There is a beach house, at Mission Bay

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

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

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

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

I have to admit, they were quite happy.

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

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

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

I had barely walked passed the panhandler when a convertible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love the beach. 

Ant-archy and the Whipping Ceremony

 Ant-archy

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

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

I felt accomplished, and exhausted, but much better.

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

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

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



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


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

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

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

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

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

Whipping Ceremony

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

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

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

This is not the point, however.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I asked my friend to whip my back.

She obliged.

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

Castrate me

Please.

Saint?!?!

Sir Paranoia.

Dishdawash and Ploof in a tree.

 Ulysses.

Medusa

Due to be Sainted:

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

Fire Chicken, Walk With Me

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.

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