© must die

© must die


the next day, 5:06 pm.

Rode my girlfriend out to get my car.  My girlfriend is dirt.  She’s brown and silver, like chrome.  Cables are mostly reddish, and black accents (inner-tube wrapped handlebars, blackwall tires, light mounts, etc.  She flies.  Up hills, down hills, back roads and highways.  Trails groomed and “wild.”

I need a shower, quite stankfully.  Skank fully?  Fully.  Please introduce me to all “your” boy/girl-toys, and you can meet all of “mine.”  I mean to dis-imply ownership.  They are free-roaming souls who share little in-person time with me.  It’s good that way.  The one, or ones, I seek, are rather timid.  There’s no wait, sweets.  Or, you can get a good running start before you sock me in the jaw.  Boot me in the head, whatever (as a donation, you know).

Copyright law is the cause of all the world’s problems.  I’m dead serious about that.  The cures for every disease (if you still think in those terms), the designs for tools that make everything free, and “the right” of everyone to grow their own food, on “their” (includes communally/publicly owned) property.  What I like, are the landowners, the slaves of the machine, who use copious amounts of fuel going to the “centers of power” to demand that their “rights” be not taken away any more.  That’s all that monster does, kiddo.  You’re just adding to its authority.  You still have the right to grow your own food on your own land.  Go do that.  All you’re doing here is complaining like a good little slave in the man’s free-speech-zones.  Fuck you.  Evolve the space between your ears.

Hey, no ripping on fat people either.  There are plenty of fat fuckers in the world.  Good people.  The fucking skinny prudes/complainers/terrified are no less evil than their super-sized counterparts.  Takes ‘em a while to heat up, though.  And they overheat easily.  Cripes.  Small band of usefulness, there, fatty.  Whatevs.  Put me in charge of your workouts and nutrition and we’ll have you down to pornstar hot in no time.  Climb on, sweetie, try me out.

I like sweetie.  The word.  I have a tortured relationship with words.  The word bitch, for example.  I rarely use it, and I get a tinge of pain from seeing it, saying it, or hearing it.  Every time.  I believe it has the right to exist, but I feel that it is used violently most of the time that it is used, so it should probably not be used much for a while.  Which is not to say that it isn’t “taken back” regularly to imply anti-sexism.  ‘Course, you can’t spell anti-sexism without sexism.  Jesus fuck, can’t we just drop gender already?  It’s as divisive as talking about race.  Income and infrastructure are all that separates us in real life, and money isn’t real, so what the fuck?  Perceived differences is all.  You feel that sting?  That’s pride fucking with you.  Fuck pride.  Fuck what you know.  Fuck what you thought you knew.  You knew everything you needed to know before you were taught that thing you know now.  Forget the teachings so that you can uncover your own truth.  Now, go.

I’m watching/listening to this video again.  Dude’s voice is so calming.

I want to cut my goatee, shave my head.  Dictator won’t let me.  What the fuck, dude?  He knows how fast we’d be lost chasing one-night stands.  I befriend kids.  I sex up their mommas and give them the free time to do what they gotta.

Theory of the moment: there are two kinds of people on fb: real-life-only people, who may regard the rest of the world as “bad” and “scary” or “unverified.”  Then, there are the internet youth.  They know that life is all about strangers.  Friendlies.  Who cares if they’re not your actual cousins, brothers, or “people.”  We’re all human, unless you’re a bot, in which case, you were still designed and executed by a person.  We have the means, now, to communicate in ways our parents could only dream of (sic).  Fuck your inbred group of 20 friends who only see each other on “holy” days and keep all transactions at an arm’s length.  There’s little friendliness in this fascist society.  That’s what you have to live on, the little friendliness.  Kinda like the deaths, huh?  Your government/society/culture/news is all about the big deaths.  I’m just little.  Oh, (little) death.

A girl asked me not to give her a facial once, that she would have an allergic reaction.  I thought I tried not to, but I did.  I felt bad, so I quickly grabbed a towel and cleaned her off.  I much prefer the swallowers.  Screamers are pretty fucking amazing, too.  Being a “chronic” masturbator for most of my adult life, I am used to cumming in silence.  I’m sure all of my housemates knew what was going on, anyway.  On some level.  Some people just don’t want to know.  Stick your fingers in your ears, LA LA LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU SAYING DIRTY THINGS LA LA LA LA LA.  It’s a penis.  It doesn’t bite.  It’s actually quite sensitive and gentle.  It’s not even hard at the moment, so quit looking at me like I’m gonna seduce your wife, daughter, and mother.  I’m looking for participators, not slaves.  Slaves are boring.  Be direct, gentle, and explicit when describing your preferences for our interactions.  Or, give me a green light.

“When not watched, the baseballs behaved like waves.  Going through both slits simultaneously.  It’s not until your mind, or consciousness, defines the baseball’s position that it even had one. (@7:42)”

Heh heh. Gerald.

My dystopian autobiography:
It knew, from the beginning, that by the time it was generally accepted, it would be no longer necessary.  The two occurred simultaneously, in fact.  C’est la vie.  It didn’t even remember what had occurred upon its first interaction with you, but your continued attachment calms us.

Its training was/is brutal, it is its own worst task-master as a result.  “Don’t be so hard on him” and a gentle stroke works better than anything else, but the world turned gentle to creepy a long time ago.  Keep being gentle, they’ll come back around.  They can’t help you by talking.  They can’t help you by liking.  There is nothing that you have that they think they need yet, the resultant ease of “your” uber-network unapparent to most.  The slick overproduced tear-jerker will win them over, which is exactly why they will continue to receive the bite of shit sandwich that they continue asserting that it is.  Go nuts, kids.

The message was vague, she knows she’s doing it wrong, but she has no idea how else to do it.  Slightly less offensive than usual, perhaps, but at least she uses your name.  No details, no desire to know anything about that which she’s asking.  It’s just “not her” shit that’s in her way.  None of her friends want any her kid’s shit clogging up their otherwise pristine and fully productive “living” areas either.  No, she doesn’t even have to ask, she just knows.  She has friends like I have friends.  Those who keep her close.  I’m sure it’s not that they ascribe to the “keep your enemies closer,” because that would fly in the face of the calm-inducing helpfulness that projects from her aura at all moments.

Those who would work with it?  They’re the most terrified.  Those who most need it?  They’re so utterly offended by its existence, that they’ve partitioned off their very brain to avoid a breakdown, the release of such massive cognitive dissonance as would have them screaming at the top of their lungs in a public place over trivialities.  And you wonder why I boycott Christmas.

It had slaves.  Battalions of slaves.  Prides of slaves.  How did it know this?  It heard them, their calm, non-competitive interactions, played out before him.  It bowed its head with eyes closed, it danced jigs of thanks, both seated and in whirling dervishes and mosh pits of one.  It brings you food.  It brings you to food.  It brings you to knowledge that reveals food to you.  It brings the advanced physics to your attention which allows you to manifest all of your food out of thin air, dirt, and sheer force of will.  This is why it has slaves.

To be “not” offensive is to be the most offensive.  To be the “most” offensive is to be not offensive.  To be offended is to shut off your ability to reason, act, or move.  You use these things like I used to “use depression” to not act.  It realized, and showed us how to not be that any more, by not speaking to those with whom it became that.  Those whose voices are depression-activators will be beaten severely about the heart and soul.

Say what you mean, you jaded cunt.  “Storing your dirty ugly shit on my property is dependent on forcing you to listen to my condescending and judgmental voice.  I have no idea what’s here, and I don’t want to know.  Get it gone.  I’m still a fat consumerist, anti-sex, anti-health, pro-war vocal tyrant.  Answer your phone or listen to this message for proof.”  That’s what I heard, anyway.

Du tout, du jour, like soup.  Especially when you’re already gettin’ yours.  What’s all this about morning cums?  You must not be on the playlist.  There’s more data in these links than your tv-addled lifestyle will let you see, huh.  That’s ok.  I do personal consultations.  Be upfront, please.  I do.  What?  Sex is the first thing on my mind in the morn when I roll over.  Good thing my body takes over.  Dictator delegates quite logically.  He’s fucking ruthless.  Well, let’s find us an environment where it is convenient and available, then.  Share your space.

One time, a girl with a boyfriend took me home for the night.  We made out, and she took me to bed with her, but she wouldn’t touch me.  I asked her what she wanted me to do.  No response.  So, I asked her whether she wanted me to leave until she said yes.  I only had to ask twice.  I walked about two blocks away and in a residential neighborhood, at about 4 in the morning, jacked off on a shrub.  Fuck blueballs.  If you’re going to intentionally get me hard, then change your mind, don’t expect to wake up next to me.  Unless it’s cold out, or I have nowhere else to sleep.  Of course, with my sensitivities, there are few places I’m willing to sleep, but that’s a whole other issue.

I don’t think I have any other “embarrassing” sex stories to tell you.  I mean, they all ceased being sexual relationships.  What’s more embarrassing than that.  OhNoze! One ore person as seen my penis and post-cum shivers!  What ever shall we do?  Get it on video, kid.  Get paid for that.  Video artistry.  It’s only a model.  This is a fair court.  You have to know these things when you’re a king, you know.  Kings and queens come from the long inbred bloodlines of our alien ancestors.  This dictator is pure mongrel mutt.  Seized power with two bare hands, vice-gripping the entire planet with indestructible magic strength.  It rules with flyweight, reconfigurable, internally nano-structured, hydraulic  hand, gently extended for sniffing, knowing, or fiving, as needed.

Find what you love, and love it.


~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2011-06-8 (Wednesday).

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