So Dog We Were...

I've seen the animal in man. That beast that pisses in sinks, shits in plastic bags, has to soak and cut and prise the socks from off its feet, has become indifferent to the stench of its own arsehole, lays around wrapped up in filthy blankets snarling at life and rotting away by the pound. I've watched men regress into neo-savages, committing murder, rape and incest with no strategic end in mind. I've seen our species fight and bite and rip and fuck one another to pieces. I've watched the unloved become the unloving and the loveless become the lawless. I've seen beautiful people destroyed by the high cost of living, selling their bodies and organs for a moments respite from the daily grind. I've known streets of endless misery, city-sized slums full of the walking wounded, tower blocks used as a human rubbish dumps: 300 ft of isolation and depression, whole families staring out and down, wondering what mark they'd leave if they hit the floor from there.

With fresh young eyes I watched life pass by, a certain freakshow interspersed with occasional views of purported normality. I stared lost at bare feet as pre-teen brother and sister put on peep sex-shows for an assortment of waifs and strays, dreamed nightmares over the amphibious leers and panting tongues visible through the gap in the door. I've seen women beaten senseless, dragged around by the hair, forced to lick the kitchen floor, locked in cupboards with broken noses, doused in petrol and set alight. I've seen men kicked half to death, hit with bricks, bars and mallets, faces and wrists slashed open, a false eye staring at me from the bottom of a glass of beer. In the hush of night I've watchd an old dreadlocked cancer patient hunting around in the dark for soiled panties to sniff, his emaciated thighs like violin bows, the silhouette of his long lank penis and swinging balls. I've seen that same man rot away to nothing in his chair, sat their stuffed full with death one morning while the rest of the house knocked back courage and cured themselves of the shakes.

In the back-end of nowhere I've known young girls who became mothers without ever having seen a cock. Fathers thrice over who thought the clitoris was a garden plant. I've known company directors escape the boardroom to dress up in nappies and bonnets, lay in a cot, bawling, wriggling their legs and faking innocence. I've seen orgies of pigs: incomprehensible gang-bangs strike up amongst chronic drunks; alcoholic women laying spread-eagled on highstreet benches, masturbating while screaming RAPE! On screens, I've seen everything from armpit licking to shit-eating. I've seen Arabic looking girls, dressed in nothing but a hijab, crucified to railings and gagging on twelve inches of white cock with the Stars and Stripes tattooed along the shaft. In retaliation, I've seen fifteen of the dustiest Arabs gang-raping a small town beauty queen, close ups of her tears and suffering as one rams it in her arse without lubricant or warning. I've been sent links to videos of amputees, midgets, mongols and She-males. I've seen horses and pigs being sucked off, and dogs eating pussy. In HD I've seen sheep, cows and chickens get it – living props, perfect for web cams and Shock TV.

I've seen faceless erections poking through zippers, shoved through holes, men, women and beasts dancing jubilantly around them. I've seen cunts gang-banged out of all recognizable shape, laying spent around rooms, their only use then to help remove nicotine stains from filthy fingers. I've studied necks and faces, stretched taut and deformed during the climax of despicable acts. I've seen my own mother drink and fuck her way through 20 years of grief, falling out of taxis naked and crawling up the front yard with bloodied tits and bruised buttocks. I've made up the numbers in the most squalid dens and witnessed the human animal partake in the most debauched and intangible practices: groups hunched over spoons, each drawing up a measure of life before shuffling back to their individual hells. I've seen families brought up on grease and potatoes and tomato ketchup; parents in competition for Special Offers and fighting over reduced cuts of meat. I've seen teenage rent boys forced to deep throat podgy middle aged men; wrecks of humans crawling around the streets looking for scraps of food; amputees glued to skateboards in a desperate effort to adapt and survive. I've seen people riddled with body fungi and gangrene... abscesses and ulcers the size of tennis balls eating them alive. I've seen people lie, steal and cheat, and try to pass on awful diseases. I've seen junkies with AIDS cuddling up together through dark silent nights, sobbing over regrets and old memories and cancerous lumps and lesions. I've seen men of money turning squalor into a profit; supposedly reputable people crippling his brothers and sisters with financial strongholds, using the most ruthless tactics and schemes to extract from people what they haven't got. I've seen banks play the long-term con, burying people in credit, gambling on them defaulting on loan payments: loans scrupulously worked out so as they'll just about be repaid come the the average age of death. I've seen it all and joined in the feeding frenzy, eating as blindly and as heartily as anyone else. With the rest of the pack I've been left crying and growling at the moon, calling out and cursing unknown enemies. I've drank Starbucks coffee from the same place as you, taken your traces of lipstick off the beaker, and with a swallow of stale caffeine said, “The world is so beautiful now!”

I've stared into the distance and seen the old infrastructure of nature, the last of the trees and mountains and fields that haven't yet been chopped down, drilled through or ploughed flat. I've seen man visit every remote inch of the planet, map it out in 3d and real time video. I've seen the cheerless kept alive on hope support machines, the downtrodden and completely-fucked-over still with ignorant faith in their fellow beings. I've seen the lowest and most despicable acts from just about everyone. Modern, sophisticated man is nothing more than a successful marketing campaign. Behind the pedicures, enemas, and PH neutral cunt juice is the animal we've tried so hard to tame. If in public we walk on hind legs, in private, we drop to all fours and eat off the floor. And I'm not alone. We all know what our species looks like stripped down, sprawled out naked on the mattress, folds of belly, flabby sex leaking piss and cum, and sucking on antacids. That's the horrific reality of it... the sick dog we've become.


  1. Holy shit, you never fall short of the standard you've set, but this piece is particularly strong. And worst of all, probably true. Henry Miller is surely smiling in his grave. He knows exactly what you mean.

  2. Hey Gary, you claim the historic first comment, and as a little thank you I've put a link to your wonderful work in the sidebar. I've a feeling there'll be some of my best work put up here... the Memoires site, restricted by certain themes and the truth, has often left me frustrated and damning it. We'll see, as you know, we can never second guess what'll develop... X

    1. Thanks, I really appreciate that Shane, will link to this site from my blog when I update the thing

  3. But on the plus side...

    Tower blocks used as a human rubbish dumps:

    I lived in one for eight years.

    As powerful as ever. I hope this survives longer than Bubblegum. I still want to find out how that murder mystery ends!

    There was yet another documentary on Dennis Nilsen last night. I still think he bares an uncanny resemblance to Stephen King.

    Jesus, you're father was 28! I forgot about that. What a cunt Nilsen was. I know you're trying to understand and all that but no. He was a selfish fucking narcissistic cunt.

    OK so you're father was murdered by a Scot - but surely you're rooting for Murray at Wimbledon today!

    Sorry. We Scots have mordant humour. But you're one of the few I know who gets it...

  4. Hey Joe...

    Bubblegum I set up for all the wrong reasons and was kinda going in the wrong direction. I really enjoyed writing WFJ (the only time I've ever actually enjoyed the process of writing) and it was hard to let that go... even the feel of that piece of writing. I was also left with a hundred readers after WFJ and it seemed so severe to give them Memoires after that with no kind of middle ground. But I learnt a lot from Bubblegum and that people who enjoy your words will always read past subject and those are finally the people that matter. Ransack.... i do have the very final part but it's still unfinished. It ended with Inspector Ransack purposely destroying the crimescene and contaminating the evidence as he was the murderer. As his memory returned (came around from a psychotic blackout) he realized he was investigating a crime he had committed and was in the perfect position to corrupt the scene with bad policework. lame but fun, and there was still some nice parts in each post:

    If great photographers can make the camera lie, then the primitive, heavy-footed beast who sloped onto the scene next, with his knuckles nearer to the ground than his knees, would have been one of the best. In the past, when occasion had called for it, this man-thing had made swollen black eyes look like shotgun wounds, and brutal police beatings look nothing more serious than restraining marks. Though not a corrupt man in himself, he was corruptible. His historical fault was doing what he was told, just because he was told to do it. Mackintosh, the Crime Scene Photographer, was going to hell on someone else's command.

    Yeah, my mother phoned me up almost in tears last night after the documentary. She never watches stuff about Nilsen, but it was recently on her mind as i set up an interview with her and a Times journalist who is writing a book on Nilsen (very anti-Nilsen). So she had spent the afternoon with him a few days earlier and then saw the doc was airing and for once decided to sit through it. As she's never followed the Nilsen story post-conviction she was angered by many things: his book, money he's received in legal aid, admitting he killed a 14yr old boy, etc. Then she said something very sad. She said that when she dies Puggy will die again as he's only kept alive in her memory and when she's gone he'll cease to exist at all as there'll be no-one will be left to think about him. Aster all these years she still loves that man. Sometimes this world is too cruel to exist in, Joe.... hearing such things breaks me to pieces.

    A scot in the final of Wimbledon!!! That's insanity gone mad! How the hell did he get there? Took the wrong road drunk?

    Of course I'm routing for him though. And of course in the Southern press he's become "British". You wait until tomorrow if the poor boy does anything stupid like loses... he'll be immediately relegated back to being a "Scot" and disowned for fear of embarrassment by association. On the other hand, if he wins, jesus, 'British' will become 'English'... he's playing for much more than a silly shiny cup!

    So, what d'ya reckon: English or Scottish? I think the boy will do it... I think he'll whip federer and then be whipped off for elocution lessons.... X

  5. Oh I think Murray will almost certainly lose. But we Scots are a nation of losers - in the sports arena. Like the Jews we are a people of thinkers,philosopher,inventors. Remember that bit in Airplane where someone asked for something light to read. And the stewardess gave her a one inch square piece of paper she labelled 'Famous Jewish Sports Legends'. Same with the Scots. But Murray is the first Brit/Scot to get in the final for decades. So he's already achieved. I think He will win eventually. Just not this year. (I say at 2.55pm with Federer at 4/3 deuce on Murray's serve.

    I adored Waiting For John. I think that's your best thing ever. Also, from a fucking selfish narcissistic cunt point of view, I loved being challenged every day as Abby to relate to the John world in the comments section. I think that's what tipped me over into thinking of being a writer again, which I had sort of given up on. Abby sort of grew a new life and 'family'. That book WILL be written. It's all in my head - too much of it - but it's will will be done.

    5-4 Murray, serving for the first set. Dare I hope...

  6. Of course he won't cease to exist. You'll keep the memory going. Then I will. Etc.

    It's so ironic that you find your mother's forgiveness of your father so touching - given that you forgive her for so much. I'm the same. I just forget the bad and focus on the good. As the guy said at the end of the best comedy of all time (Some Like It Hot):

    Nobody's perfect.

  7. Darren7/13/2012

    Personally i'm very excited at the prospect of what you'll be writing over here and if this first piece is anything to go by i reckon you may really come into your own. you're already that, i mean writing that will once and for all show you're not a one trick pony. maybe i've expressed that badly but i hope you know what i mean.

  8. Powerful on another level!

  9. you have rattled my cage!

  10. Hey Jim... I think there'll be some really nice stuff put up here. I'll also try and post a little more frequently but it's not always easy or possible. I'll be posting this weekend anyhow... X


"You'll destroy me too," she said, "I think I want to die."
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Make a little history and leave what words you have.. X