You’re Still Wrong
Mykel's Blog for APRIL 2019
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ME... NOT ME
And
if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee: for
it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and
not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.
-- King James Bible, Matthew 5:30a
April showers
bring May flowers. People also consider this month the start of REAL
spring… rather than the official start at the end of March. Reality
sometimes is difficult to pin down. I don’t have the answers here…
Let others decide, for me that’s not what’s important. For me,
it’s the time to consider what the hell ME is in the first place.
Or maybe it’s better to say, to reconsider. Only
death… or its fear... is more powerful than simple deep thought in
making a decision. Let me completely frank here. Some of what follows
was inspired by others, but the actions were all mine.
Here’s what
happened:
Getting out of
the shower, I see a naked me in the steamed bathroom mirror. Instead
of standing in front of it and jerking off to me jerking off… as is
my usual wont… I stop to consider.
“That is not me.” I say… out loud to the no one else who is there. “That is a reflection of me… an image formed by light bouncing off my body into the mirror… and then bouncing back to my eyes. A series of bounces… that’s all… certainly not me.”
“That is not me.” I say… out loud to the no one else who is there. “That is a reflection of me… an image formed by light bouncing off my body into the mirror… and then bouncing back to my eyes. A series of bounces… that’s all… certainly not me.”
That leads me to
consider anew… as is done in the spring when the leaves and grass
are new… what is ME. I can say it’s not the reflection in glass,
but what is it?
Standing in
front of the mirror I rub my hands over my body… not in an erotic
way, but as a blind man might determine the shape and consistency of
a new object by feeling it.
“Is this me?”
I think. “This nose, this nipple, these ribs, this asshole, these
knees?”
Of course not.
They are things I use to walk, to shit..., to smell… my nipples? I
can’t think of a time I ever used them to do anything special. Old
age has taken away their even minor erotic content. They do nothing
for me now. These legs? I could use a wheelchair to move. My legs
--like a wheelchair-- help me go from one place to another. If they
help me, then cannot BE me. This asshole? Thousands of people shit
out of a hole in their abdomen… into a bag that gets emptied at
night. They are still THEY… with or without a working asshole.
Holding on to
the towel rack to steady myself, I lift my leg so I can rest my foot
on the closed toilet seat. I consider its blue veins and stubby toes
with nails that always get caught on the side of my socks. I focus on
the little toe. What does that even do for me? Why do I need it?
I lift the foot
off the toilet and balance on one leg. The foot that touches the
ground and keeps me balanced just uses the big toe and first two
little toes… that’s all. The little toe just wags there…
useless... not me and not helping me.
I put my right
foot down and head to the medicine cabinet to find a razor blade. I
have a pack of those old-style single edge razor blades. I keep them
in the bathroom out of habit… I never use them for shaving (does
anyone?), but I have a box-cutter I use to actually cut boxes so I
can mail stuff out that I sell on eBay. I don’t need the box cutter
now. Somehow, I want to get closer… with the blade… this is
personal.
I put a towel on
the top of the toilet and then rest my foot on it. With my left hand,
I hold the towel rack like one of those rails cripples use to
transfer from their wheelchairs. My left foot is firmly (I hope)
planted on the tiles of the bathroom floor. Taking the razor blade, I
set the sharp edge on top of my foot… the one on the toilet…
right where the little toe connects to the meat of the foot. Then I
press down… hard.
I expect a
squirt of blood… like in the movies… a money shot… but that’s
not how it is. The blood only leaks…. around the sides of the
razor… Two little rivulets... joining at each end... to flow down
over my foot to the towel below.
I expected
massive.. unbearable pain… instead it’s more like the throb of
arthritis… a dull pain that somehow seems to be happening to
someone else. I press harder… the blade stops… makes a scraping
sound… bone, I guess… I wiggle the blade, looking for the soft
spot between two bones. FUCK!!! THAT HURTS!!! I clench my teeth to
stifle a scream… close my eyes… take a deep breath… and cut
deeper.
I’m moving
closer to sawing than just pressing down... like you’d use a knife
to separate a drumstick from the rest of the chicken. The blood
puddle has grown and now drips down the towel to splash drop-by-drop
onto the floor. I take a washcloth to wipe away the blood from the
cut. My toe hangs from my foot on a piece of something yellow.
Cartilage? A tendon? What do I know? I never went to medical school.
I set the razor
blade down on the towel. Holding my hanging toe between the thumb and
first two fingers of my right hand. I tug on it, stretching the
yellow tendon… or is it cartilage… like a stubborn rubber band.
Then I twist it. A complete revolution… two of them… a third…
there is a crackling sound… something gave way… at the same time
I feel my body react. Maybe the pain went over the edge… maybe it’s
loss of blood… I can feel my anal sphincter lose its tension… I
shit… a thick liquid… shit. I can feel it drip down the back of
my leg… the standing one… I pull the toe completely free from the
foot. I stand.. that toe is not me.
I set the
severed toe on the towel and reach for the washcloth to bandage the
foot. Reaching… reaching… In the mirror, I catch a glimpse of the
feces running down the back of my leg just before I lose
consciousness.
First it is
warm, then it is cold. I feel the tile… an irregular hardness
beneath me… but something is wrong… different. Then it’s a
soft… gooey feeling… under my hip… I reach down and scrape the
goo from the floor next to me. The smell of shit hits my nose like a
prizefighter’s glove…. powerful.. almost physical in its
strength. Unable to lift my head, I raise the hand to my face,
covered in brown nearly a glove of feces… Nausea rises from my
stomach… I retch. Warm liquid rises in my throat and drips out my
mouth to the tile below. I feel it flow between my face and the tile
on the floor.
It’s only then
that the pain hits.
Not a sharp
stabbing pain, but an intense throb… in a vague location on the
lower half of my naked body. The pain narrows… like a camera
focusing… my right leg… my foot… ah the toe! I remember the
toe… I pass out again.
Next time I
awaken I feel a bed beneath me. At least I think its a bed. Soft…
with the cold feel of linen over my body as well as under it. I’m
on my back. a thin line of something wet drips from the side of my
mouth. I raise an arm to wipe it away. Something stops me… at the
wrist… as if my arm were tied to something by a rope. My arm IS
tied to something by a rope. I feel the strap around my wrist… I
open my eyes… above me… on the ceiling is a super-bright white
light. Closing my eyes I try to turn onto my stomach to avoid the
light. I cannot turn. My legs as well as my arms are restrained…
tied to the edges of the bed… or something… like kinky sex play…
this is not sex play.
I scream…
happy to find out there is no gag in my mouth... I scream again…
not a word just a deep lungful of scream… I hear a door open. Over
me… bent from the waist… looking at me like a one of those
view-from-the patient operating room movie shots… is a nurse… or
at least someone dressed like a nurse.
“You gave us
quite a scare,” she says… her raspy voice reminding me of some
sexy movie star whose name I can’t remember.
I look around
the room… there are a couple other beds… near me is one of those
hospital trays on wheels… In another bed, a patient lies on his
back… longish gray hair spills on to his pillow. He too has a
rasping voice… It’s not his voice. It’s the sound of air pumped
from a small white machine into a hose that goes directly from the
machine into a hole cut at the base of his neck.
“What were you
high on when you tried that stunt in the bathroom?” the nurse asks.
“Cartesian
philosophy,” I answer.
She frowns.
“Your dinner
is on that tray,” she nods to the tray on the wheelie thing. “I’ll
be back to feed you in an hour or so. Right now, get some sleep.”
I look at the
tray. Some nameless junk food with a fork, spoon…. and knife!!!
Yes! I can’t believe the luck. Stretching my hands... my wrists...
my body… pushing against the restraint… I reach for the tray…
just managing to get the edge… a fingernail grip. Scratch…
scratch… scratch… I claw it toward me… I reach… got it!!!
Running my hand up I feel for the knife… I can turn my head enough
to watch my hand… up onto the table… feeling the thin paper on
the tray… closer… closer… Yes! I got it. The handle anyway.
Moving ever so
slowly… afraid to drop the thing… I hook the edge under the cuff
that holds me to the bed. I slip the blade between my skin and the
cuff… cutting into the cloth… sawing as much as I can… half an
inch at most… I can expand the tear… an inch… an inch and a
half…I saw back and forth… slowly… agonizingly slowly… the
knife works its way through the cuff that binds me. Ah… ah…
ahhhhhh! I pull up hard and hear the rip as my hand breaks free.
Yes! Yes!
There!
Yes! Yes!
Holding the knife in my right hand, I plunge the blade into my
abdomen… slicing hard.
- end -
ENDNOTES:
[You can contact me on facebook
or by email at god@mykelboard.com.
Through the post office: send those... er... private DVDs..or music
or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137,
New York, NY 10012-0003. If you like my writing, you can be notified
when anything new is available. Subscribe to the MYKEL'S READERS
Yahoo group readmboard-subscribe@yahoogroups.com]
→ Truth
in Rumors Dept: The
urge to perform comes back… like herpes. And yes I got it again.
The details are too much to put here. The short form is that Chad
Kroeger and I met at Hard Apple Core… the famous NYC gay punk club.
He was sitting at the bar, not looking too happy….. just
staring down into his beer.
“It’s
too much!” He said, “Just too much.”
Yeah,
you’ve probably heard rumors. The schedule, the criticism, all of
it was getting to be too much. Chad wanted to step back… just play
and let someone else be the front man. Yep, I start on the Canadian
tour beginning in Toronto on May1, exactly one month from today.
Check
the Nickelback tour schedule here.
→ Truth
in Rumors Dept (part 2):
You know by now that Maximum
RocknRoll has gone belly
up… kaput… though they will maintain a web presence… probably
for a few months… until the reality sets in. In the meantime,
former editrix, Miriam Bastini, has already taken the reins of a new
publication Maximum HipnHop.
We’ll see what happens to
that one. I expect she’ll
fire R. Kelly.
→ Going
against my principles dept: Those
who’ve been reading me for a long time know that I’ve opposed gay
marriage from the get-go... straight marriage too… at least as a
government recognized institution. Marriage is religious. If you want
to do it, go ahead… but don’t ask for or
get any benefits from Uncle Donny.
Still,
I did agree to be best man at the wedding of George Tabb and Ben
Weasel. I didn’t change my opinions, but friendship beats politics
any day. You can see the wedding pictures here.
LINK
TRADE DEPARTMENT:
I
read that the search engines like lots of links... and it's also nice
to support my friends... and enemies... in their blogs. So facebook me
or email
me if
you have a blog, webpage or something else to connect to. I add you.
You add me.
Here's
a start:
-
David Goldberg's Busy Microbes Blog
-
And another Goldberg:goldberg.wordpress.com
-
I post a blog for Kyle Nonnemon, in prison for a ton of shit. He's a smart guy, with a passion for industrial metal and a general detestation of humankind. You can read his blog at: apothelema.blogspot.com (last minute note, when I tried to post a link to Kyle's blog to facebook's SATANISM (Satan's Music Lounge) and DEATH METAL (Death Metal) pages, the administrator censored the link. Wouldn't want anyone in jail (bad people!) associated with DEATH or SATAN, would we?
-
Poetry and humor fans will like Justin Martin in The Latency
-
And my friend Mike R has a nice site with recipe hits from the past! (He cooked for me once... great stuff.) Check out Yesterday's Recipes.
-
Savage Hippie is a guy who has been YouTubing for a long time. Our opinions largely overlap... but he complains that I'm a Communist. I'm not! I'm a communist.
-
Chris Stecher publishes a zine called PRECIS. You can see the back issue links there... and he promises a new issue soon.
CONTACT
REDUX: You
can contact me on facebook or
by email at god@mykelboard.com.
Through the post office: send those... er... private DVDs..or music
or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137,
New York, NY 10012-0003. If you like my writing, you can be notified
when anything new is available. Subscribe to the MYKEL'S READERS
Yahoo group
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