Tuesday, December 11, 2018

The Sounds Of Pissing III

It had been months since I could have a good night sleep. I used to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the soft goose feathered pillow. But something changed that night. I would stare blank at the white ceilings. With heavy eyes and sore thoughts the nights would roll out.

All I wanted was to fucking fall asleep. I didn't care if I had nightmares or if I just slumber for a while.

I had tried it all. I ran as fast as I could to get my body as tired as possible. I had tried masturbating. I had smoked joints. Nothing seemed to keep me from being awake. I was slowly rotting inside. I could feel death calmly creeping underneath my bed as I laid still.

Was it the secrets? Was it the rain outside? Was it the full on booze nights I spent trying to black out?

I kept drowning in a sea of empty thoughts and eternal seconds. I was so empty.

Time passed and the bodily urge of pissing reminded me that I was awake. 

Like a glitch in my system I hypnic jerked out of bed.

I rushed to the toilet. My dull self crawled in a lackadaisical fashion.

Once in the white room, I lowered my pajamas pants, and took my member out.

I leaned against the wall trying to make the whole situation bearable. Silence was golden. Suddenly I began pissing. And the pleasure reminded me that being awake was a blessing nobody really cherished. At least not me until that very moment. 

I was more conscious than most people I knew. And I was able to enjoy, in the precarious of my situation, a mundane act.

"And I hope I can live another day", I thought.



Hermes Coldwell

11.12.2018  



Sunday, December 31, 2017

A Pissing Nightmare

It was December 31st. Everyone was ready to party and ready to leave the year 2017 behind. It had been a year that took so much away from us. Not only had a bunch of people committed suicide, but the year's political and social events had taken a toll on everyone, including me.

I was already sipping on my second vodka with peach juice. There was something about this juice that reminded me of home, my long time forsaken home. The sugar and added chemicals of this particular brand of beverage always reminded me of my years in high school. I guess I was happy to have found this particular drink, to mix with the Russian vodka leftovers from one of the summer parties we had had.

Everyone was grouped already, and several things were being discussed. Politics, music, and generally shit. I was trying to find the right moment for me to laugh, giggle, of sigh. it was like I was looking for a cue of sort of to interact in a natural way, just to make it till midnight, or until everyone was drunk and possibly high to stop pretending to be the way they all wanted or expected me to be.

I remember looking at my phone, just to see the time. To see if my predictions on when would the people around me would become tipsy or even drunk. Just to see how much longer I would have to be there.

My glass was suddenly empty. I moved like a shadow into the kitchen and refilled my tall glass with the potato distillate of the land of the Czars and the saccharine solution we all called juice back home. I didn't even need ice cubes. My drink was perfectly chilled and ready to be gulped down. It didn't really matter. I would pissed it eventually. And I would power walk the carbohydrates left in my system not to gain more weight. Yes, I had began walking a couple of months ago, and I had began seeing the results. At least, I would sleep better, without acid reflux. A good night sleep was what I had secretly longed for already many years.

I went back to my assumed position in the party. My group was still talking about things I didn't understand, or secretly didn't want to.

"So, we heard you didn't have any friends", someone fired away
"Uh, I do have friends", I said
"Good", a girl standing to my right said
"I have friends, they just don't live here" I continued, "they are scattered all over the world, one lives in Germany, another one lives in Rio and there is one in Mexico, so I do have friends, they are my best friends, we just don't see each other as often as we would like"
"Why don't you have friends here?". A guy mumbled across from where I was standing
"It is difficult to connect with people with whom I don't share anything in common with", I said
"That sounds a bit weird, don't you think?", another girl asked me
"It does, I guess, but when you have decided to live things ahead of what you are supposed to, it makes perfect sense. You lose proximity with the rest of the people, but gain a stronger bond with those, who like me, have chosen their own path in life, rather than following what is expected from them, socially".

I was having a conversation with the people in the group of party goers. It wasn't a very productive talk, I gathered. However, I was interacting. But after so many Vodka drinks, my bladder was totally full and I needed to relieve it from such burden.

I sneaked away from the living room and headed towards the toilet.

As I opened the door, I found myself in a huge room, which was barely lit and had lots of gigantic mirrors above the sinks. Around the place where one is supposed to wash after doing their business  —or like me, before actually doing anything, because to be honest, I do not remember all the places where my hands have been— there were the urinals and cabins. 

All the cabins were in a pretty deplorable state. There walls, all sported punch holes, and some of them were falling apart.

I tried to find one with the best cover, as I am a very shy individual and at least when pissing, I like my privacy.

Once I did, I began to unzip my pants. 

But for some reason, lots of guys came into the toilets and began searching for a place where to get rid of all their alcoholic urine. So in question of seconds, before I had even start, a guy was pounding on the door of the cabin I was in, shouting: "hey, come one, I need to piss".

I saw how the other cabins on the right and on the left became occupied and I could see the guys staring at me while they pissed their beer and their liquors. I couldn't even start. I was a shy motherfucker trapped inside a toilet cabin, being watched and being expected to finish pissing real soon.

"What a nightmare", I thought to myself.



Hermes Coldwell
31.12.2017





Wednesday, June 8, 2016

Holy Shit!

It had been 3 years since my best friend disappeared. The last time I saw him was in Alterna, a bar near my flat which served as meeting point for students from the local university and other entities such as me and my friends.

We went there every weekend, not only because it was cheap, but because their playlist sounded as it had been created by me, or as if they had cloned my iPod and were playing all what we loved night after night.

It had been 3 years since my best friend had vanished. The last time we were together we drank beer and whiskey sours. We smoked camel blues and puffed on weed on occasion. We had been planning a trip out of the big city as we needed to get away from the stress and the monotony of the every day life we had become slaves to.

I am Terrified by IAMX began playing on the sound system. Chris Corner sang:


I am terrified, I think too much

I get emotional when I drink too much

I buy every cry, 'cause I don't trust
I am terrified, I think too much


We continued to plan. 

Our master plan began to take form. It made sense, we had to do it, the stress was killing us. I was a little bit stronger than he ever was, yet, that night, I felt as if we were in sync and we were meant to do this.  

Two more shots of Jack arrived at our table and we swallowed them without mercy.

I have to pee, he said
Yeah, I replied

And Hermes went to the toilet. And I sat there, waiting and staring at my phone waiting for someone to ring, text or something.

I'm so empty
You're all I'm thinking about, about
Oh oh, about, about
Oh oh oh, about, about
Oh oh oh, about, about

I'm so empty sang Shirley Manson, She sang until her voice faded away and her next streaming single hit the sound system.

I sat there and sipped on my beer. I played candy crush and liked some shitty pictures on Instagram. I even endorsed some shitty abilities of people on LinkedIn.

I sat there for some time. A new beer soon appeared on  my table. Shirley Manson has stopped singing long ago. And there I had drunk a lot of beer. So I decided to hit the toilets and release the pressure. 

I stood up and tried my best to walk straight. I didn't want people to know that I was feeling tipsy and that I couldn't handle my alcohol. I made it to the entrance door. Then I continued to the toilets.

I pushed the door open and walked in. I looked around and the place was empty. Nobody was there. All the doors to the toilet were open. I was all alone in there. 

I couldn't hold it any longer so I jumped to the urinals and unzipped my pants.

And as I was doing my business I saw it.

On the wall mosaic. A pink square. Amid the rest of them all. And I remembered Hermes saying that the one pink square had been calling him out.

I finished pissing. I shook my penis. My friend was gone.



Coldwell
8.6.2016









Saturday, January 9, 2016

Pissing In The Office

I ran into the toilet. I had drunk the previous night. I was fucking stressed, so I drowned myself in red wine, even though I knew I would wake up horny. I drained the bottle out. I had a few shots of whiskey and some other of jagermeister. All I needed was to forget what had happened at work that day.

My boss was a bitch and I couldn't´t do anything about it but to swallow my pride and drink to forget. She was a selfish cunt and she knew it. We all did.

All I could ever amount to do was to kill her in my fantasies. Of course I would never end another human being´s life, but only in my wildest dreams she would meet her maker.

I was from America, the continent, no the country, so really there was nothing I could do to end her miserable life but to pray that she would grow a heart, and a brain, and a soul. 

I would find out years later that destiny had something in store for her, but back then all I wanted for her was to die a slow and painful death.

I had woken up to the 5:30 a.m. alarm clock and rushed toward the steamy shower to help myself disguise the stench of alcohol coming out of morning meat suit.

After the morning coffee and my morning song, to help me go through the day, I arrived at work. I dreaded to meet my boss face to face. She had always something nasty to say to me like: oh you´re so short, like a midget, or: oh you´re so ugly like my mother.

I always tried to avoid meeting her. But that day I didn´t even have to try. She was not anywhere to be seen. So, I walked straight into my office.

I did everything what I had to do on that day. I emailed my clients. I called them. I smiled and laughed.

She was not there.

She must be ill, I thought. Fucking Bitch, She was sick and she didn´t let us know. She always broke protocol.

It didn´t matter, I was hungover and I had diarrhea, so I had to go to the toilet. God damn the red wine!

As I was sitting there, minding my own business, until I hear them.

Shut the fuck up! A random guy said.
I won´t say anything, my boss cried.
You fucked us so much already, he said.
Agh...her voice was muffled, as if her mouth had been violently covered.


Another manly voice said: You have been so nasty to me. All I wanted was your love, and all I got was your most horrible side.

I nodded. I knew what he was talking about.

He went on to call her several things.

I sat there in the small cubicle. I sat there until all the raucous had ended. And she was gone.

Thank God, I thought. The most negative person I had ever met had left the building and I was happy.



Hermes Coldwell
10.01.2016






Friday, October 30, 2015

Don't Hold The Wall

It was a rainy night. A rainy Friday night. And as usual I met with my friends. Out for beer we went. I have never cared too much for the kind of place I go as long as the company brings something that loneliness cannot just give you. A good company is a good company in heaven and in hell.

It was 8 in the night. I was ready for drinking the night away. I was ready to create new moments and recall old stories. I was ready and so were all of my friends.

We met under the clock, near the tram stop. Quick smoked our cigarettes and teased each other in our own very sarcastic ways. Marketa had a bottle of white wine with her. She offered us to sip on it while we walked towards the stop. I took several hits despite the fact of having a strange dislike for white wine. It was 2009 and some of us talked about the summer hits. The new, the good and the bad.

Music talks were great when Marketa was around. She loved the Killers. In fact she loved a song by The Killers. I liked the band so we often played them on the jukebox. She also liked Oasis. Not just one song, but all of them. Probably the biggest fan of Oasis that I had ever met.

We were about 15 people. A cluster of eagerness and fading youth heading to a new place. As long as they had a jukebox and good beer the night would unroll nicely and easily.

We continued to drink from Marketa's sweet little bottle of wine while we were on the tram. And soon we were there. Magda and Erik rushed towards the door and we followed.

We entered a placed called The Cop Bar. I can assure you that all I was expecting was a place full of barflies and lowlife cops and maybe a couple of toothless hookers, but to my surprise and everyone else's the crowd was somewhat similar to us.

One beer, shouted Marketa.
One for me, said Erik.
I want a glass of wine, said Magda.

The rest of us ordered beer, like the good guys we were. The night had officially begun.

As we drank beer, shots and wine, Marketa would stand up, walk to the jukebox and insert a coin to continue playing her favorite Oasis song. It was about 10 pm and the I had begun feeling the booze in my system. I wanted to pee. So I excused myself and headed to the toilets of The Cop Bar. The toilet was tiny. It consisted of a sink, a urinal and a toilet seat. The urinal was being pissed on by some guy who in order to keep balance had leaned against his arm which was resting on the wall.

I then walked towards the toilet only to hear a warning from the pissing guy next to me.

I hate pissing in the urinal, he said
Hmmm right, I sighed
I said I hate pissing in the urinal, he mumbled again, they make them wrong and when I pee, my shoes get splashed with piss.
That is why you are leaning over the wall?, I asked 
Nah, I am drunk and I pissed all over my pants, he said
Oh, well, you can always tell them you were washing your hands and the water pressure was to much that you got all wet.
That's a good one, I will use it next time, the guy zipped up and left the room.

Poor guy, I thought, he was too drunk that he pissed himself. I have to ask the guys if they have ever pissed themselves. I laughed inside silently. I shook my cock. Concealed it inside my boxers and zipped up. I had to wash my hands, not like that guy before me, what a dirty dude. I stood in front of the sink, I opened the faucet and the water came out stronger than I had thought splashing all over my pants. Yes, now it looked like I had pissed my pants, just like the other dude had. Karma works in mysterious ways, I thought.






Coldwell
30.10.2015





.

Friday, October 9, 2015

I'm Lost Without You

"And the world spins by 
With everybody moaning 
Pissing, bitching and everyone is shitting 
On their friends 
On their love 
On their oaths 
On their honor 
On their graves 
On their mouths 
And their words say nothing"

Shirley Manson sang while I silently observed the rest of the people sitting round me. 

Yes, they knew I was there, yet nobody really cared and I took advantage of my time there to space off. I had had a tough week but nobody cared. They all were immersed into what they thought was better, more interesting, more alive. I continued to mend the holes in my mind after a hectic week in real life.

"I'm not like them
But I can pretend
The sun is gone
But I have a light
The day is done
But I'm having fun
I think I'm dumb
Maybe just happy"


I never really liked Kurt, but on that day I had to fully agree with him and his dull rhymes and lullabies. I had to get out of there and get fucking drunk. I needed to do something. And I needed to do it fast.

The dark night outside called me. I walked across the main square. I walked and dreamed I was happy. I dreamed I was real. I had been drinking a lot. I was fucking drunk. I took my phone out and began recording what I would be later called as the Night Journey.

All I wanted was to get away from this all. I wanted to disappear. And I did. And as I walked towards home, I got a call.

My phone began ringing. I picked up. 

Hey, how's it going. The voice said
It's going well, I just need to pee
Sure, do your thing, the voice replied
Yes, I will pee and I will go home
Sure, whatever you need to do, please do
Well, it doesn't matter, I can pee and do whatever I want
Yes, you can
You cannot tell me what to do, I fired back
Of course not, the voice said
All I want is to pee and go home
Of course
And I don't want to know who you are, I said in a serious way
Well that is already top late
We are home, the voice said.





Hrms Coldwell
9.10.2015


.






Friday, May 15, 2015

Pissing

It was Friday afternoon. The typical end-of-the-week time when people get ready to kill the stress and drown the voids in their soul with cheap tequila and BMW shots. Yes, another Friday afternoon to kill the time away and feel like we have become more than what our fathers said we would.

A day in which who you have grown to become doesn't really matter. As you carefully select the crowd you want to hang out with and the place that will serve as a background to your faceless selfies and to your faceless selves.

Goddamned Fridays, I hated them. I hated my friends. They lied, The were fake. But on Fridays I am ready to just get wasted. So I don't really care who I am with. 

I am the one who puts together the parties. The one who organizes the binge. The one who calls and twits everyone not to miss the drowning.

The drowning, that's what I call our Fridays together. The drowning has been happening since I arrived in this city. Almost 9 years ago. That's quite a lot of drowning and pretend. But it's Friday and no one cares. 

I am the master DJ, the king of the booze and the prince of self mutilation and black humor jokes. Like a Hollywood voice over, I always enjoyed saying what the others were thinking. Until last Friday, when I discovered one of them had been pretending to be my friend just to get close to me.
Just to see if my good life could rub off on her.

It felt like a knife carving its way into my heart. Like a check with insufficient funds. It hurt a lot.

"Hey",out of nowhere she said to me, "wanna go somewhere more private?", she asked.
"Sure", I replied, "I just need to go to the men's room. You piss the shit out of me."





Dick Pound
15.5.2015