I’M SICK TO MY STOMACH…
I’m sick to my stomach. I’m writing these words and I’m sick to my stomach, but I keep writing, and I’m writing about greed and jealousy and corruption and my sadness over lost loves, relationships that should have worked out and made me and Girlfriend happy forever but didn’t because I fucked‑up. I was selfish and wanted every girl in the world at once, and wanted to fuck every woman I looked at through my windshield, because I’m so full of the sex‑as‑material bullshit of the culture that makes me want glossy images of Girls—when all the time the most beautiful, sweet, loving Girlfriend in the world was on the car seat next to me. And she was my little Girl, and she was my little baby, and she was my sweet little darling baby Girl that I held in my arms all night long, and I held her little head in my arms and I held her little round ass in my hands all night, and fucked her again in the morning. She was good to me. She just wanted to love me and be good to me, but I fucked‑up the whole thing because I’m so fucked‑up in my head and I’ll probably never have a wife because even though I know what I do is stupid and fucked‑up I’ll never stop because I can’t help it, that’s the way my Mom and Dad and the Catholic Church made me, I guess. I don’t know. Is there a shrink in the house?