We Love Pulp

Aborigine

       It started so slowly, just a play to stay. Somewhere warm where they could spend their days. The air became stagnant and he felt unclean. His hair hung greasy and his entire body began to smell obscene, something's happening and it isn't so good. Bottles being smashed in the face of love, mottled flesh under the harsh strip light. Nylon sheets to keep their snug family warm at night. Once it's begun, there's a possibility it cannot be stopped. The thought filled his head with a darkened fog, in the distance: a constant cry – which began to grow louder as each year passed by. The days get longer, all his thoughts cloud up and he starts to drink. At night he spewed his stomach into the kitchen sink, uncontrollably paranoid all of the time.
He told his children 'they should have respect', he told his wife that she's a 'nervous wreck'. He hated his wife, and he hated them all.
Couldn't be bothered when it's all the same, 'if left long enough it'll go away' he began to reassure himself it was just a phase that would pass. Nothing more than a slight hurricane. In the meantime, stomach churns and turns into fat. She tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen. He can't have that. "She's only jealous, and she's telling lies", the agonising voice in his head reminded him. Stood naked in his flesh disguise – it took him months to get her into bed – when he'd got her he just wanted her dead. She desired excitement, and she needed romance; all she got were dirty underpants. "Stupid animal that can't know why, something's wrong so someone has to die." The voice hushed in and out throughout his head, gushing all of the decency that had ever existed in its embodiment. The wind began to blow, and the rain toppled down. He sent his family on a trip to town, despite the plan he had brewing. "Something's wrong, so someone has to die." He saw them die in a burning wreck, saw them burn and smoked a cigarette. He hated his wife, and he hated them all.
He knew he was finished, but he couldn't stop now. He wanted to end it, but he couldn't see how. It was all in pieces, all thrown away. Oh God no, he's not ugly – he just looks that way. And he wanted some quiet, and he needed it now. But the scream he'd started had become far too loud, yet he still pretended that he was doing it, but just for now. His day would come, he'd lose it all somehow. Killing time until his ship arrived, been dead ten years but he was still alive. The time was wasted – and the ship has sunk. But he hadn't noticed and he came home drunk, he was just dead weight, he'd never leave the ground. He tried to stand but he kept falling down. Plus, it's hard to know; he doesn't count for much. He wasn't a has-been, just a never-was. He hated his wife, he hated them all.

WOOHOOOO, THATS ONE OF MY FAVOURITE PULP SONGS LIKE EVER :DDD
—Alec <33