how about quit forming committees, having meetings, and “making statements” regarding stuff.  find a place where it’s safe to make food for a bunch of people, and make food there for a bunch of people.  daily.  rotate cooking, cleaning, and taking notes or adding to a wiki.  the thing will build itself beginning almost immediately.

fine, you want a suggestion?  collect all the information you can regarding cooperatively owned and managed businesses.  make a presentation to the greenhouse people with the stated intent of getting them to open the books and join the coalition of god willing.  if you don’t have cooperative ownership and management, you’re all spinning your wheels.  you have to do that first.  your foundation, all of you, is for shit.  you scream against legal fictions without understanding that the way you will “defeat” them (if you still think in those shallow terms) will be to become one of them.  against paper, rock loses.  scissors’ cooperating blades re-pulp fictions, but so does fire.  i will take my contract flambé, thank you.

you must imagine every human interaction, and script it.  positively, efficiently.  once the whole thing is complete in your head, you backwards engineer it.  it must have redundancy, which in human terms will translate to greater understanding of human beings, human nature, and one another.

i say a lot of things.  word density.  there are multiple patterns of layers.  stripes and plaids play off and against each other.  stars rotate around my dopey little head.  baby ninjas are destroying me.  i am lovin’ every minute.

i kissed our friend on the neck when she crawled in bed with me this morning.  she don’t belong to nothing but the universe.  thank god.  i’m madly in love with you, i said, earlier.  i was.  i am.  when those of us whose nature is furthest from the machine’s repressed ideals are completely free, past conceptions of happiness, joy, and fulfillment will seem pale and quaint if we compared them to our present joy.

she asked me whether, when i told her i was horny, if i was.  i said, “you wanna check?”  her response was something like shock-offense, then a no (to answer my question), and the realization that i am who i am when i am relaxed her again.  the task at hand was completed.  i had a stifled, under-clothing erection that lasted about 4 hours.  another hour this morning.  if i were you, i’d encourage us to fuck.  how’s that for a cool beau test?  one of two things will happen.  we will tire of one another, shortly thereafter, or we won’t ever want to get clothed in each others’ presence any more, ever.  in which case, who are you to stand in the way?  i know.  you’re you.  i don’t know where my life is going, but the more i learn from wonderful, kind, talented people like you guys, the more i know i will be ok no matter what happens. (editors’ note: i also know nobody ever misses me.  dictator seems to make that priority #1.)

or this: you’re not nearly desperately clingy enough for… i know.  all my dream girls are weird.  they’re my dream girls.  yes, you asshole.  your wife/girlfriend/partner/neice/daughter is my dream girl.  get over it, because i’m not apologizing for it and if you try to tell her to be anything less than she is, than she alone knows she has to be, i will take you down a few notches.  i have neither shame nor fear, and i have been a big brother to an adorable little redhead for my entire life.  love is all i have for any of you.

there’s a strange mix of paternal and other instincts goin’ on here.  maternal, also.

can i get a mug shot, so i recognize you when you open the door.

hey point.  don’t fuck me ever, because i’m gone the next morning.  for me.  for good.

all dude ever wanted was a snuggly road dog.

everything you do in meetings could be done in e-mail.  but no, you don’t like that, because you can’t be a controlling countrymen with your wooden mallet and Roberts rules.  heh.  bob rules.  a grasshopper walks into a bar.  bartender says, hey, we have a drink with the same name as you!  grasshopper says, really?  you have a drink named Bobbbbbbbbbbbb?  that’s how she telled it.  of course i miss her.  hey, as soon the concepts of creepy uncle, loser, dirtbag, pothead, homeless, jobless, listless, tireless, unstoppable, and horny-as-fuck are made not-bad things, as nature intended, eighty seven billion eligible women will gain immediate full access.  many hundreds already have.  thanks for becoming one of the chosen.

she invited me into the bathroom, while she was in the shower.  i had told her of my previous experiences with showers, and friends.  i sat and spoke gently, as you do with a small critter that has been scared.  by herself mostly, but realizing the relative non-importance of physical stature, that’s an advanced lesson.  physical interaction with the universe is an ongoing learning process.  we pick up skills we barely recognize, and along the way, we learn that the absolute worst things we’ve ever done are not really all that bad.  quit beating yourself up for something that happened years ago.  no, you’re my friend, and i see how you act, and i know you’re a good person.  yes, alcohol and other intoxicants change behaviors slightly, make some of us more mischievous, perhaps more daring.  you are the only one who can learn when/how/why to reel those parts of you in, to shorten their leash.  you have the control, over all of them.  you can choose how to react, and your responses to my blurting, forward honesty are humbling, to say the least.  on some planes of existence, our words matter more than contact.  past time creates such a constant, lasting sense of joy, your location and company won’t affect my enduring love.  i keep hitting false bottoms, and i keep running into the kindest souls to cushion my landing at each successive level.  something about this feels like bedrock.

right?  getting all epic.  nothing has changed.  nothing that has happened recently is any different from that which happened that first day, that first hour.  i am an admirer.  i’m not a collector so much as a wrecking ball.  i see the world through different lenses.  my perspective is fucked.  over, under, inside out.  to the core, and with resounding clout.

my heart chakra is engulfing the planet right now.  that’s what that tingle was (12:18 pm)

dear old housemates.  i think of you often.  i love you as regularly.  i would like to introduce you to my people.  not in an ownership sense, but in an identification sense.  they are me.  they shared me.  they endured me.  they supported and enabled me, when the means of doing so was not clear to many.

i forgot my shower puff, again.  yes, i use a shower puff with my dr. bronner’s.  the paws work almost as well, but abrasives speed essential cleaning tasks.  i almost offered to clean her (therefore, didn’t).  oh really?  you don’t think the queen should be washed and pampered by attendants?  i’m practically a eunuch, son.  i’m not going to plant a baby there until she asks.  at this point, probably until she begs.  dirty things, that’s what’s in my mind.  around you, anyway.  and by dirty, i mean similar to my bicycle.  beautiful, elegant, efficient, pleasurable, and well-lubed.  hey, in my imagination, we shagged each other rotten since the day we met.  that’s happened in real life before, too.  fucking a.  there is not enough weed on the planet to kill this fucking woodie.  go tantric, son.  i will record a song soon that captures the mood.

i’m apparently a capitalist at heart.  i work enough to give you a taste of how i work.  if you maintain landownerly control, if you maintain hierarchies, refusing to take the input of others, none shall pass.

got an abbreviated batch of stew cooking.  new kitchen.  need to get my large stewpot and the big jars.  it may end up in the ice cream bucket.  cool.  yes, we’ll have to do that first.  best get started on them dishes, too.  you can eliminate washing those sprout jars if you soak in-pan.  yes, but then the stove/pans are occupied for 24 hours plus.

we have ideas.  what do you do when you encounter the jobsite, the kitchen, the client.  we asked incorrectly last time.  timing shall improve.  as will explanation.  we gotta run.

lates. 3:17 pm.

it’s 1:05 pm the next day, and holy crap!  what a day!  my new housemate took me to her family’s thanksgiving turkey dinner.  i met her mom and brothers and aunt and old friends and lots of other friends of the family of whom i didn’t get full descriptions.

i was reminded of lord of the rings multiple times, as much ‘cuz we watched football and pumpkin chunkin’ as the appearance of her many archetypes.  most notably the king that was infected/possessed/overwhelmed by a demon/wizard/spell.  there were friendly acts all over the place, and the card game was civil.  i spent most of the time eating, as soon as the invite was extended, then drinking beer and watching football.

we have good discussions.  there’s always something to talk about.  that’s what happens when you put two people with similar neuroses together in a car for a while.

hey, are you ok now?  then why would i, in wanting to help you remain ok, remind you of a time when you were not?  yes, i am here.  how may i be of assistance?  have my baby.  umm, not right now.  oh, ok.

if people come to my show and go “WOOO!” i will stop playing and ask them to leave.  it was more redundant than mean.  i know.  extraneous time wasting, same thing.  what if she wants to help you?  then she should help me and quit over-flirting without telling me what the deal is.  what do you think people are going to tell you?  i don’t want them to tell me anything.  they don’t love me.  they are destroying me.  we are often confused about this.  love is letting be.  if the object of your affection is drawn to you, go at it.  if you force it, you might get bit.  par. shoulda been par instead of de.  i fail so retardedly.  i can’t believe they don’t make up contests for shit i do just so they can kick me out and ban me from competing the next year.  what?  it’s not really torture, that which tortures me.  sublime states of human understanding become visible to the naked eye.

12:38 am, and it sleeps.

next day. hey, one of my stalkers sent me a picture.  how about this, sweetie.  i block you on twitter, and un-block you immediately (this part hasn’t happened yet).  you agree to not re-follow me until after the new year, and i will probably not follow you back.  this is the direction i’m leaning right now.  i can’t deny that i like seeing your smiling face, but your messages are vague and slightly terrifying.  you seem to want to eat me.  i ain’t about to be cannibalized by one person whose name i don’t even know.  how many names do you have?  not to mention accounts, e-mail addresses.  oh, it doesn’t even matter.  what are you hiding from?  i’m absolutely the wrong person to be hanging around if you got secrets.  i’m not going to condemn your past, but i will be honest with you about how your words make me feel.  not so great.  i want to help, though.  for the most part, you’ve been pretty sweet to me.  part of me thinks that the only way i could help is by severing communication.  when is that ever the case?  with the limited vocabulary and vague statements, you sound like a concerned grandmother.  why?  why would you do that?  if you have questions, ask them.  you can take your hate or doubts or fear or whatever the fuck that is and shove it up your ass.  tweet it.  send your love outward, to the universe.  i don’t sext.  i’m not interested.

is that true?  i think so.  i’m a tight sweater from a hardon in cold water.  i don’t need to have my movement restricted by an unfulfilled erection pinned down with my belt.  no thanks.  you want a taste in person?  INVITE ME OVER!!!  otherwise, fuck off.

i don’t know grandma.  most of my experience with people my age and older is judgment and criticism, even if there’s sex.  maybe it’s me (probably it’s me), but if you’re looking for a dominant dickhead to slap your ass, pull your hair, and fling that old meatbot in a bunch of kinky positions, i could probably find a couple five hours in my schedule for ya.

not you mommy.  i’m in love with your daughter.  totally different story.  oh, you don’t think i’d stick it in your mom?  willingness is quite the turn-on when you’re horny.  who knows how any of that happens, but i tend to not approach, any other than the meekest, mildest, gentlest.  contact lovers.  we have catching up to do.

new video concept.  i don’t remember whether i’ve told you, and i don’t care.  it’s sort of an ode to girls who are, or have been, the objects of my affection/love.  i have a few interviews, and a script type thing, using clips that i have on hand.  it needs a song, and i probably should film something in decent light.  decent.  my vocabulary contains too many snide words.  yes, we both share that disease.

and once again, we are here with ourselves, nowhere to go and nothing to do.  are you going to offer me a place once i’m on the road?  are you after-the-fact going to tell me i would have been welcome to stay, but no.  you don’t have room for me.  and i won’t find that out until i get there with nowhere else to go.  a little planning, a little design, and a little building could put together all the infrastructure we need.  i don’t understand what you’re so afraid of.  really?  flying blind with no support net?  utterly abandoned by family and friend alike?  no, you have to worship the same golden calves as us.  right, i forgot, or explain it as something else and continue to exchange meaningless poisonous gestures of a once useful tradition.  if i’m not in the rotation, i’m not a part of the family.

what good does being part of the family mean any more anyway?  it’s not like the family has an estate where anyone can stay.  it’s not like they have a farm where you can work if you need that.  families are stupid now.  my tribes have no limitations, expectations are not attached, and sharing food is not a special occasion.

only a stalker would star that tweet.  only a freak would tweet it in the first place. touché.

look, none have proposed my execution, nor accused me of anything for that matter.  you don’t think a phone call from any one of my family members, explaining where the celebration were to be held and when, wouldn’t have gotten me there?  text?  e-mail?  they talked about it on facebook like a month ago.  that’s the contact that i get now.  i can only assume that as many people who wanted me there told me so.  this falls under the call for love, eh?

2:11 pm.  love me.  please love me?  not say it.  actually make contact.

heh. 10:36 am, 29th.  e-mail from wi democracy campaign teaches of legislative intent and wording.  according to the e-mail, “Wisconsin’s open records law requires agencies to respond to requests <as soon as practicable and without delay.>”  the organization sought “evidence of any enforcement action relating to the law requiring disclosure of the occupation and employer of campaign donors who give more than $100.”  it has been seven weeks.  no response.  i laughed before reading the request more closely.  how would you respond to that?  it completely depends on how the records are kept, doesn’t it?  this is why i feel that every organization should be a wiki.  that one sentence, the question, might be worded so poorly that none of the other aspects of the “open records” (ha!) request would matter.  it’s like a typo in the mastheadline.  the excommunicators stop there.  if they were open, you wouldn’t have to request them.  you’d submit a data query that would look something like SQL, and you would get back data as it arrived.  yes, constant, real-time measures of real-world things.  how the fuck else do you monitor something?  what do you think is the purpose of regulating, let alone calculating, anything?  [oh! entertainment] every one of you competitive retards is so hung up on making the fastest buck in the shortest term, in fucking over your fellow human beings, whether it’s just another person you encounter on the internet, your “best friend forever,” or your own family.  so, there are only like 2% honest people left here, huh?  that’s fucking pathetic.  the people that work at these fucking “advocacy organizations” and interact directly with the man’s land and soldiers, can you not see that you are being mocked, and fed continued lip service, that constant party faith is all that is rewarded by this system?  how many times need the point be made before you quit selling their shit for them?  nobody wants it.  nobody.  we live amongst a series of familial/tribal/organizational structures that do not feed and house their participants as a matter of course.  everyone please think about this.  what do they do?  they “donate” money to one of its poisoned, greasy, blood-soaked tentacles.  another warmaker.  great.  even the only do-gooders who get paid are the ones who take up arms.  your non-profit is anti-action, foot-dragging industry restrictions.  old boys network in hippie garb. hoo rah!

having any activities of the legislative process behind closed doors is clear evidence that the whole fucking system is fucked beyond recognition.  quit trying to resurrect the zombie as it tries to eat your brain!  the fuck is wrong with you?  your organization raised how much money?  you know how much property you could buy with that?  acreage, where we could camp and make food, and do all the things that were so wonderfully happening under the man’s watchful eye/guard.  are you really that scared of one another that you need armed babysitters?  my riots would disperse when asked to the officers’ homes, to parks, to abandoned big box stores, malls, and convention centers.  but no, you want to get arrested, keeping the man and his flunkies hard at work booking your smelly ass, and then raising money on the internet to cover your bail?  no!  that’s retarded!

the electromagnetic pulse that surrounds the dictator alerted the man’s matching programmed meatbots to its presence far before the shoes hit named streets.  buy the time they did, the farmtown was abuzz.  clucking short-haired egg layers, alpha dogs twitchy from being beaten and barked at all their lives, and a bunch of sleeper/transformer sheep/kitties, just wanting to be around in case something happens.  something always happens when dictator shows up.  how couldn’t it?  dictator’s alive awake aware enthusiastic. uh.  the cops are so used to running preserve and protect patterns around me, to an outside observer, you’d think they were there to protect me.  they are.  and themselves, from me.  from it.  don’t act like it’s disassociated.  heh.  why.  it’s more terrifying that way.  hardly.  that thing is us, you realize.  i know.  i encouraged it.  nobody else has fed that monster.  don’t call it a monster.  some of those it is.  fine.  can we move on?  we’re listening to the new Dwarves album again.  heh.  dirty dirty.  we were working on a scene, weren’t we?  yes.  you were getting out of your rice burner, uhh, dino-burner, i mean the future black popemobile.  ah, yes.  hugs.  when there are people we know, we get lots of hugs.  we know kind of a lot of huggable people.  if this hadn’t happened, the team would go to amp mode.  testosterone and adrenaline pulsing through your poison-clogged veins.  one of them pulled a can of pepper spray, and before it was discharged, the poor officer’s mask had been kicked upwards, and as dictator’s shoulders and knees went to work on homeboy’s soft spots, its hands delivered the tiniest spurt of pepper directly up his nose.  i put the can in my back pocket, and as i began to walk away, the booted lot surged for the kill.  “no.” as i placed my hand gently on the chest of the largest and most frightening within reach.  “let him live.”  a quick sigh/glance, then endorsement, “yes, let him live. let them all live.”  by the time i turned around, he was gone.  five minutes later, video communiqué confirmed pepper cop’s arrival at home.  one cop tried to pull a gun once.  another cop shot him in the leg.  it was beautiful.  we always feed the most violent first.  then they’re satiated and quiet, and keep an eye out while we chow.  you underestimate dictator’s strength.  he disperses riots.  single-handedly.  he stands in front of lines of cops and tells them that he’s got his eye on them as childcare co-op participants.  the fascists get so jealous.  fascism is jealousy.

that ought be tweeted.  yep.  don’t you call yourself a fascist?  yes.  i fascistly advocate for full consensus.  opinions are integrated as they are expressed.  if you fail to express your opinion, i cannot incorporate it.  until you fuckers know esp, you will continue to be confused as fuck by me, until you listen to me and learn to correlate the expressed words with the acts.  the truth is something else.  not in the middle, exactly, but an all-encompassing, inclusive path.  we thread everywhere and nowhere simultaneously.  we already covered that ground.

noonin! is now replacing http://‽.ws/LAW as my twitbio url.  relevant links are available from there. if you don’t know how to navigate profile pages on websites to find out about people, you should realize that.  you will discover many interesting and beautiful people if you explore that way.  you are not going to get the full story unless you get it from the source.

old bio:

genderzero raw/pan-organic freegan life/contact/noise-loving anarco-structuralist nail-pulling flailbot. ▲♀✺✾✿❀❁❝✪✞✡☠☭☸♍∴∞ⁿ❞ ✩¶✍☀❂☯♥❦♡✇☥☮ it fuck.✱∻⊿○□◇△♨✖biter



gende®zerØ▲↔▼raw wild freegan ✺✾✿❀❁ life/contact\noise-loving ☥✩¶✍♫♪π♥♡ open&distro[y’all] systm✇ structural mo’bot re/design ❝✪☠∴∞ⁿ❞ ☯☀❂☮ it fuckⁿ❦ⁿhugⁿ∑✖biter

i love it when you put me in your newspaper, baby.  i hope you don’t mind me calling you baby.  i mean, i know you love it when i call you baby, baby. 😀  i’m a retarded, perhaps even thee, on occasion.  it’s time to go to the meeting.  i think we’re getting t-bell on the way.  i know.  yummy. 6:01 pm

6:52 pm [diff’r’nt day].  guu’s,stevens point.  show here later.

yes, i’m still homeless, and i have fewer safe houses than ever.  exactly zero.  why the fuck do you think i’m at a bar?  my mom hates me and my shit, my dad is giving his house back to the bank, and my little sister has a huge house (also for sale) where i am not allowed to stay.

bitter?  yes.  angry?  also.  betrayed.  absolutely.  don’t call them abandonment issues.  getting stressed for being abandoned is a pretty realistic human reaction.  telling someone not to stress when they don’t have a warm pace to sleep is kind of a dick move.

all i can do is leave.  that is my only recourse.

this is stupid.  these last twenty four hours are retarded.  expressing pain.  nobody sticks around when you’re expressing pain.  unless you do it like the tv tells you to.  then, if you scream and cry and wail, they will give you cash.  or, if you’re stupid enough to hurt yourself.  those of us who will survive regardless are pretty much on our own.

i’m outtie.  be well 9:24 pm.

if i freeze to death tonight, i know it has nothing to do with your love for me.  it’s ok.

edited/vetted Thursday, December 15, 2011 2:57 pm.

dictator now lets us eat. but the food’s almost gone. pancakes for dinner. with corn syrup. not even kidding. there is butter left, but the good flour is at the mother’s.  why?  crybaby still wants us to go live there.  dictator won’t kill him.  it’s annoying as fuck!  whenever else we had these whiny fucks wanting to put up with horrible abuse because we have no other option, dictator took them out.  this fucking pansy who wants to go live with his mother, again, at 35 years of age, dictator’s broken every fucking bone in his body, multiple times.  it’s turned the rest of us into crybabies, really.  but dictator just keeps wailing on him, day in and day out.  i can’t believe he doesn’t have brain damage.  he is brain damage.  i would rather die alone than be offered a place to live where i am considered less than equal to other residents.  cash be damned.  you know every member of your family and every person who has claimed to be your friend is just going to tell you do die alone, then.  i am well aware, thanks.  and your sister is going to make fun of you for it.  yeah, i’ll be blocking them all on fb soon.  who was that?  i dunno.  we’re not blocking anyone on fb.  and, you should unblock that twitpal, too.  yeah, probably.  who told us to start asking for help, and how do you ask for help asking for help asking for help, anyway?  i don’t know, dude.  it’s the hoops you gotta jump through.  it’s not fair.  nobody said it was.  no, it’s completely illogical.  yes, but it’s what everyone wants.  everyone except you.  then i’m leaving.  that is your right.

homeless rv owner seeks warm-weather parking spot, with water and electricity (and internet, if feasible) for unforeseeable future.  cooks simple, mostly raw oil/sugar/salt-less vegan, drinks beer, smokes marijuana as often as is medicinally requested/required, and dances when the spirit moves it.  horny often.  takes a lickin’, keeps on tickin.’

world, i’m ankh-ing this next orgasm back at you.

fuck off,

~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2011-11-26 (Saturday).

2 Responses to “suggestions”

  1. It’s 2:56am. That is all.

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