I’m afraid of men who look me in the eye. I steer clear and think of the things I’d like to do to them, when I can get the better of them in the dark. I use blunt things to pummel them to sleep. I suck out those eyes and eat them like oysters. I feel them looking at my insides, the oyster eyes, and I wonder where the light comes from, the light they use to see every inside inch of me. I watch the eyeless heads as their eyes watch my stomach churn from the inside. Each of these eyes I shit into a bowl. I take a picture and put it on my blog. I do this every day because I carry the collective delusion: if it came from me it must be worth something.
I have eighty-four followers, mostly acquaintances from my home town.