fuck

Fuck

I’m making a half-hour road trip, and it takes me like a week to get ready for it.  I’m out of everything.  Beer’s available locally, actually for cheaper.  I should get that crap in my car again, eh?

I took the first picture of my penis yesterday.  Ever.  There are already two videos, but I think this is the first still.  They’re boring.  Just me.

The convergence.  It’s on the way.

Dude, I smell what you’re stepping in.  I mean, I tend to agree with you.  Problem is, nobody wants to hear it.  I don’t blame ‘em.  Whatever.  This is what I found and I think in order to understand the actual state of the world, you have to know all of its darkest, dirtiest secrets.  Yes, have to.  They are the demons they’ve been trying to scare us with.  Bragging about their misdeeds.  It’s no wonder they don’t look for stories anywhere else.  Oh sure, whatever.  I think it means any and all of our pop icons, name the field, are/could be/likely the shady operative agents of “governments” or other entities.  So.  Does that change anything you should be doing.  Not really.  Share it if people are ready.  I don’t care.  My presence tends to shatter most humans anyway, so my ability to release this kind of thing is supplemental.  Everyone else has a better, irl reason to never speak to me again.  “Offensive” links (or what?  Why can’t most of you see this?) don’t really change my “friendliness” dynamic with most people.  Most people like me, a lot, but are completely embarrassed to admit that they do, and the social punishment for doing so is vicious.  I will not toe the party line.  Fuck any lines.  I’ll respect ley lines.  I found some new poppiness.  Musics.  A group called Speakerbox, on an ad campaign for some flavored alcohol beverage.  *smh*  Someone tweeted a flipping-various-objects-skilfully video capped “super win” or something like that.  Not everything has to be a competition, kiddo.  Life just is.  Be.  Am.

Fuck.

“The dates used by the Associated Press for official U.S. involvement in the Vietnam War are August 1964 (the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution) to January 1973 (the Paris Peace Accords), although U.S. military activities and intervention in Vietnam spanned from 1950 to 1975.”

This sentence has three references.

  1. ^ Herring, George C.: America‘s Longest War, p. 18.
  2. ^ Zinn, A People’s History of the United States, p. 471.
  3. ^Kolko, Gabriel Anatomy of War, pages 457, 461 ff., ISBN 1898876673

But, it just means that the news lies, has lied, and will continue to lie about military “conflicts.”  It’s kinda what they do.  It’s their bag, man.  Their karma.  Their gig.

I think my new hard drive is pretty damn sweet.  Should I bring my office?  Yes.

K. Loggin’ out.

No.  I mean, not bringing the office, but am leaving.  2:46 pm.  Later.

5:55 pm Home, fed, tweetin’.

http://www.xconomy.com/national/2011/04/11/open-source-biology-deserves-a-shot/?single_page=true
Deserves a shot?  Are you serious?  More like, is necessary and critical to the advancement and achievement of the human race.  Fancy that, no red tape, how anti-profiteer.  Someone deserves a pirate’s commendation, no not that.  What. Ever.

god fucking damn that kim chi is tasty.  Holy fuck.  Bitgoeul is the name of the maker.  Garlic spices, heat and burn!  And the color! There’s fish sauce in there, I think.  This isn’t vegetarian.  There’s animal in here.  Sun-dehydrated fish, acceleramatrons.  We’re gonna build the dehydrators first thing.  Oh, and why doesn’t every pv solar cell have reflectors, amplifiers, around it?  Wouldn’t that multiply the surface area collected?  Yes, you could set it up to rotate with the sun.  I’m unimpressed by photo-voltaic solar anyway.  Something’s missing.  Curvature.  Direction.  Focus.

Jumpin’ jesus on a pogo stick, this is good stew.  Sriracha!  Extra-long soaked beans ain’t hurt none, either.  My mouth is scarred from the kim chi, so the sriracha is tearing my flesh straight through my neck.  I bet, if you licked my neck right now, it would taste like raw, spicy garlic.  You wish.

I keep thinking about that unpopular kid thing.  So me.  In college, I was like, here, let me show you how much of a gyroscopic freak I am so you can get on with never talking to me again, mmkae?  It’s just easier that way.  Easier.  I keep thinking I’m easy, but I must not be.  Nobody gets anywhere near you.  Yeah, they do.  They don’t realize it when they do, or acknowledge it if they do, but since when has that ever mattered to reality?  You’d be surprised, or maybe you wouldn’t, I don’t know, how easy it is to rip my heart out, not even knowing that you’re doing it.  Oh, they know.  I know, and it takes my breath away.

I just ate a shit-ton of super delicious organic and/or raw food.  I have more yet to eat.  My mouth is burning.  I’m good.

They had these crazy pretty swirly orangish-brown and dark brown locally grown beans.  They were $8.65/lb.  I’m eating Monsanto organic garbanzos here, aren’t I.  Fuck.  Why can I not find morally acceptable food on this planet?  You can.  We do.  Quit being so fucking dramatic.  Banished!  Any manager-level dukes of these psychopaths may never return!  To where?  To the reach of the multi-national?  What scale can this possibly happen at?  We all must agree to this.  What the this is will shift until it is agreed by the all.  Until then, it is a living process.  It’s pretty basic.  Like ghandi said, truth is older than the hills.

What’s happening now is the result of what always happens, in a living parallel-dimensional viwable.  Yuh huh.

You’re constantly telling me what I shouldn’t be doing.  And, most of that shit is just regurgitated tv moronicness.  Don’t get all self-righteous and huffy and defensive when I criticize the means of your enslavement.  Break free of that shit.

It’s not 2:56 the next day.  I raked the back yard, part of it, and made a video earlier.  I logged on to tweet it, check in, whatnot.  Got this for ya:

It’s 8:12 pm, and I have been not raking the lawn since about 20 minutes ago.  I think I started about 1:30?

Fuck.

$8:82/hr. with the bonus.  Over three grand total. Rents will take a third.

I’m done living in the middle of nowhere.  I can survive on my wits.

He already found someone.  I suspect all the buildings I entered in that town will eventually be burned for that very reason.  I don’t get it either.

Three days late, this.  That’s like, early.

There’s more,
t

~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2011-04-11 (Monday).

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