****** DRUNKEN TOUCHTYPING

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ddrunk – to write about it, it being the, it, of I me her him she it

Ddrunk – to write about it, it being the, it, of I he him her she it

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I;m still using my old version of Word for Mac and the spellcheck won’t always automatically fix all mistakes. I knid of liked it that way in this 9 one, it sh0ws the meaning. For me ths works, so well

 

 

 

 

 

4VV6 (an explanation) I was drunk when I started writing this so there are errors and re]itition. Ut;s not that] I think it/s cool or am advocating drunken behaviour but it ( I am) ammerely exp.lains ing how this happened/ I kept stopping starting and cutting and pasting trying to get into it a second or third time. It is from lack of inspiration for a whole story. It is just disparate thoughts from iver a year of chaos left in their chaotic order (as I found them_. I put the bit about my dick first not because it happened first but because my dick is always on my mind. A pieco (I’m drunk again now) of me has stayed alive and looks on in horror. The errors are not intentional but I have intentionally kept them. I liked how they looked on the page when I was sober so I left them in because I was drunk when I started writing this

 

 

Dear Santa Claus,

 

You know how I got here so I’ll start like this, thanks for my two front teeth. Now all I want is unc0nditional love

 

 

 

 

I showed my dick to a man today. Don’t worry. I had to show it to the doctor. I had several other issues but that was the one I was most worried about. Thyme had asked me earlier in the week how many times I had been to the doctor in the last year. Pass; next question. If it s a competition I win. I go to the doctors so often that the receptionist knows me well enough that I don’t even need to show her my card. I got all the prescriptions out the way first and then told him that I have something wrong with my dick. I started telling him that I have had trouble maintaining an erection since I’ve become disabled and have been using a cock-ring as I loosened the drawstring on my pants. Don’t tell me, he said… it fell off? No, I said as I laughed and pulled my pants and undies down. I took it in my hands and removed the Primapore to show him the damage. I hadn’t felt the pain as it happened but had seen it when I removed the ring and ejaculated. There was a 2 centemetre long blood blister running down it that I waited a day and a half to pop. It has never really healed properly sitting so close to my big sweaty balls

 

 

A friend said to me, I think you’re in denial. the blood keeeeps coming back. It hurt to hear it but they were right. All I have ever wanted was to be was a ******. My friend said, get over it. I didn’t tell them to make them feel sorry for me but just to let them know how and why I am the way I am. It’s not that I wanted to cry but it helped and I felt better the next morning. The friend told me about their lot’s troubles and it helped me realise that we all want ******

 

 

 

I was going to write about it, it being the it of I he him her she it but I can’t. I don’t have enough energy. Anyway writing about it only diminishes some of the sting. In my mind I survive. A friend of mine talked about the sting but could only imagine it. –PULLING THE STING OUT STILL LEAVESS SSOME OF IT IN THE BLOODSTREAM-. Maybe I could try and mix it up in a metaphor or speak in reverse? Man bites dog. .god setib naM (esrever) The dog had to get a rabies shot. No, that is too obvious. .suoivbo oot si that, oN What about, the water receded to reveal a lake? No. .oN The Indians… no be more specific… the Native American’s forced the white man nam etihw from their indigenous home? No fuck it; I shouldn’t talk about Native American’s. I’m a white man. Get real man, metaphors are for cowards. It’s probably best if I don’t write about it ti tuoba etirw t’nod I fi tseb plbaborp s’tI.

 

The phone rang. It was a friend so I started speaking. They asked me how I was so I told them how I was feeling. I was repeating myself when my friend told me that they thought I was in denial. Wow. .woW . They said that it was the way it was so deal with and get over it. I had told them that I had cried myself to sleep thinking about it three nights in a row. I told them that it was an easier thing to say than do but ever since our discussion I have learned to

 

The Neuro psychologist said I presented well for somebody with an acquired brain-injury. I had to fight to get a copy of her report and I had cried (again? ?niaga) when I read it. It showed all of my deficits. It said because I act on social cues I do not give away that I will not remember. What has just been said no longer applies seilppa regnol on. I met a man the other day. He asked me with his eyes if I remembered him. I shook my head then he told me that he once pushed me up the hill in my wheelchair from the Icebergs one day. I pursed my lips and shook my head again and he looked sad. He said, that is the sort of thing that most people would dluow remember rebmemer. I told him I landed on my head. He nodded slowly as he said, yeah you told me before. He had caught me out. It’s not hard to forget. Remembering problemmssssssss sssssssmmrelborp gnirebmemeR.

 

 

I surrounded myself with apathy. I wasn’t a nice person before. I lied, I cheated – and cheated – _I cheated – and stole and I ended up like this.

 

it being the it of I he she it but I can’t. I don’t have enough energy.. eve felisseddddddd

 

 

 

the morning of my birthday I spent three hours on the toilet. I know I’ve said it all before but how I defecate is complicated. Not on my birthday. I sat on the commode chair and I couldn’t stop. Later in the day a friend text me f to wish me well and tp pt ask how I was. I text them back that I was sick. They asked me if I was sick or sad. I told them that I was sick and explained my bowel problem. My friend asked a profound question. I have thought about it ever since. I put a wad of toilet paper in my undies and considered it finished,

 

it has never finished. The poohs keep coming out my bum. My sickness was Salmonella and being disabled the way that I am it has stayed with me rof for months. I have never gone back to a consistently hard stool (why am I writing this????? right yeah) and my shit often smells sour. If I had the guts – ¾ah ha ha hah hah h- – I would take a video of the procedure to defecate. It’s Clinically Disgusting. I have been sitting over the toilet for two hours at least twice a week. Even after two lots of antibiotics I am still sour and runny at least once a week. There has been so much sadness ssendas that I wouldn’t be surprised if it has decided to join in,

 

and so yeah, the days went on and on just staying alive. I spent all of my time next to the bathroom in case of pooh-pooh. I got to the gym once but have never been healthy since. Has the bug gub stayed with me because I was sad das? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck kcuF. I’d never thought about it like that. Just like my brain holds on to the tinnitus my heart holds on to the sickness. Okay, I said aloud, get up out of your wheelchair and walk klaw you bastard. What I am is what I am. By being sick you are attracting sick. Come on brain, this body is not broken nekorb ton si ydob siht, niarb no emoC. Your mind is si dnim ruoY holding on to the source. You do not need a mirror. .rorrim a deen ton od uoY .Do not hold onto anything. With your mind you can do anything so come on, do it. Come on do it, stand up. My legs crumpled as I tried to stand and landed, on my, face,

 

my face is now different. I pretend that I am normal every day. I often try to think about the way it went down but I never get very far, remembering gnirebmemer. Christmas day I spent over three hours on the toilet. Three hours just getting all of the sadness out of my guts. The body is trying but the mind holds on to it. My brain and body have been linked but never connected. Does that make sense ?? of course it does, to me em ot. Nobody else understands. People get mad with me for missing appointments like I have a choice

 

 

Thank you so much for my two front teeth, all I want now is unconditional love! Animal mineral or vegetable will do. I’m not too proud to be seen hugging a tree. I have an excuse. I was never taught how to love properly. I mistook sex and affection for love and so now here we are

 

I surrounded myself with apathy. I wasn’t a nice person before. I lied, I cheated – God how I cheated – and stole and I ended up like this.

 

… was going to write about it but I can’t. I don’t have enough energy. Anyway writing about it only diminishes some of the sting. In my mind I survive. A friend of mine talked about the sting but could only imagine it. –PULLING THE STING OUT STILL LEAVESS SSOME OF IT IN THE BLOODSTREAM

 

it being the it of I he she it but I can’t. I don’t have enough energy.. eve felisseddddddd

 

I now have a clinically diagnose d erectile dysfunction. If that is not karma or fate then surely Peter Sellers is the Mster retsM of the Universse essrevinU. It’s probably because I don’t have a woman. I ddkeep trying to varying degrees of semi. My dick is a beautiful thing when it works

 

if you have over a hundred friends on Facebook and you don’t work in advertising or marketing you are a prick. I’m sorry to put it like that. I was born in an age of pen pals and nobody ever had that many (how many of your friends on Facebook do you actually know or can regularly make you laugh – delete five of your ‘friends’ ‘sdneirf’ today that you don’t yllautca communicate with). Facebook started as a way to keep in touch. I had to delete no.1 after they put a horrible comment on my page. I started thinking so I deleted no.1’s number two. I also deleted no.2 and their no.2. they are all too dangerous and trigger-happy yppah-reggirt dna. I started getting carried away and deleted every one of my “friends” that didn’t wish me a happy birthday. I too oot am itchy finger. Facebook is wasted energy. The insecure tally their worth in numbers. it is a new sickness and the only cure is to switch it off

 

A young girl that I had become friends with asked me if I had deleted her. I asked her if she wished me a happy birthday.? ?. She said no so I told her that I had probably deleted her too. I asked her what type of friend she was? I told her I was happy to email her but I felt embarrassed that so many people hadn’t bothered to say anything. What is the basis of the online friendship? They don’t’ care I don’t care. m. Facebook tells you when it is a friend’s s’dneirf birthday so that even if you are not online on the day you can still wish a belated greeting. If you do not know somebody they are not a r reeal flaeer r friend so what iss ssi the point of staying in contact.? I already have enough “fair-weather” friends. She told me that people would be offended at being deleted deteled gnieb. Offended by what? I asked her who would be more offended, a fake friend or a friend that was faked? nbdw I would rather not /than you/. She still has not replied to that one. I do not want/need to see her photos or see what she is doing from moment to moment. i do not miss our online friendship

 

she has not replied. And so I come home alone in agony and write all this nonsense that squirts out of me . I ejaculate in my mind. When I am into writing I could spend a whole night just thn]dinking abouy iy (t) (t) yi yuoba. I take my time and consider every word. Even if it doesn]t make sense to you it means everything to me. I got told off by a women (a, not e) all about (all drunk) aa story (extra a means) that I wrote. SSsshe helped me with my blog but was fucked off with me / about / because of the content of my stories. Nobody believes me when I talk but as a sentence it is taken as gospel. I don’t even do half the things I write about. Now limited by my body and memory I instead have to take inspiration from inside ny mind somewhere. I couldn’t say where, possibly somewhere below my righttt ttthgir ( fake deaf faed ekaf ) ear. It makes me feel good. I am writing about the right stuff. I made her think. If her rage meant something it would be nice. Women actually hate men ((((((   there, that’ll get some goat yahoo!Anarchy in Sydbey yebdyS)

 

i wear two

 

the ringing on the left side of my head had gotten louder. It was all that I could hear. The battery in my good hearing aid had gone flat. The right ear picks up the sound from the deaf hand side of my head and digitally mixes it with the hearing I have in my right ear. The extra sound and added perception helps mask the ringing. I reached down to the bag under my wheelchair and pulled out a packet of batteries. I looked at the wheel and I had used them all up. My memory is getting better but there are still holes. I cannot hear from the left ear without the right. The tinnitus had got louder without me noticing it. I couldn’t think for the ringing. I concentrated on my breathing trying to lower it (a trick I have used once before). it only works a bit and for as long as I can keep focused. All I can do is breathe

 

ssimple simple, it’s simple

 

The battery went flat halfway down Bondi Rd and I realised how hard it is when you can’t hear. It’s dangerous. I saw a blind man walking up the street towards me. He walked with a dog and a cane and I thought wow. I find it hard to accept my disabilities. The discharge note from the psychologist in the hospital I was placed at said, Andrew has had great difficulty coming to terms with having a brain-injury. No shit. It didn’t take a doc+or ro+cod in a white coat to tell me that, a butcher could’ve. I woke dumb. I pulled mu wheelchair into a driveway. AAas the blind man walked past me I leaned across in my wheelchair and told him he was an inspiration. What, he asked? I told him what I said again. I was counting, he stammered. Counting what, I asked? Counting my steps, he said. .dias eh ,spets ym gnitnuoC He asked where we were and I tol d d lot I him (had to tell him) I didn’t know the name of the street                                      +

 

I had to go to the post office, that’s why I left the house. I’d only pushed one hundred metres from my front door when I saw the postie. Did you get the ticket for your parcel, she asked? I turned to face her and I fell out of my wheelchair. I haven’t fallen out of it for the longest time. There was a branch lying on the footpath htaptoof eht no. The postie and a strange lady walking by helped me back into it. They both fawned over me asking if I was okay? I told them I was fine. That was a lie. All you have to do is smile to fool them. I am so sick of everything. I got home and stifled the tears… no sorry that’s also a lie. The tears came but I managed to control them. It is the only control I have

 

 

 

 

))))))))))00000000000

 

 

I aaam always hearing women talking about not understanding man. I feel lucky that I a m honest and/or dumb enought to be me. the try=uth is not as we know it. I I belieieve all o f my ym f o lla dysfunction to be beatable. i am only part man wheli the rest of me is still beast. Man )me( is so simple, elpmis os si )em( naM

 

 

u ]]] y\q I will neve \r[ p44p\\robablyy nevfre\r understand this new body and dna who I now want or who will want me, wo\m\am ma/m/ow, (n, but you know) byt I can’t stop?

 

 

 

 

ii can’t t’nac ii / ddon;t stop po ts

 

 

llew os ,

 

 

 

 

Andrew SStuart Buchanan

 

 

 

 

Akk id]]] kk akk all of t’i\h\his nea] means nothing but ulitmatel7nbn nothing means something

 

 

to me

em ot

 

 

 

 

Andrew SStuart Buchanan

trautSS