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at 1:30 in the morning the acid kicks in and i start organizing reorganizing the clothes in my closet while grinding my teeth and listening to dubstep on headphones at full volume and when the beat drops i picture:

  • myself screaming at the top of my lungs,
  • my guts exploding,
  • children bathed in blood,
  • burning everything down with fire,
  • smiling awkwardly while posing for a picture next to my father’s tombstone when i was 15 as he rotted in the soil directly underneath my feet.

then i start to see the lights:

  • strobe lights,
  • flashing lights,
  • neon lights,
  • streaks of light going in every direction that all intersect at the crossroads of nothing and forever.

then i organize reorganize the massive porno collection on my computer and jerk off for 3 hours straight but i can’t seem to come but then all of a sudden i manage to come out of nowhere even though i’m not even jerking off and my dick isn’t hard.

then i take a shower but i can’t feel the water so i take its word for it and look at the water with my eyes closed while scrubbing my asshole clean with unscented soap.

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“Well, the results of the endoscopy are in… and those results… coupled with my findings while performing your physical examination… well… it doesn’t look too good… looks like you have stomach cancer. As a matter of fact, according to the endoscopy, it’s a very rare, advanced type of stomach cancer… You’re quite a lucky boy! But I see you don’t have any health insurance, how were you planning on paying for this visit? You know what? On second thought, empty your pockets right now, I know you can’t afford this shit, hands against the fucking wall!”

Doctor Soetoro bends me over and starts frisking but jokes on him, all he’s gonna find on me is:

  • a condom that I poked holes in with a needle
  • the dirty needle I used to do it
  • 5 Canadian Nickels
  • my state mandated Gender Affiliation, Race, Highest Level of Education Achieved and Socioeconomic Status ID / EBT Card / GPS Tracker / Government Controlled Explosive Device

and

  • one half eaten ration packet consisting of State Approved Non-Flavored Nutritional Mush

“Uhhh, gee, I dunno doc, ya take cash? I mean Euros? Shekels? Bitcoin? Pounds of flax? Can you bill me for it? Will I die soon? Am I treatable? Do I want to be treatable? Is there will be chemo? Why is you touching me down there? Are you my uncle too?”
He reaches into my pocket and ‘accidentally’ touches my dick, “oh my, doctor!”
He fishes out the nickels and while counting them says, “I’m not an oncologist so I can’t say,” then he shoves his fist into my other pocket, “but I will say this though, judging by its size,” he grabs my dick again, “it’s definitely inoperable.”
“Are you talking about the cancer now or my dick?” Wink wink.
“Stop it you idiot. I would just put yourself down, with chemo you might add a couple months to your life but you won’t save it, are you prepared to spend tens of thousands of dollars on something as trivial as your life?”
He takes my pants and underwear off.
“Gee, I guess when you put it that way…”

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I switch gears and watch a video of a man who jumped to his death from a very tall cellphone tower somewhere in Ukraine. I skim through the caption, name was Boris, depressed junkie, wife took his kids away, blah blah sob story. The video is grainy but the sound of his body impacting on the ground is very violent and comforting. After the video a bonus: pictures of his autopsy. He is lying on a gurney. His jaw has broken loose and hangs connected to his skull by very thin strips of flesh. Despite all that his cheeks still look smooth, Boris was young, maybe even a teenager, his left leg has broken off clean at the knee and all of his intestines are on the table next to him. I close my eyes and imagine:

>being Boris
>standing on the ledge of this huge cell tower
>feeling exasperated
>missing my kids
>hating my bitch wife
>wanting to die
>closing my eyes
>taking one last breath
>taking a step into the nothingness
>free falling
>struggling to breathe as the air rushes down my lungs and then
>SPLAT

I imagine the possibility that maybe his death wasn’t even instant. Maybe we always feel something when we die, even if it’s only for a fraction of a millisecond, it’s still something and it’s probably the greatest pain a human can ever feel. I imagine what that death moment must have felt like for Boris, the pressure it must have taken for his guts to explode out of his mouth. Then I start to feel sad and like death is coming for me too, just not as fast as it came for Ol Boris. Best case scenario? I’m already about halfway in the grave, a thought that depresses me even more so I click off bestgore.com and look at racist, sexist memes on social media which at this point is only slightly comforting nonetheless.