This is a little impromptu monologue I gave my mom, because I don’t bath enough and she said it’s weird.
My being weird is an understatement and I think everyone who knows me, gets that I’m fucking weird. I’m clinically insane for God’s sake. Anyway, here was my speech to her:
Yeah, well, the human race got on just fine without a bathtub or even a single bottle of fucking … hair conditioner, for about 550,000 years, before the ancient Sumerians got the bright idea of writing their names down on stone tablets and History began. You see, just as your intensites are supposed to host a colon of bacteria that aids in fighting infection and breaking down food, the surface of your skin is supposed to develop an invisible layer of bacteria that have, over time, become perfectly adapted to the unique signature of your body’s skin, so that when foreign bacteria get on it, the bacteria that are already perfectly adapted to it out-compete them for resources and ensure their destruction far more effectively than any bottle of soap can. Every time you cover yourself in that crap, you’re just wiping away all those positive micro-organisms that are supposed to be functioning as a kind of external immune-system for your body. My skin is better than yours and everybody else’s in this house. I haven’t even had a pimple since I was 14 years old. I don’t get bumps, or rashes, and you people do all the time. So I’m gonna keep doing me. You have fun with the conditioners and the soap and whatever the fuck else tested-on-animals chemical bullshit you want to dump on yourself to make yourself feel like you’re civilized, like you’re more than an animal.
You see, I believe 90 percent of what you creatures do to yourself, and what you do with your lives, is bullshit. I’m not agoraphobic, the instances where the courts drew me out of hibernation- you were there- I exhibited no signs of anxiety, and it doesn’t bother me to be around people. That is not the reason I have chosen to spend the last 16 years in solitary confinement. I did so, and will continue to do so, because I think your civilization is a joke. And it’s going to end soon. I like to stare out this window and imagine it, all of these buildings reduced to ash … I imagine, I project myself into that future, and I live and think and move as if I am the last man alive … I am the last man, the last human being, in my mind, and I don’t live here, I live in that future… I write, but I do not write for other men, for there are no other men. I am the last one. So when I write, I am writing to God, alone, presiding over my species, which I, being the last, encapsulate and represent. And so I write to God, alone. I talk to him too.
I know I went off the precipice a long time ago. I get it. I’m mad. I know I’m insane. If my disturbed thinking makes you uncomfortable, perhaps you can do yourself a favor and not talk to me. Don’t ask me what I think if what I think is going to hurt you. I’m not going to pretend to think differently for you or anyone else, to appease you, to make you feel better about seeing my doped up half-corpse of a body lumber around, zooted into outer space all day. That’s what I think. I think your whole civilization is a jerk off. And I don’t want to participate in it. That’s why I’ve been in this hole for the last 16 years. The only thing I want is cigarettes and more vicodin. You people can keep the rest.