I have decided that I am, in fact, the representative of a new movement in art. This new movement began two and a half minutes ago when I was in the washroom stretching my penis from the tip of the foreskin up and away from my body so I could get the skin of my shaft and testicles taut enough that I could comfortably and deliciously scratch for as long as it was before the new movement took hold of my attentions. It will last as long as I live, and it will be unparalleled everywhere and for all time. No one who does not understand it will appreciate it, and anyone who appreciates it will be deemed insane or ignorant. I am the pinnacle of human artistic achievement. Art is the challenge of aesthetic paradigms and my movement defines itself by its continuous challenge to itself, ergo, my movement encompasses all of art, from four or five minutes ago to eternity, and is self-perpetuating. Therefore my movement is art. Forever. Therefore I declare myself the winner. Of art. I win art.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

My furniture walked out of the apartment again yesterday. Not that I said anything about it. The swelling's still up from last time. That got them angry. Something probably happened but they never tell me things.

I hear the door knock. I should ask who it is. The knock is harder. I don't ask. I open the door.

But I don't get to say anything because I get pulled really hard into the living room and there's a lot of blood again.

Oh no. Please, I asked them not to bring more blood in. Keep quiet. I can't. I just can't. There's too much blood and I don't like blood. So they hit me. Real hard on the shins. This is bad because they always get me to kneel that way. I'm crying, but I don't think it's from the pain. I'm tired.

They leave, they're all laughing. I shouldn't cry or they'll come back. It's worse if they come back because I'm crying.

But I want to so much.

So I do. I curl up, I hug my knees and I cry so hard.
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