This is a stream of consciousness piece I did at uni. Words were said out loud as we were writing and they had to be incorporated. I have not edited it at all. This is exactly as written in about ten minutes. We were instructed to choose an object to be and then go with it.
I wish I were a penis. Then I could hang out in vaginas all day long, although that could get a bit ranky. Imagine hanging out in a fat, dirty vagina. Would be like living in a black hole. You’d get lost in there. Especially if it were really loose. I’d fall all the way through her vagina, probably end up in her stomach. No doubt she wouldn’t even feel me inside her. Her guts would stink too, and there would be no way out of the wretched dark body. Before I knew it I’d be living inside her, with her everyday. If only I were a bigger penis, or chose a neat tight vagina to thrust inside. Where I could ride her as she lays on a crimson bed. But no, stupid me just wanted too much pussy and ended up here. In Miss 500 Big Macs a day’s putrid gut. I could try work my way up to her brain. At least more exciting work may happen there. Would be like lying on velvet in comparison to the slimy bile of her stomach linings.
My body slides like a snake up her neck, through her throat. I know she has just drunk chai, I can feel the honey trickle down her throat. She would not have gotten skinny milk. Yep, there goes the thick waterfall pulling me back into her guts. If only she would take her tampon out. Then I could try escape from the way I came in. I could try cut the tampon out of her, with blood on me and blood on the knife I would be tainted. But nothing a clean woman can’t cleanse. Of course those pretty girls, they never want it. “Don’t touch me”, they say, as though I’m diseased, covered in warts from head to toe. They have no clue how much I would do for them. So much more than those jerks who buy them hotted up cars like their daddy’s. It’s always a daddy’s girl. The kind I like, the kind that doesn’t like me. So here I end up, caught inside the shell of some obese bitch that smokes too much.
I finally start rising higher and higher sliding up her oesophagus. Then finally, I reach it; the brain. I thought it would be like golden sunflowers. Turns out her other flower resembles golden more than her brain. Fuck’n utter chaos and they have locked the gates. There is no getting out. No fluffy white clouds or dreamlike fairytales, just a bunch of nightmares where all the angels wings have been torn off and thrown out her ears.
I start to understand this woman more. As each dark hidden desire locked in the drawers begin to unravel and plummet to the earth, leaving her in a neurotic state. They work so hard up here to keep each drawer locked, the hidden paper swept under the rug, but they begin to slowly roll over soft grass, spilling their way out as their teeth bite through the filing cabinets. The men fight them but there is so much hidden; like the time he touched her under the fruit trees. Of course, she doesn’t know about this, doesn’t know why she detests bananas. But it looks like she will soon find out. This cabinet is about to burst open and from the reaction of the men I know it could be bad. Suddenly it opens, as I hear her screaming. “DON’T TOUCH ME! DON’T TOUCH ME!” The men start to work furiously to gather all the papers back together. They jam them into the cabinet, close it, lock it. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what just came over me. Must be the old tobacco smell on your top, reminds me of my late grandfather”. Then men are exhausted now, but I can see their break will not last as another cabinet is bursting out like splintering watermelons. Their oily fingers covered in sweat try to stop the bouldering shapes, but it is too late. The draw titled ‘Mummy’ is no longer closed, and out comes each bit of paper. The time mummy overdosed while she read the poem about Jesus and the footprints in the sand. The time when she wanted to go swimming but mummy told her she should not be seen in public with a disgusting body. The men gave up, they were drowning in paper and knew this file was bigger than any of them. They could not close it up, so they gave up, and all the cabinets started to explode. It was like an earthquake, and all I could hear was a child’s voice. “Care for me mummy. Please, why won’t you care for me?” I no longer knew if this voice was coming from inside the brain, or from the woman herself. All I knew is that fat women aren’t all I thought they were. I wish I were a penis.