to go home I asked her why she would have to cover her hair? Men aren’t excited by hair. When she returned she told me that it was no joke. The men are so rad’ that they are turned on and that’s why the women can’t show it. I asked her, were the men in your country turned on by a woman’s hair when they could see it? I bet that they weren’t. Men only want what they can’t have

I told her I had to go. I’d been invited to a friend’s dinner party. He has two tumours and walks with them on his sleeve. He’s told me at least five hundred times and mentioned it at least three times during our dinner. I know that I always write about my disabilities and they do define me but there are more dignified topics to discuss over a meal. The man hosting the party is from the Holy Desert, I am from New Zealand, one guest was from Brazil and the other man was from somewhere in Europe but I couldn’t hear where from. I was going to ask him where but decided that it didn’t matter. There was not a single fanny present. The man hosting always mentions the fact that I have blonde hair and blue eyes and seems to resent his own race. He once said that somebody treated him like a “bloody Maori”. He talks about racism but cannot see his own

The dinner party dragged on. The man doesn’t drink but I couldn’t turn up empty handed so I’d brought a bunch of flowers for his girlfriend. I presented them to her then he told me it was his birthday so I said sorry and turned the flowers towards him. He accepted them then told me people would talk. I smiled then he started talking. He’s mentioned on several occasions the money that it’s worth. He started again telling me that I should close it and take the money. You could take that money and buy three houses with it, he said. I told him that I have spoken to my lawyer about it and he told me to add it up. There are too many expenses. He turned to one of the guests and said look at the morals of this man, he would rather keep his **** open than take the money. He spoke of me like I’m a saint. I’m not a saint I’m just sick

Halfway through the meal the host started fighting with Europe. They sat at the heads of the table. I do not know their relationship but it seemed as though they hated each other. They spat vitriol over the food at one another. Being born in New Zealand I’m not used to friends acting in an uncivil manner. I couldn’t hear what they were fighting about but it was very heated. His friend wore a wig and looked stupid but apparently wasn’t. I could only pick up bits of what they were fighting about. The Desert was saying that men act like ladies and vice versa and that his friend was acting like a woman. He went on to say that men and women are different (no shit-pussies, mmmmm) and should stay in their respective roles. The guest picked up his bread and butter knife and flung it at the Desert’s head. He ducked just in time and threw the saltshaker at his friend. His friend was too slow to move and the shaker struck him in the middle of the forehead. It opened on contact and the salt spilled all over the table. He pushed his chair back and stood up. I asked the other man at the table whom his money was on? The man asked, what? When they end up fighting, I replied, who’s going to win? The man shrugged his shoulders. He did not know. Never bet against a sick man. They will shorten the spread. I always pick the easy money

I shook everybody’s hand. I was glad to get going. A young straight-edger told me off on the way home. She had tattoos all over her arms. My phone had rung and it was a friend that I used to work with. We started talking as we did when we were on a building site. He started talking about ******* this and ******* that so I joined in. I was talking about the G-spot when I felt a slap on the back of my head. I said, ow, and turned to see the teenybopper standing with her hands on her hips behind me. I took the phone down from my ear as I turned and demanded, what? She told me that she found that kind of language offensive. I sighed and turned my back on her and kept talking to my friend. She was a straight-edger. That means that she is young and militant without knowing why. I know why, not enough life experience. There was suddenly a thump on my back that made me drop my phone. I bent down and picked it up as she said, didn’t you hear me? I found your language offensive. So what, I said, I wasn’t even talking to you. Who cares what you find offensive. I’m only twenty, she said, and I’m not used to that kind of language. Well, I replied, you’re still young and you’ve got plenty of time to get used to it. I head her huff and watched as she walked away from me wondering at why she was so offended

The youth of today look at all the mistakes of mankind and don’t think that we’ve learned from them. They look at us as politically incorrect and ignorant. They tell us that we can’t say this or we can’t say that. When I was a boy I was taught children should be seen and not heard. I shouldn’t talk because I’m not a parent but mothers and fathers want to be their child’s friend these days. They speak to their children as if they are equals. People are raising juvenile adults. Children are walking around with a sense of entitlement beyond their years. I watched the girl walking away from me. She kept looking over her shoulder at me shooting bad looks like I was the bogeyman. Excuse me, I shouted as I hurried after her! She turned fully and waited for me to catch up. I’m so sorry, I said, but you didn’t give me a chance to say what I wanted to. What did you want to say, she asked? Fuck off, I replied. Her head went down and she dialled a number on her phone as I went the other way

The best show on the telly is a perfect metaphor for life. We are alive and we are dead. No matter what we stand for one day it will not matter. When you are sitting at the end nothing matters. I have only been in love twice in the last few years. The first woman I fell for was Eastern and came to use the gym in the hospital. I thought I had never seen a more beautiful woman until I was discharged and saw her at the gym on the shore. Every time I talked to her the owner would take two fingers and point to his eyes then point them at me. We flirted until the bubble burst. I saw her mother recently. I went up to her and told her that I fell in love with her daughter at first sight but backed off when I found out she was still studying. Her mother asked if I knew that she was still studying? I told her yes. I am still in love with her. Unrequited love tastes like stale potato chips and there is nothing you can do about it. I wanted her in my life but I couldn’t. There are too many mirrors. I told her mother that it had taken me until now to articulate it. Her mother told me it was a good thing I was finally able to. I don’t know what that meant/means. It was probably code for ‘tough titties’ or ‘hard cheese’

Familiarity breeds contempt and contempt breed’s tumours. I opened the fridge door and a swarm of flies flew out. I let go of the door and ducked to the left as they flew past me. They stayed in their formation and headed towards the kitchen window. I watched the swarm break off into little pieces and head out. Only one fly stayed behind. It hovered up and down in front of my face. I asked it, what is there some kind of problem, and it flew away. I looked inside the fridge and saw that everything was mouldy so I closed the door. I went to my computer and sat in front of it. I finally got a new copy of Words. It’s been sitting next to my computer for days now. A friend told me that they couldn’t do that. Their exact words were, I could never delay gratification. Sometimes it is all I can do. It’s strange the things that I can abstain from. I masturbate five or six times a week and I can never refuse a drink in front of me. I only care about what’s important

The latest series hasn’t been released on disk so I turned on the telly and there was an old black and white science-fiction movie on. Everyone was dressed the same and had the same haircut. I changed the channel and saw a documentary. It was called Between Alien Movies and Paranoia. My favourite show is a metaphor for modern day. The dead are the norm while the living are scared. We all know that we are dieing and it scares the hell out of us. Nobody wants to get to the end so we become something. Death is just without love. Thanks to the Word(s) I am still alive and can now hold my tongue

 

 

 

Andrew Stuart Buchanan

Profession

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Profession

 

 

 
There are people who believe that the movie The Matrix is true. I remember reading about a boy who shot up his high school after watching it repeatedly. I’m not talking about those ones I mean the ones who see a prophecy within that movie. We commonly refer to them as nerds. The nerds were right. I’ve noticed that straight after I’ve logged on I’ll receive a phone call. I should know better as there is a 1-2 second delay after I’ve picked up before they start but there is also a delay when one of my mate Skype’s. That movie was true. They have bugged the telephones with little villains (I don’t know) that follow you.

People are getting excited that we are almost able to clone a person. Creation without sex can’t be right. People are getting excited throwing themselves into a net. Humanity has the right to do this and can’t wait. Mankind will clone itself into serfdom. Our bastard offspring will not know. They will grow into picking beetroot. The masters will determine our lives off of a screen and nobody cares it’s happening. Humanity doesn’t have a right. We have evolved from our humble beginnings into the ugly truth. We are Man and we are in charge. The human intellect will one day choke on knowledge. It will be multi-tasking and won’t have a hand free

I had a hot hot hot ******** girl ask me to move in with her. One of my mates once asked me if I ever got nods of acknowledgment from other men in mixed race couplings. I laughed ‘cause it was funny but then wondered why it was funny. I laughed because man finds it easier to hate. People look at these couplings as un-natural. Nobody is racist at birth, I mean when they came out of the fanny. We are all born prejudice to ourselves but to another we are not. The human race hates itself and wants to collapse. WWIII will be a blessing when there is no more room. There will be a country that decides all of our fates if we don’t first get to one colour

The home phone rang again but I ignored it. Everywhere I go I see scores of young people head bowed to their phone. I remember a time before technology where people used to talk to each other. Not anymore. Not unless you’re online. The life we live online will always be cooler than reality. People my own age are always online. Can’t they remember when they weren’t? I had to go to the store. I passed three people walking with theirs heads down texting. They have two lives. I can’t see the fixation living in that world. I listen to music and live in a made-up world. A world where nothing is true but you can taste it. I would rather listen to music and not engage than to look down and see where I’m at

A friend told me earlier in the day that I should try online-dating. I’ve tried it before. I tried when I was really brain damaged. I joined a sex site first by accident. I put a photo of my face and all these women kept sending flirts down the line. I befriended them then saw all of their male friends had photos of their cocks. All of their online friends didn’t show their faces but showed cocks and balls instead. I sent one girl a message asking how come she was so hot but had to look virtual to find someone? I thought she would have her pick of a hundred and twenty-five men a day. She clicked un-friend and that was it. I wanted to see behind the face she shows. It was probably a bald forty-year old man sitting behind his computer out at Homebush. I want to feel her heat and taste a woman’s pheromones before I start. I tried another agency and when I looked at their ‘best’ photos on their profiles I felt sorry for them. Most looked humble and just in search of a decent man. A lady once told me I was really good looking… but that was just online too

Online isn’t real yet the reality is that it is. When I look around I wonder why Orwell didn’t think of this? All it takes is distraction. We will all be happy to live in cages by the time he gets back. The world will be all looking down when it falls from the sky. The crash will only be observed through the medium of capturing. Only a few will see it with their own eyes. My computer and I barely communicate but men carry their’s right next to their balls. Women carry their’s over one of their ovaries. They are slowly sterilising you and you are letting them. They are trying to kill the breeders. I leave my phone at home

 

 

 
Andrew Stuart Buchanan