Balls Capone

It is a foul uncomfortable place, but for some reason, it gives me some kind of sick uncomfortable pleasure to be there, possibly because it's one of the only good feelings in this section of my universe. It feels like you're living in a box stuffed inside another box, the world consists of a beat up split-level house that’s dirty and extremely disorganized. It's so full of crap, you can't even access the lower level anymore, but who would want to, there is nothing but trash and cat shit down there anyway, which is the first thing you smell here, that overwhelming stench of cat piss and old dirty litter box and no one ever takes care of.

Here, you will never have shoes on, you can't find any, and everywhere you step, used dirty kitty litter clings to your feet from years of being ground into what remains of the crispy filthy brown carpet. There are empty plastic vodka bottles scattered all over the place next to ashtray after ashtray filled with old cigarette butts, absolutely everything has a light dusting of cigarette ash on it. The air is stale and smells like bad breath, there are flies buzzing around the old pizza boxes discarded in the corner and somewhere there is always a TV on that’s way too loud and it’s always either commercials or terrible TV news. You can try and look for that TV, but you’ll never find it. There’s no use in even trying, which is the ultimate vibe of the whole place.

This is the place where dreams and wishes come to die. The ultimate place of giving up, the place you go after the final rejection, the end of the conveyor belt of chances and opportunity, you fall into the gurgling drain, and they all lead here. It is a place of dead rainbows, long drained of their color and power, their empty skeletal forms leaned up against the walls in the trash-filled carport like the old rusty tin roof panels that adorn the back wall. There is an old rusty early 1980’s Toyota in here, who knows if it runs anymore, the tires are all flat, the glass is broken, and like everything else here, it waits, almost begs for the crusher, for a quick relieving end to this place that will never come. Its sorrow matches yours and suddenly everything seems to be constantly getting smaller. This whole place feels like being locked in a small trunk, an overwhelming claustrophobic panic like sensation.

Then you'll hear it, slowly moving about in the glass bottle filled kitchen. The clinking and clanking as it looks for it's Vodka. It's always here, the dark love. I don’t know if you can really call it a love or just a half alive reanimated lust corpse that you can bang from time to time, when you have the stomach for it. It's skinny and pale with long black hair that covers its face and body, its body is covered with varicose veins which reveal the ice cold blackish blood, as it sort of moves and resembles the girl from “The Ring” movies, but isn't. Once and a while it crawls forth from it's dungeon-like bedroom from time to time seeking more Vodka, another pack of cigarettes or sexual pleasure.

This revolting entity could be different for everyone, but this one is mine. There it is, leaning hopelessly against the stained broken stove in the crowded kitchen. It's naked except for the dirty pair of tighty-whities it constantly wears around. You won't want to, but you will go to it, it embraces me, it's always cold as if its veins pump not but ice water. Its skin is clammy and cold but fills me with a carnal lust as we violently kiss. There, we make violent, cold, sickening fuck on the trash-strewn floor, my eyes focus on a half rat-eaten pack of ramen and I can't help but relate it to my current situation. It lasts for what feels like an eternity, the nauseating taste and smell of old cigarettes and cheap vodka permeate everything until it's finally spent and goes limp like a dead rag. It slowly reanimaes, climbs off of me, grabs another bottle of Vodka and without a word, heads back to the bedroom where it continues to watch multiple TV’s that are nothing but blasting static. It takes a chug off the bottle and slams the door shut. Well, at least that’s over with, hopefully, that’s the last I have to see it today.

Then suddenly a voice rings out from the empty void of this place, there's someone out in the side yard, there is usually no one else here but me and it. But I know what it is, it another poor soul who craves the sick pleasure of this world, but his is much worse. There is a strange worm-like beast that lives in the walls of this place and these deranged souls come here to be eaten by it. They wander into the side yard, get completely naked and hang out by the walls, half aroused muttering and pleasuring themselves while shouting "I WANT TO BE EATEN", "PLEASE EAT ME", they actually crave to be eaten by this creature and usually within a few minutes the creature will appear and devour these poor people who moan and gasp in sick pleasure as they are chewed into a think paste in its mouth. The creature then expels the paste onto the bloodstained driveway which I then have to scrape up into buckets and then head into the backyard to visit and feed the paste to the one thing that is still alive and green in this world, the one thing that gives me any hope at all. The lone pine tree in the corner of the back yard.

The grass is dead, the yard is lined by brown brick walls covered in old graffiti, and the yard is strewn with broken old stuff. But in the one corner of the yard stands one green pine tree, it actually has color and has a good vibe. I like to crawl under its branches to hide from the world around me, I can feel it’s life force, it’s pure urging to grow and rise above this painfully drained landscape. And it is succeeding!

It is here, under it's comforting branches and soothing pine smell that one can escape this terrifying world, return into my real original self and I thank the Universe, God, Allah, Landru, the Multi-Beast, whatever that I still can.