April

I was shaving my balls in front of the mirror when I nicked the sack and winced. Put the clippers down and inspect, I thought, a bit aggravated at myself for slipping. Mental note: don't drink while shearing balls. The nick came on the shaft though where the hairs creep up. I tried waxing them once. Once was enough. I thought if I could maintain an erection long enough, a real hard one then the task would be easy. Turns out that shaving your own cock n balls just isn't that sexy, hence difficult to maintain a real hard erection. The skin is just too damn sensitive so I got the electric clippers out. I wanted to make a good impression on Buttercup, who I knew would appreciate the grooming. I looked down and thought of the ensuing scab, the bright red blood pooling to a drip. The natural world is the perception of order. Balls and order.

A friend recently asked, why do you feel compelled to write all this down? Why do you feel the need to put this all out there? 2 thoughts: One, Guilt - to confess my sins to the world. A recovering Catholic. Two, Relief - to share hidden realities so others don't suffer. Three, Art - because it is beautiful. A recovering Artist. But beautiful is tragic and we know by now oh Rom-ee-fuckin'-oh that tragedy plus beauty equals stupidity. Nothing less. Isn't that right Jenny? Plus that's three, not two dipshit. Don't call it out too quickly Rose, my boy. Bad man. Don't finger me too awfully.

Who? April. April's over.