Gates of Janus-S.K. Nicholas/A Journal for Damned Lovers

S. K. Nicholas


All around me are rocks and winding fields, and as mud creeps from my shoes up to my trousers, the wind pushes me this way and that. With no one else about, I’m at one with nature, and although it annoys me knowing I’m so small, to be natural in a world of machines gives me the will to carry on. My hair, the wind has messed it up completely, and I’m not impressed, but there’s not much I can do but pull up behind a tree and piss out the three or four pints consumed in the pub a few hours before. Lighting a cigarette, I contemplate the meaning of my absence for those several years and am unsure what to think. Why did I lose all feeling for creation? Pondering the answerless question, I recall the time I went into the woods and masturbated while fantasying about KirstinDunst…

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