making me a liar

end.

defeat and departure

i am nervous today. i am realizing that my perspective has gone stale. i shouldn't be affected too deeply in the long run... but these hours of realization have been unpleasant. my pursuits have become the pursuits of a sheltered fool. i have lost track of practicality. this is a world of social endeavors and i have taken up a firm position as a misanthrope. my position as a misanthrope makes me bitter. by definition, i am part of what i hate. i analyze my surroundings and i analyze my fellow social beings... and the analysis yields a wide variety of faults... i see faults everywhere... i see arguments that can be presented and systems that can be improved... sometimes i formulate the arguments and sometimes i am capable of devising a plan to improve a system... but i am not nearly capable enough to present solutions to all the problems that i believe i am recognizing. therefore i am judging and critiquing without doing anything constructive... my life has become a drawn out deconstructive effort. i am fetishitically addicted.

lame/

peace.

laugh it up dipshit

you just got hit by a fucking snow-plow. your legs are mangled. your face is unrecognizable. you are just completely fucked. fucking deal with it... you don't have any other options... your limbs don't work and you haven't thought about biting your tongue off. just fucking sit there and deal with your cognition. you fucking pussy.

i'm the fucking pussy. i am the "you"... why the fuck don't people ever interpret my shit the right way. you fucking idiots... god... i am totally kidding. i want you to like me and continue reading...

.872364.

one sock off

one sock on

one sock gone













just a lust crush.
a win fuck.
everything was casual.









nigga please,

your persona screams attachment issues and depression.

you should watch the slur sir

but thanks for your suggestion.

i opine so kind your mind is simply fucked.

maybe i just need affection.

stop lying faggot... no more hiding in your questions.

lame/

i was certainly meant for the mountain

(the girl in the picture goes by the name natalie, i would contact her if i had her information... it would be good times... we could talk about shit like what we were doing in this here photo... channel the bliss of reminiscence... i am a human being)



who are the phantom people? it seems as though they are thinking but i often think that they are automata. minor correction... major... i don't think that they are automata... i just recognize the possibility. just a bunch of spooks dancing around the internet. there is no chance that we will get in a fist fight. there is no chance that you will let me tap that flat behind that you are hiding in those pants. you know what i mean? your flaws are hidden... you can choose to show them... but you get to choose the pictures you post. you get to temper your thoughts. i like your myspace!!! here... friend me... and render me not so fagnonymous. we are friends!!! i want to be able to be as creepy as i am... i don't want you to read my foul stream from the safety of your computer spot. if we are to interact i want it to be in such a way that you have to face my awkwardness... or my charm... whatever it may be that i bring to the situation. what the fuck if i just run off at the mouth with cliche sex talk? what if that leads you to file a lawsuit against me? sure you would like to avoid that... but if we want windows into each others lives we should have to pay the price. and people aren't willing to pay the price... socially inept retards run around inebriated... no longer afraid... now we can talk freely... we can speak openly... and say the witty loose shit that we always wish we had the tits and balls to say. these are all standard complaints.

let me highlight. why do people high-five? it is a sign of mother fucking frivolity. have you ever witnessed a high-five? have you ever done a high-five? have you been in the midst of some joyous rush and reached your hand up and touched another person's hand with some force? think about a high-five. there is no concern for survival going on when people are in the midst of a high-five. think about the body position. the physical dynamics of a standard high-five leave you open to attack from many angles. you are in a poor position to defend yourself and because of the revery that is usually part of the aftermath of that which incites high-fives you probably aren't even thinking about the danger you could be in if someone were lurking with a shiv. there are people out there that will fucking kill you for fun.

so i rant that in some chicks ear when i am stoned... and she walks away scared... i should have had more booze before smoking that blunt. i always think that i have a tar build-up feeling in my body after smoking a blunt. probably because it was raid-weed the last five times we smoked. the kind that made me feel my heartbeat throughout my entire body. the entire thing of my body... i am talking to YOU.

so. why can't we get it together? why do we choose to be ghost/possible automata for all these other ghost/possible automata shit-cunts out here? face to face interaction is cold. most people are afraid/anxious or wrapped up in their cell-phone mouth-fucking or daily drama recall making sure the ass looks right with the walk rhythm shoulder blades raised for maximum figure correctitude. what the fuck kind of subjective experience am i having here? i better be a dillusional hypochondriac depressed knuckle-fuck... or else our domain is on the fast track to empty set... you know what i am saying you hairy-sock fucking degenerates?

these posters that i have in my room are sagging off the walls... but it doesn't matter because the only people that come into my room don't give a fucking shit about the decorations... a drunk girl was in here a while ago and she commented on the photographs that i had on my wall... that was nice... it wasn't sagging then... i did not fuck that drunk girl and i have only seen her once since then... we did not speak in passing... so all streets lead to fucking loserville on this island. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?? right right... she was drunk and she was in my room and we were talking about the photos I DEFINITELY COULD HAVE FUCKED HER RIGHT??? I DEFINITELY SHOULD HAVE FUCKED HER RIGHT?? yeah bro... be the man.

yeah bro... be the man. i told her that my name was mike and that i was from ohio. neither of which were the case... she went for a high-five and said "mid-west baby, i'm from minneapolis minnesota"... at which point i told her that i was lying and that i never do high-fives. she laughed it off... but she didn't like it... the photo talk happened later... and we didn't get naked together... you like those little gossip stories? such classic funny shit to talk about at brunch with a hangover... yeah yo we can all be real together and have auras of fun and togetherness, anti-fakeness... comfortableness/swanging bodies and confindence in the genitalia that we have to present...

the fat chick that works behind the dish counter takes a moment to assess herself: "Oh god my pussy is so gross"... she is not confident in the genitalia that she has to present... plus she is fat so it wouldn't get to that point anyway unless an escaped convict broke into her house and chose to hide his seed in her belly. even then... he might give shit about her nasty roast beef sandwich.

so... i am happy with my seven-inch dick... could use a little bit more girth... but it seems that once a girl has committed to us get to that level of naked... as long as i don't have laughing-stock nuts we should be okay... or at least she will ride out her drunken horniness and just not call me after she or i leave the room at 5am/10am. "that kid had a skinny dick and small nuts"

so... we can't deal with each other's pressure presence. some people can... and they are socially ballin'. those people just rock the house with every sauntered/athletic step... cause you got the people with the looks and the curves... or the people with the "i will fuck you up" confidence. those people might walk circles around the masses in their unassuming social mastery... but i would venture to say that most people are not those. most people are likely to avert their eyes and hold back the verbal manifestation of what they are thinking. because something about their experience just leads them to not doing. it ain't worth it... it would be so awkward. there is a giant ampersand skull-fucking the slutty girl that sleeps in the hallway. AMPERSANDS HAVE COCKS? NO PULSATING PISS-STICK WAY!!!

so... some people escape to the no-pressure world that the internet provides and become deranged with that in the picture... other people do not go the internet route... they just do coke and listen to music without checking if someone left them comments or responded to the comments that they left or who posted new what or who e-mailed them back or who poked them and shit on their facebook wall or what e-vite they got this week or how hip-to-the-shit their style is staying or how many people have viewed their profile or who commented about their away message or who did whatever the fuck in this realm of no pressure leave the text up to be observed mother fucking animal porn downloads off rapidshare bootleg martin lawrence movies at 5:20am when i wanted to be sleeping at two ay-em. not that i couldn't have been sleeping at 2am and then downloading at 5:20am but i am not even sure how many people would have thought of that.. because it is all cummy blocks cruise control at this point... you are either in a trance or just completely disgusted or whatever... i leave myself some escape routes... all escape routes as a matter of fact....


here we go. all of this shit that i have just written is something that i will stand behind as a creative creation... right right... and wait wait... or whatever.

everything i just said or whatever.

maybe it is just that i consume too much dairy. i have read in many "life-journey this-is-the-way little symbols on the fingers" books that too much dairy is real bad. i can try to change that... but it may be too late for my ulcer infested misanthropic parasympathetically fucked mongolian sheep bladder asset.

i want the pressure to be recognized and it's victims to be absolved from all blame... but only after a long period of reckoning. chop chop you stupid little fucks. i am typing by myself... but i am imagining that the masses will feel the wrath of my accessible message. so like i don't give a fuck but vibe with me because i have chosen to put something forth... is that cool enough for people to understand and like? right right... get crossed up with the insecurity flow.

so.... the period of reckoning will involve philosophy training... the scheme mapped out in plato's republic will be implemented and reinforced by the threat of military force... the new international military... the members of which will be trained by an impartial international council of justice drones. philosophy will guide us to the light... people will know how to analyze situations and all their awkwardness and their giddy little gossip fetishes will make holes in their stomachs just like the holes that get made in mine. because everyone will understand the nature of the absurdity. they will begin to notice the repercussions of cognitively complex beings being stuffed into structures and areas en masse... and being forced to sort out all the stimulation and carve a path to something that resembles fitness. we ain't ready for this shit. our design didn't have this in mind... i say we have a few more centuries to tweak out... then the critical flaws will rear their beautiful heads at full force and the causal chain will snap our tweaky little specie-neck. we flocked too fast... intelligence helped us over some critical humps and then just fucked us into a ball of hurt.

the big pain won't come in our life times... it will just be lots of melancholy bullshit and anti-depressants for us... the cause that will be worth fighting for may not be recognized. and in the artsiest of artsy sharts we will fade out like neophyte hippies chipping ketamine off a plate.

i'm feeling better than usual actually.

miraflores

two daughters of south america within my comfort zone. i know their neighborhood. they invite me to their home. often we sit in the backyard. the nice gardens and the nice fountains on their property are set against vine-covered steel fences. the fences are 15 feet high. the daughters are beautiful. they live in the city. they know the reality. but they wear nice earrings and well-made tank tops. their bathingsuits are tasteful. they smile when things are nice. they laugh when the humor is right. i have come to respect their styles. they talk to me as a friend. i have thought about them sexually from time to time. but i try not to drag them into masturbation. i am actually fond of these young women. maybe this will be the first time that i don't step over the bounds.

i am left to wonder if it is fear or class that keeps me standing firm.

my favorite part was working with dissonance

first of all fuck rhyming... cause its for cornballs that try to get children to touch their privates.

clear-headed.

what the fuck was that?

something like a past-time.

something like a trap.

the only way to be clear... to be here.

in sight and mind defined.

is through the memory of time spent...

unique but not designed.


that's where it stops. the pressure is still here. nothing has changed. it is like an idiot child flailing... off their meds. mommy smoked some pot with you all in her belly when she went to see the dead.

in other words i know nothing. but i think i understand one or two things. i think that i understand enough to ride the momentum properly. faulty notions all around. lash back with sarcasm... make sure that all your bases are covered.

just how i work it. i have some nice body curves.

lust wins.

eat my fucking minutes

can you plunge in from the thousands of angles that would be necessary for an acceptable representation of a non-biased agent? could you possibly identify enough of the underlying structure to accurately depict the nature of the agents subjective thoughts. you must always remember that we do not have access. we may design experiments and we may listen to introspective accounts... but the process... as it happens... is still illusive.

how can we get far away enough to say the correct things? it must start with simplicity. no jargon. no causality assumed.

and why does it matter when i only want love and respect?

yeah right you fucking gays. ( <------- that is exactly how i would answer the rhetorical question directly above)

the blank between labels

this is going to set me back quite a bit.

i have chosen to try something.

i will call it (this try) "An Account of Existence: From the Perspective of a Self-proclaimed Minimalist"

it will be as much of a bare-bones account of experience as i can give. it will start with simple elements, basic internal questions, things that seem to be facts (in some sense of the word fact)...

it will all be very far removed from science at the onset... and science will only start to come in as a retroactively applied tool.

the subjective world of the observer will meet the gauntlet of scientific analysis as the story develops and we will see what the process of soul-stripping really looks like.

the scientific method makes everything so fucking hard. please just let us skate like confused pussies.


yo yo murph, make it float.

really real son

thick fear.

stomach pain.

i might be dead before the week is out.

i hate this bullshit.

anxiety?

current pain hedonism may be the perfect model to describe my current life choices... but as far as being a viable alternative to a more stream-lined altruism, in the evolutionary context... i am not buying.

fucking pedantic elephant dong.

ode to memory

i will express this in story form.

the ambiguous word "love" could have been said to have had a concrete manifestation.


the comfort grew. the patterns developed. the months of bliss flew by. shopping in soho. comedy clubs in greenwich village. their families knew of the bond and its importance.

..............................................................................................................................................................................................


time goes by









the love grows and develops a complex complexion.



a detailed bond....

events


events



events


events

growth


madness...




the face of the love began to change. there was no objective observer... so everything shifted slowly. no recognition... simply momentum and tardy recognition.
...............................................................................................

the details of happiness are not burned into the emotional index quite like the riddling pain of romantic plight.

the bliss crumbles and the details arrive:

his love of her wit was overshadowed by his distaste for her social persona. he began to fuck her angrily. he would push her legs back and grab her hips with a force that could no longer be construed as tender lust. he always wanted to touch her and she cringed at the thought of his touch.




he was in a rage... he was happy but it was a frenzy of sorts... he was not thinking clearly. he took off his clothes and again she asked him to stop... he laughed it off. he continued to rub her vagina and she began to get wet... she started crying... and in that moment she allowed herself to succumb to the reality of the situation. she looked at him directly in the eyes and asked him if he wanted to fuck her. she suppressed a yell and asked if he wanted to fuck her like his little slut. she grabbed his cock and put it in her vagina. he began to pound her. he grabbed a fist full of her hair and tugged her head back. her chin rose and he pounded harder. he let go of her hair and began to choke her. she kept her mouth shut and began to seethe with hatred. he applied more pressure with his choking hand and she pronounced: "fuck you". he began pounding harder. the clap of their skin meeting could be heard throughout the wing of the house. he let go of her neck and pinned her legs up. she looked at him as their faces came closer together. "you fucking asshole, how dare you"... he put his hand over her mouth and continued to fuck her. he felt himself getting closer to orgasm... he was filled with passion and excitement... she was still letting him in... she was still allowing him access. he knew he was going to come and he decided to do something that she said she never wanted him to do. he pulled out... and firmly gripped her upper neck and her jaw... she tried to flinch away but his grip was too much... he tensed for a moment and then ejaculated on her face. his shoulders rolled back as he finished. his body trembled and he slumped for a moment. his eyes were closed. she grabbed the sheets and ran to the bathroom. she cleaned her face and began to cry furiously. she came out of the bathroom screaming... "get the fuck out"...."i never want to see you again"... "get the fuck out of here and never come back"... "i won't call the police, i will just tell my parents we had a fight"... "just get the fuck out". in his orgasm stupor he tried to reason with her... but he realized that he was defeated. he picked up his clothing and headed for the door. as he got to the door he turned to say something... but when he saw her he knew that it was too late... she was sitting against the wall... he could see her pussy... she was too out of sorts to cover herself properly with the sheet... she was crying and looking at the ground. she did not look up at him for the ten seconds that he stood there. he stumbled out of the house and got in to his car. he drove away baffled.

he tried to call her. he sent her notes. he drove up to the gate at her house. but she would not make contact with him. she obviously had not told the police... there was no action on the front of rape. he wondered about her... if she was okay. he thought about her all the time. he thought about her body... he thought about the nice things. he thought about her wit and the way she loved to show him off. his subjective notion had not faded. he still longed for her acceptance and for the feel of her body. he went on for months in a state of disbelief. he was unable to concentrate or move on.

finally he decided to hop the gate at her house. he saw her car in the driveway and he saw that the lights were on in her room. as he got to the house all seemed well. he walked to the area under her window and grabbed some pebbles from the driveway. he threw them up at the window. he knew that he was engaged in a risky endeavor. if she didn't want him there she would send her father out and it would be awkward. maybe even more than awkward... maybe physically violent. he continued to throw the pebbles but there was no response. he was giddy with anxiety. he was nervous but he was also aroused at the prospect of making up with her and talking with her for hours... and of course making love to her when all was well. so in his quasi-inebriated joy-state he decided to go into the house. he knew where the spare key was kept. he opened the side door and entered. he shut it without making a noise. there were no lights on on the first floor but there was a glow coming from beneath the basement door. he made his way to the staircase. he crept up to the second floor slowly and made his way to her room. the door was ajar. he stood there in contemplation for a moment and then decided to simply walk in. he pushed through.

there was no one in the room. the lights were dimmed but no one was there. he check the bathroom but there was nothing to speak of. he left her room and decided he would check the basement. he made his way down the staircase and quietly walked to the basement door. he opened it silently. at first he didn't hear anything... so he decided to walk down the stairs. he descended carefully. when he got to the bottom of the stairs he saw that the guest room door, all the way across the common area, was closed. he remained still for a moment and began to hear some faint noises. he was unable to tell exactly what the noises were but his heart-rate began to pick up. certainly something was going on in that guest room. he quietly crept across the room and put his ear to the door.

he heard hard breathing and motion. someone was having sex in the room. he knew the layout of the guest room... he had sex in there many times. the bed was not close to the door. he was certain it would be locked but he tried it anyway. it was not locked, he was surprised. he got the door open a crack without making a noise... and what he saw hit him like a bullet.

there she was. her beautiful back and her beautiful hair. she was on her knees with her hands on the chest of the man lying beneath her. he was focused on the contour of her back as he tried to take in the scene. he was stunned... as his eyes traveled lower he noticed that the legs of the man were black. she was fucking a black man... and as his eyes traveled back up the man's legs her realized that she was getting fucked in the ass. the black man's cock was in her ass. she never let him fuck her in the ass. she refused. he looked on in amazement. she was not getting pounded but she was whimpering and grinding down on the cock. he looked on in awe. she was riding the man in a rhythm... she seemed to be enjoying herself. he looked on in a daze... the method of the motion was mesmerizing... he just watched her form and began to become aroused. after a minute or so he heard the man mumble something. suddenly she dismounted. she pulled her right leg over the man's body and bent down to suck his cock. it happened quickly... but as he watched from the doorway something clicked in him. he took note of the perfect shape of her body as she pulled herself off of the cock. the shape of her legs and the symmetry of it all. she was beautiful. the angle that he had made her look incredible... he longed to be the one that she was allowing to defile her. he wanted to receive those angles... he wanted to be the object of her sweat. he completely zoned out. he replayed her dismount over and over... her lines were perfect... her body was firm. he was still in love with her shape. he came back from his considerations and noticed that the black man was coming in her mouth. as he watched the black man's legs twitch something strange happened in the realm of his subjective notion. without any care for the noise he made... he left the doorway and headed up the stairs.

when he got to the first floor he turned the kitchen lights on. he walked through the kitchen on the left side of the island into the main hallway. he flicked the lights on as he went. he passed the dining room on his right and the pool room on his left. he made his way to her father's study. he made it into the study and turned on the lights... he turned quickly to the right, fetched the keys that were on top of the clock... walked to the desk, unlocked the top drawer, put the 22 calibur in his mouth and pulled the trigger. he was dead instants after the shot.












we have the tools. maximize.

hail the beast, say peace

losing it. certainly had enough of the internet.


hiatus or termination

you fucking mannequins.

blackberry water

it is not as though i had hoped that they would understand. they were at the beginning of their fame. little did they know and little did i. the pressure of my questions was not enough to breed suspicion... but it occasionally lead to uninspired moments and to me the two results were the same. my desire was a matter of cognitive realization... the translation of imagination to perception. i wanted fanciful daydreams to become facts... the barrier was so close to coming down. the evening continued to unfold as locations shifted by in phases. we were in the proper states... the lulls created by my occasional zeal were not enough to crush the momentum. we were speaking and laughing. they afforded me a status that i did not think that i deserved. i was not expecting such things when i decided to engage in the nonsense that brought me to the rambling state. earlier i had seen them speaking to people that i knew... i was impressed by their figures and their styles... i was too frightened to be timid and too deranged to be generic... whatever it was that i produced that night... it worked... they saw something in my presentation. they were in my car and they came to be in my house. i told them that i was writing a play... i told them they were my inspiration. there on the spot... i began to write. we sat in the drawing room... they sat comfortably across from me. seven feet separated me from the two of them... they were always touching each other. it was not always sexual... they rested upon one another and they spoke playfully. they listened to the things that i told them and they were interested in the story i began to create. i used their beauty and their presence. i allowed my writing to be an extension of the state they put me in. their features were pleasant... i did not hate them when they spoke (often when people speak i do hate, instantly). they had read books that i had read... they had seen beautiful things in the world... they were pretty enough for me to ignore the pretension. i was allowing myself to succumb to the powers of their advantage. why wouldn't i? they told me that they wanted to change their clothes. so i showed them to their rooms. they had trunks of clothing... perhaps they were deciding to stay. i did not yet fully understand. their behavior was intriguing. i thought myself into a corner when they were not in my sight. what was the nature of this exchange? why had they decided to come here? what did they expect from the evening? it must be obvious what i am hoping for. but is it obvious enough that they would not have come if it were not going to happen? are they lesbians? they did not flirt with me as though they were lesbians... i realized the nature of my hypocrisy... my internal inquisition was inconsistent with the persona i had emanated in my exchanges with these women. they had decided to spend the evening in my home based on the style i showed them... i was not thinking in that style. they asked me if they could stay. what does that mean?

they came out of their rooms with skin showing. one in lingerie and the other in an outfit that i would feel clumsy describing... they were amazing... we resumed the original seating arrangement upon re-entering the drawing room. the woman in the lingerie was named Aurelie. she began to kiss the other woman's neck... she persisted for a few seconds and then she stopped to speak...

'you are looking at us and you are full of desire.
you should be aroused.
we are beautiful.'

the other woman remained silent. Aurelie laughed and shot me a very nice look. i was surprised. it was a hard moment to accept. i was certain that i had perceived it... i had no reason to doubt that it was happening but i tried to step away from the occurrence to insure that i was relishing the factual presence of their brilliant aesthetic values. i was fully engaged in a subjective flow of pompous verbiage. Aurelie continued to speak.

'i will pleasure her and then we will pleasure you.
we will do whatever you want within the limits of pain and safety.
we will be your candy of sorts.'

my penis was instantly hard. but i was scared more than anything else. Aurelie began to speak again.

'we will fuck you to the point of exhaustion.
you may fear that our passion will wane.
but that is simply because you may not understand the desire.
we have known about you.
we have built you up.
and there is almost nothing you can do to make this anything less than amazing for us.'

my confusion and fright were beyond my understanding. but i was surprisingly clear-headed. so i began to speak.

"i have experienced situations like this in dreams. however my current experience leads me to believe that this is occurring during my waking/tangible experience. so i must say something... and these words apply to both of you: there is nothing i would like more than to ejaculate in your beautiful vagina, grab your shoulders, stare at your ass, pound you, grab your hips, choke you with my cock, pull your hair back, press down on the small of your back, push your ankle up toward your head, come in your mouth, eat your pussy, slap your ass, kiss you, gently slap you in the face, softly finger your ass, turn you on your side and pull you toward me by your upward facing hip and shoulder with every thrust, lay you flat on your stomach and fuck you from behind... so i can watch my cock disappear into your ass cheeks, the list goes on and on. it was quite fun to say all of those lewd things to beautiful women that i barely know... especially because you seem to have enjoyed it"

Aurelie and Gisele smiled. and Aurelie replied.

'we will stay here as long as it takes.
we will be fulfilling many of our own fantasies.
we want you to fuck our asses and come on our faces.
we want you to slap our tits and choke us with your hands will you beat our pussies up.
we want you to sleep like a baby.
we guarantee that you will be exhausted after pleasing us.
we will massage you and keep you warm at night.
this is about pleasure and comfort.
we know what you have been missing.
and in a way we love you.'

i was more frightened than i had ever been in my life. i sensed a panic attack... or more specifically impending doom. something was wrong... and i knew what i should do. what i knew i should do was not the same as what i wanted to do... but i cracked a smile and indulged in an internal chuckle. upon completing the absurd subjective moment i began to speak.

"i am going to recite a poem to you.

Death is the Undeniable.
Who will be Foolish enough to dwell upon it?
we have time from beginning to end.
Time for momentum to build.
Time for sensation and recognition.

we will form connections.
unhealthy
inexplicable
awe-inspiring.
we will relate to that which impinges upon us.

The most incredible relation
will be the relation to self
the subjective overlord.
it that sits at the helm.
and the way that it rules the thoughts and decisions that it makes.

Through analysis i have come to realize my faults.
the faults of it.
My glaring inadequacy.
I am consumed by the desire to understand.
I say that... but it is not always true.

My desire is often fueled by pleasure.
But the instant after my ejaculation is complete... I revert.
my thoughts travel back to the discovery of something new.
I want to be the one to recognize the pattern.

i disgust myself
'death will not mark the end of my influence.'
Such ideas force me to laugh.
i hope to be taken seriously
but with thoughts such as that there is no hope of transcendence.

Transient Eccentricity.
Entertaining perhaps... but not worthy of awe.
only achievement is worthy of awe.
Effortless musing is not an achievement.
masturbating for the fourth time today is not a new beginning.

I will simply return to my most reliable form.
I will take my place as the deviant among the drones.
and when i grow tired of the things in my surroundings I will depart.
i will find new scenery.
I will use my ability to converse and discern.
I will drift to meet the undeniable.

The fear will finally leave me
and the momentum will cease."

they stared at me. Aurelie with a blank face and Gisele with a faint smile. I looked at them for a moment and walked out of the room with a blatant erection.

I had my butler tell them that they were free to stay as long as they liked... but i never saw them again. After i walked out of that room i kept going until i was in my car and i drove up into the mountains.

"this is the farthest we've gone"

just a ghost.

sometimes tact trumps honesty. it is all part of the posturing game. it is tempting to revolt... i have beautiful little moments away from external stimuli in which i image the nihilist/existentialist self that i might be if it were not for the allure of vagina (specifically) and social interaction (more generally). i am unable to entertain myself enough to desire isolation, which i enjoy occasionally, as a way of life. i am just like the rest of the pussy douchebags. and what a fool i must be to be the author of this nonsense.

it seems that intellect fails in this arena of sensation and desire.


my style teeters... it is not as entertaining when the sarcasm is absent. so i will revise a statement that i made earlier.

tact should trump honesty. formulations must be tactful more so than they must be honest. honesty is not the right goal... existence is not cuddly enough for that.

tricks get turned out.
dicks get burned.
scrubs like me write.
but scrubs don't learn.

hard headed and moderately wack.

poetry and nut sacks.

yes i liked it.

what do they believe? and how do they legitimize? this isn't about wrong or right... it is about brute social facts... it is about the actions we witness and the potential causes for these actions, these actions that mingle with our perceptual apparatuses.

who is taking notice?

could your obliviousness be more obvious?

i am not sure where this is supposed to lead... i am inclined to say that frivolity and sensation-seeking are perfectly fine. i have no reason to believe that such things are wrong. perhaps i envy the people that are not caught in the maelstrom of anxiety and hate. one may argue that the frivolous are nothing but a drain... that same one may say that the frivolous would not be able to survive without the efforts of the practical... and both points may be correct... but that does not change anything... the frivolous still exist and they are still being allowed to drain. they can get away with it... and they can run back to the means of the parents and grandparents when they hit the bottom... there are safety nets to catch them... and when the safety nets disappear they are wounded or killed by the fall... but that will not stop frivolity... that will not change the fact that most of the frivolous will survive and move on to more practical things... or continue to drift in their vapidity.

I may analyze forever... but analysis can not touch the brute social facts... my analysis can only help me to understand the facts from an external point of view... i will never know the internal view of a drifter... i will never know the true thoughts of the slut as she decides to rip another rail... i don't have access...

bread bad

i've got this white-trash chick breathing hard in my ear. she is engaged in "her clock is ticking and she wants my cock sinking deep in her box to get the pussy drinking" thinking. but i am simply out of place. i wasn't meant to be cornered in this conversation. my charm is simply a matter of my being unfamiliar.

she seems to have an intellect and she seems to think that she knows what i want. but she knows very little about me... she has identified the fact that she is capable of getting me aroused... and she believes that her ability in that regard gives her a power over me. her summation is incorrect. i am happy to share her bed. i enjoy it when she cooks me breakfast and when she rubs my back and reaches for my hand. such gestures are like a mother comforting a child... there is something about tenderness that i will always welcome... but she has assumed... and her assumptions are not under my control.

i am left to decide whether or not i should inform her. her mistake may leave her with a broken heart... but i didn't promise anything... i stayed distant. i remained a mystery by choice. at least i will leave with images. she knew how to use her hips.

objectification is meaningful

prepare.






i am thinking of a complete shift in my educational path. i truly believe that i have the eye for fashion. aesthetics have always been my thing. i am a good critical thinker.... but... i have been color-coordinating and function-planning since the onset of cognition. i don't think that i am a homosexual... but i certainly think that i could do a better job than the gang of cheerio snatchers on queer eye for the straight guy.... i mean part of the thing is that it is gay guys giving advice to straight guys... but if my fashion sense and my sense of aesthetics are better than theirs then why would i need them to gayify my life. it doesn't have to be queers helping straights... it could just be gifted straights helping plain straights.




regardless, i am thinking of going to design school. i am just finishing undergraduate and it is time to think about the next level. i am not sure how i am supposed to make the transition from philosophy to fashion... but i have confidence in myself. i may just be the next visionary.... well i can't be sure... but i have to have that attitude. so much of the fashion industry has to do with attitude and perseverance. i need to focus my efforts. i need to set goals and buckle down. at least with a career in fashion i will be engaged in creative endeavors at all times. i will be able to mingle with models and talk with millionaires. it will be a great atmosphere for my intellect and my sexual appetites.

i wonder what the sex-lives of models are like? they can obviously fuck almost any hot person that they desire. it might get a little weird with how emaciated some of the women are. really emaciated women are not attractive when they are naked... i wonder if they leave t-shirts on to fuck or something... maybe they just make the guys look at their faces and thrust really sensually. or maybe they are complete sluts and they have no shame about their ribs being out in the world... maybe they push their boney asses up in the air and take it like regular sluts. i am very curious. i wonder how a woman like alessandra ambrosio handles herself in the bedroom...


watching her perform fellatio... as the male receiving it... must be quite an experience... of course the lights would have to be low or she would have to have her usual cosmetic enhancements or it would have to be a not-so-acne heavy month or something.... but if she was looking pristine like she does in some photoshoots... then it would really be amazing to see her suck a cock... if she is good at it... and by good i mean confident, not awkward, smooth, etcetera.... because with her face and the way that women look with a cock in their mouth in general... it would be fucking amazing.

i am thinking about a series of portraits of beautiful women performing fellatio. well no... it wouldn't have to be true fellatio... it could be beautiful women in freeze frame positions that would happen in the act of fellatio... but they could have their mouths on common household things. there are the obvious things... like fruits or vegetables... but there are also some more exotic things... they could have their mouths on a one-flower vase, an ice cream scoop, a shaving-cream can, a video-game controller, or we could just say fuck all that... and do action portraits of insanely beautiful women giving head. it could be done in a tasteful manner... everything would be passionate and revealing.... but classy. there is something absolutely amazing about an act such as fellatio or its counterpart cunnilingus. the only pleasure that the performer of the act receives is knowing that the person that they are performing the act on is being provided with a series of pleasant sensations leading to a climax. unless the act is being done for money there is a true sense of duty or altruism in itt. when you feel attracted to a person to the point where you will put your mouth on them and exert effort solely for their pleasure... there is some interesting emotion-shit going on there. i guess it comes down to subservience and caring... or maybe raw excitable lust. i wonder if females ever get so attracted to a male that they think about how much they would love to give him pleasure.... if they say to themselves "i want to suck his cock"... it is slightly awkward to think about as a male currently sitting alone in my room. god, please give me a window into the internal dialogues of this list of attractive women.... hahahhahahaha god would never do that ever.

actually, i find it strange because that is not how i think about cunnilingus. when i have performed cunnilingus in the past it has usually been about getting my foot in the door. meaning i have gone down on the girl so i can make her orgasm once and then get her worked up enough so that she just mumbles "fuck me" and i get to ejaculate in her. (((and then i get to ejaculate in her) because she is on the pill) right?) reason has no place in the lust frenzy. however it is not always a matter of being swept up in the lust frenzy. i was once in a long meaningful relationship...



i have vivid memories from the experience... and during those years i would occasionally go down on my girlfriend with no ulterior motives... i would go down on her because i enjoyed listening to her get worked up... i liked watching her mannerisms as she got closer to orgasm... there was a form of momentum... every time i ate her pussy there were physical stages that she would go through... in the early stages she would do things with her hands... she would touch the back of my head... or she would grab at her left breast with her left hand while her right hand held her right leg up behind the knee... during this initial phase she would make an effort to keep her head up... she wasn't necessarily looking at me... we never stressed eye contact... it was more about taking in the scene... she would look beyond me to the posters and drawings that i had on my wall... she would look down at her stomach... she had a nice stomach, with a navel piercing... it was trendy at the time. the last thing she would do with her hands was rest them along the lines of her hip-bones and pull her pussy lips back just slightly by applying pressure and pulling back very gently on the skin in the area where the thighs and the torso meet. that was always around the time that she wanted me to add a finger into the process...


this account is making me feel strange.

i would alternate from fingering her vagina to rubbing and gently fingering her ass. (i really don't like describing things involving the anus in the realm of sexuality... it just seems as though there is no way to completely depart from the association with fart and shit-jokes and whores that need to wear diapers) in this portion of the cunnilingus i would use my fingers and my tongue and get her going toward orgasm... the stress on her hands became less from this point on. a hand could come to rest on one of her tits or she would reach out to the pillows next to her... sometimes she would reach to the head-board above her... whatever she did with her hands the emphasis switched to her hips and her lower abdominal muscles... in this phase she would be breathing heavy and alternating between saying things in a breathless voice or just trying to hold back moans and breathing hard... her hips didn't move wildly but there was more motion than when we got started... her stomach muscles would be tensed and a sheen of sweat had built... the image of her in this first noticeable sweat stage was very pleasant... her hairline... from one ear up over her forehead to the other ear would be slightly damp... so that the hair at the transition from smooth skin to pulled-back hair would be slightly darker than the rest... her face remained the same... there were some tiny beads of sweat but it was a very minor shine... at the nape of her neck there were tiny beads and the curves of her tits were highlighted by the gleam of the sweat. and her stomach looked great with the sweat and the tensed muscles... it was obvious that she was physiologically engaged in something that had grabbed her attention.

the last stage involved me laying off the finger portion and focusing all power on the clit... she would half-mumble and let me know that she was getting close... so everything would continue to build and then i would feel her body go into a quake mode... her hips would start to shake and her breathing would change slightly... it became obvious when she was coming because she was no longer reacting to the stimulation i was putting on her clit... it became more about something that she was feeling internally... sometimes it would go on for a while and sometimes it was brief... sometimes it would happen multiple times and sometimes it was one shot and the clit got too tender... maybe the times she said it was tender she just wanted to avoid sex... i don't know... women know how to manipulate and keep the important white lies as unknowns. i.e. the numerous get out of sex tools... but the great thing about watching her orgasm was that it seemed as though she was suspended in moment... as intimate as our connection had been moments before... she was off in some world of sensation that i had no access to... her hips were no longer thrusting toward my tongue... her body was shuddering inward.

i have no idea what she experienced... i never asked her to give me a phenomenological account of one of her orgasms... we talked about what it felt like in general... during a glowing perfection talk as we flopped down sweating after an intense session... but i never got as detailed in my line of questioning as i was in my subjective thoughts.

so i never felt as though i was fulfilling a duty or being an altruist or being subservient... but for some reason i believe that that is what is happening when other people engage in oral sex... i just found myself as an observer... it is as though i was doing the physical act on cruise control... i knew what i was doing and i developed a technique of sorts... improvisation was not uncommon... sometimes it may have made her orgasms better... sometimes worse... she never complained... but i was more involved in the process of watching her mannerisms and feeling the contours of her vagina... and my own phenomenological experience with a clit at the end of my tongue... it was refreshingly simple... lust lead to a certain place... she wanted something... i was willing to do it... and i loved her so i was even happy to do it... but even with the love factor it was just a stepping stone at times... i just wanted to get my penis in her vagina... total respect and all i was just a fiend for pinning her legs up and pulling her hair back... so cunnilingus is just strange... it made me into an observer... and observer with an absolutely intimate and unbelievable perspective... i saw her anus up-close... her vagina up-close... i slapped her clit... nibbled her clit... rubbed my nose on her clit... but i wasn't really an agent in those moments... i was watching it all happen.

i think we said we were in love simply because we were comfortable enough with each other to do all that shit unashamed... we had very few boundaries... but i was an observer... i was never fully there. i don't know if i am fully here at any time... i don't know what being fully here is... and i am the one using the terminology.

maybe i am trying to get around to the point that i ascribe certain viewpoints and ways of being to others that i have no right to be ascribing. i know the way that i think i do things... but i have no idea about the way others do things... at least as far as attitude and perceptual mode during oral sex performance... but i do know that the entire realm of orgasms and the things that get us there is completely absurd... i'm just not sure that i have common ground with my peers on this one... not that it matters... it simply seems as though i am emotionally absent... and that my default mode is observational... i miss out on the pleasure of the agent... i am busy analyzing and ascribing.


introspection aside, i would love to investigate the complexity of the lust process while looking at the face of some extremely beautiful bitch with my penis in her mouth... that is right... i want to have a conversation with alessandra ambrosio about what she was thinking while sucking my cock. i wonder if she would swallow without missing a beat or talking about it?


i will just mention that alessandra ambrosio really doesn't deserve my respect... but she has it.

the physical world. the domain of angles and combinations... my area of expertise. i should be an aesthetics god.

maybe i just want everything to be a series of images that i can look at in the safety of my scum lair.

god help me.





i don't know what that means.

12 18

the composition makes it meaningful.

and i am stranded over-thinking. it is clear when that is going on. those are the times when i sound like a faggot.

you know those times? when you know you just sounded like a faggot. you know them times?

it's like i always want to get passionate but the structure of the social scene holds me down. i can't do my thing because the people around me are such drones. they are all sheep man. so i just stay in my room... depressed and afraid. afraid that i will eventually have to prove to someone that i am not a worthless piece of shit. afraid that i will have to leave the soap-box and produce a body of work that legitimizes my position in the scheme. but man... it is so hard to do that when everyone is focused on getting fucked up and having sex... i mean of course i want those things too... but there should be other passions. people should be reading for pleasure and like... getting involved. why is it so bad to get into political debates? people should be willing to engage in intellectual discussions without worrying about how hugely gay they are... even the use of the word gay... rip me a new ass-hole if you are ideologically opposed to the use of fag/gay in the slang sense. rip that new ass-hole with your cock you stud. i know you are hung like a bull.

anyway... the real issue is that i don't agree with the lifestyles that i see my peers wrapped up in. i want them to like me and i want to like them... but it is very difficult when frivolity is the center-piece around which the mode of conduct revolves. i need people to want to talk the way i want to talk. i need to get out of my rut by becoming part of a social scene... i am smart and athletic... but no one likes the music that i listen to or wants to talk about the things that i want to talk about. i make sure that my appearance is enough in-line with the style paradigm to be accepted... i just don't get what i am doing wrong. why can't i be one of the guys that all the cute girls pal around with? i want to be allowed to slap their asses and talk about dicks to them. i know that sounds strange... but it is part of feeling good about life... i want to have a situation in which i can joke with cute girls... i want them to be my friends and possible fuck-partners... but it never seems to work out that way. i am always on the outside. i just have to stay true to my style... i can't bend or break... i won't be able to live with myself no matter what physical/status rewards i may receive. i refuse to poison my body and mind with the substance and the content of the conduct that is so rampantly flowing through my surroundings. i have to isolate myself to avoid allowing the ignorance to obtain. i refuse to sacrifice my viewpoint just to get some hot pussy. as great as hot-girls pussy could be... it can't compare to integrity.

laugh it up... i'm a faggot. i know that is what you are thinking... and if you aren't you are probably a liberal idiot of some sort that likes to be accepting of other people's ways. and there is probably a sub-group of you liberal idiots that buy into cultural relativism. you are fucking morons and i actually am a faggot... so if you thought that what i was saying was legitimate then you need to check your fucking brain out.

i believe in what i am saying... i hate the frivolous and the bohemian... but i am a douchbag... i don't have my shit on straight... and anyone that lives a practical life despite doubts about the culture and feels as though they can relate to what i have been saying here... needs to stop reading the newspaper and observe a class of middle-school students for a day... remember what this shit is all about. it is all about a pecking order and finding a place in it. the only special thing is the feeling of success. assholes like me live miserable depressed lives and it all boils down to nothing... so all the time that i am spending in this purgatory is nothing more than an experiment that will not yield useful results. i am a fucking waste of life... and i will continue to look down upon you as you do the right thing with your alcohol dicks and pussies wagging in the winds of fornication and prop posturing.

i love you you fucking mannequins.

we should totally have a celebrate

the hand that guides the penis back in to the vagina after an instance of slipping out... perhaps she became over-zealous on the ride... perhaps you are not well enough hung for her to be on top... whatever it may be... there is a sensual moment there. that moment where she lustfully... maybe even tenderly guides your love-shaft back to her sacred canal.

those are moments that people enjoy. i haven't enjoyed anything in three years. not that i haven't had sex in that long... i just haven't had any moments that i can say i have enjoyed. no penis guiding... no tenderness. just a lot of pretending and half-posturing.

i want out of emo-land.

isn't emo such a great term. all you hipster faggots that use it are fucking fags. yes.

left it on the desk

and it is absolutely perfect. my moral agenda fades into the background. i question the value of my instincts. self preservation is a drifting chuckle as i fall asleep.

she shifts her weight. repositions her arm. the line i follow happens to go from her jaw to her cheek-bone.

no more cold feet. it is time for sleep.

i was born in london... mid 15th century.

have you been reading the news lately?

all this shit about jessica alba's ties to aljazeera is a little bit over the top. i really think that the government is just a consortium of fear-mongers. i do not trust the government at all. the new york times is bullshit. washington d.c. is bullshit. everything i hear from the media is bullshit. i have no reason to believe anything that i hear. what i really want to do is build a shack in iceland and try to sniff out bjork. i would only half-stalk her... her music has really gotten me through some tough times. i don't even really know what she is about... but the abstract nature of her art allowed me to infuse it with the meaning that i needed to persevere. basically if i could find some shitty job in iceland and have a chance to stalk bjork half the time... i would be fucking set. i wouldn't have to deal with the snakes in the U.S. government... 9/11 was planned by our fucking government... that is a testable hypothesis... more over i will almost guarantee that the united states government planned the plane attacks of september 11th. the temperature needed to melt the steel in the buildings would have had to have been much hotter and there were explosions on the levels below those that were collapsing... bush's brother managed the security at the world trade center and there were all sorts of security changes... all you have to do is compile the facts and you will see that our government is almost certainly responsible for what happened in new york city on september the eleventh two-thousand and one.

i hate this country and i can't believe that government officials would pull the wool over our eyes the way that they have.

plus i take personal offense to the jessica alba thing. that woman is my fucking dream slut... if she would just be my sex-slave for a day... i would put my testicles in a vice (after my relations with ms. alba) and let moses malone put his entire fist in my mouth.


whatever you do... just bash george w. bush. not only is it the correct course of action... but it is a really good conversation tool for all you socially inept liberal faggots.

wait. wait. rock the vote 1/... and join peta.

the blatent lack of refined viewpoints held by liberal idiots that choose to run their mouths is sickening.

go watch 9/11 loose change and blow your dad. if your father is dead... dig up his corpse and suck the fetid rot-dong. ouch.

I AM A DEMOCRAT.

touch my eye

teenage fun was an awesome period along the life-fun timeline.


however:

the post that i posted prior to this one was not a firm representation of any viewpoint that i have ever held... i am not even sure why i chose to waste the time that i spent typing it. but it was done.

i'm not even sure if i should cut myself or not.

now think about the great times of popular people high school lust kissing. fingering, rubbing... nevermind the porn... just think back to the sweet sweet moments of removing panties and getting to know the warmth.

if you don't have personal experience with that... you might actually be better in the sense that you might be able to focus more on intellectual projects, through the use of the brilliant tools that denial may or may not have provided you, or, in the case of no provisions, you will be able to add to the absurdity of the human experience by becoming a murderer/rapist due to the pent up rage stemming from your sexual frustration.

hot skinny/toned chicks wearing well-made jeans. and taking them off... with the idea that you are going to touch her and beyond... oh good kaleidoscopes... i want back into high school.

twing

YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH


WATCH MORE PORN MOVIES. IT MAKES EVERYTHING FEEL GOOD.

IF I WAS A FEMALE I WOULD GET FUCKED SO OFTEN>>>>>>

WOAH.

don't judge.

all right.

judge.

never that

what is your default state?

maybe this can be a fun topic for discussion. although i have been lead to believe that most people are not in the business of analyzing themselves... at least in the manner that i choose to analyze myself... (i will lead by example... i will break the ice... instead of prattling on).

my default state seems to be uncertainty... i constantly check in with myself... i take note of my thoughts and i catalogue my physical state... i check my physical state against a standard that i consider my physical state at ease. i rarely have a plan. i tend to drift from activity to activity while keeping an eye out for absurd elements within the fabric of my surroundings... i am often sarcastic in social situations... partially because i am insecure and partially because i find most social interactions to be uninteresting (when acting as an agent... so i often choose observer status). i truly do not believe this is for lack of social skills... but i may be wrong.

honesty is fucking gay right?

and no one answers questions anyway... any question on the internet, that is not in survey form, usually ends up being taken as a rhetorical one.

do i deserve the infected cut on the inside of my upper lip?

do you know how i got it?

do you want to here about the girl who's virginity i took a few years ago.... it was one of the best fucking sweet moments of my life?

should i dish with all you faggots out there?

should i be presenting myself to the faggot world of lonely internet faggots that can't make it work in the presence of physical pressure?

what is this medium?

is it a non-intrusive way for people to preach at podia?

do people actually believe that what they have to say is worthy of being read?

do people even consider what they are doing when they share their opinions or are they swept up in a form of societal momentum?

is that momentum gossip-based or is it founded in the pressing of intellectual desire... or something else?

do i have a stomach ache because of a terminal illness?

remember that your life sucks? ((and by yours i mean mine) and by mine i mean everyone)

qualified.

that

there is something about the shapes and the motion. the way the curves and the symmetry happen to work out real nice. it is a combination of the power to make decisions and the choice to use the curves in certain ways and the specific motions that are chosen. there is a certain level of acquiescence and submission... the sensations alone are not mind-numbing but the anticipation that has been building since the very start of the process leads to a frenzied state that is seldom matched in any other set of circumstances.


i am talking about sex.

or masturbation... depends on how cool you are. i guess.

yo yo yo this mother fucker don't believe shit.

HYPOCRISY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


























you surprised by what i am saying? well don't be bitch... i would slap you, real good, if i thought that it would help us make progress. you are so fuckin wrapped up in your own shit that you have failed to maintain the habit of observation... your world is just a dome... under the ground... you are hanging out with the inter-dimensional DMT guides... you have no fucking clue. I could fist you quickly and snap that ass back to reality... uncomfortable sensations will do it every time... just run from them... avoid avoid avoid... it isn't my fault that people don't think... but it is a reality of this existence... it is not going to change any time soon... there may be no reason for people to think, i am implying that thinking involves critical thinking and observational analysis, in our current environment... as long as the survival side of things is good then we might as well dive into sensation and other tangential endeavors. there is no obvious beacon calling the masses to the halls of intellectualism. so just fuck... buy some nice clothes... alter your state... try out new brain states... the ones you can't reach without outside help... i knew a kid named Yan Margolin that believed he could duplicate the hallucinations of psychedelic drugs through a series of choices... without the ingestion of substances of any kind. he, indirectly, told me about it at a sweet sixteen many years ago... it was way over the heads of the stoned kids he was preaching to. regardless, people may be justified in labeling me 'lame' or 'a tight ass' because of my desire to see more intellectual processes going on in my surroundings...

but i don't know... i am fuckin pissed and depressed and alone... and that shit better be for a reason... if my hatred of trite thoughtlessness is really off the mark... i might just have to convert myself into a tranny cunt and cut a slit in my pants for easy ass-hole access. i would let dudes fuck me in any location... i would tell chicks to bring strap-ons on their commutes... so they could give me a quick fuck on the way to work... they could strap the dildo on over their business shorts... you know the ones that are cuffed right below the knee cap... usually made of tweed or some swank shit like that... they could strap it over those and only penetrate enough to avoid contact with the back of my thighs... or contact with the juices flowing from my festering shitty bung... whatever

the point is... that i have chosen a stance... and despite my uncertainty i have ascertained with my cognitive apparatus that the way i choose to look at everything is a logically commendable way of approaching it all. i think that my take is a good take... and all you fucking idiots toying with the ideas of bohemian lifestyles and the brilliance of running your perceptual apparatus into the ground... i tell you to come at existence with a slightly elevated level of acumen and stop fucking anus when you want a baby ( O ).... gaped and ready. possibly even prolapsed.... EWWWWWWWW WHAT THE FUCK?

you better fucking look like this if you want in my pants

i don't care about the angle or the lighting or the make-up... you just better have these baseline qualities/features/attributes/

this baseline flavor/persona... or else you will never experience my penis. beggars can be choosers... go figure it out you fucking clown.





















when living in the realm of the socially inept socialites... please remember one thing. until five substantial interactions have taken place there is absolutely no reason to believe that a person will: make eye-contact and greet you upon your next encounter... any number of interactions (usually inebriated or initiated by mutual friends) lower than five (and maybe even up to 15) will probably lead to situations that involve averted eyes upon the moment of physical recognition followed by internal awkward moments of running thought "i know you... but i don't know if you want to know me so i'll play it cool... i think you wanted to greet maybe, you might have looked at me in a socially opening manner... but we have passed the point of comfortable/casual exchange initiation... and now this is really tense and weird... more weird (weirder)... and now we are out of each other's physical area."

jesus the titty fucker i do not understand how that happens...

if you have been introduced to a person and you remember them and some of the things that the two of you talked about then why not greet and have a microcosm of a meaningful exchange which will help to build the comfort... why these social isolationist attitudes? is it merely ineptitude or do individuals want to remain at an awkward arm's length. it is the arm that is awkward... not the distance that is being expressed by the length of the awkward arm.


get it together and be a human. i am trying hard.

4 times daily

my life hurts, it always does. but only fags wish for ignorance. for now... i will just join my college's step team.

my man-tits are massive and ready to be fucked clean

trying is lame. trying to explain the nature of our acceptance of modus ponens... really lame. claiming that jim croce is your favorite music artist... only a little bit lame.

but i have to admit... the more i think and re-think the notion of posting to a weblog... it might be the lamest shit possible.

get out into the world of physical interactions and make it happen. weblogs fucking blow... it is all weirdos saying the shit they think that other people will find interesting/funny/entertaining... and we (since i have a weblog) all hope that people will think we are dope-shit because of our styles. weblogs will not make weirdos into the famous person they imagine themselves becoming in their dreams... and if someone does get famous through their weblog then they are fucking retarded. not even going to qualify that... that is just the way it is... anyone that gets famous through blogging is fucking retarded... 'a priori' truth.

some people may be posting to their weblogs to provide communal conversation pieces... unfortunately, for those of you that are not narcissistically inclined, this medium is dominated by narcissistic idiots like myself and there is no reason to peruse blogs... because they are all shitty nonsense when it all boils down.

fuck that. this is lame. i will probably keep posting... because i am a lame-ass.

you picking up on the lame theme?

Herman Hesse

ex-girlfriend calls: "I want to see you."

dude replies: "I am hooking up with a cool chick up here. You can come but I will be hiding you and sleeping out at this girl's place. I don't think you will want to do that. But I will gladly accept the extra blowjobs and sex."

ex-girlfriend: "What does she look like?"

dude: "It doesn't always have to be about looks you shallow bitch."

ex-girlfriend: "If she isn't pretty with a great body I will go down on you with no strings attached the next time we are home... and you can come on my face."

dude: "Ha, yeah she is pretty much perfect."

ex-girlfriend: "You used to tell me that I was perfect all the time you fucking asshole."

dude: "If I remember correctly you broke up with me because you wanted freedom. It is great that we are still comfortable enough to have these frank discussions but... why don't you just tell me what's on your mind."

ex-girlfriend: "I miss you."

dude: "Does that mean you want me to eat your pussy and talk about some abstract shit until we fall asleep... or does it mean that you are still in love with me and you want to get back into that."

ex-girlfriend: "I don't know... I didn't think about it that much."

dude: "Sure."

ex-girlfriend: "All I know is that if I were there I would sit you down in a chair and I would strip down to nothing but the black panties that you like... and I would tease you for a little before going completely cowgirl on you."

dude: "Well whatever then,... you are going to have to come up here and battle the bitch I am hooking up with. I like her but I might be willing to let it slide if you came up here and went crazy jealous slut-style on her."


she drives up... and they fuck.


so happy.

two weeks later... dude smokes pot and has a heart attack. DEAD.