Monkey Brains
This story is a deleted excerpt from my upcoming novel, Desolation E-Girl. You can pre-order it on Amazon, Louria Books, and Barnes and Noble. Releasing in September 2026.
Today I want to down a flask full of whiskey and barrel down the interstate at 120 mph. I want to self-destruct every single one of my cells into oblivion. There is a rapid whipping wind sweeping over the high desert today, stirring up the dirt and tearing the fences down. An Omen. I feel the Omen inside of me. The internal dust is being blown about, the particles are clouding my thoughts, my eyes, my vision. I cannot see. I want to blow myself up into a thousand tiny pieces, become ashes to ashes at last and mix into the dust to dust scattering over the valley. I hate all of these nonbinary queers in the coffee shop with their mullets and their topknots, their acne-prone skin and their high-rise Levi 501s. I wonder if they know I’m an internet fascist.
I am not fat, I am fertile. I am not ugly, I am vintage. I am not strange looking, I am unique. No other girl in the world looks like me. No other girl in the world has my nose, my underbite, my prominent Neanderthal chin. My face is the anti-Instagram face. My face is the antidote to plastique aesthetique. My face reminds people that they were born of monkeys, that we have monkey brains, that we are instinctual, disgusting animals and we die covered in our own excrement. My face is a reminder that we are meant to be living in mud huts, burying the innards of the boar that the tribesmen slaughtered earlier that afternoon into a hole in the ground instead of sitting on our laptops in the queer nonbinary café. I am not impulsive or irresponsible, I operate based on pure instinct. I am an animal. I am the callback to Homo sapiens. I do not have a digital spirit harboring my physical body, my spirit is just operating on a different plane than that of the low-vibrational nonbinary queers in this coffee shop. Low-vibrational people are invisible to me. I do not have a weak spirit, I am rich in spirit. Everyone else is poor in spirit. We are not all meant to reach the top of the pyramid of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, but I am a chosen one in the ascendency of self-actualization. I am not chronically online, I am an on-call thought engineer for the collective consciousness. I am employed by the Network. As the Network Vessel, it is my duty to dispense universal consciousness at all hours of the day. I am the Girlboss of the etheric realm. I feel better now.
