I wonder what planet I’m living on now, ‘cuz it sure as fuck ain’t earth.

I finished reading Timequake this morning.  On the shitter.  90% of that book was read on the toilet.  It replaced any tweeting urges, hell, it felt like I was reading tweets. For sure.  I know, and in a paperback!  The epilogue has a rudely worded letter on GE stationary, rejecting a request for a photograph, which is signed by Guy Fawkes.  Ting-a-ling!

Is it irony, then, that makes me jealous of the life of a man who had to experience war first-hand, but then had luck and company and pleasant memories to relate.  My life is a slow-motion torture with brief blips of joy.

Oh, you have no idea.  The balance, twitter, that you provide.  Both ways.  All ways.  Six ways from Sunday.  How am I not in Madison.  Fuck off.  The physical presence is unnecessary, and your guilt trippiness is symptomatic of that fearful mindset to begin with.  Protests are an act of war.  Yousa people gonna die.  Ain’t you seen Roger and me?  If it don’t hit now, they just build a bigger guillotine, and more and more of your tv-fed poison-spawn grow up to be willing hangmen.  They savor it.  You best help them eat nutritiously, or they gon’ start feeding on you.

And then, he threatened cannibalism! As if that’s not what capitalism does TO ALL OF US… DAILY!!!  Just pretend all caps means whispered.  So then, the bold italic means really really quiet.  Hehe. Ting-a-ling!

Clothes?  My cloths are rags dripping off of me.  They all have sentimental attachment, and highly utilitarian qualities.  They’re like my removable, exchangeable, seasonal shell.  Body armour.  Body amore.  It’s ok, I love our bodies enough for like 10 of us.  Hang out with me long enough, and it’ll rub off on you.  Prolly.  Guarantee it wants to.  Burn the cloths.  Who cares.  I wear what’s available, what’s nearby, your trash.

I’ve been recognizing my repetitive algorithms lately.  In dance.  How the fuck do you think you convey a Fibonacci sequence?  In text?  Not likely.  Pay fucking attention!  There’s more useful knowledge in my first 20 YouTube videos than in anything I could ever say.  Someone tweeted that once.  Why is there no decent fucking tweet database with links to all of my tweets?  It’s a fucking spreadsheet!  I’ll probably just do it by hand.  Whatever.  I did just get this scripting program.  What do you think, nMacro?  Wanna crack some tweety embryos?  Nom nom, coffee refill, brbz. ❤

Got coffee.  Bread would have required more time than I was willing to give.  I use my time as I see fit, and those who waste it with inanities, trivialities, guilt, competitiveness, cruelty, or bad humor experience little of my time.  Oh, they try.  I will starve to death before you tell me what to do.  You’re on the feed, on the man’s eCock, being voluntarily raped by big brother for HOURS A DAY.  Yet I’m the slut because I want to actually touch other people’s bodies.  Get a fuckin’ life.

Last night the urge to ‘round the local bars for company.  I got no obligations, sweetie.  Call in sick to work, say ya got a nasty case of nanotyrant.  You’ll sleep like a baby after.  Yeah, if you’re the kind of girly girl who can keep my attention, you will.  I play fair.

Which brings up to things: this nanotyrant business and shit, I forgot the second thing.  So, uhh, you recently changed your “nom-der-pfloom” to a symbolic representation of “nano-tyrant.”  What on god’s green earth in the fuck do you mean by that?

tt: You didn’t know this was an interview, didja.  Nano-tyrany is the perverbial “personal responsibility” that the “conservatives” chant, and the “equality” that the “liberals” revere.  Consensus decision-making is a perfectly acceptable way to run the world, and the abundance we now have, never mind that which is attainable once we cooperate, can be enjoyed by all of us.  Let’s enjoy this planet, eh?  Let’s introduce Mexico to Canada and China to Trinidad!  The local flora and fauna are local everywhere on the planet!  It’s the tv-driven fast-food monoculture that is destroying it, not saving it.  Jesus fuck, the global banks and their “humanitarian” progeny are the fucking genocide programs, implemented by deluded volunteer “peace”-corporateers spreading the good hate that is the American dream.  But they get the better technology, the local indigenous people who have been chased off their land so it can be strip-mined or poison-gmo-monocultured or whatever local torture method the little local fascists come up with to appease the big banky torturers who will send large groups of armed men into your borders if you don’t torture a bunch of your own people.  It’s a vicious cycle.  We all need that veto-power.  Line item.  Move fuckin’ commas and shit.  I guarantee we will have laws spelled wrong or in every known language if that’s the case.  That’s how it ought to fucking be anyway, isn’t it?  Don’t we all silently yearn to be able to hear everyone simultaneously?  Isn’t that the whole draw of fame anyway?  The thunderous applause at a shy grin.  It’s right here, kids, right in your back yard.

Fuck speeches.  I tweet.

Fuck talking about doing, I do.

But pappy, ain’t ya gonna press the flesh with yer constit’chency? We’re not one-at-a-timing it here, we’re mass communicatin’!  Oh brother. *eye rollz*

My fucking motion capture team is missing out on critical information with every fucking moment I spend broke and isolated.  I call tortious interference on capitalism!!!  I call this on TV!  I call this on all the corporate or other liability-insulated entities.  I call this on every landowner on planet earth who obeys local code over the wishes of its neighbors.  No, landowners are just fat.  You get that fat, you don’t have a fucking gender any more either, you’re just a blob of concentrated hate.  You’d have to be human first.  I call this on anyone who parades as a supporter of mine in public databases, yet talks shit about me in private on every opportunity.  Why would anyone be afraid of me?  Surely not because of anything I’ve actually done.  Nobody’s asked me for clarification, and I’ve been accused of no crimes.  I rot in obscurity because you’re an addicted piece of shit.

So, it appears to me that describing what I do is the main means through which to get paid in this country.  I don’t get shit for doing it, no, strike that.  I get punished for every positive act I make in this all-cop-all-slave existence.  Self fucking loathing is hatred of the everyone.  The good ones are out there.  You just have to dig.  And, in my experience, if you run across one worth of “a damn” or whatever the kids are calling it these days, letting go isn’t an option.  I can’t pry you out of my brain, sweetness.  Why would I even want to try.  You do good things to me.

So, it’s noon-oh-nine, which means another big protest at the capitol is underway.  I wanna see the battle of fucking riot police on riot police!  I wanna see mothers on mothers and kids on kids!  Hand to hand mortal combat for control of the local branch of the military industrial lie machine!  No, that’s my steering wheel, NO YOU’RE GOING TO CRASH US, LOOK OUT FOR THAT CLIFF!!! AaAAHHHAaaaHAHAHHA.  Ok, fine, but leave a half-hour early, or have one fewer beers out at the bar afterwards and go home and write an article for WikiNews so someone other than THE FUCKING PEOPLE WHO WALK BY have any idea this is going on.  You really think the for-profit press is going to shoot themselves in the foot and go against a lifetime of towing the bank line to just turn over the reins this time?  No, you have to take them back this time.  Yes, no letting up, ever FUCKING again!  Write.  Share.  Reveal.  Transparency.  Strength.  Concrete.  FUCKING.  Reality.

So, where is the Andy Warhol of our generation?  Seriously, you guize, I’m about to tweet hef’ bein’ all like, “dude, can I crash on your couch for a bit.  I won’t get in the way, and I can be pretty useful at times.”  I dunno.  That’s a big place.  He’s got to have help there.  I wanna meet that guy!  Yeah, reading Vonnegut and listening to Krishnamurti’s words in my voice, and I got hef on the brain.  Funny, I used to not understand people who would cum into or on the magazine itself, but then, where else you gonna put it if there’s no impregnable to impregnate?  Down the drain?  Yikes.  What kind of rat-gator-sewer freak is gonna grow out of that?  Res ipsa loquitur! Oh, what do you know from fluid dynamics.

Legal homewerks for the wannabe nanotyrants:

See also:

Three more lines ‘til the end of page 5.  This shit is relevant to all of us.  Spend an afternoon reading it, perusing the articles.  Come back to it later, and see how it changes your view of the world and the way you think about the governing bodies and processes of this world we live in.  If you don’t understand how your government works, it’s not your government.  People determine the authority, not the other way around.  Put some intelligent people in charge, you jealous hateful little poison addicts.  Be excellent to each other.



~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2011-03-5 (Saturday).

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