it sits so nicely at the nape

yo

today i realized not to be a dick today anymore. after i go to sleep i won't be able to tell myself anything anymore. so when i wake up the instructions are out of date. but for right now... while i am awake the deal is not to be a dicksquat.

would you like to know what a dicksquat is?!?!?!?!?!?!!!

a dicksquat is a person that is super-self-aware, they are extremely self-righteous, hypocritical (but they do a good job of hiding the elements that make them a hypocrite), they try to be funny at all costs... it could be at someone elses expense... it could be completely out of the realm of their usual style... they are just fucking flailing into the cosmos for comedy... usually it feels awkward for everyone involved... until the person tries to make a recovery with not funny stuff and then it is just creepy... because everyone knows everything is really fucked up.

so the dynamics.... the dynamics... the weakness. sticking to your guns... but hating yourself. or breaking down... doing the wrong thing... and feeling really good when the dirty deed is in the books. cleaning a plate with your tongue. naming your child roger... ouch.

nevermind.

the real issue here, is the acceptance of periodic isolation. the ex-social scene is a black hole. either the people have departed physically or mentally and the previously occupied niche is vacant in a wildly depressing sense. i believe that this sort of change is part of a "natural" progression... some of the people grow up and others continue to drift as they were drifting when it was almost acceptable to be drifting because soon you would be growing up. the social spectrum grows for some and shrinks for me. i am almost positive that i hate that aspect of everything. its gotta be booze... well it doesn't have to be booze but... you are going to have to try extra hard to find pussy!!! dating seems like it could be fun... you know... blind dates or a quick rattle through your cell phone contacts list... oh hell yeah whatever dude!!! maybe people like me are the ones that have been called losers by everyone that knows how to speak but isn't an idiot. i would not like it at all if i was found to be a loser by society. i want to fuck skinny girls with pretty faces... i want to break through barriers of innocence and sensibility... i want to be the fucking man!!! Losers ARE NOT THE FUCKING MAN!!! shit.

so when i lay on the floor in my dining room at 12:30pm, after only having been up for about 3 hours, and i put my headphones on my ears, and i press the play button on my music player, and electronic jams blast me to sleep, i wonder about my life-status. i do things. i read. i write. i converse with intellectuals. i play the role of intellectual to all those that are far enough away from the workings of my life to have missed the fact that i am a misanthropic douche and that i am just too lazy to use whatever shit-squawking skills i have developed, i have not done anything in the last five years beyond occasionally getting stoned and wowing (the wowing is really up for interpretation) people.

if my pursuits ever seem noble... you might want to reassess the situation. i will try to shed some light. my intentions are usually good... but then i end up gripping a girls arm too hard or telling her that i want to rub my nose on her clit. that usually happens with the help of alcohol. now that i have stopped consuming alcohol my interactions have become even more pleasant... they are either filled with glancing awkwardness (stemming from blatant honesty) or they are just mediocre displays of trying to hard. well that may not be true... i have been known to handle things well. but that was before my death phase. the phase where all came in to question. the phase where body became house of nightmare. heart attacks, panic attacks, rotator cuff, glenoid labrum tear, whatever the fuck you got for me... i have thought it... feared it, sweat out the smell of it, drank its blood with a shaman, laughed it off with homeless person, and concluded it was all indigestion in the end. without any sort of anything that resembled a solution for more than a few days.

now to address the real issue. i stopped writing on this gay shit hole of weblog because i think that the internet is a fucking cancer. i still think that that is the case... but nobody gives a fuck about what i think. some people might find it entertaining, some people might find it shocking or gross... whatever... this weblog may be a number of things but there is one thing that it is certainly not... it is not going to be a source of life advice... who gives a fuck about me hating the internet. maybe a total of 60 people have read this fucking stink tent. i am not going to change anyone's opinion by trying to be some sort of blog martyr. i guess i was pumped up when i wrote that post about hating the internet and never wanting to look at the blog again. I tried not to look at it for a while... but then i checked on day and someone had left a comment... it was a person that wanted to know something about my thesis... which i wrote about months ago... I WAS FUCKING PUMPED!!!!

yeah yeah more play by play of my day to day when i return from sucking my own piss out of the toilet.

easy trap to get caught in. i will sum this up with the slinky pebblin moral of the mousy nipple story. i am going to keep posting on this shit because i am bored. i was entertained for a while by other shit that i had going on. now it is time to return to this disease infested medium of impersonal easy flow... there is no fucking pressure.... i type this bullshit while i am naked at my computer... you don't know if that is true... you don't give a fuck... its funny or its gross... but you don't have to deal with shit... you don't have to look at my toes or suck on my package... the pressure is off... you don't have to know what my voice sounds like... you don't have to ask me to leave... there is no time commitment... there is no conduct commitment... just X this mother fucker out when you get sick of it... wouldn't life be fucking raunchy sweet if we could just move along in that fashion... fuck that X... ex-girlfriend calls wanting you to save her life and touch her vagina... X no porn/soap opera digest for me today...


i am actually really artsy.
but i character act.
so...
this.