Matteus Huvaere
Its pronounced ‘Huvaere’
I Know that there is something wrong with me. Im not sure what thing it is but maybe if I try hard enough I can beat it.
I’m a delinquent and a juvenile and a concussion addict. I've been hungry my whole life and I've sucked enough water from the tap to make my belly explode.
I remember what it felt like to wear my football pads. And I remember the taste of the plastic of my school ID that my mom had to pay to replace four times in a year. I know what dirt tastes like. I look around and recognize that most of these people have never even licked a rock. They've never scraped their knuckles. Their middle knuckle isn't bigger and more calloused than the others.
My brain has been hit hard enough to swell and press against my skull more times than I can remember. Getting hit in the face doesn’t really hurt but getting hit in the body really really does. Before my first kickboxing match I fantasized about being knocked out. Being made unalive for a moment and getting to see the other side of the hill.
My mom has told me that I have a problem with authority. I believe that If you look down upon me like a dog I will behave like a dog. I want to feel proud. I don’t want to be a loser anymore. Feels like I’ve been one forever.
If I wrap my knuckles and I bite my tongue and I hurt someone really really fucking bad will you kiss my swollen cheek tomorrow? If I show you that I am the man you want will you cradle my rotted brain?
* know what its like to hate the ****** **** ******** ** take care of ***. * know **** *** **** ** wish ******* *** dead. * **** ***** *** **** ** watch ** *** get ******* in the face. * ******** **** ** sounds like.
* *** ** old man recently. *** I was grown up. *** * ***** *** up and down *** * *******, ‘I could **** you now. *** *** ***** never stop me.’
*** **** * didnt look *** ** *** eyes.
It never goes away.
No matter *** strong.
** ****** *** **** fights.
** ****** grown up.
Maybe once I have enough brain damage i’ll forget. And it wont bother me so much anymore.
The present is a particle super position. The future is rapidly assembling and the past dissassembling.
When I go too long without hearing your voice it starts to feel like something is wrong with me. And when I do hear it again I realize I’ve been sick my whole life and it wasnt until the moment you touched me again that I ever felt ok.
My chest burns with desire. I want so badly.
The mere thought of you is an inferno that razes my being. Strips away every part of me until only the tender bits remain.
Whatever you would like. The thought is enough.
Everyone around you is an invisible entity. Corporeality is a myth. Worship the divine and benevelont algorithm as the keeper of your incarnation. Depersonalization like the change in my pocket.
My next performance piece is a social terrorist one. A Live 20v1. Every woman that enters I have approach me and ask them questions: “What do you bring to the table”
“Whats your toxic trait”
“Do a 360 for me” “What are you cooking me on our first date”
“What can I touch” “You’re drunk at the club, who’s the first person you’re calling”
Depending on their answers I declare wether they can remain in the space or wether they have to leave. It doesnt matter who they are or who they are with. I am mumbling and counting through a large amount of cash the entire time. “Do a 360 for me” “What are you cooking me on our first date”
“What can I touch” “You’re drunk at the club, who’s the first person you’re calling”
My next action is a Humiliation Ritual.
Im pretty much done with this art shit anyways
I hold all my meetings at the Casino. A meditation on loneliness.
There are temples of alienation all around us. The age of destruction worship at the shrine. Wash the feet of the king of shame. Tell him how you have all that you deserve and all that you do not have you do not deserve. Tell him how you have earned all your pain. Show him the cuts on your teeth.
I can no longer rage against this reality of destruction. But I have to I dont know how to do anything else. There is plastic in my brain and in my balls. I wrap my head in tin foil and duct tape to sleep ok. I dont even know how I am supposed to feel.
Every morning I pray to Ogun, the god of Iron and war. I ask him not to protect me but to make my spirit like his. And whatever may happen, let that be the right thing.
My sword has caught on the gristle of flesh. I have choked on smoke and blood. I walk with a limp. I return home with scars on my hands and my feet.
You think you know better than me everyone knows better than me.
You’re not special.
Crucifixion of the Techno-Capital Messiah
The last human being
The first not human
Baptized through sensory content
holes in my brain
Talk to me soft. Touch me like a kiss. Hold me like I hold you. Make me feel different inside.
Running with a death whistle in my mouth. Waking up the whole neighborhood.
I dont know how to function any other way. This is the only way i’ve ever known how to be. And if you do know don’t tell me.
Try and try and try over again to figure it out and it just doesn’t seem to make sense. Something is not registering. I must be lacking something fundamental that makes you human. I dont have any developmental disabilities. I wasn’t on ssri’s when I was 13 Or 16 or 19. I’ve never talked to a therapist and I’ve never been diagnosed with anything. My body is not addicted to any chemical or medication. I don’t abuse my body on purpose even subconciously. I don’t believe I deserve to be in pain even subconciously. I am still a person.
If you’re not working on your swing you’re wasting time. Hit the fucking ball.