Object Writing #1
by Shaun Terry
I stared at the screen, blankly. How do you lose track of what you’re reading, when it’s already in bite-sized portions as it is? It’s distracting. It’s all distracting. I mean, everything that’s happening is distracting, but people used to read the Bible and Dostoevsky, and now we’re bitching at 30 second commercials because they’re boring. What the fuck does that mean?
I’m sitting in the dark, staring, thinking about what happened today, thinking about the people in my life, thinking about what I should be doing. I should really be sleeping. I’m just distracting myself from all the bullshit floating around in my buoyant, vibrating head. That makes me think of Transcendental Meditation and its advocates. If you google “meditation” and any city in North America, “Transcendental Meditation TM” will pop up. That “TM” there is both an abbreviation for “Transcendental Meditation” and for “trademark.” This is not a coincidence. It’s funny to think of the commoditization of something as anti-capitalistic as Transcendental Meditation, but it’s not really all that surprising, either, if you think about it. But who thinks about? Why would anyone?
I’ve been suffering from a mild-to-moderate depression for a few months now. I should’ve been meditating. How silly. Instead, I’m hitting on women in Facebook groups and papering over some of the bigger problems I’ve had in my life. By this time next year, maybe I’ll be a transvestite. It wouldn’t surprise me. What does that even mean? What about M-to-F transvestites who are attracted to women? How do you explain that shit? I mean, it’s not like it shouldn’t happen, but in this bitter, thoughtless, brutal world, it seems amazing that someone would pay thousands of dollars to join the ranks of both the transgendered and homosexual. I feel sorry for the poor bastards.
Now, I’m googling “M-to-F transvestite homosexual.” Porn. Of course, porn.
There was a time where I was really curious about transsexual porn, but I was too disappointed by the lack of girth of these shemales’ shafts. I should be in bed. I should be making salads and working out, but my roommate’s a nasty fucker who leaves the kitchen looking like a crime scene, and my car’s about as dependable as an M-to-F’s penis. How’s that for an analogy?
I’m just distracting myself from all of the bullshit that I’ve been dealt in the last few months and that I should’ve seen coming from around the corner.