So there I was, beyond laughter, beyond tears. I had quit hoping that the reaper would come. I didn't have as much funding as I would have liked, but then, who does? The view was awesome - I could see all my futures splayed out before me, and if I turned my head slightly to face the past, a hideous mask of grinning wrinkles stared right back. I realized that the reaper I'd been waiting for was none other than myself. I'm guessing now, but perhaps that's always so. Certainly in this age of transparency, now that everyone is exposed to everything, we can all laugh at death because, hey, what else are we gonna do? I looked up my name on Google. There are no secrets anymore. Nobody brought me the new planning schedule today. If you have a slave you are his slave. Her slave. Horror and humour amalgamated to relieve me of my body. Funny that, before I glorified the female body I was a vivisectionist. Now strange things happen to me all the time. The asylum was a joke. I left to become a garbage truck driver, ate about a million hamburgers. There was no censorship back then. Censorship is always a bunch of cynical old fogeys generating their detritus onto the rest of us. I've been great. I've been OK. Now analyse that. Ten year olds have laughed at me. Trash culture always puzzles me. I've never subscribed to disfigurement, it's a very personal matter. I cut off her thumb before she even knew who I was. It's not a cult as such, I simply don't like girls with thumbs. They look ghastly with thumbs and no vaseline or sweetener. That's fake sugar.

I got a reprieve. The reaper called. I said "Just who the hell do you think you are?" He hung up on me. Went back to the crypt. So I'm here for another roll of the dice. I couldn't say no. Didn't even bother going into withdrawal. All I have are two more questions: where and when? The phrase is bloodlust. I was desensitised before puberty, not even wet dreams could get me hard. I've been glued to the TV set for years now. Sister Mercy and Sister Thankyou. Where are they now? Grinding away at the futility of this daily round. There are no choices whatever. Most of life turns a horrible brownish red as you get older. The yellow dye runs out. It's not entertainment. None of it. I'm still waiting to be turned loose. I'm on in a few minutes. It's something weird. I've forgotten the content of it. I was always an outlaw in this business. Bladder explosions aside. I was always happy to see the fascist in me surface. It didn't happen often. Maybe I should have gotten into chess earlier. I like gobbling pawns. You probably don't know what I'm talking about. Every generation has its own terrific story. We don't sit here forever. There's fading. Inevitably. Then one day you wake up and who's gonna argue? True, I got a reprieve, but in my opinion it's all psychobabble. Nothing is in my control. I hate it when I can't commit. Oh, the attacks I've suffered over the years. It's better than being ignored.

Everybody started whispering. All together. Just like that. I'm not saying they're necessarily whispering about me. I'm not even all that concerned about what it is they're whispering. For me the fact that they're whispering is enough evidence that something's up. And the timing. All at once, as if pre-arranged. A secret signal. An arcane code. Thus far no one has actually pointed at me. There have been glances. But one should not read too much into what, after all, may turn out to be nothing more than careless synchronicities. Increasingly the women seem younger and more beautiful. But far away. So far away. The voices of all these people seem buried in the mix. The effects track predominates. It's bizarre. There's been some discoloration or else someone's placed a filter in front of the globe. Why would anyone do such a thing? I once walked out of the movies. It was Charles Bronson, who I found so tiresome. The laughter always grates me. "Gets on my nerves" my mom always used to say. It always sounds so unconstructed, improvised. I like to know where I'm headed when I drive. It's been a long, pot-bellied road, littered with non sequitirs all along the way. There is nothing more redundant or ridiculous than a flat-chested girl. Of course I had to kill them. They were in the way. It was a kind of garbage delivery. Refuse disposal. I'm not dyslexic. I'm not a rasta. These locks are an affectation. Yes, it's true I tend towards terrible self-absorption, isn't that what paranoia is after all? The ward psychiatrist told me that. She told me lots of stuff I can't recall but for some reason that one stuck. Strangely enough there are no women anymore, neither beautiful nor young ones. I've said goodbye to all that. At least not for free. They pay her to take down those infernal notes. Notes for the devil. Everybody stopped whispering. All at once. Just like that. Obviously there's a secret cue. You don't need to be paranoid to figure that one out. All action is governed by laws. I'm not a guru or anything, believe me. Merely an observer. When they all stopped whispering, you could have, I believe the saying goes, cut the silence with a knife. I like that saying. I like knives. The first cut is the deepest another saying goes. Nonsense. You have to keep cutting deeper until they stop screaming. Have you ever listened to the heartbreaking sound of lipstick, lies and gasoline? I've been in love, I've been wanted, but none of it ever made much sense. Time inside isn't wasted, let me assure you, these days not even the whispering can phase me and by the time they come to take me down that spicy corridor and put the needle in I'll have made some sense of this tragic mortal round. Say buddy, have you got a cancer stick to spare an old man who's past his prime?

I remember what happened when I died. That's sinful to understand. And I was sinning. I was brought up as a Jehovah's Witness. My father was an atheist. Jews and Jehovah's weren't allowed to take Religious Instruction. We were excused from class. I liked the military band. On cadet day. I was prepared for Armageddon. I built up courage. I used to ride Aunty Rave and wear platform shoes. I started licking girls. I wanted to taste them. Where is this heaven? It's all man-made anyway. It's got to be digitized alright? If Kain killed Abel where do we all come from? Incest. It's always been Kain and Banana. I am busy making history. Shaping people's opinions. My point of view is, I'm in a constant juxtaposition with myself. You don't know what I'm saying? Soundbytes that mean bullshit. I am sitting on my camel for forty days. Everything is bullshit. Nothing really matters. It's important to live your own truth. I'm not allowed to ride on the Sabbath. My mother taught me to knit. Where will that get me? It'll get me a jersey. The nuclear family is built on pedophilia. All these gay guys want a son so they can fuck him while he's growing up, dinkum. Ditto for the straight guys and their daughters. That's why they want these huge houses with lots of bedrooms and long corridors in between. I'm going to have to love and leave you.