You wake up to a wildlife documentary on migration. You wake up to fights and death and survival of the fittest. You wake up to a hip hop video with black, big assed girls dancing on a pole. You wake up to a reality show of fifteen year old pregnant girls. You wake up and there’s commercials on. New washing machines, new better bras, new chemicals in your powdered milk. Now with sodium, now with calcium, now with omega-3. New better ways to be bigger, prettier, more attractive to the opposite gender, or the same. You click, click, click and suddenly there’s a movie with an ancient action star beating up a woman. Shooting the bad guys. Taking care of business, taking care of his country by killing thousands of terrorists that endanger our survival as a group. Migration. Fights and death and survival of the fittest.
When I’m fifty there will be instant liposuction. There will be express face-lifts. Half-hour long nose jobs. Pregnant ten year-old’s. Parents with five kids and no job. Stronger, longer-lasting drugs. People will live longer, and die much faster.
Still now I buy aspirin for my headache and pepto bismol for my stomachache. Anxiety pills and sleeping pills and anti depressants. Heart break and rejection and loneliness they exist, but there’s a pill for that. There’s a pill for everything. I wake up to a commercial on hemorrhoid pills. Painfully graphic. Getting old can wait. Pain can wait. Treatment is just around the corner. Convenience stores selling tylenol and viagra and every type of condom available in the market. Quick sex because feelings take too long. Love takes to long. Divorces and break-ups and gossip magazines. You turn on the tv and there’s an explicit ad for a new brand of condoms. Half-naked women. Nipples not showing. Moaning and screaming and desiring you. You, the average consumer.
Sex is our way out. Sex will make us free. Have sex with anybody who lets you. I’m don’t believe in polygamy I believe in sequential monogamy. Simultaneous relationships don’t count. I cheat, I fuck, I get drunk and pass out. Vodka and whisky and fancy drinks meant to be tasted I wash them down. My throat has no sense of taste. In the night club I can’t hear you and neither can you and neither of us could tell any given song from the other one. If you look at me it means you want to fuck and I’m here to provide that service so let’s pretend like we’re fucking while we dance. Tomorrow I’ll wake up and even if you’re pretty and nice I’ll still ask you to leave because that’s what men do. I can’t commit right now, I’m still young. I don’t want to walk with you or talk to you or look you in the eye. Fuck me and leave.
I wish I loved you enough to defend you but I don’t. I wish I loved you enough to cherish you but I don’t. I don’t love you. I cherish your tits and your pussy and your legs. Your mouth is only good enough to suck my dick. I wake up to a late night talk show I’m watching as I fuck you from behind. You’re probably watching it too. This is prostitution with the money left out. Catalog shopping for new, better bodies. Our mouths won’t touch because it’s too personal. I don’t meet your parents, you don’t meet mine. We never go out to dinner or coffee or see each other ever again. I won’t call you. I wake up to a daytime talk show with people arguing about parenthood. Because no one wants to be the father.