ire roni

(some kind of treat)

this song mocks old people.  and their music.  old people and there music need/deserve to be mocked.  that’s not fair, or nice.  no, probably not.  i’m still sick, gimmie a break. not really.  never give me a break on anything.  keep me to the strictest standards.  oh, right.  that’s when i’ll hold others to those standards.  nobody wants that.  the constantly conscious can only be ignored.  that is the only way violent society knows how to “deal with” those who can think always.  pay attention, meatbot.

i knew early on i wasn’t looking for only 1.  i knew it would take more than one.  in what sense?  we don’t take anything.  it takes a lot to keep us occupied.  no it doesn’t.  and, it takes like five minutes to completely exhaust us.  homeboy would sleep for days.

why i read lots of blogs:

Well here is my weekend in a nutshell:

I went to some party where a bunch of famous gay male porn stars did a strip show and auctioned off their underwear. It was hard to get a picture but…here is the best I got!

{picture of six ripped dudes in underwear on a blue-lit convention stage}

It was a little disappointing to learn that a lot of these guys aren’t actually gay. I don’t know why anyone not gay would want to have gay sex with a man on camera, but apparently this is a trend in the gay porn world.”

where else would one encounter that information?  well, yes, i would like to get into the porn industry, but i am just stupid in luv (i think that’s love and lust… maybe) with this particular punk-porn princess.  i really need some sex soon or i will implode.  i’m going to end up paying for it, aren’t i.  not likely.

so i wonder if the contrapositive is true of female porn stars.  that’s not even logically correct to say!  not to mention morals or decency~!  key slips are the best.

LOL! this was in the YouTube Mix for Daughters.  Daughters were a band from Rhode Island.  that Wikipedia entry refers to them as grindcore/mathcore/noise rock.  fair enough.  and yt once again introduces me to a new band.  Boredoms.  noonin.

So, it’s Sunday, and the only thing about my life that changes is what’s on the radio.  Sundays annoy me worse than other days.  i am highly annoyable, still, aren’t i.  yes.  that makes me a noid.  sometimes, you just gotta search google images.

so, that’s where we are right now.  away from the fray, seeking porn.  if the fray had anywhere near sufficient lovin’, or if i had any clue as to how to access it, i probably wouldn’t feel so lost, sick, exhausted, and alone.  this song is making my day better.

what do you want?  nobody can answer this question.  or, they’re not willing to confront the inevitable follow-up questions.  somebody posted this on twitter last early evening (i crashed at like 7:30).  “you’re awful, i love you.”  heh.  his davenport has an afghan on it. “you suck so passionately.  you’re a parasitic psycho filthy creature finger-bangin’ my heart.  you call me up drunk, does the fun ever start?  you’re hideous, and sexy.”

much like mcr, i can’t really handle most of this band.  that’s why you don’t handle bands.  dance or do not dance.  there is no try.

as in, i am not trying, today, at all.  fuck it all.  calling in sick to the revolution = calling in sick to life.  surfing the internet and jacking off to internet porn is all that keeps me sane.  fuck your polite acceptance of your enslavement.  this shit is retarded.

new bio?  fuckless fucker.

wanting to learn is loving.  claiming love and not wanting to learn is lying.  clearly, what you want is to continue on the path you are headed.  not really.  i’m done.  here.  you take over.  you do it. well, you’ve done it.  i/we/it is not in love with any one, at any time, any more.  that doesn’t mean we aren’t in love with the all at all times.  fear puts me into scolding mode.  what is the worst that could happen?

why am i back here?  why was i back there?  nothing left for me to prove.  no pride.  made available, ignored.  if your system doesn’t encourage participation, you will get as much from me as you provide.

bitters.  acrid sips of violence.  we all share this all.

this is my home.  my home is in abstentia.  so be it.

“fuck these shitty bands” – me, upon clicking related links.  i playlist shit.  names alone have gotten in there.  i am for every shitty two chord no business amplifying punk band.  my whole everything is so far off today.

you and your girlfriends make me horny.  that isn’t horny.  what is it, then?  i have no idea.  twelve minutes until the hard boiled eggs are done.  i did not add salt this time.  they look like commercial factory farm eggs, so they’ll probably peel fine.  they are probably bred to do that.  there has to be a better way.  there always is.

hey, people that talk near and at me, i don’t consider you viable.  i mean, you’re fully agents of various propaganda infrastructures set up by industry and profit motives.  you are to be beaten out of your own heads, not reveared as learned.  lerr ned. learn ed.  lurrnaad.  o’what do iKnow? anyway.

brain sensor gets fired up, and we react to the aetherz what hit us in the flesh.  as this ended, this became hearable on el radio.  this b howit hearzits thyme.

i was elected in abstentia once.  i wasn’t running for the position, but i hear a few people spoke in my stead, and i received more votes than anyone else.  this provided me an excuse to drive to a monthly meeting in a far away land.  you can’t neglect the feeding when there’s important stuff to do.  that’s the time when it’s most important.  your brain is going to crank harder than it ever has before.  one meeting.

what if i went into the mayor’s office and demand that he hire me.  then what?  why would he hire you.  why do any of these powerful people hire me?  because i’m more powerful.  in ways that they are not.  it spends our time surfing the dark forces.  it hops between darkened light, riding gravity down each wave, simultaneously, yet not at all.

ate two eggs with sriracha and took a shower with a half-dose of peppermint bronners.  i bought a new bottle, but i left it at my “new place.”  my old place is self-imposed isolation.  my new place is sorta like my old place before that, but less so.  i now invented a fold-down living space that uses a rug as a wall.  the door will do a lot more than anything else.  yeah, probably.

we no cum here to be entertrained by son daze.  it is the sundae’s that is introtained byus. bias.  bi ughss.

logs off for sleeps.  12:15 am.

10:24, next day.  it’s nice out, but i still feel like ass.  poop.  sick.  icky.

knowing how to solve problems is dependent on uncovering the causes of those problems.  if those won’t let that happen, the solver is at an impasse.  i’m pretty sure i’m the problem.  i keep feeling hurt and pain and loneliness and frustration, and all these other stupid fucking human emotions that i have zero use for.  they get in the way of the things that have to be done, yet here i am, day after shitty day, typing.  documenting my pain.  great, so you’ve had a horrible life without anyone being able to tell or do anything about it.  oh, everyone can tell, they just don’t want to get their head bit off by trying to help.  yeah, you know how the people i know try to help?  they talk about me.  not to me.  send cash to charities.  pay your taxes.  this whole paragraph should just die.  so should writers if they want to be popular.  who said anything about popular?

dude, is this any good, or is it all douchebaggery?  i have to hear more, but the album cover has a winged skeleton dangling a heart on a string.  that can’t be bad.  it’s kind of about religion.  kind of.  i put it in winter solstice.  it turns whiny, then awful.  eew.  they called their third album violence.  probably good gentle people to hang around, but i will leave the room when the “harmonious” second singer starts in.

as far as i can tell, you take on insufficient care duties for far too many, leaving those closest to you neglected for those almost as close.  you satisfy enough of their human contact ache to keep everyone else away.  go all in.  tell everyone else to fuck the fuck off.  all this half-assed shit is driving me insane.  you were insane a long time ago.

then it tweeted like a tard bucket.  ex-fer-cept that buddeh holleh recover.

fuck toy
(to the tune of/a pile of geez2 buddy holly and the crickets’ 1958 top ten hit, “oh boy!”, previously covered by Melanie, mud, Stray Cats, Jackie De Shannon, Silicon Teens, Hank Marvin, and MxPx. holy awesome.  and this scene from la bamba? uhh, semi-related, must-watch. *giggle* love love. and this. heh.)

All good love
full body kissin’
You know full well what you’ve been a-missin’
Fuck toy, get high with me
Fuck toy, the world may c
when you, get nude, with me

Fuck my life
your body is great’n
Tonight will be no pez, just matin’
Fuck toy, when you’re horny
Fuck toy, slide around, lemmy see
Them lips, could be, on me

Starry eyes appear and panties a-fallin
You can hear my blue balls a-ballin
Alotta bit a-lovin’ lips be loose or be tight
‘cuz i could take out an army tonight

All good love
moanin’ n’ kissin’
You know there is uh nothin’ a-missin’
girl/boy, when you’re on me
pearl joy, pretty happy see
That goo, it came, from me

(many orgasm noises)

Dum-dee-dum-dum Oh boy
Dum-dee-dum-dum Oh boy
[Guitar Solo] (ooh-ooh-ooh-oooooh)

All is love
touchin’ a-lickin’
You ask real nice i may start a-stickin’
Fuck toy, go down on me
Fuck toy, ya make me hard, ya see
Then i’ll, lick you, all three

Fuck my life
porn is a-waitin’
i’d rather be helpin’ you masturbtatin’
Fuck toy, put your mouth on me
Fuck toy, we’ll let the world see
how you, get nailed, by me

Skin appears my inhibition falling
flickin’ my tongue round ya nest is ma-callin
then a deep sloppy kiss tells me everything’s right
a grab and pull and JESUS FUCK-o baby, that’s tight.

soft hard love
rub down titty-kissin’
You know i’ll fill in the gaps that you’ve been a-missin’
fuck toys, you’re goddess to me
fuck toys, our worldwide orgy
when you, get laid, by me.

“in a word or two, it’s you i wanna do.  no, not your body, your mind, you fool. come here baby, yeah.” – Prince – Sexy MF

“oh my god.” – gett off

i almost did a mash of gett off and oh boy.  i mean, i thought about it.  that requires opening a different application, you realize.  does anybody want to hear buddy holly mashed into a prince song about fucking?  yeah, you’re right.  they probably do.


i dunno.  it’s a first draft.  i never end up singing the original draft.  i do like the term fuck toy, though.  it sounds more fun than sex slave, don’t ya think?  i am already a slave to sex.  that’s why i don’t get it.  that’s how i don’t get it.  i know that.  my job is to do shit like this, because y’all have been repressed and poisoned past the point of likely survival.  ok, so maybe the lot of ya will figure out that you can stop putting your resources to war, and start putting them towards life.

more rhymy orderz:

you’re too sure of the path, and it runs you encircle
land is all there, combine works with the perk’ll
buy out the bank, revise charter, derp wool
join me in skank, provide laughs, bellies full

their souls rot daily, they say, “heroes will save us”
handing marginalized slave wages to murderers, liars, and rapists

you’re addicted to psycopathy, you think it’s all the rage
you only think it’s the most efficient way because we’re locked in a cage
and the paths allowed have already been set to maximize prof-it-tiiing
as big brother rewards all the noise and hate with a new fighty sporty thing.

owners repurpose your land to grow food
help us please now time to get in that mood
higher arc, eBooked logician red-taped all the smart
poets keep sharing love, & we call that shit art.

you know you could make that its own post, and probably more people would like it.  i know.  don’t parse me, bro.  i mean, parse me, bro.  where’s my editorial staff?  where’s the band?  where’s the dance troupe?  corporeal feelers have been set in every direction.  if you don’t recognize that as invitation, i don’t know what to tell you.  i keep saying it over and over.  do you, now.  repeat yourself, do ya?  i can.  i tend to.  that’s very Socratic of ye, ain’t it.  some say.  do they now.  why are you being a dick, giving me a hard time like that.  we’re crankin’ out keystrokes here.  nobody gives a fuck about your keystrokes.  they are not profit-driven, therefore, depravity.  decrepit.

oh, whatever the fuckskis.  i am too a blogger.  i’m a shitty poet and a horrible dancer.  who fucking cares.  right?  i bought a small ship in which to grow my empire, and exactly zero people signed up.  for what?  for anything.  to like, to help, to donate.  all these things have been asked.  formalities be damned.  i have nothing to prove to any of you fuckers.

why can’t i just get writers block?  then i’d have to go somewhere and meet flesh and blood humans.  why, what have they ever done for you?  oh seriously, some of them have made me cum.  i’m caught up with most, or the offer’s been pretty resoundingly rejected.  dictator sees no reason for anything to be withdrawn from the record.  ever.  then how would you know the whole story?  isn’t that what everyone wants?  to know god?  to be able, for perhaps the first time, see all that is good and right with the world, and the reasons for all our difficulties, and the beauty and richness of contrast.  let it be.

it is easy.  once you know the password, or any number of procedures.  yeah, keep the guards in place.  it has to exhaust itself if all those around it refuse.  must you condemn me for my own survival despite your repressive beat-downs?  loving the details will chase the devil right out of them.  bare witness.  voluntarily, a concept the shortsighted exploitation-minded camp can barely comprehend.  all for love.

conflating business savvy with talent makes popularity a strange thing.  pleasure centers tweaked by that constant stream of magazinic-televiz’ed-movie-time ad streams still put me in a comfort-food-stuffed, materialist-drivel bender.  consumers, yo.  no, yore a heraldic emblem.  do you really think that link is gonna work?  or, better, that anyone is going to give a fuck about it?  people like information.  it’s not good, bad, or otherwise.  it just is.  i opened this stream, cracked this shell, unleashed this demon, awaken. give ‘em hell.  kid, whatever‽ i learn.

in word, my preferred typing platform, bang (exclamation!) question (?)mark now gets auto-corrected to interrobang‽ really.  really‽  seriously, yes.  Tools > AutoCorrect > Options.  I have those.

hey, way fun.  at 9:19, short links and Wikipedia links are showing up on my twitter profile, as are links. and hover seems to show the destination url of the links.  well, that’s better than nothing.  thanks for improving your product, or whatever.  it’s now up to slightly less stupid.  showing those links hides data.  censorship.  fuck you, it’s simple programming.  if your people don’t know how to do it, let me hire people that do.  ones and zeroes.  i don’t know anything about that shit.  i know only enough to be dangerous.  no more, no less.  actually, sometimes, a lot more, and a lot less.  what does that even mean?  who knows.  i guess you’ll just have to tune in next time!

…to be continued…

heh.  i love you.

p.s. watching this again.  i am.

p.p.s. this crew has spare parts i could use on my home, eh.

~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2011-11-21 (Monday).

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