The Fruits of Being a Contemptuous Bag of Dicks

"The Fruits of Being a Contemptuous Bag of Dicks." 1/11/13. Tempera, oil pastel, and pen. 12" (diameter).
“The Fruits of Being a Contemptuous Bag of Dicks.” 1/11/13. Tempera, oil pastel, and pen. 12″ (diameter).

This is from the same day as This Might Be Bullshit  – the day of my first “emotional relapse.” Looking for something else yesterday, I pulled out an old composition notebook and found [what I guess I’d call] a poem. It’s also from this same week in January.


Tomorrow I’ll wake up and spill my guts into the toilet and maybe clean myself up.

Tomorrow I’ll sit in group therapy and pass the time by drawing the needles I haven’t seen in 4½  months.

Tomorrow I’ll meet with my counselor and tell her how well I’m doing. I’ll probably go to an AA meeting, bring my book, write in the margins, and not pay attention.

Tomorrow I’ll stare out my window for no reason and maybe write some words I’ll never put to music. Tomorrow I won’t even notice my guitar sitting in the corner.

Tomorrow I’ll paint a painting on top of another painting and then wish that I hadn’t.

Tomorrow I’ll tell you I love you and you’ll pretend not to hear me.

Tomorrow I’ll post pictures of my art on Facebook so my friends can scroll past them. Tomorrow I won’t care enough to even see what they’re posting.

Tomorrow I’ll call my sponsor and explain things in terms he can understand. Tomorrow he’ll tell me I’m doing a great job and he’ll be just as wrong as he was today.

I won’t call my friends tomorrow and my friends won’t call me.

Tomorrow I’ll drown out the world with punk rock in my headphones instead of heroin in a syringe.

Tomorrow I’ll pace parking lots and side streets and sing along in a whisper.

Tomorrow I’ll notice another person too late and feel embarrassed.

Tomorrow I’ll think about you all day and pretend that I’m over it.

Tomorrow you’ll tell me you can’t stop thinking about shooting up but haven’t. Tomorrow you’ll be just as dishonest as you were today.

Tomorrow I’ll feel empty and insignificant and write a list of things I’m grateful for. Tomorrow I’ll recite lines like “There’s nothing wrong with my face, teeth, or body,” “I am worth time and energy,” “my art is positive, productive, and appreciated,” and “I am enough.” Tomorrow I’ll be just as dishonest as I was today.

Tomorrow I’ll sit at a bus stop waiting for something that’ll take even longer than the bus I’m not waiting on.

Tomorrow I’ll draw a self-portrait in crayon and hang it on my wall.

Tomorrow I’ll jerk off for the better part of an hour. Tomorrow I’ll meditate for three to five minutes, and feel a swell of pride.

Tomorrow I’ll dye my hair again and then wear a hat. I’ll sew something onto a shirt, rip up another, and still wear the same one I put on this morning.

Tomorrow I’ll pray because I’m supposed to. Tomorrow I’ll end my prayer with “I love you” and not know why.

Tomorrow I’ll smoke cigarettes in my room and feel bad about it, but I won’t get caught. Not tomorrow.

Tomorrow I’ll think of girls I don’t love and think of ways to make them love me.

Tomorrow I won’t have any idea what I’m doing.

Tomorrow I’ll wake up in rehab, eat a frozen waffle with nothing on it, drink half as much coffee as I pour, and smoke twice as many cigarettes as I can afford.

Tomorrow I’ll do a pretty good job of pushing my hate down into the pit of my gut. Tomorrow I won’t express the contempt I love but don’t feel. Tomorrow I’ll lack awareness.

Tomorrow I’ll have a positive attitude and a negative self-image. Tomorrow I’ll talk about how I have nothing to be upset about, criticize my own negativity, and someone will disagree with me on both points. Tomorrow I’ll shrug.

Tomorrow I’ll smile and feel peace as a song flows through me. I’ll feel evil and energized by another and smile even wider.

Tomorrow is my 143rd day here.

On Day 144, I’ll know what it means to be happy. And I will be. Just two more days.


So that was about 300 days ago now. I think its significance is in how miserable it is despite the fact that I had been doing extremely well in the month leading up to it (possibly better than I ever had in my life). It’s a great example of how badly one little snag can fucking annihilate me (at least in a moment). I was already well on my way toward “know what it means to be happy” at that point and – while I may not always have it perfectly nailed down – I’d like to think that, day to day, I do a pretty okay job; I am happy.

I’ve been working on it (somewhat on and off) for the last week, but I put in a lot of time yesterday and today, and I’m confident (and happy to report) that my newest painting is this close to being finished, so I’m looking forward to sharing that tomorrow. And on Saturday I’m going to post something that really is a “fruit of being a contemptuous bag of dicks!”

I have fun; good from bad; so on and so forth. I’m gonna go eat pizza now.


Here’s a song I really love by a band I really love:“Monsoon” by Snuggle, off their 2005 7-inch, Tag, You’re It!

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