OTHER PEOPLE’S WORDS
SUBTITLE: THE EMPORER’S NEW CLOTHES angry catheter confessional
+ never eat yellow snow
Written Drinking:
yet
I din’t die
abd I am not a priest
He is not dead,
yet
catheter insert drawings of supra pubic and urethral catheter
He reached out grabbed and shook my fingers
He grabbed at and shook my fingers rapidly
Written Sober/ish:
He opened the door when I knocked. He reached out grabbed and shook my fingers rapidly (a normal man would release and try again) then offered me in. I wanted to know if he was okay? The lights were off behind him but I could still see as he pulled down his pants and tried to show me his dick; again. He has a catheter coming out of his urethra. He had the front of his tracksuit pants in his hand and pulled them down and just about had it out before I put my right hand in front of my face and said, don’t. His crotch smelled like yeast. I told him he had already shown me several times and I didn’t need to see it again.
The first day I met him he told me his was dieing as he pulled down his pants to show me the catheter then told me that his son had gotten him arrested for sexually molesting him. I remember thinking at the time, wow what a thing to do to somebody you had just met. I didn’t want to see his dick or hear what he had done. I took it as if I was a priest and this was his confession. He had asked how I went to the toilet so I’d told him about my supra-pubic catheter. I told him he should have the same procedure done so that he could still have his dick. He asked how many UTI’s I got and I get plenty so I shut up and didn’t carry on. There is no competition anyway. He is the sickest
He asked me if I had a woman yet. I said no, but I do keep meeting women who are after visas or want me to promote for them. It’s so boring. He has large black eyes and they widened as he spat at me that I was crazy. He told me that they should be turning me down. He whined as he told me I was crazy for not taking any woman that will have me. He looked and pointed at me with a bent index finger, YOU don’t have a JOB and you’re brain damaged in a wheelchair. I looked down and saw his finger was still bent as his forearm shot at me. A woman should turn YOU down! He told me that I should see a psychologist as his voice pitched and cracked on the last consonant.
I had made him angry without even trying * * * three stars; yes
I could see the deep lines of his wrinkles as his brow furrowed. I wrote down to remember that I had once asked him how many he had slept with. When he told me the figure I told him that he was no in a position to lecture me on women. Today he is angry. The anger is killing him and the cup is over half-empty
There may be a point to all of his jabbering and I may be crazy for not wanting any woman that will take me but I am happy in being single and crazy. I haven’t met the right one yet. I told him that there have been plenty of women that I could have had but I am still waiting for her to be my Woman (John Lennon). I told him that I have to be attracted to somebody. I am still waiting to fall in love again. He spat at me that I was crazy. I may be an idealist but I believe in love at first sight and I have learned to trust my instinct. I‘m not going to date just anyone. You cannot make attraction happen. I am writing this as I think about myself but we all know that him telling me off happened quickly and I let it happen. He told me again angrily that I should see a psychologist. He spat at me, look at you! You’re in a wheelchair! What’s wrong with you, he spat? You should have any woman that will take you!
My wheelchair was just outside his door when he left to get something. Should I go? He’s too old and grumpy. No I can’t, I’m bound to a 1970’s New Zealand ethical and Anglican moral code. I kept wondering why had I gone there and why I felt I owed him respect? I looked out the window and saw the sun setting. My tongue felt the inside of my bottom row of my teeth and I felt plaque; I’ll have to see the dentist soon. He came back with his jug in his hand for urinary drainage when he slept. It was a quarter full in the middle of the day. He hadn’t emptied it. I wondered why on Earth would he think I would be interested in seeing it? He started muttering about his bladder and shanking the jug in front of him. It looked like somebody had filled it with rust. I told him that he needed a new one and he muttered something angrily at me. He didn’t want to
I am good on defence these days but most of my attack is gone. It is not a sad thing but for the lack of the latter. My cheeks burned as he once again said, you haven’t a job and you are rejecting women? They should be rejecting you. He was standing with his jug of piss in his hand and his face darkened as he said again, there is something wrong with you. You should be at the shrink; there is something wrong with your head. I can normally laugh when somebody is teasing me and give it back but I could tell this was personal. He wanted to attack somebody and then I showed up
I used to not wear my hearing aids because I had somehow grown used to and enjoyed being deaf. I let deafness define me. He has gotten used to his sickness and has let it define him. He is the angry man. Be wary of a person who let’s their death live. As he kept laying into me with abuse I felt sad for him as I realised that the ship was going down. There is a hole a finger could plug but all the fingers are busy clutching trying to drag the world down with him. Every time he started abusing me it made me feel depressed because I had let him into my life. I had come to see if he was okay. I hope I don’t get like that when I am old
He calls me Andy and sounds like Colonel Klink. What was I doing at his house? My head started pumping. He kept talking about the fact he was dieing but didn’t seem to have any perspective of life. Death is so near the end and so close to the start. He kept asking me questions about my condition wanting to attack. He wanted to be more disabled than me and was getting angry because he wasn’t. I told him how long I had been ******** (2 two times is too much and I am currently exactly halfway between drunk and sober) for hoping it would smoulder his anger. His mind shifted, I could see it as he said, you have gotten used to it. He wants to stand alone in his sickness and wants it to be something to die for
I thought of his age and told him he should watch Laurel and Hardy or Charlie Chaplin’s Modern Times. He snuffed before he muttered something I couldn’t understand. Sitting writing about it I think of all the things I should have said to him. He had made me too sad. I was too shocked to tell him off about his behaviour. I told him, I’ve got to go. I came to see if you are okay and all you have done is insult me. He smiled at me as I left
I saw his /girlfriend this morning as I went to check my mail. She was waiting for me by the box. One hand was folded over the other. His /girlfriend told me that he tried to hit her but missed last night. She said he swung wildly and landed on the floor. She told me that she picked up his legs and dragged him into the bedroom by the shoes. She told me that he was too heavy to lift into bed so she put a blanket on him and a pillow under his head. Then, she said, he mumbled abuse from the floor at her all night until he started snoring. She started crying as she told me this. She shook her right index finger as she told me to not come to visit him anymore. I told her that he had hurt my feelings and I could tell that he enjoyed it. She nodded and said, I know. I told her that she should try and make him laugh. She shook her head as she told me that he doesn’t laugh at anything. I touched the top of her hands and told her I was sorry as I left.
He has always wanted to help me and has always wanted to give me his advice but I have heard it all before. The best advice I have ever gotten from an old man was, never eat yellow snow. His anger is keeping him alive. Old man you should let go of the cup and beg. God will hear you. Give your anger laughter. Without aid I cannot. None of us are well. I cannot be your priest. Respect for the aged is bred from respect for yourself. Every day is a chance for each of us to say sorry and laugh.
I say thank You for the ability to laugh and for what’s left of my Dick.
Hha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ahh ha ha ha
Q: WHY DID THE CHICKEN CROSS THE ROAD?
A: TO GET TO THE OTHER SDIE
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
- i will never get used to this
- at least I can still laugh
written way past drunk:
thhankk yoooou (Y sober)
Andrew Stuart Stuart Starut Buchanan
NOTES FROM THE EDGE 