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.












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