The Room (29 page)

Like that prick Mr Rose of the Ridgeway movie. Another four-eyed slob. Going to give all the kids in the neighborhood a xmas present and you wait on line all fucking day and they run out of presents. For hours you wait on that dumb fucking line while they take their own sweet time handing out the presents, patting the kids on the head and blabbing a merry xmas and all the phony shit and then, when its almost your turn, they hand you some shit about running out of presents and its too fucking bad if you didnt get one. King shit. He really thought he was king shit because he was the manager of a fucking movie house, the rotten bastard. I hope he rots in hell.

I love you
you love me
hang my balls
on a cherry tree

Theres always somebody who will screw things up for you. Always some ballbreaker rubbing your face in shit. And anyway, it wasnt my fault she was standing there in the pew in front of us. So I looked at her ass during the lords prayer. Big fucking deal. And if anybody saw me thats tough shit. They shouldnt have had their eyes open anyway. Its none of their goddamn business anyway. Thats the trouble with this fucking world, people just cant mind their own fucking business. What the fuck business is it of theirs if I look at some dames ass? And anyway, it was right in front of me. Its not like I went searching around the church
looking for an ass to stare at during the lords prayer. It was just there in front of me. And I probably wasnt the only one looking at some dames ass. I bet plenty of those fucking do-gooders do plenty of staring too. Maybe even cop a little feel once in a while. Theyre all as full of shit as a xmas goose. They probably spent saturday night fucking anything that was still breathing and then come to church with their pious bullshit.

I shouldve shoved it up her ass. Krist, I bet they really wouldve got their bowels in an uproar. If all those phony bastards really kept their eyes closed during the lords prayer I couldve shoved it up her ass and nobody would have known the difference. I could just stick my hand up her skirt and diddle her twat and nobody would know a fucking thing. And she could just lean on the pew in front of her and I could get my hand under her pants and diddle the shit out of her and when the services were over we could wait until everyone was gone and we could go up in the choir loft and I could stretch her out behind the organ and lift her skirt and shove my holy pole up her hole and we could really say the lords prayer … … yeah … … we could really do a fucking job on it. Hahahahahahaha

Our Father

and shove it in, right up to the hilt

who art in heaven
and wiggle your ass bitch

hallowed be

my holy pole is in your hole

thy name

so wiggle your ass and save your soul

thy kingdom come

 O baby, dont come. Its so good. Its so good.

thy will be done

deeper, deeper. Its so good.

on earth as it is

And suck the nipple off her fucking tit

in heaven

and dig my fingers in her juicy ass

give us this day

o god its good. Its so good.

our daily bread

fuck me bastard, fuck me!

and forgive us

and shove my finger up her shit chute

 our trespasses

and tickle the lips of her cunt with the head of my prick

as we forgive

o jesus, jesus, jesus.

those
hail mary full of cock

who trespass

and the fucking organ blasts hallelujah

 against us

around, and around, the lips of her cunt goes the head of my big fat joint

and lead us

until I get a few fingers up her asshole and shove my holy pole in that juicy

hole
not into

and shove my prick and fingers in until they meet and i can tickle the head of my prick with my fingers

temptation
o jesus, jesus, jesus jesus jesus

but deliver

o god youre killing me

 us from evil

and just twirl my cock and fingers around and around and watch her eyes

for thine

roll around and around, HALLELUJA, HALLELUJAH

is the king

and flop back and forth

dom

and have her arms and legs wrapped around me

and the power

and my fingers and cock shoved deep into her gut

THE FUCKING POWER

and pick her up and HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH with the fucking organ

blasting and spread her on the altar rail

AND THE GLORY

and watch my joint get sucked into her hole

THE GLORY THE GLORY GLORY

and put the eucharist on the head of my joint

GLORY GLORY

HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH and give her communion

AND THE POWER

and fill her snatch with bread and wine

FOREVER

and take holy communion

AMEN

o god in heaven, o god, o god
AMEN AMEN
and fuck until the fucking church shook
AMEN AMEN AMEN
o krist, o jesus jesus jesus HALLEFUCKINGLUJAH o baby, baby baby
AMEN AMEN AMEN
come in me come in me
AAAMEN AAAAA MEN AAAAAAFUCKING MEN
oooo OOOOOOOO
AAAAAAMEN AAAAAAAMEN AMEN AMEN AMEN AMEN AMEN AMEN AMEN AMEN AMEN AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA MEEEEEEEEEN

and he rolled and groaned as a glowing warmth swelled its way through him, the pressure increasing and increasing, his eyes trying to struggle from their sockets, and burning as a sun brightness burst into minute comet-like particles that screeched across his minds sky until he thought he would explode and he lunged at his painfully stiffened prick and tried to strangle it or bend it or break it off but could only clutch it and cling to it desperately as it continued to swell and burn as the pressure throbbed through it and he pitched and rolled on his bed feeling the swelling pressure increase until he could no longer contain it and his body twitched and jerked as he felt the heat splatter over his hand in slowly decreasing sputters until his body stiffened then crumpled as the last of the warmth dribbled onto his fingers. He slowly turned his face into the pillow. His sobbing groan was a silent, no.

Still clutching his penis he gently brushed his face deeper into the pillow. For a moment he felt as if he would drown in his own juice as he heard words gurgling in his throat. Eventually they fell from his lips. o god.      o god.      no.      no,

brushing his face deeper into the tear-wet pillow. When he couldnt get his face any deeper into the pillow he stopped, then slowly turned his head until his cheek rested on the dampness. He continued to keep his eyes clamped shut but the bursting comets were gone and the brightness was now an almost completely motionless gray, an undefinable, almost nonexistent, gray.

The gray hung before him. Pain pierced his ears as his jaw clamped tightly against an unseen threat, his hands
strangling and wringing the limpness between them, trying to squeeze the life out of it, tugging at it, yanking at it, yet all it did was to hang limp and unresisting. He continued to cling and grasp waiting and hoping to feel the life of resistance threaten him so he could renew the fight with the energy of fear and anger, to give them a purpose, to be able to concentrate everything on this one object, to obliterate all with the annihilation of this single threat, to be free of everything with the destruction of this one single object. To twist, to throttle, to clobber and thrash all aggressiveness into submission, to pry open the cell door, to twist apart the bars, to club the bricks on the wall      yet still it only hung limp and unresisting. The battle had to end without an opponent, without bones to break or flesh to sink teeth into, without entrails to be gored and spewed about. No victory. Only submission.

His hands remained stiffened and clenched until they relaxed with the decreasing of the force, then nails withdrew from flesh. He slowly unpeeled the fingers from the sticky and slimy skin and his hands fell on the bed, still partially curled like dead spiders. He rested in the grayness.

Or hung suspended in what rest would come. He remained motionless on the bed vaguely aware of himself, of the dulling pain from his jaw to his ear, of the straining pain in his chest, of aching joints and muscles, of the conspicuous warm wetness of his hands, the sticky presence resting on his thigh. He felt exposed and vulnerable.

He wanted to curl his body into a ball, to roll into a corner where he would be safe, to find something to protect him, yet he couldnt turn the thought into energy. The more conscious he became of his exposure the more frantic were his thoughts of seeking some sort of defense, of tucking his head between his knees and burying his head under the pillow, of wanting desperately to find some sort of cover to hide behind and still his body refused to move. His head raged at him to RUN, RUN, RUN and find a cover. HIDE. HIDE. And the thoughts were hammers clubbing his head, relentlessly
pounding away at his skull to move his body, move the body, move your body, and still he remained motionless on the bed suspended in the grayness and his mind screamed and howled at him to move yet all he could do was clamp his jaws tighter against the threat and the barking in his head until the inexorable pressure created its own release and he groaned his body into movement and he sobbed as he tediously raised his knees to his chest and curled his throbbing head into himself and clutched his knees with the wet, sticky hands and rocked gently, tears dropping from his eyes and sobs from his throat, cradling himself deeper into the bed as the tears gently dropped onto his cheek and softly rolled down into his mouth, the rhythm of the rocking and sobbing, the caressing of the tears, slowly darkening the grayness until all light was shut out and he could sink into a sleep.

A dark yet shallow sleep. A submission to exhaustion. A loss of consciousness and an avoidance of light. Yet not deep enough to avoid the turbulence on the surface while deep enough to feel the pressure from the bottom. Whatever or whoever he was sought to find that finite area where all pressures are equal and constant. To find that small pocket of weightlessness where no pressure is felt, where there is no tugging in opposite directions, no straining for a painless balance, where all of him was suspended and cushioned between the 2 crushing and yanking pressures where no pressure existed. Where no light existed. Where no time existed. Where no need or desire existed. Where there existed no blackness. There, where there existed nothing, not even a void.

Yet the harder he fought to find this the more distant it became. The more he struggled against the pressures the more imprisoned he became. The more enmeshed he became in their conflicting directions. The further he was tugged in opposite directions that kept him immobile. And the harder he fought for movement, any movement, the more stationary became his position, the more painful his existence.

He fought despairingly to go deeper into the blackness of a sleep, any sleep, even the sleep of death or some form of nonexistence, but even with the loss of consciousness
he dreamt he was awake, lying on the bed trying desperately to sleep. If he could find some way to prove that time had passed, no matter how short that time, he could tell himself that he had slept and perhaps then, just perhaps, he would feel rested. But there was no way of knowing if time had passed. Even if he could open his eyes there was nothing to be seen that would prove that time had passed, that it was now hours, minutes, or even seconds later than it had been. There was nothing. Even if his eyes would open everything would look, and feel, as it had. There would be no change. Nothing tangible that he could clutch and caress as proving that it was now later than it had been.

Time seemed stationary, yet the painful pressure of time was constantly felt. If only the pressure would crush the life out of him and allow him simply to sink into the inviting blackness he could then stop struggling and rest. Or if he could see the movement of clock hands or feel the passing of time he could then feel he was getting closer to something or at least further away from something, it didnt really matter which. Nothing really mattered. If only there were some kind of movement. But everything remained motionless, the body not even moving on the bed, while feeling the tearing pressure from all sides in all directions. Feeling deep within him in that pit where there lived the violent and contorting pain of maggots crawling through your guts between the rusty tin cans and broken bottles and the screaming urgency to get time to move, to just move before every FUCKING GODDAMN PART OF YOUR BODY SCREWS UP INTO A FUCKING BALL AND YOUR WHOLE FUCKING BODY DISINTEGRATES, JUST SHATTERS

and there was no escape, even with the lack of consciousness, for with it came dreams of wakefulness. There was no escape from the past. The struggle against it only entangled him deeper in the fear of the future. There was no place for him to go. No place he could hide. No place where his enemy didnt exist. No escape from unconscious wakefulness. There was no rest.

And so he just lay there with the nauseous pain of exhaustion, his entrails contorted from conflict, his eyes aching
and burning as if the lids had been torn off and the huge, swollen eyeballs exposed to the heat of light. No matter what he did he couldnt rid his eyes of the huge, incomprehensible weight pressing on them, nor be rid of the writhing in his gut, the twisting ache in his muscles or the searing pain that shot through his bones like electrical current.

Yet it was this constant and all-pervading pain that seemed to allow him to survive for without it the overwhelming anguish and terror of his mind would have destroyed him. He somehow seemed to sense this and tried to concentrate on the pain in his body, trying to clobber it into submission, the energy put into the struggle increasing the pain. He fought and it grew and all the while there was the specter in his mind of going off to some far place and never returning. Off into some dark area where that specter would never allow him to return, from which there was no return, not even to his present painful existence. And so in spite of himself, and beyond his will, he fought the pains in his body with a fury that allowed him to stay just this side of that border of that unknown, praying only for the passage of time. Wanting to get out of this now. Each and every second seeming like his last. Every atom of energy seeming to be his last.