An attempt at brain fisting

To be woken up by a fucking marching band at 4 in the goddamned morning made me think to myself, ‘Cebu city is too fucking noisy, too fucking crowded, and too fucking soiled to be toiled with anymore. Time to move – for fuck’s sake.’

The fascist queers that don't know the importance of a person's circadian rhythm.

What monster fucking scheduled the retarded marching band to play at 4 am on a Saturday morning? What senseless unreasonable rat would do such a thing to all partygoers returning home, head full of drink, and desperately needing sleep? A buffoon, that’s who. Or a teetotaler, finally getting back at all us shitheads for partying until the wee hours. Well, today, my unfunny asshole of a friend, you win. Drinking is bad, m’kay? I get it. And so it’s time to move on from Cebu City.

Thank god I don’t have any property here. The dogs bark, the roosters crow all hours of the fucking day. I thought roosters just screech at daylight – thereby providing the poor farmer with a fucking alarm clock. What kind of rotten, trailer-trash monkeys keep roosters in the fucking city? Goddamned squatters, that’s who.

I should not complain – no. These people are my wife’s people. Her family was a squatter family, in the not too distant past. Is it shameful of me to ridicule the cesspool that is the genepool of these impoverished monkeys, while at the same time as my wife sleeps on my chest? I do not consider my wife of the same ilk, no matter her scumbag mentalities, ie. sleeping like a dead person. (‘Did you hear the marching band this morning?’ I ask. She tells me, ‘What marching band? I didn’t hear it.’)

All these sounds – the carelessness of it all, the inconsideration for your neighbor have me driving mad bonkers around the walls of my apartment, literally lodging my fingers into my eyesockets and desperately trying to tear off my scalp, dig a hole into my skull, rip it wide open and fist my goddamned brain until it mushes up like a bowl of soggy oatmeal. My skull is more resilient than I think – so, I have to put in ear plugs (35 decibel killing strength) and then wear my noise cancelling headphones (+40 decibels, or thereabouts.) And then, even fucking then, with all of that noise cancelling shit, faintly, as I try to wish myself away on a mountaintop that is without any animal or human sound, I can hear the fucking roosters and dogs and the start of a hammer at the construction site outside. What the fuck. The noise – prison would seem quieter. A nonstop barrage of midnight assrapings with flesh smacking against flesh juxtaposed with the wails of either pain or pleasure would be more soothing. I finish writing, and decide to give fisting my brain another try.