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.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
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
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
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
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
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
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
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?
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
"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.
People say 'beware!'
But I don't care
The words are just
Rules and regulations to me
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.
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
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
Thursday, May 13, 2010
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
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
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
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
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
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
'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
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
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!
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.
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!
And world economic: domination
Profits are made from global starvation
Russian roulette for the world population
For third world exploitation
Generals plot extermination
Bank on death and devastation
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.
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!
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!
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!
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!
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!"
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, May 10, 2010
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.
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
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
Sunday, May 9, 2010
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:
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.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
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!!!
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!!!
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
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.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Everything. Is. Slower. Today.
Hello. Again. Reader.
I. Want. To. Tell. You. About. My. Day.
It. Was. Really. Slow.
At. One. Point. My. Brain. Fell. Out. Of. My. Arm.
I. Felt. Exhausted.
Anyway.
I. Am. Going. To. Wait. Before. I. Write. More. Things.
I. Haven't. Had. Much. To. Say. Lately.
Sweet. Dreams.
I. Want. To. Tell. You. About. My. Day.
It. Was. Really. Slow.
At. One. Point. My. Brain. Fell. Out. Of. My. Arm.
I. Felt. Exhausted.
Anyway.
I. Am. Going. To. Wait. Before. I. Write. More. Things.
I. Haven't. Had. Much. To. Say. Lately.
Sweet. Dreams.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Dear Kinesiology Partner
This is outdated, I have been talking to my partner and getting to know her! How glorious! This is just an observation I had at the beginning of this month.
I don't think you'll ever read this, and that makes me smile.
I adore you. I really do. You have a distinct voice and non-incredibly dark or morbid sense of humor (like myself).
You also dress well. I don't. I just wear whatever I want.
I like how you did all the work, and although that's stupid to admit, I'm proud of you.
I absolutely love how we have nothing in common. It makes things so much easier.
Since I've walked along side you, I've always wanted to say "See you tomorrow!" but I never get the chance.
I love how I pass by you in school and you just look straight ahead and walk fast. I admire that determination.
Also, good luck with your rehab in soccer, I hope it's not too stressful, sports are pretty hard, and destroying your knee didn't help.
I remember that night, it was the first late night of the school newspaper, and someone mentioned how an ambulance arrived.
I loved how you told the story in great detail, and how you talked about the crepitus and the horrible pain you went through. I thought it was nice how much fun you had, disgusting the boderline indifferent class.
Thank you for offering to let me copy your notes today, that's really nice of you, thank you for noticing.
Just recently I noticed you stopped taking the elevator, I'm glad you can use stairs again.
One day I noticed that you have contact lenses, I do too! What fun.
You have really nice hair, it's long and pretty.
I remember how in the first quarter, you would always try to make eye contact with me when talking to my kinesiology partner then. That made me feel important.
I also enjoyed that story about when you had an FRQ (whatever that means) in your AP Euro class, and how you referenced a Metallica song, and the teacher gave you full credit. I don't really like Metallica anymore, or at all to begin with, but, I did like metal.
I like your organization skills, they're similar to mine. It's usually 'cram everything into a binder.'
I noticed you have AP Psych(o), and I'm pretty insane, so, please, let's hang out at the park and you can evaluate the horrible, horrible mental disorders I'm probably suffering from.
I like how our teacher says "Put all your work away and pay attention to the movie (Peaceful Warrior)" and often times you just do your AP homework or read from the required book you were assigned. You're quite the rebel.
I like how you don't have a facebook profile. I would love to 'creep' on you, but I this is pretty creepy too.
I find it sweet that you get confused by Hemingway's simplicity. I've never really read Hemingway, so I wouldn't know, but I like how you summarize The Sun Also Rises, about two homosexual men and some sort of war.
At the ridiculously boring Kinesiology tournament we went to, I waved at you for some reason, and you looked really happy when you waved back, but then I felt like a total dumbass because I was walking the wrong way. I enjoyed sitting next to you while watching the guy talk about how he helped that Laker to achieve his goals.
If you ever read this, I hope you understand how much I appreciate the incredibly small amount of how much I know you.
I hardly know you, though, and if I never knew you, that would be fine, we're all just going to die anyway, and you were one of those few people in school that I didn't hate.
Hail Satan,
Meidinger
I don't think you'll ever read this, and that makes me smile.
I adore you. I really do. You have a distinct voice and non-incredibly dark or morbid sense of humor (like myself).
You also dress well. I don't. I just wear whatever I want.
I like how you did all the work, and although that's stupid to admit, I'm proud of you.
I absolutely love how we have nothing in common. It makes things so much easier.
Since I've walked along side you, I've always wanted to say "See you tomorrow!" but I never get the chance.
I love how I pass by you in school and you just look straight ahead and walk fast. I admire that determination.
Also, good luck with your rehab in soccer, I hope it's not too stressful, sports are pretty hard, and destroying your knee didn't help.
I remember that night, it was the first late night of the school newspaper, and someone mentioned how an ambulance arrived.
I loved how you told the story in great detail, and how you talked about the crepitus and the horrible pain you went through. I thought it was nice how much fun you had, disgusting the boderline indifferent class.
Thank you for offering to let me copy your notes today, that's really nice of you, thank you for noticing.
Just recently I noticed you stopped taking the elevator, I'm glad you can use stairs again.
One day I noticed that you have contact lenses, I do too! What fun.
You have really nice hair, it's long and pretty.
I remember how in the first quarter, you would always try to make eye contact with me when talking to my kinesiology partner then. That made me feel important.
I also enjoyed that story about when you had an FRQ (whatever that means) in your AP Euro class, and how you referenced a Metallica song, and the teacher gave you full credit. I don't really like Metallica anymore, or at all to begin with, but, I did like metal.
I like your organization skills, they're similar to mine. It's usually 'cram everything into a binder.'
I noticed you have AP Psych(o), and I'm pretty insane, so, please, let's hang out at the park and you can evaluate the horrible, horrible mental disorders I'm probably suffering from.
I like how our teacher says "Put all your work away and pay attention to the movie (Peaceful Warrior)" and often times you just do your AP homework or read from the required book you were assigned. You're quite the rebel.
I like how you don't have a facebook profile. I would love to 'creep' on you, but I this is pretty creepy too.
I find it sweet that you get confused by Hemingway's simplicity. I've never really read Hemingway, so I wouldn't know, but I like how you summarize The Sun Also Rises, about two homosexual men and some sort of war.
At the ridiculously boring Kinesiology tournament we went to, I waved at you for some reason, and you looked really happy when you waved back, but then I felt like a total dumbass because I was walking the wrong way. I enjoyed sitting next to you while watching the guy talk about how he helped that Laker to achieve his goals.
If you ever read this, I hope you understand how much I appreciate the incredibly small amount of how much I know you.
I hardly know you, though, and if I never knew you, that would be fine, we're all just going to die anyway, and you were one of those few people in school that I didn't hate.
Hail Satan,
Meidinger
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