Traumatic

All these little traumatic memories accumulating in the subconsciousness, building up and then popping like goat shit out of a goat's asshole, littering your whole personality. You know they are insignificant right? They do not look intimidating like bear shit. Or camel shit. Shit, camel shit is intimidating. It says 'don't mess with me, I am not a nice animal, go pet a koala or something instead...' Yeah goat shit, small, it looks like nothing would happen if you stepped on it.

You call insignificant geeks goat shit, I call my memories goat shit.
You smell like goat shit!!! Kindergarten lingo baby. You smell!, uuh, uuh, yeah!, you smell like chicken!!!

Whatever, I think they're cool...you know, kids. They kick each other around, experiment, I always have liked the idea of psychopath boy-girl with fixed gaze and single minded, destruction seeking, satisfaction craving, bloodthirsty sonzabiches. I think it as accurate depiction of what would happen if,... no just kidding here. Would not happen, they would probably go around playing with dolls, and legos and shit, scream ecstatically eating their own mucus.

No I don't know which part is performed ecstatically, mucus devouring or screaming...

And everyone has these goat droppings. In our pockets. Nah, not really. Why would anyone do that.

Anyways you have these memories, disturbing, but definitive. Defining moments of your life. Like that moment where you realize some people might know more stuff than you do.
When you tell another dude of similar life experience that, in kindergarten... that one minute is the fastest interval of time possible, ever, scream , ecstatically,

And he replies, no it is the second. And he shows you the clock, thin long fast one that you thought would be telling minutes, since it is the smallest amount of time,...ever...and he says it is a second.

Only thing you identify with second is your shit, at that age, so You don't even know anymore, Your world comes apart, like you miss that test in college, remember? With a rush through your body, which is trembling with need of sleep.

You have never heard of this second thing before...second? And you insist and scream, and he screams, and some other kid screams, and teacher hears you and she verifies the other guy. BAM! He grows up to be a theoretical physicist and you are here writing this blog and pretend that it were a stand up show.

At that moment, the moment of trauma, the fact that you are wrong, this is the first time that you are wrong, first of many, many to come....

And you just want to rip his heart out and make your teacher lick the still throbbing hot steaming blood off of it. Blood dripping on her bosoms...sliding down her gorgeous boob crack... And then you rip off her clothes, revealing a sexy underwear, catching a glimpse of the holy goodness over her panties, and don't even bother taking them off, and have plain medieval sex with her (i.e. Excalibur, armor love scene sort), using your teeth where necessary, while your late nemesis' dead eyes gaze at you wide rigor fucking Abraham Lincoln Memorial mortis open.... But you are just 4 years old so you just suppress it in some dark corner of your mind so that it becomes a defining attribute of your personality and so that you can write about it later in on a blog, and then go to the pillow corner and eat your booger. Or look at some other guys wee. That is kindergarten sexuality. It is plain, uninhibited, and simple.

All repressive and susceptible to traumas. And then one day you play doctor-patient with a girl, and guess what? She does not have a penis. You run puzzled, to nearest authority, and file a complaint. BAM! Another traumatic memory. Parents trying to explain sexuality to their children. How painful is that in the perspective of a child. Because, it just happens that you have found out that you can turn your parents into total idiots by asking simple questions. Father figure and mother figure stuggling, sweating, what the fuck happened to them! What did I do?

And then a few hours later you go tell that girl, that she is the kind of girl that you like, (because she is the first kind of girl that ever played doctor-patient with you) and she does not get it, because she is 5 years old and you are just an immature 4 year old hopeless romantic, and then BAM! another bookmark. First rejection!

And then she goes off to play with your best friend, whom you had met yesterday. And they do not let you play with them, and at some point you think you saw her kiss him on the cheek, what the fuck, fucking bitch, how could she do that...and you just want to shoot the guy and the girl, but you do not have the heart to do that, and leave them alone, and even say "well, if that's what you want, it's your life, now get out!, please get out!" and start crying, but when they turn around to walk out of the room you shoot him, and then you shoot yourself, last words being: " I just couldn't" ....


where was I?

And already a series of traumatic strings promenade around, inside your brain. Waiting a noir moment to identify themselves with, just so that they can surface and bug the hell out of you.

Damn...waiter , another booger please.