My Room

My room feels like it belongs to someone else.

This room belongs to someone who died, and I'm just living in it before the deceased's family clears things out.

I always feel that someone or something has been in my room whenever I return to it. It doesn't feel like it's been searched or cleaned, just as if someone had been living in my room while I wasn't living in it.

I watched Blade Runner today, and I have to say it was pretty damn fantastic. My favorite part, which is likely to be anyone's favorite, is the dialogue. "It's too bad she won't live. But then again, who does?" "Nothing the god of biomechanics wouldn't let you in heaven for." And Roy's death speech/soliloquy.

I read Kafka's The Metamorphosis. How someone can undergo a personally catastrophic event out of their control, and how it inevitably effects the people around said person. Sounds familiar.

I also made a collage, using Gustave Dore sketches and the first several pages of a book compressed into 7 pt font. Public domain ftw.

Even though this happened, I still feel I wasted a day. This room is more like a cell.

One of these days

I really hope I don't end up like GG Allin. That would be terrible.

In all seriousness, many people react very harshly and terrified when you hear one 'extreme' idea. Ideas should not be judged by how 'extreme' they are, but how they are to be pursued. A lot of people I talk to say "You need help" after a half hour of discussion with me. That's not fair.


Whether or not I need help is completely irrelevant to my ideas.

My ideas won't change if you say that, they will be changed if you can prove that my method does not work for me.

When I lose an argument, I will agree. I am not the type of person to manifest futility for the sake of feeling superior. If I ask questions, it's because I'm curious, not because I want to contradict you or prolong the discussion/argument beyond necessity.

If I do not agree with you in the end, that means I have not lost, it means you haven't considered my perspective. Also, shame on you.


I am not opinionated, I have strong fucking convictions.

It's usually people who say "I have an open mind" and "I am accepting" who eventually shut down any progress I make in their heads.

When you think to yourself, and you come across what everyone else thinks as 'terrible' and 'wrong' ideas, even though it makes you smile, do not stop thinking about it. If you enjoy it, then please, don't handicap yourself. You may just have a marvelous idea, and it may just lead to what you could never imagine.


You're going to die anyway. You'll be better off crossing these ideas off your list, instead of letting them fester and linger in the back of your head.

I'm not crazy, I just prefer not to inhibit my conclusions and concepts because others think it is wrong.

What I always thought was extremely interesting is when I heard this lyric:

Without the threat of death, there's no reason to live at all.

If I had a choice to live forever, I would not. It would not make me memorable.

If you, the reader, lived forever with me, I wouldn't matter after a long enough period of time. I won't have any lasting wisdom, because I will last. If I came to my convictions in a relatively minuscule period of time, rather than given an eternal view, no matter how brilliant, it wouldn't mean anything. If we lived forever, I would not surprise you. We are both going to die, and be thankful, because it just makes life more precious. And who wants to live on this planet for that much longer, oilright? (This gave me a great idea for a short story.)

Often times I fear that my beliefs are stemmed from some sort of rebellion I feel in my life.

Also, because I said my last sentence, it doesn't make it true. If you dare use it against me I will harm you with civil and verbal justification to communicate this idea to you.


What is appealing about civility? The repression? The aversion? If you wish to yell, do so, if necessary. Only act if it is necessary.

If I had a country, I would make the first notion of my power the Anti-Civility Act. Right before the various autonomous acts and equality acts and social justice acts (whatever social justice means).

 Dear Inventor of Police Siren: Fuck you. I am trying to sleep.

A month ago someone called me a pseudo-intellectual. That hurts. I do not act smarter than I am, don't you know me? I act out on how I feel, not through some sort of intellectual endeavor.

I'm not smart, I'm not a good writer. I'm just smarter and better than the people you know.

When I'm older, you'll see greeting cards like this picture. Stick around, I won't be leaving anytime soon.

Oilright is my new catchphrase

Oilright is a combination of Oi! punks, the oil spill and alright. You know, the Skinheads (against racism). There's more than one type of skinhead. In fact, the first ones were black, back in the 60's. The black and white skinheads beat up on the Southern Asian immigrants.

Did you know that?

Today, Oi! punks and 'non-aligned' members of the working class.

So, in honor of the BP Oil Spill (because drilling for oil is solely Britain's fault), I took out the 'a' and put in the 'oi!'

Life is oilright. Oi!right.

There's this void.

For the past few days, I wake up at 12, and start my day at 8pm-9pm. I have come to understand how there is nothing to do in this town. It must be cabin fever.

There is so little to do that I am actually cleaning my room. Tomorrow I'll do laundry. Isn't that bizarre?

There is so little to do that I have been spending time thinking about lyrics and chords for folk songs.

I can read a book and stop reading on my own leisure, without interruption.

The only consistency in my life is depression and the ability to recover quickly from it. It's quite boring. I'll start listening to blues.


I'll close this post with This Bike Is A Pipe Bomb's Depression.


When you have nothing, you haven't even hope to spare
You're exactly where you want to be
You wouldn't have it any other way
Any other way would be complication
Depression ain't so bad
Makes you wish you'd never been born, but you always jump right back
Now I've been on top of the world, and I've been stuck at the bottom
I have kicked and I've crawled, tried to get my way back up
But there's nothing wrong with a break before you get back up
Depression ain't so bad
Look at all the good its done Robert Johnson

On and On and On

I still remember that night
it was the fourth of July
it's still engraved in my mind
and I'm not surprised
gang wars no guns hand to hand
you're black I'm white he's purple
but I still don't understand
I'm going to be alright
I'm going to be okay
everything is going to be fine
back off 'cause
I want to be alone
I want to think it out
and I'm thinking that I want to go home
look who's laughing now
I'll pull it off somehow
as I passed her by
I could see her cry
and I'll never forget the look
that was in her eye
and the music you know it played
on and on and on
so won't somebody tap her
on the shoulder
tell her life goes on

3 years 2 months 1 week 4 days
I'm always counting down
because there ain't no easier way
trust me
you know look that I tried
and if I said it's easy
then you know that
I told a lie
I'm going to be alright
I'm going to be just fine
one down five billion to go
am I next in line
and do I really want to know?
look who's laughing now
I'll pull it off somehow
as I passed her by
I could see her cry
and I'll never forget the look
that was in her eye
and the music you know it played
on and on and on
so will somebody tap her
on the shoulder
tell her life goes on

I still remember that night
it was the fourth of July
it's still engraved in my mind
and I'm not surprised
gang wars no guns hand to hand
you're black I'm white
he's purple but I still don't understand
I'm going to be alright
I'm going to be okay
everything is going to be fine
back off
I want to be alone
I want to think it out
and I'm thinking that I want to go home
3 years 2 months 1 week 4 days
I'm always counting down
because there ain't no easier way
trust me
you know that I tried
and if I said it's easy
then you know that
I told a lie
I'm going to be alright
I'm going to be just fine
one down five billion to go
am I next in line
and do I really want to know?
look who's laughing now
I'll pull it off somehow and he said
"as I passed her by
I could see her cry
and I'll never forget the look
that was in her eye
and the music you know it played
on and on and on
so won't somebody tap her
on the shoulder
tell her life goes on"

"Gifted"

This past week everyone tells me I'm a "gifted" writer.

I read this article, I hope you will too:


Existential depression in gifted individuals

Crashing

 I don't want to be reminded of being bipolar. I don't have any questions.

I can feel myself crashing and sinking. I feel like someone took me out of my life and put me in a completely different place. I feel lost. I don't know how I got here. I don't know what I did, whether or not I believe it is wrong.

Today was supposed to be fun. Instead, I stayed at home until 9:30 pm. I feel useless and irritable. I can't handle all this sympathy. I am used to just moving on, now the depression is beginning to feel like an actual issue. I'm used to feeling depressed, and now I'm constantly brought to the idea that depression is controlling every aspect of my life.

I can't focus on anything else because that's the only thing I've heard today.

I resent the fact that I'm going to a hospital every week. Confiding in a stranger is not comfortable.

Fuck this week. I guess I have to mention I'm suicidal to get this level of concern.

For the record/Diagnosed

For the record:

I am not a 'believer' or 'follower' in Satan. He's a myth. Whatever. I don't do things for him. "Hail Satan" is a joke. It's counter culture. I don't believe in Satan.

Here's my 'belief'

Diagnosed:
 
I was diagnosed with Bipolar disorder. It's always been clear on this blog. Now it's incredibly frustrating:

1. The initial response was that I was going to kill myself at the mentioning of suicide seemed radical. 
2. Being constantly asked "Are you sad?" and "Are you lonely?" really made me feel sad and lonely.
3. Promising everyone I'm going to be safe.

Now I just feel angry. I knew it was always around, but I thought I was just a little off. Constantly hoping it would fade away, I just let it reside. I feel disgusted when I show my emotions to others, it's humiliating.

Questions are driving me insane.

The worst fears I've had became reality:

1. My family discovering this without my consent.
2. Feeling like a sick person to my family.
3. Generalized lack of understanding with most people.
4. Not being able to be alone.

There was more, I just can't think.

Telling everyone about my suicidal thoughts and personal issues I wasn't ready to divulge felt like being violated. Feeling pressured to speak, especially about issues I do not want to caused stress. 

It was always prevalent, but now that I'm diagnosed and being evaluated, the 'symptoms' are amplified. I have a disorder. I can't write right now, I'm too busy being reminded of all the medications I'll have to research and therapy I'll have to go through.


I can't write anything well, give me a few days.


The crushing pressure weighing down upon my weary back
The tedious routines of day to day poise to attack
The poisonous pollution and the pointlessness of care
And in a blink we blow away to dust upon the air

This Blog

I have absolutely no idea what the future holds for this blog. I suppose you could call it a hiatus.

The Arrow and the Song, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Today is my mother's 50th birthday, and the day of my first Wiccan ritual.

I'll write down my experiences hopefully today, but sometime soon, when I have all the pictures to select from.

Until then, enjoy this:

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

2007 Burning Dreams

A friend of mine used to tell me about how he wanted to kill himself. He knew where to get the rifle in the attic, or he could leave the gas on and wait for an explosion.

I kind of wish he did sometimes. Not for his harm, but to watch what happens afterward. If I could go back in time, I would tell him to do it right then and there. I would stand on the front lawn and watch his house burn in the night.

Standing on the lawn, watching all these possessions, this life of interior design and expensive dinnerware. The family would burn. I wouldn't know what would happen to my life, but I don't think my life would be important in that situation.

The image is so beautiful in my head, the moon would shine like it always has. His house always had clear nights, where I would spend the night and stare at the moon. Isolated among relatives. The beds were uncomfortable, the climate never helped, but the moon was always glowing.

I would stand with two feet planted on the lawn of this disgusting house. I would watch the wind blow the flames to the sides. I wouldn't yell fire.

Running from the cops

That's what freedom is all about.

"How would you kill me?"

"How would you kill me?"
"I think by stabbing, because you enjoy pain because you want to know what it feels like. You like pain because you're curious about it, and after a while you start to become fond of it." I said.
"Where?" She inquired.
"Not in the stomach, around the chest." I replied, pantomiming sticking a blade in her chest. "Then maybe in the back, but the knife may get caught in your ribs and bones."
"Would you slit my throat?" She asked with a content curiosity.
"If you want me to. I've had this fantasy since a few years ago where I would cut someone's throat and blood would gush from their neck onto me. I thought 'Wow, I must really be angry.' But the way I see it now is much different."

I paused.

Yesterday we had a similar discussion:

"I fantasized about murder, and I would think about slitting the throat. It's like the removal of two different planes. The head, which is their ugly personality, all the contempt and hateful things, from the body, which is completely indiscriminate. You could put another head on the body, the body remains beautiful because it's not aware of the thoughts that go on in the head."

Today, I asked:
"How would you kill me?"
"I don't know, I would have to think about it." she answered.

Good Morning

To my Harmona:

I'm pretty sure you're missing me. Face it, who could survive without Meidinger for one or two days?

I'll text or contact you. I'm getting a new phone in a few hours, hopefully my contact list will be transferred.

There's so much I have to tell you and ask you!

It's sad that you moved out of the Journalism Cabinet home, but at least we got to gaze at the ceiling holes (which were equivalent to stars) before you left.

I'm happy you're graduating, though, it makes me glad to see you're moving on in your life, and Satan knows another year in this hell hole and you'll end up like me. It's not as bad as it looks, though, you get adjusted to the insanity. Why am I telling you this? You already know!

I know this post will cheer you up over an Q_Q-ing you may have been feeling lately.

So, let's make plans today! We'll go to Venice and eat dinner and paint the town so-gladness.

And tell me about the canole story you heard about, I'll fill in the details.

So glad, so glad

'Dinger

One cup of tea, not enough for company
Maybe tomorrow, you can let me borrow
Another cup of tea, another cup of tea
And your company, and your company 

Pee ess, I think you're the only person who reads this that would understand the picture I've used at the top of my blog. I have to send you what I wrote about the experience.

Men, There Will Be No Country for Old Blood

If there was ever a week of favorite memories it would be this one.

So, I'm going to start taking (or stealing) pictures more often and showing you depraved readers.

I couldn't begin to tell you the excursions I have taken part in these past several days, but I know that I'll have too many days to spend, and I must spend them out of this cell.

Have I told you about Peyote Punk and The Purity Police?

Peyote Punk and the Purity Police is the name of my punk rock band: featuring instant classics like "Fuck Driving!!" and "Lean Pockets (and Meth)" and "Hawaiian Baby Woodrow Wilson," as soon as they are finished being written.

We will practice this week, in sketchy ass Tujunga, the ancestral homeland of each member (except maybe the Purity pig.)

Our first show may be in sketchy ass Tujunga, the ancestral homeland of each member (except maybe the Purity fuzz.)

When we do record, which will (hopefully) be before July ends, will be posted here, and there, and anywhere.

Through a long, well-conceived rant, I developed a theory.

A theory that I may just turn into a speech, but long story short:

Burn money, dismantle military, and smash the state for consistently throwing their weight around to impede the success of anyone below the upper class. Spending the majority on an imperialistic military, accusing nations of holding criminals, and invading the nations like a vigilante police force in a crisis state.


Money changes everything. If you start spending the majority's money on one subject, the rest of the capitalist slave's currency will be put into the prosper of that subject. You spend the government budget on the military, people will support the military. (It's kinda like fascism, but we call it democracy.)

Instead of going to college, I believe learning how to grow food and build houses, learning first aid, and self educating myself on autonomous ideals outside of a specialized course will be more beneficial than a piece of paper telling you that you can officially design the interior of an apartment.

I have concluded that any borders of large land masses should be erased. If you're going to change how you live by taking a few extra steps in an opposite direction, I believe that you are a moron. We don't need massive governments, we don't need countries, we just need people and climate regions to dictate where we should farm our crops. Fuck your mass produced industrialized and genetically modified food for ravaging the bodies of people through outsourced labor and horrible chemicals in our meals.

In case you were wondering, I have no idea what I'm going to write next.

Did I mention I paraded down an incredibly busy street with a friend of mine who painted Death to America on a piece of cardboard? What a fun Saturday it was.

I've seen you in my face as I've aged.
You beautiful fuck up, so casually brave.
It made me less lonely, it helped me.
The conventions that broke your nose
I find quaint.

"Your eyes are so red."

"Your eyes are so red."
"I think it's too romantic."
But I'm not stopping

Hothouse Flowers

Hothouse flowers grow lush and bright
In tiny little towns across this big night
Hothouse flowers all kissing for fun
Slipping into stores then out in a run, singing
Laments and rowdy songs, hymns about sin
High lives and reels, a tarantell' violin
Other people's apartments and couches and clothes
Young again, lost again
Here we are, here we go
Hothouse flowers growing up so strange
Falling asleep with your boots on and waking aged
Hothouse flowers all missing their friends
Calling up late at night and hanging up on them, screaming
Laments and rowdy songs, hymns about sin
High lives and reels, your tarantell' violin
Other people's apartments and couches and clothes
Young again, lost again
Here we are, here we go
Hothouse flowers crushed flat to the glass
You get hit pretty hard moving so damn fast
Hothouse flowers struggling past first bloom
You grow pretty damn twitchy never leaving your room
I think those lights down there are the lights from little towns
Hothouse flowers grow lush and bright
In tiny little towns across this big night
Hothouse flowers all kissing for luck
Stepping out all dressed, returning all fucked up
Hothouse flowers grow lush and bright
In tiny little towns across this big night
Hothouse flowers happens all the time
Tiny little towns living great big lives

Want/Want?/Want

What I would enjoy is a relationship with a person who is/has any of the following:

1. Common sense
2. Capable of holding a discussion
3. Emotionally stable
4. Independent
5. Rationality
6. Well-read
7. Open to the idea of BDSM
8. Aware that the world doesn't revolve around them
9. Can appreciate small gestures
10. Faces problems
11. Not an idiot

I know I'm setting my standards very high, but it's what I am looking for.

Until then, I'll just throw orgies in my apartment for the summer.

Orgy-porgy, Ford and fun
Kiss the girls and make them One
Boys at one with girls at peace;
Orgy-porgy gives release.

Thank you, Dostoyevsky

For making the notes of a terminally ill man into an unusually appealing novel.

Whether it's good or bad, smashing something is also very pleasant on occasion.

 

Kinesiology Partner

Today was very boring, and ended with disappointment.

I went to out to lunch with the girl I asked out, and it was not as fun or amazing as I had imagined.

I followed her to her car, which was very nice and clean, contrary to her statements.

I asked her what music she liked, and her answer surprised me: American Metalcore

She loves As I Lay Dying, Slipknot, and Bullet for My Valentine. She saw Slipknot live. She told me how much she loves Matt Tuck. She drove us to Burger King. This strangely mirrored summer from last year.

The food was shitty. Burger King is always shitty.

We talked about what we always talk about. School. Education.

It sucks. Life goes on.

So, I'm single. Six more weeks of winter.

As sad as the end of the year makes me, I'm happy this will be over.

All I really want to do now is read, among other activities.

Dancing around a distressed Dishdawasher with a Silly Goose and his lyrics was enjoyable. I hope it brought light to Dishwasher's distressed day.

Fuck. It's Tuesday. Fuck.


Hail Satan

Face Shitted

Monday?

This is going to be a long week.

Summer Checklist

1. Riot
2. Love
3. Bondage
4. Write that book
5. Listen/Thoroughly enjoy audiobooks
6. Shave pubes
7. Absorb book information
8. Sleep
9. Ignore family obligations
10. Spend time with loved ones
11. Skank
12. Watch The Story of O with Calypsotic Saint
13. Learn songs to sing and play on guitar
14. Be thankful
15. Read and watch all the sadomasochistic media available
16. Write songs
17. Bathe
18. Stop using shampoo and use baking powder/apple cider
19. Be patient when preparing meals
20. Clean apartment
21. Establish self as libertine
22. Spend time in nature
23. Visit abandoned carnival with the little information given
24. Urban sprawl into the abandoned mental asylum
25. Brush teeth/floss/rinse
26. Change screen name 

Updated 6/25/10

Crooked teeth

Crooked teeth bite fingers off crooked
Like a dull hacksaw
Flowers bleeding passionately
Their faces always touch the sky

Crooked teeth don't leave ovular marks
They disrupt the clotting
But no one pays attention
That's not a serious problem, though

We're our own little celebrities
Self-centered and drunk on our qualities
We only care because, answer this
Who cares about us as much as we do?

Don't let yourself feel dependent
Don't fuck everything you see
Don't try to always win
Don't try to burn yourself

Imagine Jesus Christ
Stigmatacized, the bastard
But one leg was free
And he limped on one leg into town

While he was limping,
The wood hit the ground
With every step, the Savior makes
Quite a shallow beat

Upside down pentagram petals
With the star legs sticking sharply
If you touch the tip impatiently
You'll bleed like the hemophiles

The ancient Stoics probably had candles
Behind their retinas
Their tears were flaming
Tears in the universe, almighty

Clouds at night have an untouched hue
No one dares duplicate it
No one dares look for it
Don't mind it, though, it's just for you

The nights always silent the day
The chatter of birds and automobiles
Stop suddenly, as if sedated by
The darkness underneath their eyelids

Don't trust what others say is
Necessity
It's just an application of amplification
Of misinterpreted words in a quick thought

Don't think for others as often you do yourself
There's a voice above your brain stem
It says:
Calm down, you did the best you could

Maybe one day we'll have cables and electricity
Instead of veins and blood, but don't be scared
As long as our brains remain the same
The vessel doesn't matter

Imagine those hardwired veins bulging from scrawny hands
Pressing metal onto plastic to bring thoughts into other mediums
The swelling ankles, free from the dollar bills
and the handcuffs that didn't let go

Elders stare at mechanical boxes with little suns and stars
Showing pictures of other watchers, moving intently
Until we hire our gardeners to cut the cords
Not much will change

Before I leave, remember to cross
Cross your gods, cross your streets
Cross your fingers and hope
Crooked teeth don't purchase without pay

California Über Alles

How many people still read this blog? I'm guessing five.

It's June. Fucking summer.

Happy Birthday, Dishdawasher, filthy art saboteur!

The Calypsotic Saint must raise a few thousand dollars for her modeling. Panhandling, anyone?

Zen fascists will control you
100% natural
You will jog for the master race
And always wear the happy face

If I were to kiss you here they'd call it an act of terrorism

so let's take our pistols to bed and wake up the city at midnight like drunken bandits celebrating with a fusillade, the message of the taste of chaos. 
 

Cognitive Dissonance

I was talking to my Kinesiology partner. She spent most of the class period explaining her Sylvia Plath novels. I pulled out an old psychology textbook to show her. She then pulled out a psychology book her dad bought her the night before.

She told me about cognitive dissonance. Apparently I still don't understand it because I have three different definitions from three different people.

She was explaining this experiment which I pretended to understand. Involving money and people's opinions.

I walked with her down the hall, and I waited for her to finish explaining the concept. I stopped her. I asked her if she would go out with me.

To every girl who reads this, you are a critic.
"Where did you ask her out?" you may say. There is no where, there is only me.

I don't know why, but she paused for a moment, and said yes.

Yes, so, I'm not quite sure where we stand, or what will happen next, but don't be pessimistic, it will work out.

I don't care if it wasn't perfect, the point is I did it the best I could. Vague, and somewhat confusing.

It'll work out, don't pull your bullshit societal rules on me.

I listened to the entire audiobook for Aldous Huxley's Brave New World. Now my morality and perspective is realigned. Fuckin' a, Mr. Savage.

I can't remember the last time I felt this happy for so long. I've never been this stable. I'm afraid something horrible will change everything.

I'm ready to start over.

Thank you

I don't know when this friendship started, so I'll just say in February, co-writing that article which became one of this blog's first post. What a spark.

I've always admired how I have almost no idea what you're thinking most of the time. That makes me smile.

I'll live below the glass floor in your library in San Francisco, Portland, wherever it is.

I appreciate the time you've spent with me, even when I was sitting in your car with floods of tears and snot excreting from my face.

The suggestions you made, that I revered more closely than my own thoughts, realigned my 'morality.' It made me the person I wanted to be.

I changed from a depression junkie to a happy addict.

I still have the small, dead, handpicked flowers taped to the note you left on my mirror.

I've wanted to comment on your recital:

When you walked to your instrument, in a black dress and serene face after you bowed, I was stunned. Your hands moved across the gleaming white keys like dyslexic spiders, trying to navigate toward a black horizon. The piece you played melted away the atmosphere of the 'fancy' and 'upper class' walls you played inside. No other location could have been more appropriate than in a library.

What happy memories were made these past few months, from almost stepping on snakes to elegantly slipping into puddles.

As long as we're both on this planet, I'm sure hundreds more will be made.

So, why exactly does it feel like I'm dying when I say all these things?

Because you're parting and you've made the most difference in how I think and feel than any other person has.

Like you, this post is short and has a lot of heart.

So, maybe the times we had, they weren't that bad
And everything else, well, it was part of the plan
And we sang: I don't know where we go from here
This is the alpha, omega, beginning and the end
and we all just idolize the dead

So you were born!
and that was a good day
Some day you'll die!
and that is a shame
but somewhere in the between
is a life in which we all dream
and nothing and no one can ever take that away

All I learned in preschool

is that only assholes like you rule the world.

One month, 3 days

Ah, Religion

Anarchie!

Tomorrow, I must give a speech in some sort of important competition for my speech and debate team. It's on ANARCHY! Want to read? Well, here:

Over five centuries ago, a voyager named Christopher Columbus sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and discovered North America to the Eastern World. What he found was a land divided into many separated tribes. From what history can tell us, these Native Americans managed to coexist and survive successfully. None were oppressed by state laws, or by their neighboring societies. This is anarchy. This is autonomy.

Regrettably, the colonizing forces did not observe the relationships of tribes and consider the Native government; instead they continued invading with bitter and intolerant hearts, in the name of freedom, independence, and religious ‘right.’ Soon, the autonomous world was put under control by a series of small state governments. As time progressed, bloody revolutions and civil struggles formed the land we call the United States of America. The concept of anarchy was to be long forgotten, as the tribes began descending and dying.

Anarchy is a widely misunderstood concept, and is unfairly ridiculed by anyone who does not declare themselves as an anarchist.

Anarchy is not a large group of punk rockers hitting each other in the face with baseball bats, nor is it absolute chaos or utter destruction. Anarchy is not necessarily complete lawlessness, and should not just be another trend among teenage “rebels.” Anarchy is the decentralization of government, removal of formalized authority, and the value of individual thought. Above all, it is the autonomous self-rule and self-reliance.
Anarchy is presented in various forms, with different economic and social goals. Each idea holds a different title: from anarcho-syndicalism, a labor based movement, to anarcho-naturism, focusing on nature and self reliance.

With different goals applied to the concept of anarchy, we are capable of choosing what suits our ideals best.
The government we live under today is shrouded in uncertainty and controversy and corruption, and the citizens are noticing. Is this the type of government any citizen should be comfortable trusting? The United States Government is no stranger to split decisions or dissatisfied minorities. In the past decade, there has not been a single citizen who has not turned down a right for the nation’s benefit. Whether it is abortion, death penalty, or euthanasia, not every person in the state you live in will agree, let alone in your neighborhoods or households. The problem is that with all these issues we are given as a whole, the more prevalent disagreements will become.

Anarchy is the idea that a large population will descend into smaller groups, and form smaller societies with people who share similar moral values.

Morality itself is a human construct, telling us how to define “good” and how to define “bad.” We need to take into consideration that not all of us grew up in safe neighborhoods, came from wholesome families, and were growing up with conscientious friends. We have all learned our morality from different situations, and although we can’t agree completely, we can agree with certain values. Anarchy gives us the opportunity to create the communities where we can agree on those principles.

The advantage is quite simple; an example of this is an issue that is presented in our world today. This is the issue on the use of illegal drugs. Many, if not most individuals have qualms regarding drugs. Anarchy presents to us the possibility to remove drugs, alcohol, and various illicit substances from our lives completely.
Preventing drug abuse is much easier if your people do not oppose your goal, and will accommodate your standards.

With the knowledge that your society consists of people you can trust and correspond with, it also allows for the redistribution of labor.

Today, our labor has often reached a point where the working class will sit at a desk, pushing pencils and writing reports for products that the employee may not even use or understand how to use. Human beings were not meant to sit at a computer, pressing numbers into spreadsheets and expecting results. This is not work, this is a job for a drone. The redistribution of labor can change how we live today.

We can leave our offices and free the wage slaves, we can neglect all the skills we use that never benefit us. By removing the need for money through servicing yourself, you won’t have to spend your life paying off your mortgage, when you can simply construct your home. By reverting to less work, the more manageable the world becomes. The indigenous tribes of the world won’t worry about mutually assured destruction or global warming; the tribes could have simply just existed, and remained another animal on this planet.

Our world today is too safe, and the further we shelter ourselves, the more we fear the world around us. Too often will we walk into our schools or jobs on a rainy day and see the “Caution: Wet Floor” sign. Any human who has the ability to work in an office should have the common sense to realize that rain makes the ground wet. Unfortunately, a person will slip, and soon sue whoever is responsible, as if money would compensate for lack of common sense. We have choking hazard signs on small toys and warning labels on our coffee.

This is disappointing, especially when we boast that we are members of the Information Age, yet we might just forget that bridges are “slippery when wet.”

Anarchy tells us otherwise. Anarchy is considered “lawlessness,” and this is brilliant because without laws, we are capable of thinking for ourselves. Without being told of what is “right” and “wrong,” we are able to make decisions, with our autonomy. If we fail, we learn from our mistakes. Because of laws, fear grows from making mistakes, and through that fear, we will avoid learning if it endangers our social situation in any possible way. No human being should be afraid to learn.

What we have learned, but yet to realize, is that one law cannot serve the entire populace. No law could ever support rich estate owners and the “equal” citizens who struggle everyday in the ghetto. It is time we realize that our government cannot govern us. True freedom comes from oneself; nothing is capable of controlling the animal in man. No fallacy can let the government strip you of your humanity and take your freedom. No one in a special uniform can handcuff you and make you the property of their state. Passing through “nations” and “civilizations” should not change how we live: no arbitrary border, a line in the sand, should change how we dictate our lives. No person is controlled by the government, only afraid to break away from the government.

We must smash the state, for it confines our freedom and steals our personal liberties. It is time we question the laws, and need not suppress ourselves by the constraints of our elder’s society. It is time we start over, once again, and live our lives without the complication of a government we do not know and the strangers we cannot trust. We must live in the safety of those who we know, not those we elect. For a world of understanding and equality, we must tear down the walls instead of locking up the doors.

Purpose in Life

I've discovered what my reason for existence is.

A few weeks ago, I decided I wanted to be a figure skater. Satanic sequins in all. I swear, I'd get so laid, you don't even know.

As promising as a goal like that is, I realized that figure skating is simply not enough. Last night, I ate nine sticks of string cheese.

It was at that moment I heard the calling: Cheese Connoisseur.

I could spend the prime of my life at a skating rink, with only the ice and a Zamboni. 

Below the rink, I could store my cheese: Parmigiano Reggiano, English Farmhouse Cheese, Roquefort, Brie de Melun, Mahon, Oregon Blue Vein, Hooligan, Gorgonzola, Calcagno, Cabrales, Teleme, and Saint-Marcellin. Among various cheese that no one, not even I, have ever heard of.

I could write an autobiography, Curdle. It would be turned into a movie, co-starring Paul Giamatti, and I could sleep with the Asian girl.

I would be the Ray Davies-Dave Davies front man of the Rinks! A Kinks cover band!

I could write about my relations with the French mob, and how they managed to preserve a type of cheese that derives from the milk of an African Wild Ass.

Honestly, how could a book like this NOT sell?

The back would read:
Dave felt separated from society, his family, and his companions in his adolescent years. It wasn't until he was choking himself for sexual pleasure did he flashback to being a child on the ice. 

Destined to become a figure skater, he gave up his depressive lifestyle to follow his dreams in Alaska. However, he struggles reaching Alaska in a much more difficult journey than Alexander Supertramp ever faced. Shit man, Henry David Thoreau would come back from the dead and sign this book. The point being is that Dave, although facing the adversity of those who 'support' him, managed to overcome his struggles. Winning the figure skating Olympic Gold Medal of Honor for Three Consecutive Winter Olympics, a void was created. 

Dave did not want to be the Satanic King of the Ice for long. After meeting the greatest cheese maker in the world at a BDSM club, he discovered the true meaning of life. 

Follow Dave, a modern era James Dean, fight against the police, grizzly bears, and the ghost of Louis Pasteur in the greatest performance of Ice Skating-Cheese Making that easily bested the Miracle on Ice. 

Thank you for your support, friends, my life's journey starts today. Well, fuck, I'm busy until mid-June. I'll start then.


“How can you govern a country which has 246 varieties of cheese?” 
Charles De Gaulle

Ouroboros

Sometimes, you just find a picture that explains your life.

On a different note, I've been noticing a lot more police around town, be careful everyone.

The Subhumans are playing at the Echoplex, I want to see them. Anyone want to see them with me?

We are part of the victims, not the victimizers

Someone brought back an extinct African water lily from the dead.

Why?

To play god, of course. (It's a childish game, playing with imaginary friends, I know.)

Doctors do it, too.

I do it, with ants.

I once read this quote that says (paraphrased here:) "What if it's nature's intention to be altered?"

Since then, I haven't been able to form any opinion on that statement.

Which brings me to another conclusion:

Why do we always need to have an idea or opinion on something?

We don't. I don't. You don't.

You never lose if you never fight. That statement is only half true.


I have a quick question.

Am I the only person I know who argues and accepts when they're wrong?
Yes?
Okay, thank you.

I hate being called a liar. Want to know why?
Because I haven't lied since last year.
Being honest makes life easier, and it also makes you quite an asshole.
This is good, though! It helps people understand your intentions!

While I'm off on a tangent, I noticed someone with a
"NUGENT PALIN '12" sticker on the back of a car.
I pray to almighty Satan that that sticker is comedic and is not in anyway serious.

Steve Poizner seems like a dick. Sending out only attack ads. This can be misleading, however, because no one should be able to put their entire political policy in a 30 second program with pictures.

Fuck the Arizona border. Who gives a fuck about illegal immigration? Just because someone climbs over a fence with the intention of bettering themselves doesn't make them a criminal to the state. Borders are fucking stupid. They're lines on pieces of paper that vaguely resemble land masses. Just imagine if maps were misprinted, and every border was shifted 2 degrees to the left, would chaos ensue?

Knowing the world of today, yes. Yes indeed.

Burn your fucking maps, burn your radio towers, smash the GPS's and crash every car. We don't need it. You don't need it.

Want to know something that's been bugging me?
The argument of:
"That's someone's child!"
Well, aren't we all?
Don't you abuse other 'children?'
Oh? They disagree with you, fascist bitch?
Oh, you disagree because they 'hate' you?
Don't you hate them?
Doesn't that make you the evil one, too?

Is 'being ghetto' something to be proud of?
Is it some sort of game? Is it a competition?
Is it a competition to see who can look the most impoverished and in need of help?

If you're trying to be 'ghetto,' you must have a lot of self pity.

Rationality? What does that mean?

What confuses me is racist people. You love 'the land of the free' but you hate other free people. Wasn't freedom the basis of unity? Wait, I forgot freedom doesn't exist. Neither does morality.

My house smells like it's on fire.
Fuck, what am I going to do?

I guess it's nothing.

"An extraordinary life would suck just as much as an average one."

I am a good person. I care and listen and will be there for half the people I know. The other half I will abandon and neglect and hurt when they need to be loved most.


I whipped many people, and was whipped by two different whips within 24 hours. They were right, these things are weapons.

I bought my own whip, with friends who were arguing in the store.
We were obviously not displaying any respect or knowledge equestrians have:

"Are those saddles free?"
"No, they're not!"
"But they're outside! In a bucket!"

"Look at this red hat! It says '50!' Is this $.50 or $50."
"It's $50!"
"Oh, that's a lot for a hat... It must be the best hat in the world."

By this time, I decided to buy the riding crop for $7.75, and get the hell out of there.

Ah, leather.

Somehow, my friends and I ended up dressing ridiculously and screaming in the forest while being video taped.

After the taping, we beaner-packed my friend's car.

We approached a Dominos. One I had not been to since the summer.

Cramming six people into a small area while screaming the value deals did not look very entertaining to the five men behind the counter. We did have money, and money is the paper which allows us to tolerate one another.

I have been told by other Saints, but I had never seen it. My temporary domme has a pentacle carved around her stomach. She told me a story of how she cut it, and how painful showers were after the carving. It is still nicely scarred after two years.

We went into a parking structure with our pizza. We sat at the corner, near anti freeze and a staircase. We all ate the burning food while telling stories. I imagine that someday soon, if the Saints are ever squatters and vagrants, we can survive very easily on the diet we have.

Somehow, I found myself at a cancer fundraiser with Saints.

I saw many people there I knew.

I had a friend there, though. I held her hand and put my arm around her and talked with her. I'm not dating her, but we're good friends. I haven't felt any remote connection like this in months. I understand why people date, now. It was one of the nicest feelings I've had this year.

I heard the list of the local people who had died from cancer. One name sounded familiar, but I won't ask about it.

It's strange to watch a massive group carry candles around in a circle. Diseases and death grow a strong resistance.

Being remembered is likely to be one of the worst concerns anyone should worry about. You won't be remembered for very long, so don't worry about it. It's all trivial, everything has been said and done before. You're a collection of a stunted culture and so will the next generation, and any attempt to rise above with some sort of half-assed philosophy is virtually pointless.


That doesn't mean we can't have fun. 

This week looks as frantic as the every other week in my life. I'll probably stress out over things I can do but have no desire to do, violate and let others violate me, and not get very much sleep. Every moment before the deadline is complete serenity and every moment after the penalty scolding is complete bliss. As long as I know which direction I am heading toward, I will (try to) remain calm.

I was thinking about how everything would change if I killed myself. Do any of you wonder about that?

I hope that if I die before any of you, you laugh at the ridiculous way I died.
My friend told me that he wouldn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I think you should all laugh first.

I'll probably die through a fail attempt of auto-erotic asphyxiation. I'll be as well hung from the ceiling as I am now.

If that didn't make you smile, you're the fucked up one.

I know that if not now, then sometime this century, a person will find my blog and want to meet me.


Is it weird to fantasize about a girl, lose interest, and start fantasizing about her brother? I'm into bondage, know very sketchy people, and worship the devil, bisexuality must not be a stranger to such people.

That's it. I'll die in a massive orgy, hung from the ceiling, and have a man and women swinging from my legs. I'll be a corpse-like chandelier. Play some Stray Cats to that and you'll have yourself a dark comedy.

What a friend pointed out to me was that for a girl to be a good singer, she must have a high voice. She doesn't believe this, but the vast majority of people do. The ones who control radio stations.

One day, I won't be in theses situations anymore. I won't be apathetic and I'll smile a lot more, before I crawl up in a corner and die. I hope you're all there.

Stza: You mean the female. Or like the equestrian species? He's like the equestrian species, they show up on dry land and you're like, "Oh my god, bow down" and then they cut off your head. I'm talking about horses man. Fucking horses.
Ezra: Indigenous quadrupeds.
Stza: They scare me to death. No they don't. I just don't think people should ride them. It's like, you know, that hurts. It's gotta hurt, someone on your back all day.

http://www.punknews.org/article/20977#ixzz0oANquJ12

Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine
Melting in a pot of thieves
Wild card up my sleeve
Thick heart of stone
My sins my own
They belong to me

People say 'beware!'
But I don't care
The words are just
Rules and regulations to me

The Dissident Dog of Greece

Tooth for tooth & eye for eye
Makes us all the same
Political war criminals
We elect and know their names

I spied the government today

they seemed inclined to make us pay
after one hundred broken treaties and accords
they could not blame us for our pain

the arbitrary borders stand
a line of blood through stolen lands
that little flag upon your sleeve
shows off you're stupid and naive
or maybe you believe the lies
through beady ignoramus eyes
it's no surprise you're outta luck
your mama raised a stupid fuck

If it was up to me, I would restart history
Ignite the flame and burn the centuries of blame
The bloodstained centuries, these bloody centuries

and what's the cost of discontent?
we're dissidents that scream dissent
will we let the pigs break down our doors
or fight 'em back, against the anti-poor
these darkened days will corner us all
and stuck behind the penitentiary walls

Just don't get locked up in jail,
'Cause no ones gonna have the bail,
Takin' time to break the laws,
Then I'll lick my dirty paws,
Dodging all the lies I'm fed,
I'll live my life and then I'm dead

I pledge allegiance to no flag
Top that bottle with an oily rag
We're building up an army fast
To destroy the pigs and break the upper class

So we're forming to our cliques
we will destroy all the clocks
and our weapons will be sticks
and the other side has rocks

The public is shocked by the peoples opinions,
they crush your dreams and foreclose your dominions.
You always stand there, a reader digesting.
Never bothered to ask any questions!
Hate your state!

See a frown? turn that cross upside down.
Grab a gun or baseball bat, let's go to fucking town!
Let's kill the police, I'll be saying little more,
But when the cops come to your door,
don't forget the choice is yours!

 Our only concern: capitalization
And world economic: domination
Profits are made from global starvation
Russian roulette for the world population

 We need terror and repression
For third world exploitation
Generals plot extermination
Bank on death and devastation

 Aw... it was nothing. It didn't matter to me.
Ah, there were tanks all over my street.
There was one outside the windows
and children in the streets were throwing rocks at the tanks.

We were broke as well.
Took it underground, empty borderline, up against the wall.
The wall. The wall.
Show your papers, boy.

Singing songs about your war and hate
and how your sickly system alienates
your corrupt machine destroys all the land
your gluttonous greed I'll never understand, no!

badge-wavers your time is up!
cash-cravers your time is up!
jail-fillers your time is up!
youth-killers your time is up!
cop-callers your time is up!
peace-stallers your time is up!
blood-suckers your time is up!
Mother-fuckers your time is up!

Book-burners your time is up!
Lie-learners your time is up!
Blood-suckers your time is up!
mother-fuckers your time is up!

"The new world order reeks of dying empire odor
and changing the channel wont make that go away.
As the veneer of democracy fades away, as the worlds
down-size until it explodes, as the shanty-towns piled
behind the malls become visible, as the savages on the
other side of the wall break through, as everybody from
gun-crazy militias to anti-immigrant Nazis to fundamentalist
child-raping Christians to gangsta rappers to community
activists to working families just struggling to put food
on the table, all mad at the same thing: your SUV; me, me, me;
"mission accomplished"; bring'em on;
buy more stuff, buy more stuff,
fight terror, defend freedom so you can buy more stuff.
The false illusion of the world is going down, motherfucker.
Walk off your job. Crime is beautiful.
A prank a day keeps the dog-leash away!

Quit your jobs! Burn down the malls!"

With Good Criminal Hearts

New Years for Bill wasn't unusual, not before this evening it wasn't.

Leaving his apartment of his drunken acquaintances into the streets, he observed the town. The streets suffered an urban sprawl, the concrete and asphalt were drenched in vomit, shards of glass bottles, and those unfortunate enough to pass out in the mess.

The streets were littered with so much waste that there was no automobile to be found. Bill found tire tracks in the filth, but it looked as if it was pushed and slid away.

Trying not to get his shoes soaked in bile, he stumbled over to a garbage can, and found two small paper bags to put over his feet. The paper bags had the logo of the local liquor store, failing to surprise Bill.

Tipsy and speech impaired, Bill struggled to find the cross streets he lived on. He asked the local homeless men where to find the street he lived on. They told him: "Eh, Santah, a'll tell ya w-hair to fin' yerself a street if ya can giv' me a gif' en those nice bag shoos."

It took him a half hour to discover he had been walking the wrong direction, when he urinated on the city limit sign. He had wondered why the suburbs were so close to the highway.

He decided hitchhiking home would be in his best interest, but not a necessity.

Bill was unemployed. He spent his Christmas 'bonus' on ad space in the paper, advertising how well he could greet you at a local convenience store. The town thought it was a joke, he couldn't bring himself to laugh about it.

Bill used to be a stressed individual, who spent most of his days in the corner of his office while avoiding contact with the members of his cubicle farm. After he was tired of the loud phone calls, constant chewing, tapping of pens, and the boss's cat leaving hair in his goddamn lunch. He was fired. He didn't know why he was fired, but questioning it and asking for his dejected job back wasn't in his agenda.

His voyage back to the city was a failure. He tried to enjoy the stars, but the light pollution distracted his weary eyes.

It was 3 am, January 1st of the New Year.

Walking down the shopping district of his city, he heard a several glasses breaking. Each time he heard it, part of a street went dark, and was followed by a cheer of a crowd.

Bill was surprised. Never in the town's history had anyone cheered, not even in drunken stupor.

Excited about the commotion, and the opportunity to meet new people, he followed the cheering.

Since he had been employed, Bill did not at once feel the slightest bit of excitement.

When he turned a corner, he collided with another man, fell on his back, and tore the paper bags from his shoes.

The man he had collided with bent over, and put one vomit caked boot on his chest and said:
"Are you a cop?"
"No, I'm unemployed." Bill replied, shocked and scared.
"Good. What are you?"
"Well, I'm Bill." said Bill.

The man removed his boot, and stared Bill down firmly. The man said:
"If I hear you say one word to the authorities, I'll have your parakeet killed."

Bill was baffled, how did this man know about his pet bird?

As soon as he thought that, the man tossed him his wallet. Bill had an affinity with birds, and wasn't afraid to take Polaroids of his pet. He was concerned that one day he might live in a constant world of forget, a phobia that stemmed from watching Memento stoned.

He looked on into the crowd... and the crowd looked back into him.

The crowd consisted of many broad men and slender women. The crowd was dressed formerly, as if they organized their chaos as well as a funeral procession.

There were women in dresses climbing up streetlights and smashing them with their high heels and handbags.

"Ladies! Atchung!" yelled a man with a low voice. The women slid down the poles and scurried toward the crowd that surrounded the man.  "You! There! Bird boy! Tell us your name."

Bill apprehensively said his name.

"Bill! Are you, a detective?" asked the low voiced man.

"No! I'm unemployed!" Declared Bill with caution.

"Oh, I see." said the man. His words came out so smoothly and quickly from his mouth, every sentence sounded like an over-enunciated word. "My name is Tom! Tom Cat! Like the airplanes, but don't worry, I don't bomb."

Bill was approached by Tom, and Tom hastily shook his hand.

"My band of dissidents are reclaiming this town!" shouted Tom Cat.
"Why exactly do you want this town?" questioned Bill.
"Why wouldn't you? It's full of life!"
"No, you see, it's New Years, it's the only holiday the religious, non-believers, and homeless will celebrate together."

Tom looked at Bill with a skeptical glare. Cat then said:
"So you're telling me that this town isn't vibrant and stirred with the life of people of the party tribe?"
"No, not at all."
"The ground is soaked in vomit! Similar to my second wife's apartment."
"Second wife?"
"I'm a polygamist!"
"That's illegal."
"Not anymore, this is my town."
"Oh."
"My fourth wife said she wanted this town, she's the most demanding."

A woman kicked the heel of Tom. Tom twisted, glared, and scolded his fourth wife quietly, as if trying to save his image. Once more, Tom spoke out and pronounced:
"With good criminal hearts, and your permission, may we take over your town?"
"It doesn't belong to me." Bill pointed out.

Tom Cat's smile turned into a stern stare.

Cat looked around briefly, and periodically turned to see his crowd. He pulled out a list and started taking attendance.

"Cindy! Wife number one! And my favorite!"
"Here!"
"Jonathan! First mate!"
"Captain!"
"Don't call me that. Sarah! Wife number two!"
A burp emitted from the crowd.
"The rest?"
The crowd cheered.
"Well then, it sounds like we're all here! You know what that means?!"
The crowd cheered once more.
"The Orgy of Chaos shall begin! But before, we must take role call!"
Tom Cat pulled the list out. He observed it again. He then put it away.
"My mistake." Cat whispered.

Cat pulled out a whistle and blew into it with pleasure.

The crowd broke into each direction, with spray paint and stickers. They ascended fire escapes with banners and megaphones while making bizarre noises, to see if they could wake the passed out residents. No one woke up.

Cat smiled and started to hum to himself, while skipping off with a wife in his arms.

Bill stood, the world stopped for long moments as he strolled up and down the sidewalk. He had never seen people so happy to break so many things.

Bill watched, when we soon heard sirens. Since the lights of the streets were destroyed, it was easy to see where the flashing red and blue lights were approaching from.

The crowd ceased laughing.

Tom set down his wife and picked up a cracked megaphone, he blurted:
"Orgy of Chaos! Regroup! To the moving vans!"

The crowd descended the buildings and sprinted in the other direction. The dissidents frantically tried opening the vans, but none seemed to find their keys. The authorities approached.

Tom checked his pockets and found a large key ring, with all the vans' keys. He cursed to himself.

He threw the keys into the gutter.

Cat then screamed:
"It's bird boy! Bird boy Bill set us up!"

The mob turned to Bill.

The police cars had stopped. Through the car, an officer asked:
"All of you, freeze! Whose responsible for this?"

Tom Cat screeched in response:
"It was Bill! Bill's! Right there! The one closest to you!"
The crowd began to chase Bill. The police began to chase Bill.

The crowd had swore the police were life long enemies, and the police had never heard of the Orgy of Chaos. In conclusion, they were not working together.

Bill was running, not quite understanding why, but he didn't want to question this, either.

Bill had dodged slipping in vomit on multiple occasions. He did not allow himself to fall, whether it be the authorities or the chaos, he would not find himself in the hands of anyone else but himself that night.

On the verge of a hysterical breakdown, he managed to encompass himself inside a greenhouse on the outskirts of town.

The greenhouse was humid, and Bill stripped himself of his pants and overcoat.  He lay in the corner of the greenhouse, and listened to the sirens drive by and the crowd passing the streets below. He eventually stood on the tables of plants and watched fires emerge from the towns. He saw silhouettes and shadows chasing each other on the walls of buildings. The small people with the giant shadows.

Silence, or Lashing

Friday has stirred my emotions into a new plane. I felt medicated, and nothing could bother me. I wouldn't be tired and I would start to fade away into sleep. I didn't understand this, but really, it was much more soothing. The euphoria I experienced on Friday completely changed my perspective on stimulation.

All the people I've been with seemed to fade away, I only want the strands of leather strike me again. I don't need anything else. I don't need television, I don't need food, I don't need to be cured, I just need to be lashed.

I don't know if I'll feel the same way in a few days, a week, or a month, but I feel completely absent of any sexually driven task. I don't know whether or not to continue with having multiple partners, or if I should pursue a relationship.

If I do pursue a relationship, I have to explain why I want to be abused. I have to explain why I want to have to look up at my master and ask for more harm. The more I think about this, the more I worry that if I do find a partner to be emotionally involved with, if I can possibly maintain a relationship.

You should all be whipped. Especially if you've read my posts before. You all should be tied up and whipped. 

I've changed since October. I've changed so much since I was a Saint. I meet these people, these engaging, bright, and listening people, and somehow I chop off all of my hair and ask for flogging.

I can't stop thinking about this new form of sexuality I've come across.

I want to blinded and burned and suffocated and stepped on.


I only know few people who understand.

There is a lot of prejudice against the morally bankrupt. I thought we were people too. What a shameful person I was to believe that.

My dream last night was, once again, bizarre.

I was in the car with a reckless driver, who was taking me to this community. The community was shaped like a massive Mayan pyramid, with enough space on every floor to hold a few houses or parks. It was out of an Escher drawing.

The people who lived on this structure were diagnosed with major psychological issues rendering them incapable of living our a standard world, but could manage to somehow suppress their sociopath-like tendencies. I was looking for the doctor, who lives among the maniacs.

It was a brief conversation, and the dream ended in the courtyard where I met this doctor.

Maybe the dream is telling me that I'm seeking refuge among the insane, or maybe that I should see a doctor before I get there.

I had a dream when I was younger that my old condo was submerged underwater, and I was with a group of stressed survivors. I remember the dream ended with us in the middle of the ocean with a clouded sky. I love the dreams where I float in water and waves bombard everyone and everything.

Only a few times did my days feel like dreams.

The fires that covered the mountain side in the valley, Halloween felt like a dream, too.

It's much nicer when you think your day is a dream. Then you don't have to feel like you've wasted time.

So Long to the Circus

Sometimes I miss the circus but I know why I ran away
I stepped right out of that song while it played
I lit it like a stage and I gave it like a gift
What I got out of it is this:

Be suspicious but friendly to your elders
Be friendly but suspicious to other circuses
Trust your friends even if you can't trust your friends
You've already agreed to travel with them
 
So long to the circus, so long to it all
I've always had a good sense of when it's time to get gone
When the police are about to arrive, when security steps in
Wave goodbye to the circus
 
Sometimes I miss the circus and the friends I made
Never would have left had you stayed
You left us like a stage that you'd outgrown
Leaving me stunned and all alone

So long to the circus, so long to it all
I've always had a good sense of when it's time to get gone
When the police are about to arrive, when security steps in
Wave goodbye to the circus
 
Wave goodbye to the circus, don't cry 
It was just another circus, it was just your first time
You didn't know what you were doing, you couldn't know what you missed
What did you get out of this?
That Love is real, unstoppable
Actually a wild animal
Self-interested, amoral and cruel
And you got between it and food
 
So long to the circus, so long to it all
You should have a good sense of when it's time to get gone
When the police are about to arrive, when security steps in
Wave goodbye to the circus

There is a beach house, at Mission Bay

After the flogging, I was put to sleep and rushed out of my house, to run down a train terminal to catch the next exit out of this hell hole, to the next.

When I arrived, my sibling was about to pull a Camus, and spread our existentialism all over the hood of her car.

I arrived at the beach house, but that's not important.

The important thing is that I saw the good spirits of the panhandlers and the beach residents.

I have to admit, they were quite happy.

A black man was sitting on a curb, playing guitar with a new friend of his, eating pizza. He told me:

"We need money for a cake and a 40, but the pizza is on us!"

I didn't have money, and I would have loved to have given him some.

I had barely walked passed the panhandler when a convertible.

He was the crack equivalent of an impoverished  Willy Wonka. He had shorts, an open purple fuzzy jacket, and a black and red hat. 

On the side of the road, he started to perform.

I don't quite know what is was, but he attracted a lot of attention.

His black, fat body was the entertainment for the citizens walking by.

On my way home, I saw a young man sitting out of his apartment window. He sat in a way where if anyone had come into his room and pushed him, he would have fallen on the children dancing below him. 

He was playing harmonica and guitar and swinging back and forth.

I love the beach. 

Ant-archy and the Whipping Ceremony

 Ant-archy

Today was possibly the most amazing day in my 17 and almost half years of living.

I was supposed to write a speech, which I will post later, about three weeks ago. I wrote it between 11pm and 2 am this morning. How autonomous of me.

I felt accomplished, and exhausted, but much better.

My day was going great. In my English class, I was using eight vocabulary words in one sentence.

I was a bit sad in fourth period when my beloved table partner did not show up. However, my teacher was distracted by his wife and daughter to assign us the work we should have done. Instead, we watched Peaceful Warrior. My good friend Harmona told me about the hiking scene. As soon as we reached that point in the film, my partner shows up. My heart races and I can't really think, I'm excited. I exchange a few words with her and soon we're dismissed.

At lunch, I felt alive again. I practiced my speech to the ants. I replaced every fourth word with ant.



Morality itself is an ant construct, telling ant where to define “good ant” and where to define “evil ant.” We need to take into ant consideration that not all ants grew up in safe ant neighborhoods, came from wholesome ant families, and where growing up with the right ant friends. We have all learned our morality from different ant situations, and although we can’t agree ant completely, we can agree with certain ant values. Ant-archy gives ants the opportunity to create the ant communities where we can agree on ant principles.


In fifth period, I listened to the World/Inferno Friendship Society and sat near my former editors.

After school, I was anxious to give my speech. Which impressed my teacher very much.

After that, I went down the street to find some friends, where I came across two of my very good friends and their friends. One of them sat on my lap, and a grope fest ensued.

Then my Saintly friends arrived, and we all left with happy hearts.

My day was fine, but it was my night that changed my life.

Whipping Ceremony

For the record, I have never been whipped before. I have barely been hit or painfully stimulated in any sexual way. I felt a rite of passage as I gave my friend the cat of nine tails whip.

For  reasons too complex, I will not go into detail, she dressed herself to resemble a prostitute. Purposefully.

She had a denim top that squeezed the life out of her breasts. She wore leather pants and stilettos, and a blue wig that fell down to her waist. For the hour, she was the only person I trusted, because I trust women to hurt me more than men.

This is not the point, however.

I asked her to whip the back of my leg through my jeans. At the first contact, I felt this warming sensation, like the sun had lightly burned my ankles. I asked her to start off slowly, and move faster. She obliged.

I can't explain the stimulation, I assume it was similar to my first erection, but I didn't want to stop, because today I could carry out the fantasy I've been dreaming of.

I rolled up my jeans and asked her to hit me.

"Go."
The whip cracks against my leg, and I could feel the tingling sensation.
"Again, a little bit more."
Another strike gives me a burning sensation.
"Again, more."
She hurtles the whip and it strikes me. I start let out a scream, followed by:
"More, more!"
I thought I was bleeding, but I felt so empowered, so strong and so alive.
"One more."
She whipped me and I screamed in pain and fell to my knees.

My leg was swelling and red, and the endorphins felt so incredible.

Soon after, I take off my shirt, and decide I wanted to move onto my dream.

I asked my friend to whip my back.

She obliged.

"I'm scared." I said softly.
The whip hit across my back and to my side, it stung.
"Again."
The stinging intensity increased, and I needed more.
"Again!"
She hit the black of my neck, but I didn't mind.
"Again, harder."
She struck again, and again.

I said
"Let's go, one more time."
She struck me so hard that my screams echoed through the street.
I fell to my knees again, and the stinging raged into my back for what seemed like hours.

As soon as the pain faded, I went to show my marks to those in the other room. I'm a pervert.

As the night went on, I was being whipped more and more. At one point, I was asked to wear a masque, handcuffed behind my back, and chained by the neck. They filmed my face and how I would react.

My head was at the base of my friend, who pleased herself by stepping on my head. It hurt but the pain was so friendly, I could only love it more.

The last strike of the night was caught on film, and was the most pleasing. I couldn't have asked for a better handler.


I was so satisfied that I began to lick and bite her shoe, and I licked and bit the bottom, and for the next hour, I had dirt from her shoe on the lips of my mouth.

I felt so beautiful, and I decided to lay, half naked at the floor of my friend's room. I couldn't breathe, because I was one of eight people in the room. I had an audience, and I loved every moment of it.

I went into the restroom with my friend, who played the domme.

I sat on the toilet while she brushed her false hair.

It was more personal between her and I now. She's saintly, and I'm close with her boyfriend, and the understanding was clear that nothing more would than whipping would stem in the deviance of our sexuality.

She told me the stories of her life. She had been interested since she was eleven. She told me about a girlfriend who would tie her up. She told me about how she was arrested when she was twelve, and she told me little details of her life I would have never learned.

I have never felt so beautiful or free, I have only felt restricted in some manner.
I couldn't feel better if I tried.



PAIN!!! 
The badness increases
The goodness wants to cry while we are cut to pieces
PAIN!!! 
Precious death
Paralyzed with apathy thats all thats fucking left!
PAIN!!!

Castrate me

Please.

Saint?!?!

Sir Paranoia.

Dishdawash and Ploof in a tree.

 Ulysses.

Medusa

Due to be Sainted:

Ain't got no ambition, I'm just disillusioned
I'm a twentieth century man but I don't wanna be here.
My mama said she can't understand me
She can't see my motivation
Just give me some security,
I'm a paranoid schizoid product of the twentieth century.