Near But Not Enough By Benjamin James Spurlock (MV Swydersky Remix)

 

 

Outside the rain came down.

A wall of endless white noise.

Footsteps on the sidewalk.

Hurry.

Anywhere dry.

In one room a woman screams.

Louder.

And louder.

“Excuse me… Sir. Do you have any Tylenol? My head hurts.”

Outside, a joyless dance speeds past; cars maneuvering around one another, desperate to get home. 

Observing from the fifth floor:

Screams, questions, and fluorescent lights accented by the darkness of night.

 Inside the flurry, a tireless tapping.

A lone elderly woman stands with her back to the wall, glassy eyes absent of life. Not staring at anything.

Almost all the old folk have been put back into their rooms.

Almost.

Repeat.

Screams.

Louder.

And LOUDER.

Transforming into a gurgle.

“Excuse me… Sir. Do you have any Tylenol? My head hurts.”

No one will come to her aid.

The nurses, inhuman, more concerned with the remaining time on their shifts and lukewarm cups of coffee in styrofoam.

 

Me.

In the dining room.

Mop head moving back and forth.

Back and forth.

Thinking about a dead MP3 player, and the walk home.

 

A slight pause.

 

The lone elderly woman with glassy eyes absent of life notices him.
 

Me. 

“Excuse me… Sir. Do you have any Tylenol? My head hurts.”

She no longer has her back to the wall.

“No, you have to ask an LNA.”

Dead MP3 player.

“I asked somebody. But, I’m not sure where they went.”

“I’m sure they’ll be back soon.”

The walk home.

 

My answer doesn’t register.  She looks confused. Off.

A chair. She needs a chair. 

Slowly, very slowly her limbs drag forward, muscles straining with every effort. Hands shaking grasp the chair’s arms. Finally, her weight finds relief.

I stand still, watching.

Observing.

             Forgetting the most important details instantly.

“Have you seen my daughter? She was supposed to visit me today.”

“No. I’m sorry.”

But not really.

            

…

“I’m not sure where I am.”

Either am I.

…

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you. I have to go clean another floor,” but she doesn’t hear me.

 Her head turns away back towards the wall, eyes relax. 

Lost.

Alone.

She rubs her shaking hands against her temples in little circular motions and mutters, “My head hurts.”

Slowly i push my cart past the sparse rooms and the nurses’ station. I walk toward the elevator doors, and the lone elderly woman with glassy eyes absent of life lets out another scream. I make a left at the elevators, and down the adjacent hallway. Looking out the fifth floor’s windows at the sidewalk below, I feel a slight pressure inside the frontal lobe, which turns into a sharp, sullen pain. I turn around and walk back to the nurses’ station.

 

“Hey, my head hurts. I was wondering if anyone has some Tylenol? Feels like I’m in the process of getting a headache.”

 

One of the nurses, a forty year old soccer mom, starts digging through her black leather purse and pulls out a small sandwich baggie filled with round orange/brown pills.

“Sorry hun, I don’t got any Tylenol. But here’s some ibuprofen. Hope it helps.”

“Thanks.”

 

The shitty thing is, it didn’t.

 

Exlporing My Subconscious Through Deep Meditation To Find Inner Peace Late On A Saturday Night

If you tie a two week old kitten to a helium filled birthday balloon, does it have the ability to fly?

One of the Few Examples of When I Feel Like A Man

Lately, whenever I get aroused, a young black bull with bloodshot eyes, all black pupils/ irises, tongue slack hanging out the side of his mouth dripping with long stringy drool, and his big bull dick like a pendulum slapping against the skin on his underside, circling around in the center of an empty arena, kicking up dust, looking to gore the shit out of somebody is the first image that comes to mind.

 

The second is the bull’s red blood pouring like a busted pipe out of the wound created by the matador’s pica, as the blood pools around his body; his windpipe and nostrils wheeze and gurgle as he slowly bleeds to death.

If you attach a wound up old time music box underneath my tongue, I will never talk again.

When it stops, I will rewind the crank, start it over, and listen to the melody for the rest of my life, which should only last a couple more years.

I am going to die in the fall.

I am going to be buried in a pile of dead brown leaves.

Smile, because with each minute that time is getting closer, or it might have already come.

If you want to share an intimate moment with me later tonight, let's masturbate together to googled images of black tongue. Say around midnight? Or like 3am? Just let me know what works better for you.

A Fact About Identifying A Dead Body

Whenever two people play the game Guess Who? at a morgue, the winner never smiles.

Waking Up At 2pm On A Sunday

You open your eyes, and immediately realize that it is a mistake.

You press your face into your pillow, which forms a general shape of the contours of your face, before balling your fist up and punching it out of existence.

Cover your ears, because the sounds you are hearing transform you into the perpetually unhappy person you actually are. See also worthless. See also fuck up. See the little man located in the center of the earth, making it spin and orbit. Tell him to slow down. Or to take a day off because he looks exhausted and gaunt. Or about how you want to watch the world stop so you can see everyone fall and hit the ground at the same exact moment. Ask him, the worst he can say is no.

"No."

Stand still, let your legs become sore, stiff, and cramped; you are not ready for today, and never will be. This is the reason why the words coming out of your mouth are tied together in a never ending sequence, stretching back to the point of origin, the day you were born. You assume you're pretty offensive after listening to the criticism of what the fuck is wrong with you. Like you wish you were mutated, green bubbles popping on the skin, so your physical appearance can reflect your inner-self already described.

Pull the covers over your head, close your eyes, and let the darkness under the covers absorb you.

Suffocate on carbon dioxide comfortably.

You don't feel like eating, so you pick the scabs off your back to pass the time, and let the wounds bleed.

Always hoping to bleed out, but never reaching the goal you set for yourself.

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. No Mercy. Hanging from a drop ceiling. Fish hooks exposed through your bottom eyelids.

25th Birthday

For my 25th birthday, I would like to be put down.

Euthanized with a bullet between the eyes.

Or a lead pipe to the back of the skull.

Or soda spiked with rat poison.

Or a plastic bag over the face.

Or I'll bite my tongue off, and choke on it.

Corpse gift-wrapped in old newspapers held together by masking tape, rope, chains, and cinderblocks;

One blue bow stuck to my abdomen.

At the bottom of the Susquehanna River enjoying a piece of funfetti cake.

This Thursday, if you see me, and I give you the thumbs up, you'll know what to do.

Because I'm tired of opening my eyes when I wake up every morning.

Keepin One Eye Open Starin At The Future.

Gonna replace my dick with a lamprey. Live.

Submerged under cutoff jeans and a belt buckle, it attaches to your hand, bores a hole inside you with its pointy piston like tongue, sucks bodily fluids, and grows fat.

A protovertebrate existing before the discovery of male enhancement.

You'll bum a cigarette, and say, "Ye shit's lookin good. I fucks wit it."

And I'll feel as special as a Taiwanese whore covered with damp dollar bills, naked in the middle of a cornfield in Kansas.

Excerpt #2 from: The Stings Don't Hurt So Bad When You're Busting Down The Beehive

 

 

 

Today at work behind the deli counter, I saw a forty year old man with a tan round face examining the quality of a box of glazed donuts.

He was wearing a black t-shirt that said: “I can suck dick better than any girl on this planet!”

The “suck dick” was written in rainbow lettering.

A tall bald man with a shaved head in a beige winter coat wiggled his way through produce until he was next to the guy who can suck dick better than any girl on the planet.

He reminded me of a construction worker, the bald guy.

He had to be.

His hands were large and calloused.

Permanent dirt glued in between the fingernails.

I thought about talking to one of them, but I always get nervous around celebrities.

I had a question to ask.

The man who can suck dick better than any girl on the planet put the box of donuts back on the table that serves as our bakery—our store doesn’t have an in-store bakery, which means all of the baked goods are brought in from the corporate factory bakery, put on the table in front of the deli, and marked “fresh.”

“These donuts look like shit! They’re already hard as fuck!” he said to the construction worker while moving his hands in a circular motion.

“Yeah! And for $ 3.99? Rather just go to Dunkin Donuts. Ya know? They’re made by those Indians, but at least they’re made daily.” the construction worker said to the guy who can suck dick better than any girl on the planet.

The construction worker giggled as he grabbed the guy who can suck dick better than any girl on the planet’s left ass cheek through acid washed jeans with one of his large calloused hands.

“Let’s go babe!”

“Alright.”

They disappeared around the corner like every customer does, but they were not like every customer because they were smiling, giddy, hand-in-hand.

The question I wanted to ask was: “Is it really all about oral sex or is there something else to it?”

Because they were the happiest couple I had ever seen so far in my entire life.



 

 

An Interpretation For A Lucid Dream Someone Told Me About In A Letter Written On The Coolest Stationary I've Ever Seen.

 

In your dream, you said we were behind the waterfall at world’s end state park, and that the roar of the water was loud enough that we had to cup our hands around the other person’s ear, and speak directly into it.

I wanted to know what we said to each other.

You said you couldn’t hear because you had a bird’s eye view, and can’t control those aspects of your dreams.

But I want to know what you thought we said.

Because here’s what I think:

We are behind the waterfall, and it’s winter.

A sheet of ice has enclosed the ledge we are sitting on—the only opening in the ice is where the flow is.

Looking through the wall of frozen water, distorts our perception of the horizon in front of us causing it to look otherworldly.

The sun hits the sheet, which creates a chandelier like effect on the enclosed ledge behind the waterfall.

Dots of white light are dancing across both of our faces illuminating every color we have to offer.

You lean in, and cup your hands around my ear, putting your mouth in the opening your hands create, “Is it always like this?”

I cup my hands around your ear and do the same, “No. It’s never been enclosed like this. It feels like a little house.”

“We should move in. Just drop everything and live here until we die. Our bodies will be taken downstream like boats on the surface of the water until we assimilate back into nature.”

“The greatest funeral ever.”

There is no entrance or exit, and I can’t explain how we got in, but we don’t feel trapped.

The ice is growing causing the cavity to shrink around us, and starts to include parts of us in it.

It slowly crawls up our boots, and then starts on the rest of our legs.

It doesn’t feel cold, but warm like a blanket.

It feels natural like the skin covering our bodies.

I cup my hand around your ear, “Are you okay with this?”

You cup your hand around my ear, and say, “Yes.”

Relax.

Our fingers interlock and instantly freeze together, fusing into a single body part.

You run your free hand through my hair, as I look into your eyes.

We kiss.

Then I put my head on your shoulder before we listen to the sound of our heartbeats disappear, drowned out by the white noise of the rushing water.

When we thaw out in 700 years, everything and everyone we know will be dead, which means the only responsibilities we will have are each other.

You’re getting up right now, 900 miles away, as I’m falling asleep.

We’ve never met in person, but I hope you read this before you go to work.