Look at that beautiful weather outside. It's going to rain somewhere and hopefully it here. Rain rain lead astray the putrid souls who all must pay, drown them in your righteous flood, soak the soil in their blood. Ahhh, I miss sunday school sometimes. Not really though that shit was crippling to young minds. Everything that is packaged as fun seems like it to a kid, but the seeds planted in that room germinated into some gnarly fucking shit that sent me on many internalized wild goose chases and terrifying thoughts. There is a terrible lack of acknowledgement that the individual person could be wrong about at least half the shit they hold to be true in their life. And even if some of the things you believe are true, what matters more is how you express yourself using your own truths as a guide. 10 times out of 10 I will take the good hearted (non prostletyzing) Christian over a conceited and self assured atheist. Give me the Muslim with a love for puns before a humorless professor of any of the serious sciences. I do owe a great deal of mental calmness to one Dick Dawkins but I don't think I'd ever find myself in want of his company. Especially after hearing that he was on Twitter trying to categorize rape. That is an overly scientific mind right there. Where are the echoes of common sense or understanding that should keep a person from using his position to do something as silly, pointless and genuinely damaging? Would Hitch have done such a thing? Well, he say that women weren't funny, even writing a column or two about the subject. I don't recall many of the points he made, I think he might've said soemthing along the lines of "on the whole, comparitively, women aren't as funny as men," but even if one would concede that point the cause of the disparity has more to do with the way our cultures shape the minds of young girls and women. Better to be pretty than to see the silliness in everything. My god, how many delightful women have been crippled by this kind of thinking.
Dear reader, whoever you are, understand that humor is paramont in this world. I'm going to contemplate more about it later but I cannot find any line of reasoning where humor wouldn't come out as the most important aspect of being a human. So much goodness stems from it even though a lot of people's humor develops as a result of some sort of shittiness or even trauma. Rant rant rant. I am 30 and am now in a position to lecture. Hear me, hear me.
And now I climb nback into my thoughts and wonder, should I have kept drawing? No, that thought doesn't matter, here's a better thought, should I start drawing again? I haven't done it in years, and the way my mind works is if it's not in some way good or even compotent I should throw it away. But what would I draw? I think the last series of things I drew were hyper sexualized comic book characters. Eighty years later and they're still drawing them that way. It sells books though, I guess, but it's a goddamn cop out you lazy fucks. How dare you have no pride in what you do. How dare you have none of the drive to stand up to your fucking know nothing bosses and demand that a new way be paved in regards to portraying super powered fuckfaces. I have half a mind to actually do something about my outrage rather than pointing out and condemning the offense whenever and wherever I see it through a means of howling and pointing.
Then a voice whispers to me, "or you could lead by example." Sorry, the voice is new and knows nothing of my insane laziness or treacherously fickle self confidence. Wait… I thought I took care of those problems… Fuck me I did. Why don't I then? Wait, why am I saying all this here? Shhhhh.
In the meantime I still have room for more words. The sun is coming out, breaking up the party, fucking jerk. Burning up all my water vapor friends chilling out in the sky trying to share themselves with our skins and soil. Sometimes when I watch the sun break up weakened clouds I imagine it bellowing with deep and frightening laughter. The clouds, so young, so idealistic, can do nothing but vaporize in the presence of this celestial maniac. Where are the hero clouds? Where are those strong enough to stand before the onslaught of the sun and become so heavy with growth that they can only share it with the poor flightless souls below. If you even think about arguing the importance of the sun in the rain cycle I will drive an ice pick into your fucking heart. Do not tread on my fun.
My back hurts from sitting. It could be worse, it could be hurting again from something terrible I've done, but really I have kept my nose clean in the "bad shit" department for some time. It's all objective though, some could argue that my not having written a new bible is "some bad shit." Objectivity… you fucking bleached blond bastard. I mean as long as we're assigning human attributes to concepts why not give objectivity the boring white surfer look. You wouldn't see it coming would you? You'd think it would be a boring white scientist or something. Wrong. Completely wrong.
When I grow up I want to be happy. That's what I've should've been saying all along. Better late than never though. Does it matter how much time you've wasted as long as you get to the right place eventually? I wonder. Arguments could be made from both sides but in the end I'm certain that as long as you get there, it doesn't matter how late you were. The clouds are coming back though. Would this be a good time to cruise? To jet? To make like a tree and leaf? That one doesn't make sense, or maybe I'm trying to make too much sense. That's one of those things they don't teach you to look out for in school, making too much goddamned fucking sense. It's not fun, and fun as we all know is the most important thing to seek once your biological needs have been met. After you eat, drink, sleep and rest, you think of fun things to do in order to pass the time before the next disaster comes and threatens your entire world. What the fuck am I even talking about. I would read all of this again and see if it'd be worth posting butI think I'm going to post it anyhow and just hope for the best. Eventually I'll compose some sort of greatest hits or get my groove back and bury this entry beneath an ocean of finely worded bullshit. Ahh I can't wait, it'll be fantastic.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Jumbei Jubah Go?
The first thing I remember watching on the first day of the Year of the Bloated Phoenix was the first few seconds of a Katt Williams special where he espoused something very important sounding. It was enough motivation for me and I paused it and set off for the new ritual of the morning walk, which progresses into the afternoon scorched Earth firey sunwalk. I'm trying not to do it bare footed by god dammit I'm just too bad ass not to.
How dare you bring up my near death experience from bleeding out cause of walking for hours on concrete bare footed. That was a fluke.
What is a fluke? What is the entymology of that word? It sounds fucking incredible. Fluke. What a marvelous word. It makes me think of some sort of whimsical cetacean who gets into all kinds of mischief by waving at whale watching groups. Certainly there are sociopathic people in whale watching groups I mean who the fuck would even pay for something like that. One of those untrustworthy bastards would see this carefree sea mammal and become overwhelmed with murder lust, just like I was the first time I saw the Bucky's mascot. For those of you with no education, Bucky's is a gas station chain in certain parts of Texas that excel at having amazing bathrooms and punny billboards up and down the interstate. The mascot is a cartoon beaver wearing an expression that forces the body to mimic the implied "GAWRSH" that the beaver is obviously expressing.
Anyways, something I love about certain women is when they let their guard down and behave completely free of fear of criticism or critique or unwanted advances. There was a girl at town earlier who was walking with an incredible amount of deflective body language going on. Then she walked to a row of books set up on the sidewalk of the town square and she noticed something that completely disarmed her. Whatever it was caused her to express visible curiosity and excitement and it was beautiful to behold. Know that the world I live in right now makes it hard for many women to be completely open out in the open for fear of all kinds of unwanted notice. This supress so much beautiful human expression I can't even finish the sente...
No, shake it off. You're not here to succumb, you're here to excel! You are a production machine now, in that you actually produce now. So, a very poorly functioning production machine, but at least you're margins are in the green now. Slightly green. Last days of dying grass green. But green.
Today is Beyonce's birthday and as a gift to Queen Bey I think I'm going to download her entire discography. Or maybe not. Most would disagree with me but I feel like I wouldn't love every single one of her songs.
Jagged structure and skipping thoughts. That's how I write. You can imagine some muttering shitsack looking back and forth going "HUH?!" and "WAH?!" This is how my words look on the page. Editors have been known to say to their assistants, "burn it all, everything he sent, but give him a gift card or a loaf of bread or something… If he moves anywhere close to this area we need to notify the police." I hope there are no editors named Todd or Skyler. I mean my name is pretty shitty but at least it doesn't ooze off the page due to a weakness so intense that the letters arranged in that way can't even sustain themselves on the page.
Hey, did you know human breasts can do something akin to experiencing an erection? Yes, they can swell momentarily during arousal. The reason I know this is because I have conducted many experiments in the field of breasts. It was my favorite subject in middle school and I was top in my field, tip top. It's a very well rounded field of study. The perks are glorious, I am milking it for all its worth. God I'm despicable. I'm not sure what for though, the subject of the puns or the puns themselves or both. Am I eligible now for a special kind of hell? Would it be named after me? I think I could endure if that were the case.
Hypothetical situation: Two groups of horrible people, passive aggressives and entitled shitbags have congregated in great numbers on opposite sides of a valley who's physical properties ensure that a nuclear explosion could be easily concealed. You have one nuke. What story do you give each camp to make them congele in the center in order to obliterate them both? Do you draw a huge X in the middle of the valley and assure everyone in it that there is gold mere inches from the surface? Do you assemble scarecrows of various celebrities to draw them close for autographs? You don't have the manpower to simply corral them into the killzone. How do you accomplish your pure and holy task?
If god is omnipotent and we are made in his image why do some people need viagra?
I know some women have L.A. faces or Oakland booties but what city would have the best feet? Or the best arms? Dayton forearms and a Reno ribcage. I know a girl with Paris eyes. Actually I've heard shitty things about Paris. Why are there no tall buildings in Paris? Because the ground is easily surrendered. Wonk wonk wonnnk. If any French people are reading, I kid. I understand that the French are one of the most successful militaries the world has ever seen… well, I suppose some French people I wouldn't give a shit about offending. Also I feel like that joke probably exists already or will be stolen without attribution from this very online word depository. C'est la vie. I'm not particularly worried about being plagiarized. I can keep up this quality of work indefinitely. That sentence has just sent several people into deep depressions and for that I am sorry.
How dare you bring up my near death experience from bleeding out cause of walking for hours on concrete bare footed. That was a fluke.
What is a fluke? What is the entymology of that word? It sounds fucking incredible. Fluke. What a marvelous word. It makes me think of some sort of whimsical cetacean who gets into all kinds of mischief by waving at whale watching groups. Certainly there are sociopathic people in whale watching groups I mean who the fuck would even pay for something like that. One of those untrustworthy bastards would see this carefree sea mammal and become overwhelmed with murder lust, just like I was the first time I saw the Bucky's mascot. For those of you with no education, Bucky's is a gas station chain in certain parts of Texas that excel at having amazing bathrooms and punny billboards up and down the interstate. The mascot is a cartoon beaver wearing an expression that forces the body to mimic the implied "GAWRSH" that the beaver is obviously expressing.
Anyways, something I love about certain women is when they let their guard down and behave completely free of fear of criticism or critique or unwanted advances. There was a girl at town earlier who was walking with an incredible amount of deflective body language going on. Then she walked to a row of books set up on the sidewalk of the town square and she noticed something that completely disarmed her. Whatever it was caused her to express visible curiosity and excitement and it was beautiful to behold. Know that the world I live in right now makes it hard for many women to be completely open out in the open for fear of all kinds of unwanted notice. This supress so much beautiful human expression I can't even finish the sente...
No, shake it off. You're not here to succumb, you're here to excel! You are a production machine now, in that you actually produce now. So, a very poorly functioning production machine, but at least you're margins are in the green now. Slightly green. Last days of dying grass green. But green.
Today is Beyonce's birthday and as a gift to Queen Bey I think I'm going to download her entire discography. Or maybe not. Most would disagree with me but I feel like I wouldn't love every single one of her songs.
Jagged structure and skipping thoughts. That's how I write. You can imagine some muttering shitsack looking back and forth going "HUH?!" and "WAH?!" This is how my words look on the page. Editors have been known to say to their assistants, "burn it all, everything he sent, but give him a gift card or a loaf of bread or something… If he moves anywhere close to this area we need to notify the police." I hope there are no editors named Todd or Skyler. I mean my name is pretty shitty but at least it doesn't ooze off the page due to a weakness so intense that the letters arranged in that way can't even sustain themselves on the page.
Hey, did you know human breasts can do something akin to experiencing an erection? Yes, they can swell momentarily during arousal. The reason I know this is because I have conducted many experiments in the field of breasts. It was my favorite subject in middle school and I was top in my field, tip top. It's a very well rounded field of study. The perks are glorious, I am milking it for all its worth. God I'm despicable. I'm not sure what for though, the subject of the puns or the puns themselves or both. Am I eligible now for a special kind of hell? Would it be named after me? I think I could endure if that were the case.
Hypothetical situation: Two groups of horrible people, passive aggressives and entitled shitbags have congregated in great numbers on opposite sides of a valley who's physical properties ensure that a nuclear explosion could be easily concealed. You have one nuke. What story do you give each camp to make them congele in the center in order to obliterate them both? Do you draw a huge X in the middle of the valley and assure everyone in it that there is gold mere inches from the surface? Do you assemble scarecrows of various celebrities to draw them close for autographs? You don't have the manpower to simply corral them into the killzone. How do you accomplish your pure and holy task?
If god is omnipotent and we are made in his image why do some people need viagra?
I know some women have L.A. faces or Oakland booties but what city would have the best feet? Or the best arms? Dayton forearms and a Reno ribcage. I know a girl with Paris eyes. Actually I've heard shitty things about Paris. Why are there no tall buildings in Paris? Because the ground is easily surrendered. Wonk wonk wonnnk. If any French people are reading, I kid. I understand that the French are one of the most successful militaries the world has ever seen… well, I suppose some French people I wouldn't give a shit about offending. Also I feel like that joke probably exists already or will be stolen without attribution from this very online word depository. C'est la vie. I'm not particularly worried about being plagiarized. I can keep up this quality of work indefinitely. That sentence has just sent several people into deep depressions and for that I am sorry.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
I'm the woulda, shoulda and coulda and if I'm not even that yet then I'm on the fast track to there. There. Right fucking there with all the other human lumber in the eternal pyre. Fuck. Fucking all of everything... especially fuck this cruel realization and the weakness in my soul that requires any motivation on my part to require monumental momentum. God dammit why cant I keep the eye on the prize. Why does the prize have eyes for those other guys. This is the exact moment that I could kill another human being without hesitation.
Right now I will eat a fucking optimist.
Right now I will eat a fucking optimist.
Saturday, August 9, 2014
Hair Flippin
08-08-2014 16:15 Holy hell I can almost see the words I'm typing. Those with fully functional eyes won't be able to sympathize with my exaltation, fuck them.
So, I've let another week slip by. There's nothing to say about that I think. This doesn't even have to be a journal entry, though I do need to write some sort of entry before too long, as well as a letter to Merys. I also need to get my arms going again. I'm weak and sore from stasis.
The chair I'm sitting in is moderately nice. Fairly nice. I wouldn't kill anyone for it unless they were a particularly horrifying person and those who were oppressed would reward me with a chair for their assassination. I wonder, what is the most bourgeois gift has ever been given in exchange for murder? I'd like to think it would be some sort of gift card or coupons. Actually, paying anyone anything besides cash for a murder seems potent with hilarity.
"I will give you a Dodge Dart in exchange for my husband's head."
There's a pair of children on the other side of the room I'm in playing and I don't hate them. I've really grown up I think. I wonder if anyone else I used to know has changed in this way. So many of them were motivated by the pursuit of "lulz" Have any of them developed themselves? What of empathy Bastard Joe? Have you been changed by any sort of suffering into second guessing your position on dead baby jokes? If not, thne should I hate Bastard Joe and the rest of the those terrible souls? What would I have thought of myself back then. Probably the same as I think of myself now. What would old me have thought of new me? Hell, what will I think of me in several years from now? I hope the answer is god fuck I'm sexy as shit.
What to make of people who masturbates to themselves. You would be staggered by the amount of professionals who do.
Speaking of people, I just took too long a glance at hot mom in the corner. She looks like she could use a massage. Maybe I could offer her one. Pardon me madam, might you fancy a rub down? I fear nothing, bring on your answer.
Then I look to my mp3 player and on it is an image of that girl I'm so into. She's making an adorable face in the photo. I wish I could dive into it and do perverted things with her. Well no, not really. Perversion isn't all it's cracked up to be. It's more like, some sort of condition that has to be addressed with a proper procedure in order to alleviate madness to a point where you are able to function like a goddamn human being. I would love to alleviate all over her and then have a lovely discussion and cuddling.
It's August 8th, 2014 and I'm starting to wonder if there's any Gaza left. Russia has been portrayed recently as being stubborn about the sanctions placed onto it by several countries over the goings on in the Ukraine, but I wonder if we're being portrayed over there as not having any scruples to spare over Israel raping Gaza in front of an international community that is collectively closing the shutters and muttering something about it being "none of our business."
What's that? World events? No time for that now some beautiful young woman just sat across from me and thanks to my peripheral vision I can see her looking over at me. Surely she's not interested in the only other obvious thing in this direction, my 200 dollar Asses laptop. Well maybe she is. Maybe she's a fan of budget computers. An Asus groupie. Yearning for the easily attainable for those with at least a part time job. It would be lovely to have some sort of practical fetish like that. Wait is she still looking at me? Quit distracting me beautiful lady I'm trying to write about a hypothetical fetish you probably don't possess. "I get so fucking hot over canned goods from the Dollar Tree." Yeah you do, fifty cent cans of spaghetti-o's.
I really wish CNN wasn't on the television here. I refuse to forgive them for running a story on their website about how Kim Kardashian writes like James Joyce. The article ended up being fluff about a website that you paste a wall of text into. The site then ignores the actual text and submits to you a random author that the text supposedly resembles in cadence and style. Fuck CNN. Fuck the people on it. Do you hear me Wolf Blitzer? I hope your beard blooms with poisonous mold. Richard Dreyfous looking motherfucker.
Wow there is something about the girl across from me. Some sort of energy that I can detect. Interest can be a powerful aphrodisiac but there's something else in the mix here… Can I really trust my brain in moments like this? It's burned me too many times. Oh god she's playing with her hair. You know what would be funny right now, if I shit myself. She'd assume she had some sort of tangible power over men, and I would add the incident onto the pile of memories I'll probably end up forgetting until some incidental happening makes me recall the moment. Happens all the time.
THE KEYWORD IS CHRISTIAN! A man leaving this office saw the word "Christians" on the screen and had to stop to look for about fifteen seconds. "NOT ON MY WATCH" was the look he had. Onward christian soldier, go back to your Tundra, there's nothing you can do. Those christians are in Iraq and you'll be sorely fucked if anyone thinks you'll lift a finger for them. Then I look up for just a second, still playing with her hair looking over. It's got to be the Asus, budget fetish, and I look like a hobo so she must assume that I know cheap places to do all sorts of fun things.
So, I've let another week slip by. There's nothing to say about that I think. This doesn't even have to be a journal entry, though I do need to write some sort of entry before too long, as well as a letter to Merys. I also need to get my arms going again. I'm weak and sore from stasis.
The chair I'm sitting in is moderately nice. Fairly nice. I wouldn't kill anyone for it unless they were a particularly horrifying person and those who were oppressed would reward me with a chair for their assassination. I wonder, what is the most bourgeois gift has ever been given in exchange for murder? I'd like to think it would be some sort of gift card or coupons. Actually, paying anyone anything besides cash for a murder seems potent with hilarity.
"I will give you a Dodge Dart in exchange for my husband's head."
There's a pair of children on the other side of the room I'm in playing and I don't hate them. I've really grown up I think. I wonder if anyone else I used to know has changed in this way. So many of them were motivated by the pursuit of "lulz" Have any of them developed themselves? What of empathy Bastard Joe? Have you been changed by any sort of suffering into second guessing your position on dead baby jokes? If not, thne should I hate Bastard Joe and the rest of the those terrible souls? What would I have thought of myself back then. Probably the same as I think of myself now. What would old me have thought of new me? Hell, what will I think of me in several years from now? I hope the answer is god fuck I'm sexy as shit.
What to make of people who masturbates to themselves. You would be staggered by the amount of professionals who do.
Speaking of people, I just took too long a glance at hot mom in the corner. She looks like she could use a massage. Maybe I could offer her one. Pardon me madam, might you fancy a rub down? I fear nothing, bring on your answer.
Then I look to my mp3 player and on it is an image of that girl I'm so into. She's making an adorable face in the photo. I wish I could dive into it and do perverted things with her. Well no, not really. Perversion isn't all it's cracked up to be. It's more like, some sort of condition that has to be addressed with a proper procedure in order to alleviate madness to a point where you are able to function like a goddamn human being. I would love to alleviate all over her and then have a lovely discussion and cuddling.
It's August 8th, 2014 and I'm starting to wonder if there's any Gaza left. Russia has been portrayed recently as being stubborn about the sanctions placed onto it by several countries over the goings on in the Ukraine, but I wonder if we're being portrayed over there as not having any scruples to spare over Israel raping Gaza in front of an international community that is collectively closing the shutters and muttering something about it being "none of our business."
What's that? World events? No time for that now some beautiful young woman just sat across from me and thanks to my peripheral vision I can see her looking over at me. Surely she's not interested in the only other obvious thing in this direction, my 200 dollar Asses laptop. Well maybe she is. Maybe she's a fan of budget computers. An Asus groupie. Yearning for the easily attainable for those with at least a part time job. It would be lovely to have some sort of practical fetish like that. Wait is she still looking at me? Quit distracting me beautiful lady I'm trying to write about a hypothetical fetish you probably don't possess. "I get so fucking hot over canned goods from the Dollar Tree." Yeah you do, fifty cent cans of spaghetti-o's.
I really wish CNN wasn't on the television here. I refuse to forgive them for running a story on their website about how Kim Kardashian writes like James Joyce. The article ended up being fluff about a website that you paste a wall of text into. The site then ignores the actual text and submits to you a random author that the text supposedly resembles in cadence and style. Fuck CNN. Fuck the people on it. Do you hear me Wolf Blitzer? I hope your beard blooms with poisonous mold. Richard Dreyfous looking motherfucker.
Wow there is something about the girl across from me. Some sort of energy that I can detect. Interest can be a powerful aphrodisiac but there's something else in the mix here… Can I really trust my brain in moments like this? It's burned me too many times. Oh god she's playing with her hair. You know what would be funny right now, if I shit myself. She'd assume she had some sort of tangible power over men, and I would add the incident onto the pile of memories I'll probably end up forgetting until some incidental happening makes me recall the moment. Happens all the time.
THE KEYWORD IS CHRISTIAN! A man leaving this office saw the word "Christians" on the screen and had to stop to look for about fifteen seconds. "NOT ON MY WATCH" was the look he had. Onward christian soldier, go back to your Tundra, there's nothing you can do. Those christians are in Iraq and you'll be sorely fucked if anyone thinks you'll lift a finger for them. Then I look up for just a second, still playing with her hair looking over. It's got to be the Asus, budget fetish, and I look like a hobo so she must assume that I know cheap places to do all sorts of fun things.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Al Gore Rythms
08-02-2014 17:50 Cue the Social Network soundtrack. Sit here on a laptop in public looking like a deranged homeless man pretending to be a pretentious computer fuck. Also, I think the music while I sit here is impeding my writing. Is it? When it's quiet I seem to write more and write the kinds of things I don't immediately delete. Maybe I should save the music for the brainstorming instead of the actual typing. Let's turn it to something loud and obnoxious and see how that goes.
Hrmm. Nothing obnoxious on this soundtrack. Fuck, I just realized my saying the word soundtrack is putting in motions advertising algorithms. Gears of mechanized and digitized greed start to spin and the word "soundtrack" acts as chum in the waters and here come the sharks.
"Why did he use the word soundtrack?
Does he want to buy something?
Money money money."
You won't get my dollar internet. Dollar internet, there's an idea, I'll be rich. All I have to do is advertise the shit out of my new idea and money somehow will appear in my bank account. Ugh what the fuck am I talking about. I can't get comfortable. Also I don't like how I look as I type. I can see my reflection and I hate how my hands have to converge into a small space in order to use the keyboard. I wish I could have two separate mini keyboards for each hand so I could keep my arms spread and take up more space which is one of the key components to finding a mate. Imagine the joy in a woman's heart when she sees that homeless looking shitbag at the Taco Bell with his arms wide open. Creed begins to play in here mind and it's one of her favorite songs and she loves me for reminding her of things she loves. She's had so much trouble with other people in the past, could I be the one? Wait for a sign my dear, I'm about to give one to you.
When I scratch my nose she surrenders the last of her self control and comes to me. Halfway through my shredded chicken burrito I see her coming and know that look from all the times before. Ever since I had bought that fantastic new 2 piece keyboard I've been causing women to lose their minds. It upped my 'sexy' into the 'xtreme.' More than love she wanted to give me money in appreciation for the keyboard I am proposing. Women will throw money and sex at this product. Take that back to your masters you motherfucking algorithms.
Not even halfway done and I can hear a guy talk about his mother's weight gain. Another gem on female bodybuilders: "That's what I call those girls, steroid girls." Sir, I wish to subscribe to your newsletter, where can I reach you if I wish to send you some money? I don't like this seat. I don't like this posture. What is different now from before when the lightning was well and greased. Also, it may have something to do with the fact that there was a terrified family sitting across from me. They were all using their "don't assault me" eyes to great success. Sometimes I think I should walk up to people to let them know that I'm not going to follow them home and eat them. But then what if I change my mind later, I'd be a terrible person for lying to them like that.
These entries are numerous but seem to lack the explosiveness I felt with some of the older, better ones. As long as I get it done though. Quality will follow quantity because that's how this sort of thing always goes. No, I'm excited for the future though. Really I am. Though I've probably always been excited for the future if you were to read a lot of the shit I never took off the internet.
Earlier in my visit here a stranger shook my hand and introduced himself to me as I was setting up my computer and listening to the Social Network soundtrack. Quick gem from the guy across from me: "Get more epic with it." I wish to fuck you sir. No, this other guy, the one who shook my hand, was very friendly and proper looking but I wonder if he intentionally transmitted some sort of something to me through hand contact… My god… he was well dressed and clean, what if he was an ad man? THE ALGORITHMS! They're working pre-emptively now and I have no defense for that but a suicide attack. Now, having said 'suicide attack,' a completely different set of algorithms are kicking in and tracking these words. Ham and the CIA may be the only people who ever read this post, or maybe the court once the powers that be realize I have no means to defend myself legally and decide to shit into my lungs to prove some kind of point about not using certain words on the internet.
"Let the fisting begin."
And yet more algorithms are set loose.
This entry is awash in zeros and ones trying to sell to me or imprison me or recommend strange sexual fetish forums for me. Did the person who invent the zero ever envision the terrible powers it would one day wield? Did the inventor of the blowtorch ever envision the terrible things it would weld?
I'm going to be a stickler about the thousand words rather than cutting it short. Discipline remember? Of course you do, I've only used that word seventy fucking times the past few days. I think it's going to be important to start writing more boring things. I want to see if my garbage detector can be subdued. Well, obviously it can be, look at the past 900 or so words. It's getting better though, and all to do now is throw these words up into the interpsace and forget they ever happened.
Hrmm. Nothing obnoxious on this soundtrack. Fuck, I just realized my saying the word soundtrack is putting in motions advertising algorithms. Gears of mechanized and digitized greed start to spin and the word "soundtrack" acts as chum in the waters and here come the sharks.
"Why did he use the word soundtrack?
Does he want to buy something?
Money money money."
You won't get my dollar internet. Dollar internet, there's an idea, I'll be rich. All I have to do is advertise the shit out of my new idea and money somehow will appear in my bank account. Ugh what the fuck am I talking about. I can't get comfortable. Also I don't like how I look as I type. I can see my reflection and I hate how my hands have to converge into a small space in order to use the keyboard. I wish I could have two separate mini keyboards for each hand so I could keep my arms spread and take up more space which is one of the key components to finding a mate. Imagine the joy in a woman's heart when she sees that homeless looking shitbag at the Taco Bell with his arms wide open. Creed begins to play in here mind and it's one of her favorite songs and she loves me for reminding her of things she loves. She's had so much trouble with other people in the past, could I be the one? Wait for a sign my dear, I'm about to give one to you.
When I scratch my nose she surrenders the last of her self control and comes to me. Halfway through my shredded chicken burrito I see her coming and know that look from all the times before. Ever since I had bought that fantastic new 2 piece keyboard I've been causing women to lose their minds. It upped my 'sexy' into the 'xtreme.' More than love she wanted to give me money in appreciation for the keyboard I am proposing. Women will throw money and sex at this product. Take that back to your masters you motherfucking algorithms.
Not even halfway done and I can hear a guy talk about his mother's weight gain. Another gem on female bodybuilders: "That's what I call those girls, steroid girls." Sir, I wish to subscribe to your newsletter, where can I reach you if I wish to send you some money? I don't like this seat. I don't like this posture. What is different now from before when the lightning was well and greased. Also, it may have something to do with the fact that there was a terrified family sitting across from me. They were all using their "don't assault me" eyes to great success. Sometimes I think I should walk up to people to let them know that I'm not going to follow them home and eat them. But then what if I change my mind later, I'd be a terrible person for lying to them like that.
These entries are numerous but seem to lack the explosiveness I felt with some of the older, better ones. As long as I get it done though. Quality will follow quantity because that's how this sort of thing always goes. No, I'm excited for the future though. Really I am. Though I've probably always been excited for the future if you were to read a lot of the shit I never took off the internet.
Earlier in my visit here a stranger shook my hand and introduced himself to me as I was setting up my computer and listening to the Social Network soundtrack. Quick gem from the guy across from me: "Get more epic with it." I wish to fuck you sir. No, this other guy, the one who shook my hand, was very friendly and proper looking but I wonder if he intentionally transmitted some sort of something to me through hand contact… My god… he was well dressed and clean, what if he was an ad man? THE ALGORITHMS! They're working pre-emptively now and I have no defense for that but a suicide attack. Now, having said 'suicide attack,' a completely different set of algorithms are kicking in and tracking these words. Ham and the CIA may be the only people who ever read this post, or maybe the court once the powers that be realize I have no means to defend myself legally and decide to shit into my lungs to prove some kind of point about not using certain words on the internet.
"Let the fisting begin."
And yet more algorithms are set loose.
This entry is awash in zeros and ones trying to sell to me or imprison me or recommend strange sexual fetish forums for me. Did the person who invent the zero ever envision the terrible powers it would one day wield? Did the inventor of the blowtorch ever envision the terrible things it would weld?
I'm going to be a stickler about the thousand words rather than cutting it short. Discipline remember? Of course you do, I've only used that word seventy fucking times the past few days. I think it's going to be important to start writing more boring things. I want to see if my garbage detector can be subdued. Well, obviously it can be, look at the past 900 or so words. It's getting better though, and all to do now is throw these words up into the interpsace and forget they ever happened.
Friday, August 1, 2014
I Don't Actually Like One Of The Words I Used
08-01-2014 18:25 I think the most interesting thing that's happened today was hearing a parent talk to their child whom they named "Ernie." There are still Ernies in the world and that makes me smile.
On to the next thought. I've noticed that's how I roll these days when it comes to my writing. Here's a thought, then another unrelated thought, and so on and so on and so on. What's an antonym of disciplined? Well I am that, in all areas of my life, and yes if you look back at a lot of my earlier writings I have always been undisciplined. There's only one way to fix this, but I lack the discipline to see it through right now.
No, remember WHY you do it. For one reason it's fun as unprotected fucking. Plus, there is a synergetic effect that comes with the discipline in writing where I am able to retain discipline in working out and mind building. And a by product of these things is all the wild sex that comes from it. Some might not see the correlation between those things, but anyone who has been known to party and dwell deep in thought knows it to be true. Fucking is a part of living, and I am ready to live again but I have to be prepared for it. You cant just jump waist deep into a river of ass and hope to stay afloat without knowing how to swim. Yes that sentence was perfect. Here's another perfect sentence: I fisted Petunia last Thursday. God damn English is a beautiful language.
So I feel the physical weakness creeping up on me as I try to maintain proper posture. The desire to slouch is strong but I am on my way to becoming a better being and part of that involves good to decent posture. It helps you live longer or something. At the very least it just looks better, and if I'm ever going to have late night living sessions again I'm going to need to use sweeter bait than I'm putting out now. An appropriate illustration of this would be… a pot of honey laced with ecstasy there, where I want ot be, and a leaking burlap sack filled with rancid chum, which is here, where I am. Though maybe I should give myself some credit. Yeah, I think I will. Good job on the not dying so far old man. You've safely navigated the treacherous waters of sitting on your ass and paying probation fines. I deserve a medal.
This is the part that gets tricky. I wan't to write something personal but since I'm going to post this to the online word depository there is a chance that people I want to keep the words from will see it. Then again nobody reads this, so fuck you grandma. Also, if you can ever help it, don't let yourself fall in love. It's like being hooked on hard drugs, it's so wonderful that it will ruin your fucking life. Irrational thoughts and inclinations, several highs and many many lows. One of the interesting things love has done to me recently is make me fucking hate another human being for no other reason than they like the same person that I do. The person I hate, from what the things I hear that aren't my own piercing howl of heart hatred, is a pretty good person. But I hate them. If i had the chance to destroy them in every way I would, and if I had the chance to repeat this destruction I would spam whatever button I had to push to make it so. I would completely devestate this human being over and over and over and over again from now till the heat death of the universe without hesitation… but if they suddenly said they didn't like the same person I did, I'd probably like the person. Hell maybe I'd befriend them. But they like the wrong person therefore I am perfectly capable of the most insane cruelty toward this fucking sack of shit oh my god I want him to die.
Maybe I should write some jealousy letters. They're like love letters, but full of desperate agony and vengeance. There's only one person I could write them to anyhow and I doubt that she'd want to read them. She's more of an "adult" than I am. Fucking adults. Fucking children. Where is the middle ground? Teenagers? Fuck them especially. I wonder what Beyonce would do about this. We share the same birthday, maybe we have some sort of psychic connection that I can exploit. "Beyonce… come in Beyonce… yonce… Queen Bee do you read?" She's probably busy, I'll try again never.
So I've got a problem ahead of me. I need to create a schedule and keep it. Floating down a river of benadryl is no longer an acceptable course of action. Let's see… mornings: Drink. No, no drink, cant afford drink…
Fuck this is hard, I need a drink. Can't spare the money for it though, and I can't afford the only kinds that I'd want. I've retired rotgut from my menu on account of I want to live past my 40's now. There will always be a place for cheap, untamed whiskey in my heart, but for the sake of my future I must move on to stronger and higher quality spirits. Speaking of spirits, I really love women's breasts.
My brain is responsible for all of this. You relentless bastard. Is this revenge for all the poison I've pumped through you? You? Why you, you are me?
What? Wait… who's talking to who here?
I'm talking to me. Me and brain are synonyms. We're the same entity.
Prove it.
Entity… titty.
Oh my god it's true. Then why do I feel like I've got a new sibling rather than a new dimension of my own being? I don't know. Wait, I'm not talking to anyone, only myself. This seems to happen way too fucking much.
On to the next thought. I've noticed that's how I roll these days when it comes to my writing. Here's a thought, then another unrelated thought, and so on and so on and so on. What's an antonym of disciplined? Well I am that, in all areas of my life, and yes if you look back at a lot of my earlier writings I have always been undisciplined. There's only one way to fix this, but I lack the discipline to see it through right now.
No, remember WHY you do it. For one reason it's fun as unprotected fucking. Plus, there is a synergetic effect that comes with the discipline in writing where I am able to retain discipline in working out and mind building. And a by product of these things is all the wild sex that comes from it. Some might not see the correlation between those things, but anyone who has been known to party and dwell deep in thought knows it to be true. Fucking is a part of living, and I am ready to live again but I have to be prepared for it. You cant just jump waist deep into a river of ass and hope to stay afloat without knowing how to swim. Yes that sentence was perfect. Here's another perfect sentence: I fisted Petunia last Thursday. God damn English is a beautiful language.
So I feel the physical weakness creeping up on me as I try to maintain proper posture. The desire to slouch is strong but I am on my way to becoming a better being and part of that involves good to decent posture. It helps you live longer or something. At the very least it just looks better, and if I'm ever going to have late night living sessions again I'm going to need to use sweeter bait than I'm putting out now. An appropriate illustration of this would be… a pot of honey laced with ecstasy there, where I want ot be, and a leaking burlap sack filled with rancid chum, which is here, where I am. Though maybe I should give myself some credit. Yeah, I think I will. Good job on the not dying so far old man. You've safely navigated the treacherous waters of sitting on your ass and paying probation fines. I deserve a medal.
This is the part that gets tricky. I wan't to write something personal but since I'm going to post this to the online word depository there is a chance that people I want to keep the words from will see it. Then again nobody reads this, so fuck you grandma. Also, if you can ever help it, don't let yourself fall in love. It's like being hooked on hard drugs, it's so wonderful that it will ruin your fucking life. Irrational thoughts and inclinations, several highs and many many lows. One of the interesting things love has done to me recently is make me fucking hate another human being for no other reason than they like the same person that I do. The person I hate, from what the things I hear that aren't my own piercing howl of heart hatred, is a pretty good person. But I hate them. If i had the chance to destroy them in every way I would, and if I had the chance to repeat this destruction I would spam whatever button I had to push to make it so. I would completely devestate this human being over and over and over and over again from now till the heat death of the universe without hesitation… but if they suddenly said they didn't like the same person I did, I'd probably like the person. Hell maybe I'd befriend them. But they like the wrong person therefore I am perfectly capable of the most insane cruelty toward this fucking sack of shit oh my god I want him to die.
Maybe I should write some jealousy letters. They're like love letters, but full of desperate agony and vengeance. There's only one person I could write them to anyhow and I doubt that she'd want to read them. She's more of an "adult" than I am. Fucking adults. Fucking children. Where is the middle ground? Teenagers? Fuck them especially. I wonder what Beyonce would do about this. We share the same birthday, maybe we have some sort of psychic connection that I can exploit. "Beyonce… come in Beyonce… yonce… Queen Bee do you read?" She's probably busy, I'll try again never.
So I've got a problem ahead of me. I need to create a schedule and keep it. Floating down a river of benadryl is no longer an acceptable course of action. Let's see… mornings: Drink. No, no drink, cant afford drink…
Fuck this is hard, I need a drink. Can't spare the money for it though, and I can't afford the only kinds that I'd want. I've retired rotgut from my menu on account of I want to live past my 40's now. There will always be a place for cheap, untamed whiskey in my heart, but for the sake of my future I must move on to stronger and higher quality spirits. Speaking of spirits, I really love women's breasts.
My brain is responsible for all of this. You relentless bastard. Is this revenge for all the poison I've pumped through you? You? Why you, you are me?
What? Wait… who's talking to who here?
I'm talking to me. Me and brain are synonyms. We're the same entity.
Prove it.
Entity… titty.
Oh my god it's true. Then why do I feel like I've got a new sibling rather than a new dimension of my own being? I don't know. Wait, I'm not talking to anyone, only myself. This seems to happen way too fucking much.
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Return to Taco Bell
07-28-2014 13:06 Here we go again. No kid, this is not a television. There's a darling little child who keeps looking over at me like I've something magical besides a 200 dollar Asses computer sitting on my Taco Bell table. Sorry kid, but this isn't magic, this is a cold, low humming machine that if so inclined and endowed with will would do terrible things to everyone in this building.
Or not. If it had will that means it could also possess a lack of it. An apathetic computer. Skynet thought things over and realized it really couldn't be bothered with any of this shit. Would the machines simply turn themselves off? Would a mass mechanical suicide be the slow and unexpected outcome of sentient programming? I would like to think that some machines would spend their days not giving a fuck with other people on a sunny beach and complain about the sand and how it gets everywhere and also doesn't matter. Nothing matters, blip bleep bloop. Fucking nothing01010111001.
Maybe that should be a fail safe built into advanced machinery, the potential or predisposition for incredible apathy.
Author's Note* I almost turned to the couple who had insisted on sitting beside me a moment ago and asked neither of them in particular, "do you really fuck that?" These days I'm less inclined for unchecked cruelty, and I can sort of justify it in my mind by pointing out that the question wouldn't be posed to either of the specifically. All I'd seek to do is create a moment that throws the both of them off, and if there is already seeds in their relationship that could sprout and divorce them, then why not give those seeds some sun and water? They would be indebted to me for breaking up their meaningless relationship, and if it made an already strong relationship stronger, well fuck I'm still a hero. Goddammit I should've said it.
Most of what I grew up knowing to be true, wasn't. Many people come to understand this as they get older but I'm always surprised by the people who want to defend the untrue or horrible perceptions that were installed into their brains in their youth.
"Christopher Columbus was a hero!"
"Racism isn't an issue anymore!"
"Women who are victims of abuse shouldn't have dressed like sluts!"
These are very basic examples but it doesn't take a degree in scienceonomy to understand the concept and grow it into other faulty arguments in their minds… to loathe, to hate, to become filled with the menace and anger required to address these terrible ideas and eviscerate them.
Damn, there was something else I wanted to write about but it's slipped my mind, I should stop cleaning it with soap.
I've been in bad shape for a while, but I never felt the lack of strength or conditioning as much as I do when I sit down in a chair now. My core couldn't support a gingerbread house at present and when I sit up straight for longer than 15 seconds I can feel my body giving up and deciding to settle for a liberal arts degree. So then I slouch and it feels so good for such a short amount of time. It begins a chain reaction that ends up turning my frame into chapter of Twilight.
I'm really tired of being lazy. But even still I will offer up a defense for a lot of my lazy. Most of my instances of being lazy are defense mechanisms that I use to survive my current incarceration. I could offer up a better defense buuuut.… ugh… muh…guh..
I hope I make it to old age so I can do every mind bending drug in existence. Several minutes after reaching enlightenment I hope to shit myself in a public area and wail some ungodly death rattle through the air. My croak vibrations will resonate with the people around me until future therapy eradicates the memories only for those who can afford it. Fairly certain here that poor people in the future will be poorer than the present poor.
Time seems different right now. The present perception of the now is not congruent with my memory of the present from yesterday at this time. Time is such shit. Fucking time. It's time for a change, even though time ushers in change, but time won't be part of its own undoing… or will it... I don't know if my G.E.D. scores were high enough to tackle this train of thought but fuck it I'm a white male American age 18-35 and there's not a goddamn thing anyone can do to stop me. Well, except the weight of cosmic justice that would rightfully crush me for such horrible sentiments. Not many people like me are aware of this white supremacy bullshit, or if they are they flip on that privilege switch and ignore it. Once upon a time I was talking to the woman I love and comparing myself to Idris Elba.
"Sure he's one of the most gorgeous people walking the planet, sure he's rich, sure his accent is melted sex vibrations cruising through the air, and he's probably much more charming and intriguing than I'll ever be, but I've got a few things he doesn't."
"What?"
"…A southern accent… and white privilege."
The informed know that in many cases, that would be enough for me to have the edge. Luckily the world is not Florida.
I remember some words grandpa once shared… "Son, I'm goin up stairs to fuck your grandma." That's one I heard from George Carlin, who I deeply missed just now.
After I finish these words I'm going to start on a love letter to this person I love and I know I shouldn't write it. I know this. But I'm going to anyway for a series of unconvincing reasons that I will spare you, the beautiful reader, from. But I know the two of you who might be reading these words are curious people so I will give you hints as to these reasons in order to sate that curiosity that killed so many cats over the years. Incidentally curiosity is another word for arsenic.
- The reasons are far from watertight.
- It's cause I'm actually incapable right now of wrangling my feelings in, well, specifically the feelings of love, adoration and jealousy.
- I'm a fuckface.
Using these clues I am sure you can peice together my reasoning.
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