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Alice & Oz

January 15, 2015 - whoneedslove -

this is the reflection between two characters about the blurry fantasy we paint with alcohol and other mind altering substances around our world – around us.

hooking up with your brother – or your mother . . .


I Fucked My Brother

I wake in the morning, ears ringing, the suns rays turned to microwaves making my brain swell. My skin is clammy and there is another clammy flesh sack next to mine. I look to see whom I’ve spent the night with and at that moment I wish I knew that I took stronger drugs the night before. I wish I had taken the strongest psychedelics imaginable and knew that I was still hallucinating. Unfortunately alcohol and cocaine don’t make you see stupid things they make you do stupid things. My head rushes and I feel like puking, but I haven’t eaten in hours so I puke up any prior ideas I had of myself, any respect and self-esteem.

Waking up to a person  you see no more then as a brother is never easy. nothing is the same when you try to slide slyly out of the bed with a shell shocked expression and they see you pulling on your old crumpled underwear. I can imagine it feels about the same as waking up in you “sisters” bed with your tiny moist penis resting on her baby blue sheets.

Breakfast is equally as awkward, for the rest of the house wonders where you two got off to. The two sunny side up eggs and sausage on my plate ceases to look appropriate for the kitchen table anymore. I sink into my chair and except the butterfly farm that has infested my stomach. I drink a strong Caesar instead and forget the whole thing ever happened.


the bag of cocaine sits on the bedside table. she looks at me, wild eyes, then grabs my head with both her hands and pushes me down.her nipples pass by, her stomach, the belly button. right under her mound of venus awaits me the tiniest avalanche of the world rolling into

my nose, down my throat. I look up and …

… see my mother.

I’m back home, in her kitchen, she’s making tea and we talk about my future plans and about girls. when I was a kid, she says, I always told her friends, that I’m going to marry her once I’m grown up – she still tells her friends, but just when I’m there. sometimes I still feel like that child. females, who have my moms character features are highly attractive to me.

I tell her I want to go to South America, but there’s so much to do, so much work to do and school to finish. I’m stressed out and I’m suffering. the night before we went out, again, like every weekend. friday is funday, saturday anyways and sunday is always funday. I feel like monday and different types of drugs have been trying to find their way out of my body and mind for hours now. I’m digesting, I’m peeing, I’m sweating. a state of alert, a mind in a loop. my mom leaves the kitchen, comes back and a thought like a lightning strucks through my head – for a shake she’s naked. my mind throws up and shame, guilt and laughter about my own insanity are flooding me. this image, a relic from childhood? a glance from the past? when I walked into the bathroom to find them playing the game with the bees in the bathtub? who cares, not taking drugs might help! it might and …

… I fly to Colombia, go out in night and get caught by a spider who wraps me up on a hill, in her house – she doesn’t look like my mom, but she’s her age!

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