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Message-ID: <50426asstr$1107936603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Sean Farragher" <farragher@nj.rr.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} SELF LOATHING
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Date: Wed,  9 Feb 2005 03:10:03 -0500
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farragher@nj.rr.com
http://seanfarragher.com
http://taximurders.com
http://byzantium2001.com

SELF LOATHING
(c) Sean Farragher

There was a female surfer who had wrinkled fingers, and too water logged a
crotch from sitting on a surf board teaching some dumb kids how to surf. She
was tired of the game. She (thought) of some bastard who had made her cry.
That guy spent her money, didn't fuck her and finally made her clean up his
girlfriend's mess. 

This is a true tale from the internet. How I can resist him, she asks. I 
told her simply to say no. But I can't. If I couldn't tell my Uncle Joe no 
when he borrowed my car and got drunk, how I can tell my boy friend that is 
so lovely to get fucking lost. You really don't want advice.

That (guy) just wants hot pussy to fuck. Isn't that what you want she asked
me? Well, yes, but I am in hiding. Sex would raise the alarm button they
build in my fingers. 

NO, she SAID, BUT you ARE a "nice guy" and nice guys are like well more 
fucked up than my boyfriend. 

Thee, if I may be fancy, are a loser twice removed. You pretend to be nice, 
but then you are the turner of the page that makes the story lean in your 
favor and not mine. I love taking care of my man. Why are you supporting 
that I KICKED his sorry ass out.

I tell her simply that when she surfs the waves she picks sets up her score.
Well, the man you pick sets up the way you are treated.

No? She looks at me with a long tender smile from the distance of the cyber,
and shifts down to stroke the underside of her own being remembering how 
ordinary water can be, and how wrinkled her fingers, and how her sex has 
been so softened by the waves that rock her, she cannot find any place to 
stay still.

I want you to find me peace she demands. I don't know. There is nothing left
after the wave hits its final tide pool and we sit there perplexed in our 
wet suits broken down and forgotten as the last wave's strike the cities.

we are the islands without arms. You are such a wild, fucking poet. I think
you should be more thoughtful and bring me my boyfriend, my guy. He at least
gives me honest head and no lies. There is no pretense in selfishness. There
is nothing but anger. Isn't anger the best cure for peace and quiet? 

I loved my Uncle and he made me peaceful and stole my cherry and lifted me 
up and made me squeal. I was not a child, so it was only incest except he 
was a made up Uncle. 

I needed an excuse for self loathing as thee are my end and beginning I hope

you have learned from my reverse rant how to treat me so I will cry at the 
thought of my boyfriend, you or that girl I made eat me last night. She was 
fantastic. I know curiosity killed the cat.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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