Noah Cicero - The Collected Works of Noah Cicero Vol. I

“That sounds great,” I say.

We stop talking.

Now I have to fuck someone.

That sounds terrifying.

This night is madness.

I think I have to go to the bathroom.

I stand up and wobble a little.

Then I slowly move toward the bathroom.

There are a lot of mongrels in the way.

I can’t stand these people.

What are they doing in my way?

They shouldn’t be there.

I finally make it to the bathroom.

I lock the door and crawl to the toilet.

I put my face in front of the bowl.

And then.

Vomit!

It comes out easy.

The world is collapsing down on me.

I can’t stand the weight.

I don’t need this.

I did this to myself, but I was compelled.

The last chunks of vomit come out pretty rough.

I think I might die in this bathroom.

And no one will ever find me.

Until I start stinking.

Then they’ll open the door.

And find my dead body.

Rotting.

I stand up and head back out.

The people are still there making noise.

I can’t stand noise at this point.

I think I’m blacking out.

I probably won’t remember this.

I sit back down.

And pass out.

There is silence in my mind.

I’m at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

There are pretty clouds hovering in the sky.

The sun is out.

It’s seventy degrees.

I’m sitting with two Tijuana prostitutes.

We’re drinking margaritas.

I’m happy.

There’s no war.

Everyone is at peace.

God loves us.

There’s real hope here.

America doesn’t exist.

Saddam Hussein went to counseling, and he’s a good person now.

George W. Bush got a tutor and learned the alphabet.

I put my feet into the Colorado River.

It’s cold, but peaceful.

I feel at home here at the bottom of the canyon with my two prostitutes.

I wake up fifteen minutes later.

Noise!

The universe is a bloody cunt.

I feel less drunk.

Which is good.

I go to the bathroom again.

In there.

I shit.

It’s hard shitting while you’re drunk.

Trying to wipe is really hard.

My reality is mangled and distorted.

And there’s no way out of it.

I go outside.

And sit on the grass cross-legged.

I light a cigarette.

And stare at the stars in the sky.

But they give me no solace.

The really hot girl comes out for a breath of fresh air.

She says, “Are you all right.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a little drunk.”

She sits down next to me.

“You look like you are going to cry, what’s wrong?” she says.

“The war, it’s tearing me up inside.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“It is?” I say.

“Yeah, I hope we get Saddam.”

“What?”

“I want this war. Saddam is a horrible person. And Iraqis need to know what freedom feels like. It’s pretty selfish for America to keep freedom to themselves, don’t you think?”

“I guess.”

“Well, I have to go back in. See ya.”

I sit there confounded.

I don’t know what to make of this war.

I don’t know what I should do.

I’ll just be drunk.

In the local mental ward sat two humans.

Each lying on his bed.

David was fat and unattractive.

Jimmy was attractive and disturbed.

“Do I look ugly?” David asked.

“No, you look great,” Jimmy said while reading a book.

“Because I think I look ugly.”

“Why do you care so much?”

“Because I look ugly, do I look ugly?”

“Do you think you look ugly?” Jimmy said.

“I don’t care what I think. I want to know what you think.”

“I think you’re a beautiful man.”

“You do, really?”

“Yeah, you’re a great-looking man.”

“But do you think I’m ugly?” David said.

“You believe in God, don’t you? Do you think He thinks you’re ugly?”

“I don’t know. Do you think God thinks I’m ugly?”

“I don’t think He cares.”

“Why wouldn’t He care if I’m ugly or not?”

“Well, I would think He had more important things to dwell on.”

“I don’t know what He would dwell on besides my ugliness… Do you think I’m ugly?”

“No, I think you have a wonderful face. It’s very symmetrical.”

“You think?” David said.

“Oh yeah, it’s marvelous.”

“My mother’s dead.”

“She is? How come?”

“Her heart stopped beating.”

“That must have been tragic,” Jimmy said while still reading.

“It was. She was my best friend.”

“Your mother is watching you from heaven. That’s what dead people do, they watch us, even in the shower. I won’t even masturbate because I think dead people are watching. They watch all the time. Every moment of the day, there’s a dead person watching.”

“My mother sees me lying here in the mental ward.”

“Yeah, she’s watching right now. She even watches when you shit.”

“I don’t want my mother to know I’m here.”

“She knows, and she’s crying a tear in heaven.”

“Do you think I’m ugly? I don’t want to be ugly.”

David got up and walked in front of Jimmy’s bed.

He stood there retarded and drunk-like.

“No one does. It’s horrible to be ugly. I’d rather be pretty than smart any day.”

“You would?”

“Yes, of course. Why would anybody want to be smart? It’s such a hassle, knowing and understanding things. Intelligence causes suffering, but being hot, that just gets you laid.”

“I haven’t been laid in three years,” David said.

“That’s sad. You should save up and go to a prostitute. They’re very convenient.”

“I would never do that. I believe in God.”

“It’s obvious God doesn’t care about you, so I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

“But my mother would be watching.”

“You’re right, she would… Why don’t you go to a bar and meet someone?”

“I get nervous around girls.”

“I get horny around them.”

“Do you think I’m ugly?”

“I don’t trust my own thoughts, so I’m not going to answer that.”

“Please answer?”

“No, I refuse. You answer it.”

“I can’t, I’m not you.”

“No, you’re not. But I no longer trust my own thoughts, my thoughts don’t make sense anymore, I’m always thinking something I don’t want to be thinking, but I think I want to think. Then I think what I’m thinking is right and true, but then I think of something else that contradicts that, then I think some more, then I take pills and cry.”

“Yeah, but do you think I’m ugly?”

“No, you’re beautiful. Seriously. Sit down, you’re making me nervous.”

David went back to his bed and lay down.

Jimmy kept on reading.

“They put me on new pills,” David said.

“How’s that working out?”

“I’m nervous.”

“So am I, but then I touched myself while thinking of the Rocky Mountains.”

“Sometimes I touch myself.”

“Good, don’t tell me about it.”

“I’m nervous.”

“So am I, it’s unbearable. I’ll have to eat today, go to the bathroom, I’ll probably shit, and then I’ll have to wipe my ass. It’s such a burden to exist. There’s a lot a person has to do to get through the day, and I have no interest in doing any of it. Why can’t I be left alone? I don’t want to wipe my ass, it’s disgusting. Don’t you think it’s grotesque.”

“No, I enjoy it.”

“Of course you would, you’re fucking sick.”

“I’m not sick. The doctor says I’m normal, but do you think I’m ugly?”