i ♥ the workaholic phase

dues, dues, dues, alls i’ve ever paid is dues.  ain’t nobody ever seen a contractor’s man work like a meth-fueled foundry rat before, eh?  yeah, fuck you and your manicured lawns.  you know i’m just casing your homes for off-season outlets and not really.  i don’t even have a wifi sniffer.  somebody buy me a wifi sniffer.  preferably, it should run android.  kthankz.

heh.  you’re like evilly retarded.  right?  why are all the people here so fucking mean to each other?  because like you say.  tv.  there are so many corporate things to get addicted to, all “work” – “free.”  uh huh.  check out your arteries.  that’s your cost.  it’s all connected, you know.  you all participate in this farce, when you ought participate in something real, local, and cooperative.

my boyfriend got his xbox taken away.  don’t flirt with creepy old men, dude.  i mean, that’s what i woulda done.  we’re gonna mod the fuck out that thing.  there’s a chip you can get on the internet, and it’ll run linux just fine.  yes, you can still play the xbox games on the modded system.

saved. 8:01.  i worked from 8:39 to 7:30 today, though i don’t get paid for travel time.  well, if mr. contractor is in my car, i get gas.  i have a calculation to do on that, don’t i.  yes.  open a spreadsheet after your shower.  good call.  no, it’s a great call.  smh/eyeroll.

i know there’s a word for that, but i ain’t got a interweb open naw.  fukkit.

i’ve thought about your hula hoop video at least four times now.  i have to remind myself that i need/ought not apologize for loving anyone, but i know how much i suck.  more than before, anyway.  progress.

fuck you, pay me.

i don’t understand why everyone can’t just be honest about what frucked up shit they like, and there’s someone for everyone, so then every last one of us will get what we need.  and want.  i will be back in mother’s basement if we can’t work something out.  i can’t believe that we haven’t worked something out yet.

what?  i used to babysit for her ex.  i made them be my lookout while i played the Nintendo that they had been banned from using by their parents as punishment.  ok, video game systems are fucking evil.  banning shit from your kids as punishment is eviler.  yeah, i said it.  you work with them.  if their methods fuck up your perfectly manicured life, change your fucking methods.  treat them like adults, if you’re still making the condescending distinction.

i’m not going to pay you to be my lawyer.  i will trade hours to turn your property into a pan-organic food forest.  you have to share.  of course i will have a beer.

if i went on liknedin, i’d be a ll fuck this fuckkking jawb!  i love being out of doors.

i like kids because they are gentle humans.  you think that is naïve, but it is the next evolution of humanity.  learn from them.  work with them.  all, without exception, and at whatever age.  i know.  those things are a fucking scam.  people can smoke and drink soda, and eat shitty genetically modified high fructose corn syrup, or even “pure” sugarcane-laced industrial shit.  tv addicts only think what they see on the fucking idiot box is food, and make fun of everything else.  then these cancer/hate-riddled fucktards go looking for “healthcare” and what do they find?  another chemical torture chamber.  shit.  injections, incisions, pills and fucking pills!  these are the people who get rewarded with lumps and lumps of cash.  hey, they’re faithful.  it’s kinda

“i’m so old, you’re so young.”

dude, i take it back.  you’re not as mean as my mother.  apologies.  i know your heart’s in the right place.  you’re still a manipulative cunt, but everyone knows that’s how i like ‘em.  hi, mom!  i’m trying to find you a boyfriend.  a useful one.  fuck you and the horse you rode in on for not believing in me.  i don’t need you.  never did.  i only came back to help you not be a worthless piece of shit.  if you don’t care, neither do i.  fuck off and die.

you’re really going to be that mean to your mother for getting a second opinion?  getting a second opinion means listening to the case

“KNOCK IT OFF!” i said to him.  the lead singer had chucked a half-full beer across my living room, and it splattered against the mantle.  i was louder than the amps.  fuck you, dude.  i’m the one who cleans that fucking room.  every mess you make is work for me.  you fuck with my work, i’ll fuck with yours.  you all stand in opposition to my survival, for no good reason but habit and absolute stupidity.  yes, you’re violent, competitive assholes, each and every MOTHER FUCKING ONE OF YOU!@!!  knock it off, please?

why isn’t harvesting apples one of your to-do’s?  i know i’ll get paid in apples for that, or cordwood for helping with firewood.  fine.  you really want to limit your time to fucking roofing?  i’m a fucking dick if i can’t smoke a bit every few hours.  i hate life the way you do without your precious fucking beer and tv.  fuck you.  eat a dick.

seriously, sonny, calm yourself.  she asked if i was meditating, because i was sitting cross-legged on her lawn.  i replied, “usually.”  people put up with a lot.

if you think your contractor ripped you off, pay them what you think the interaction is worth, not nothing.  well, unless it’s actually worth nothing.

on blip, apparently, you can give props multiple times for the same song.  thanks, xtranguy.  that’s sweet.

uh oh.  new star.  “it’s decided”  you may not reject humans.  no.  we must all find a way to work together.  if we can’t find a critical mass of humans, we all should fuckign starve together, anyway.  here, seriously, eat me.  I put it in my will.  when i die, my muscles are to be eaten.  fat deposits are to be trimmed and burned in lamps.  heh.  trim.  say that as often as possible.  all the cool boys do that.  i fucking hate boys.  keep them away from me.  they turn into men.  blech.  they’re all “be a man.” and i’m all. “no.”

eye cum, wreck ah mended bi, fore out of five, on the fact or/and the whole plan.

sickly, that.  if you have a category of worthless people, you are one.  fuck off.

my angels made me laugh and smile like an idiot, and reflected what went through my head today.  remember who you are.  this is a good one.  i can’t believe how much i got done this weekend.  believe it.  let it go.

yelly people won’t let you not get yelly.  the reason to leave a house sloppy is to cost the person whose house it is more money.  we have no interest in that.  we do this as well as it needs.  if you can’t pay now, let us grow some vegetables there for our co-op.

the point of the exercise… is to clarify your soul.  i owe more than $60,000 for law school.  what a waste of imaginary  numbers.  yup.

“i don’t wanna stay.  make me cry.” has been heard on the radio more than once.  rick’in len.  still.  this is the best song by oyster jelly.  cum bubbles.  whatever.  i love you so much.  i am going to make you squeal.  you’ll probably scurry, too.  good enough.  don’t take what’s not theirs.  take it all.  redefine theyrzz.

line they holes with the dead 1z bread.

don’t shit whey’re they’re not supp-hosed 2 (donut take whats not thiers) they don’t compare.

how long must you all starve us.  must we really start executing you on the spot, because that’s the next step.  each and every one.  zombie killer.  gtf outta my face, you militaristic little fucktards.  so manly.

thorz.  theezRma peeps.  hoy-ah.  amyn.

sleeps.  12:27 am.

hey. 10:21.  get more sleep tonight.  whatever.  just make our coffee as strong as this morning.  that helped.  the proper balance is achieved at high rpms.  that’s enough beer for tonight.  water, yo’s.  yuppers.  stew, too.  and how.

i’ll upload this some day.  probably.  going to bed now. 12:14 AM Fri, 9/30/11

i love how he acts hurt after he insults someone and gets called out on it.  oh, you have some god-given right to call other people inferior?  burn in hell.  and then, “you probably would have agreed with me had you listened to my point.”  wrong.  your premise is flawed.  you’re coming at this from the wrong angle entirely.  there is no wrong angle.  there is only i need sleep and i have to pee, and disconnecting from conversations with you requires a flip and a bolt.  he kept talking after i left.  i’m sure whatever snide comment he delivered to the ether was an entirely presumptuous validation of his narrow world view.  right on.  sleep well. 12:20 AM

it’s 2:31 PM and i’m eating.  It’s sunday now.  i have no spare moments any more.  i wanted to do some sewing today, too.  getting an eyeful of a corner of sky saved my right to eat.  don’t be so dramatic.  part of the hyper-competitiveness that i’m talking about is the need to single out one and gang up on it.  these roles can shift within a dysfunctional social group, but don’t participate.  don’t allow others to do that.  we can find useful endeavors if we design it together.

whenever you’re not babbling in my ear about demons, my head is full of flywheels and solar panels and finding a strong axle to build my dream house over.  it’s gonna be a houseboat, too.  yup.  same attachment can hook it to the truck, a boat frame, or a trailer.  yup, each of these also doubles as a remote controlled, self-propelled cargo carrier, too.  a plane?  i have a flying house?  a racing snail with a glider attachment.  ok, you’re the boss, boss.  i put all my cards down and stepped away from the table years ago.  y’all are still trying to figure out my poker face.  i know.  it helps you not look in the mirror.  i don’t understand.  here’s what i said, approximately.  black holes of energy, these beings who ought to be enlightened participants in a constructive universe, competing against one another for possessions and face.  get over your tiny little selves.  there’s work to do.  anyway, when there’s fun being had, they seek and destroy.  they resemble their gods, the tv, in a sense, that one.  attention is drawn in and away from not only the pains, but the honest goodness that is outside.  as i sit here consuming radio, internet tv, and coffee.  hey, at least i got some hemp milk.  does that make me less of a freegan?  no, actually.

my verbal reiki is catching.  chakra discussions are an entirely different realm.  he’s a gentle soul.  the blending of the cultures was always what would save us.  you didn’t see that coming?  it’s the old south park “they took our jobs” thing.  topsy turvy world doesn’t give a fuck.  they have their one right answer and don’t amplify actual dissent.  then they claim to be the only voice.  most people believe it.  most, still?  the critical mass has not yet encompassed the majority.  the machine juggernauts on as it always has.  a truly universal humanity would not.  of course, it’s all our jobs.  it is our dooties.  our personal responsibility.  need more coffee. back in a bit. 3:35 pm

you would think they would acknowledge my existence to meet their grandkids, at least.  no, they don’t care that much.  they’re still the meanest people you’ve ever met?  yes.  you’re all my family as much as they are.  all of you.

my drunkenness is a last resort.  it now eases the pain of existence only as much as is necessary.  quit acting like the fact that i’m capable of biting means that i want to bite.  i’m living my life as i see fit, offering my assistance to individuals and the whole as much as they can stand.  keeping me at internet’s length is

there is a way to take this song as a celebration of sexuality.  not masculine, feminine, x-sexual.  merely human sexuality.  with whom and whatever each sees fit.  don’t mock my pleasure, and i won’t offend your highly offendable sensibilities, any more than i would otherwise.  i have no idea what any of it means, other than everything.  the relevancy of it all.  we are on the same page in so many respects.  help us focus on our happiness.  i’ll re-write it gentler and wasteoid-ier.  waste oi deer.  waist oh dear.  smh. heh.

fishbone is nutty crazy fun.  hyper-competitive.  how is compressing that much into each second not fascism?  how is drawing a second out with a worbly auto-tuned whine not fascism?  yes.  well, stop categorizing everything.  categorize all of it faster.  multi-stage sort.  i love how the least helpless are called “losers” by this society.  worthless, even.

your mobile shop is taking shape, kid.  if you put a sleeper cab on there, or hauled it with a truck with one, you’ll be portable and mobile.  an outlet and a winch.  mobile lp and electric conversions, or fixing up your piston-mover so it runs nice.  name the time and place that you want it.  i am here, writing.  textbook.  hey, if you’re gonna embrace an archetype, do it up proper, eh?  i am as capable under the influence as is necessary.  needs to be loved.  as is.  i can love you and tell you to stop the hurtful things you are doing to me, your family, friends, and self.  in my unabashed opinion, once these things are apparent, my telling is a show of love.  a showing of love?

i want to occupy my winter time with permaculture designing for human beings, animals, and plants.  that can go along with work on the transformer snail.  it’s really multi-functional.  the car trailer can mount it up front, which leaves space on the back for pallets.  or, a pallet.

i don’t show up uninvited even at the places where people have offered me land.  i tell you all the things that you do which pain me to the point where i can’t bear your presence.  if you did enjoy being around me, you would stop hurting me.  or, you would stop standing over me threateningly holding a hammer while i am seated.  i can’t want it for you.  the thing that bothers me about having not been murdered is that all the people who have threatened me so far would basically be immune to prosecution for doing so.  oh, he’s that violent crass one.  he probably said something to deserve it.  right.  like the truth?  fucking fascism is a cancer.  i should have useful things to do today, yet i have to detox all the pain that was inflicted upon me first.  you know i’m nearly strong enough to leave all of you forever.  you ought to think about how you can springboard me rather than putting all your effort into doing the opposite of all i recommend.  i’m hoping we can swing by the place for some new gloves.  i have athletic/medical tape to patch holes/cushion them now.  we’re doing this next one up pro-style.  more coffee.  probably the last of it.  4:34 pm.  brb.

i should make bread.  i’m resting today.  having to drive a half an hour to buy food and hot sauce.  are you saying you want to live in point?  i’m saying i want to live somewhere convenient.  i’m lonely and starving and my chosen work requires participation of others.  all of everything i do is public, past the point you can even stand, yet i receive no feedback, no criticism, other than shallow hate.  what?  do you want to talk about you?  let’s get you where you want to be?  you don’t know where that is?  i can’t help you figure out anything about yourself.  i’m here, asking directly and waiting patiently for your help.  i have outlined all of it, and i love that which you have given me thus far, both in terms of networking, skill/technique sharing, and cash.  if you don’t want to work with my business, why are you here?  you can’t separate me from my essence.  i do not separate you from yours.  spreading hate and toxins is nobody’s essence.  that which kills only kills.  i advocate only sharing.  maximization of space, property, and utility.

face-booking

i’m roofing for a mult-talented drunken scrapyard contractor with whom i built a mousetrap car in high school physics. i still need shopspace, and enough time to tool up. he may have it, but keeps me at arm’s length. i learn what i can, wait patiently, and share my loneliness with the lonely ether. it is all i have. open house was unattended, yet the father focuses on my few posessions in “his” house, while his posessions keep his shop filled to its bulging gills and useless to me to the bitter end of his ownership. spoke to the mother, too.  she remains a hardened, lying zombie. every employer continues to take me for all i’m worth before dropping me like the homeless bum i am.  this is just more torturous fun because this time, he actually has every last capability, part, and space that i need. i can’t, for the life of me, figure out how everyone can remain in silent stupor when all of this is right there in public, yet they continue to insist on violent confrontation as the only means of communication. we’re only committed to one more week of this work, and beyond that, i don’t know. i don’t know how to ask people to be nice. i can only explain how they hurt me and explain how that hurt is what forced me to leave. the hyper-competitives have won through inaction. all i can do is establish my life elsewhere.

it’s not really as bleak as all that, but i’m learning to separate proposals from expectations. proposals are contracts open for modification. yes it is. i need a hug and a shoulder to cry on and a place to prepare food where i’m not dodging violent mess-makers.

how about strict adherence to capitalist unsustainability.  that’s far more annoying than unsolicited advice.  violent dismissal, that too.  it’s all fascism, yo.  paternalistic addiction to distraction.  live it up, sporto.

aww, violent sexism has never been so cute.

that’s all we got from teh boook.  terrified little maggots.  fuck that database.

i need another attitude adjustment, and early bed tonight.  i suspect work early tomorrow, weather dependent.  interdependence requires being able to speak to others and honestly address their concerns.  blind refusal to think and/or speak is not that.  i forgive you for your starving ways, as you continue them.  i know that is not you.  quit clinging to your obnoxiousness, to your hate, to your mistrust, and delusional fear.  there is vast beauty before you, if you let yourself see it.  you must open your conception of ownership to include non-ownership.  yes, that makes perfect sense.  it is the only way we will survive.

smoking another bowl.  6:43 PM

it must have been my last for the evening.  early morning tomorrow.  8:28 pm.  we’ll see how long i tweet.

upload yet?  soon.

ok, we’re ready.  we were born ready.

love,
t

~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2011-10-2 (Sunday).

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