Tomic Riter

Tag: literature

  • Shaking up the things.

    Sleepy eyes. Sweat on my back. Scorching sun following me everywhere. Sitting for hours at one desk. Often, I forget I have the choice to stand up. Often, I forget to take a piss. Often, I forget to drink water. Often, I am just sitting there at my desk, waiting for the working hours to end so that I can go back home and make myself some black coffee, play some old gold music, do a little writing, look out of the window of my bedroom, lie in bed and imagine you on me and end up masturbating and then back in my chair. Today is another day when you won’t be here until late. You are tired, I know. You want to get done with it as quickly as possible. I wish you were here. I could have given you a nice body massage before you went to work, and then we would have made love again. We are making love now. In my head, we are making love all the time, your skin on my skin, me touching you everywhere at once. There’s dust buried in the corner of my eyes, dust flowing through the window and settling down on my sofa, dust everywhere on the road to my home. Caffeine has started kicking in. I can feel it in my eyes more than anywhere else. I can feel it clearly. Tomorrow, I run out of water. But that happens tomorrow and it may never come. Gulping down the last of this coffee now. Putting down the cup. Touching my cock. Closing my eyes. You are here.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • I am growing for you anyways.

    Back home after a short day at work. A colleague, who is a fucking asshole, got tested positive. So we all packed our shit and left all the files and documents, urgent or not, on a goddamn table and we locked that hellish place and drove off. On the way back, it started raining. My clothes are still wet. I am sitting half naked in my chair and thinking about how it started raining out of nowhere. I wasn’t prepared for the weather. But then, I am hardly ever prepared for anything. I am sitting bare-chested and thinking about how the raindrops were hitting my head like giant boulders falling from the sky. I am sitting and sipping hot coffee and thinking about your lips on my cock this morning, about your hands on my skin, I am thinking about you under me. We look so beautiful, so wonderful like that. We become the most peaceful of all the creatures. I love you under me, my legs between your legs, my chest touching your breasts, you wanting my mouth on those big and pretty nipples. I love us. I love me and you moving together. I was thinking about your ass back at work, and I am thinking about your ass now. I am thinking about your ass all the time, how it moves for me, how it makes me want you so badly. You are gone again but I am growing for you anyways. Your lips have torn apart my head. Your tongue puts me out of any misery. I could feed on those lovely nipples of yours all my life. It all feels so great and alright with my cock deep inside of you. I feel happy and alive. It’s noon now and your thoughts continue to make me wet. I will take a piss and change my clothes and go out and find something warm to eat.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • With all that and all those.

    At this speed, it would take me a hundred days to finish the first draft. Pathetic. Yes. Pathetic is what I am to say the least. Pathetic is what I do best. Even caffeine doesn’t help. It only burns my chest. Sleep comes to me like a sexy goddess, like you, and it tries to climb up my legs, paralyzing me out of ecstasy, sending my cock in a mad frenzy. I can’t help but think about your wonderful ass. It makes me feel good. It makes me whole. It brings out the best in me. I can’t help but think about your lips. Your lips licking my lips. Your tongue licking my tongue. I can’t help but think about your nipples. Your nipples on my chest, keeping my skin warm. Your nipples growing wild and bursting with my lips on them. I can’t help but think about you sitting on my cock, my hands on your ass, your mouth in my mouth. With all that ass and all those nipples and all those lips, you are not here as I go mad alone and put myself on fire sitting on my bed.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • A little something before I fall again.

    Who really cares about writing in the afternoon! Afternoon is a dead time. The most dead part of the day. Afternoon sucks. But for some reason, the tree leaves appear greenest in the afternoon. Slap me if I am wrong. Pull out all my teeth. But I will say that again. My legs are still aching. Yesterday morning, I walked more than I should have. But I couldn’t help it. The weather was so good. I couldn’t help but walk more than usual. I remember waking up today morning with cramps in my right leg. All the muscles there were aching and it felt like they totally dried. I felt like screaming. But soon I fell asleep again and I didn’t scream. Believe me, I didn’t. I just drank some water and fell down on my pillow. I finally woke up much later and it took me some time to realize that I had completely failed in hearing the alarm ring. God woke me up. And why wouldn’t he. He loves to fuck up my day. Any day. He woke me up only to throw me into the giant money thresher. I am just a pawn. Worse, I am an intelligent pawn. He would make sure I get sucked up before I fall dead. There’s no rest for me. No break. No mercy. Salvation doesn’t seem like a feasible option. I sometimes wonder if I would die of a simple heart attack, or it would be something more dramatic, something more time taking. My eyes are getting heavy again. I hate to cough. I am sitting almost naked in my chair and watching the greenest tree leaves ever created, the yellow of the sunlight falling through the window on my pillow. Now the yellow is gone. Must be the clouds gathering above. Yeah. Everything is beginning to slow down under the monotonous humming of the ceiling fan. I am slowing down. I stop.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • You can call it day one or whatever.

    The cyclone has started pissing everywhere. Grey sky today. Sunlight did fell down for some time in the noon. I had to change my sleeping position several times Now it’s just windy and dim and a few people are taking a walk outside. The cyclone won’t be hitting us that bad. I don’t live on earth. I am living somewhere between Mars and Earth, because you can find here none of what you see on Earth. At this point, it is natural to assume that I have been fooled all my life, and that I have no idea about what I am talking.

    Woke up after a long slumber. Thankfully, my head isn’t aching. I am just feeling drained. I ate too much in lunch, and whenever I do that, my half day goes to waste. Some white-haired half bald short man is walking alone half naked in my garden at six in the evening. What the hell! What’s going on! Is this even my home! It must be Monday. Yeah. It is indeed. Mondays are great only for the unemployed. I miss my days of unemployment a lot. I think I have said that on several occasions. When I was unemployed, I was so free. So fucking free. I want those days to come back. I am tired of this white-collared slavery. It’s a pain in my ass. It’s the path to lifelong hemorrhoids, to cancer, to irregular blood pressure, to diabetes, to complete failure at doing anything of worth. There’s no adventure. Life crawls out of you slowly but steadily. You can feel it. You can really feel it.

    I better get back to my short story. It has been alone for long. It’s a beautiful story inside my head. I just want to put it down before it dies in my terrible head. Before that, a cup of black coffee will be all.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Back to misery land.

    Got home. Unlocked the door. Stepped inside. It was fucking dirty. Why wouldn’t it be. I had been away for quite long. The virus had fucked me up. But now, I am fine. Almost fine, I would say. Cleaned my bedroom and that’s all I could manage to clean. It was all so fucking dirty, I felt like changing my home again. There was no electricity. GREAT! And no drinking water. BRAVO! And certainly nothing much to eat. Got naked. Put a bucket of water to heat. It was freezing cold. Soon, it started raining. I realized that I had left open all the windows. By the time I reached the main hall, water was gushing inside through the window. Cold, pure rainwater straight from the grey dark hell above. I ran to the window, shut it, and moved back. There was soil all over my skin. A thick layer of it. It proved to be a long journey and somewhat tiring.

    I was looking for a chair to sit down when I remembered that I had left both the chairs on the roof. I forgot to bring them inside before I had left home. I ran upstairs, opened the iron door to the roof, found the chairs upside down, blown away several times by the winds, washed dirty by the rainwater. Their arms had turned black from dirt. Their color had gone away back to the sunlight. I brought one chair downstairs with me, took it to the bathroom, washed it with water, then kept it outside to dry. I also noticed that the electricity was back. In ten minutes the chair was looking clean and fresh, only without color. It looked as if the meat had left its bone, but the bone was shining and looking good enough, and one could think about sitting on it. In ten more minutes, the water had heated sufficiently. I lifted the bucket, took it back to the bathroom, mixed some cold water, had a quick bath using minimum soap and a drop of face wash gel, came out wearing a towel, sprayed a lot of deodorant on my skin everywhere, and waited for my skin to dry.

    Outside, it had stopped raining, the cool winds were swaying the leaves and tress in my garden. I noticed that a few trees had broken down. I had no energy to look further into the matter. The trees laid down on the floor like brown skeletons. I started feeling sleepy. I wore a fresh pair of underwear, and then I walked to my chair, sat in it, turned on my laptop. I desired a hot cup of black coffee as I began munching chocolate cookies. I straightened my backbone and began typing.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Right under the electric line.

    Gurgling stomach. Sweat on my forehead and on my chest. Sitting inside this sealed box where glasses are windows shut and tightly screwed, where air vents are air vents but there’s no air coming out, where the engine starts but stops more often and it keeps failing again and again because it hasn’t run in a long time. At one time, it was a horse running miles every second day but now it’s just a snail and I am lying on my stomach in the liver of this snail. I haven’t had my tea or even my water since this morning. I am not a big fan of tea. I am not a big fan of anything. I am just traveling to somewhere miles from here. It’s all red white red white red white in my eyes. All red white and poisoned under my ribcage. I am typing trash while a fly drinks from my well and devours my sandwich. I am typing trash because this time, nothing else can kill time. I am typing trash again because I just woke up from a poor, uncomfortable sleep. I have got to spit out something. Life’s not the same without spitting out from time to time. When you spit out, you might feel kind of lighter. Yeah, right there. I said it. ‘Why is the train taking so long?’ I ask a man running up and down the little space in the compartment. ‘Power failure,’ comes the answer. Ofcourse. A power failure. Let’s take another nap and let’s hope the bats come flying soon and eat us all.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Me against myself.

    Something is stopping me from writing today. No, it’s not the ‘writer’s block’ as many like to call it. It’s something else and it’s buzzing everywhere inside my head. Actually, it’s not letting me do anything. Everything is fuzzy. Heavy. Barbaric. But it’s not a headache. It’s something else. It’s beating me down, making me sad for some reason. Maybe it’s not making me sad. Maybe I am just anxious about something. I am stuck with this story since long. I need to finish it soon and begin another. I need to get down to doing it. I am coughing. My eyes are burning, or maybe I would like them to burn. Such is my mind. It thinks bogus, exhausts me for no damn reason. Such is my mind, giving in again and again to the itches of life. I haven’t dreamt lately. By dreaming, I am dreaming while in sleep. But I never really dreamt. Never. I had only nightmares. I had so many, I got tired of having them. Sometimes, they were so terrible, so cruel, so killing, I would open my eyes and I would find myself sitting without breath. Sometimes, I would find myself on the floor and my knees would be hurting because I fell on them.. I never remembered when I rolled down there. None of that has happened lately. I guess it’s because nothing is happening is happening lately. The coming week will bring me something. A lot of it won’t be quite pleasant but all will be mine to have. Maybe I will even start drinking again.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Miller night

    Late last night, I had this sudden urge to read Henry Miller. His book Tropic Of Capricorn had, once, grabbed me by the neck and lifted me up way above the ionosphere. I couldn’t escape earth. My ass is no rocket. It is a poor ass at best. Last night, I started reading his journals on writing. I read a few paragraphs and they were something. Miller was one of the wise ones. He talked about spirituality in a way that is digestible. He was somewhere between a saint and a cruel pimp. He was more of a pimp. Usually, people who talk about spirituality make it a God-subject. That is nonsense. Utter nonsense. One can be religious and not be spiritual. I have found that men who are actually spiritual are rarely religious. At least they aren’t religious in the manner of bowing before some high-end God out of fear or incompetence or plain suffering. They rarely believe in a higher entity, a universal supervisor, a force that is above humans and that cannot be harnessed by humans. The case is different with the religious ones. For them, they are here and their God is up there. They believe in that light years long distance between here and there, between them and their God. If you walk to them and try telling them otherwise, they might abuse you or even get you killed. It has happened throughout the human history. No doubt in that.

    I will quote some lines here. But wait wait wait. Why should I? To hell with those lines. Who am I to quote anybody? But those were good lines. Really good lines. You would have loved them. Really? Would you have loved them? I doubt it. I seriously doubt it. Miller was good but I doubt anyways. Playing with a kitten might be equally good. No doubt in that. No doubt. Rarely, something good is read, and it’s all old, very old. New art, new writing, new music – all seems dead and fake to me. That is not to say that all that is really dead and fake. It’s just that I feel that way. I am talking horseshit, I know.

    Saw three intellectuals talking to each other while I was taking a walk this evening. I blew my nose and walked on. I find intellectuals repulsive. Yuck! I better finish my coffee and go back to staring at the wall. Outside, crickets are chirping but all they want to do is fuck all night and die of exhaustion. I am not much different. I am going. Watch me go.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.