pervert.e-mail
issue 10 + 31st May 26
+ If I were a maid I would get tortured crazy style…
When I clean my house and everyone else is in bed I think I am a maid. I am on my hands and knees, rubbing off stains with my spit. I hand clean every-single dish. When I was in my height of my roommate hating days, I would think that I am her maid and she is my evil punishing ungrateful master. Now she is moving out and I thought I’d be free of cleaning constantly but I have become to realise that I may be the problem.
I wake up at 4am. Sometimes I am fully naked. Other times I am half naked. I feed my cat and then I take multiple swigs of what is out. Usually this is lidl brand cola.
Sometimes I leave the top part of the cat food packet on the floor, then I go back to bed.
I never really thought I would be a writer. I left school at 14/15 and have never been good at anything “academic”. Now there are 50+ of you and I guess I am a writer. I always thought writers had something important to say. One of my friends girlfriends is a real writer with a philosophy degree and and a substack where each issue has a bibliography. I’m not sure if I have anything important to say. I guess if I won a really big award and I was on a stage I would say “follow your dreams” or “be yourself”. Or something else simple like that.
This week I did acid in the park. When I was 17 I’d do it semi-regularly and writhe in bed. Instead of writhing in bed I was mostly in the park but at some point I went home and I did in fact have to writhe in bed. I thought about myself a lot, as one does when incredibly high on drugs. I have come to realise that I have never fully committed to living. And that I’d like to have skin that is as smooth as a mangos skin and be beautiful.
If I were a maid I would be pock marked and haggard. My master would play weird tricks on me and I be made to pretend to be a statue sometimes. They would put cutlery in my holes and I would become a cutlery drawer. The house my master lives in would be a gigantic english manor, my master would have children that are all off at art school. They do not need jobs or need to work hard because their parent – my master is rich. They do not know fear. When they come back for the summer they all go off the grand places like South Africa and somewhere in Asia. I am not allowed to speak on how I feel about white people in South Africa or else my master will tickle me until I pee myself.
Sometimes my master would get mad at me and make me clean the entire manor with my tongue. I would crawl on all fours and spend a week or so licking all the dust off the skirting boards. I would always clean naked, as I would be a rabbit and my master would be a rabbit. And rabbits do not wear clothes.
Inside the estate of the manor, there is a big maze. Every Friday I would be let free within the maze. If I do not find my way out by 6pm I do not get dinner that day. But as a maid I do not think I would be getting good dinners. I would get the half eaten left overs from my master and his friends. Half chewed slop that has been left out all day. I like to run, I run in a straight line as fast as possible. I’d have thought about running straight through the hedges but my master would be on a very very tall chair and would shoot me with a bb gun if I did that.
Within the kitchen my master would leave dirt on the counter. Sometimes cups of yogurt that would be left out for weeks on end. The yoghurt would crust up and start to smell pungent and acidic. I of course am not allowed to instantly clean it, and after my wait I have to clean it all out with my tongue. I am not allowed to use dish-soap or sponges.
