I am not the man I used to be. Years have changed me. I have drug juggled, had numerous nervous breakdowns. I have loved, lost, seen death and put a man in jail for most of his natural life. I’ve seen families fall apart, friendships suffer slow heat death, and watched as my body slowly becomes the husk it is destined to be. The falcon is long gone and the falconer is considering buying a cage and a hamster. Also I have forgotten how to piss.
It happened a little while ago. I stood up, walked to my throne. I did my usual thing where I unbuckle my belt and undo the button on my jeans because I don’t like the teeth of my zipper biting into my hog. Then something broke in my mind. I stood wide-eyed as my flesh hose shot out three streams at high velocity, one going straight down onto my faded blue cons, one circling the seat and backspraying onto my grey jeans, and one going straight into the backboard and seeping down into the hinge of the seat where it is impossible to clean.
It just got worse. I put off emptying the waterskin until the last possible moment now. I can’t use urinals, nobody can see what has become of me. Even using cubicles I spend an uncomfortable amount of time cleaning up after myself. Everyone goes quiet when I step out like I have been doing a public danger fap surrounded by forty year old men who know how to use the damn thing they were born with.
How do you fix something this broken? Is it psychological? Do I have to sit in front of the lady that tells me to think positive thoughts and ask her to help me use my own damn birth sword? Is something wrong with my dick? Should I ask my fifty year old becker-style gp to give me a pill so I can do something that every fucking living organism on the planet seems to have no trouble with? Do I have to carry around a length of hose just so I can get my coffee ghosts in the bowl instead of the floor? When a man can’t trust himself to urinate who can he rely on?
Life gives us the lessons we need but sometimes life is a dick that can’t piss straight.