September 05, 2005

For three days on Laura’s couch I’ve been trying to write meaningful, moving stories about monkeys … but I’ve been too wonderfully distracted. Consequently, all of my sentences are about anuses. Indeed, now that I look back on my notebook, I can’t even see any complete sentences but strange incovations: ANUS ANUS ANUS ANUS.

I take frequent breaks from writing about anuses to kill wasps. I cut off their heads with my pocket knife, long clean cuts in the armour of their exoskeletons. And even when their heads are detached from their striped bodies, their mouths keep working, frothing, trying to bite. I’ve started a collection of wasp heads in a jar I keep in Laura’s bathroom. One day, when they’re no longer trying to bite bite, I will shove each individual wasp head up my anus, one at a time, with tremendous satisfaction (I’m alergic to wasps).