if it were up to me
sceneology. erv has splinter-forked, or we examine one of those.
go growth. yes. ok. sure yup absativ.stop getting long-windedly creative. we lost six vote. suppression. i call. withdrawn. pass aye ouais oui si si si oi oi oi, etc.
drama is a last resort of inbred violence. let it be. we are here, all are queer. get used to being respected as a human being. by respecting other human beings, as human beings. whatever you would like to tell me, unless you are willing to say it out in public, in the open, i will read. i want to know what you think i’m leaving out, or in what way you think i’m over-reaching. if you can’t phrase it, shut up. getting louder is brute force thought suppression. how can i help?
so erv turned out to be the food library grower. yeah, the shell is where we started tree seeds, and formed them, as they grew, to be the right size and shape, and there were pathways for chickens and ketehz and goggiezz, and bunnies and lizards and i think squirrels and mice and rats lived with me in there for a while. i has buddehz
nice forking scene, shaggy. eh? i think, for the riots, we don’t burn police cars, we take them home. we turn them into roving data-cloud, water-cleaning, solar oven greenhouse animal shelter kitchens, and leave them all over the place with electronic sensors which train any finders peacefully and gradually how to survive in one. they’ll also link participants into the larger net, if they like. dictator takes erv into the clouds. when hasn’t it been a satellite? arm’s length away. stiff-arm. i feel ya. the enforcers are vicious. i’m not saying i don’t have the same self-righteous indignation as you, i’m saying you’re hitting human beings when you aren’t laser-sighting the disease by its proven entry points. sea why eh by covering all the ehs. eh?
thought today: flexeril [that, tellingly, is what your government knows. which drugs do what. you work for the pushers, fucktard. it was not my doing.], a corporate medicinal muscle relaxant, has prevented my body from learning how to heal the particular pain-kink that i have right now. is this a mechanical thing. it feels like it. chiropractor? is there one nearby? i’d rather have kids walking on my back, help standing from a gentle mild person, and none of this would have happened in the first place. why would you ride into that cauldron of greed in the first place. stop, it’s not that. we’re gonna get them to beg to offer us their old batteries. we’re a subcontractor, dicktard. fuck you, hire me. that means i’m in charge. i’ll rearrange your fucking life, i will. i fell in love with your wife faster than you did. possibly your daughter, too. there’s instant transfer with this one, so that’s not really saying anything new. i do respect the tribal lineages. but the points are well taken.
the old ways of speaking of things do not include the relatively recently revealed genocidal arts, but of such evils, we must not speak generally. evidence must point to and intent to eliminate acts of known perpetrators of international human rights law. isolation, removal of communication infrastructure, these are the backwards thoughts of a hellbent addiction to destruction. the actual truth is capable of being conveyed in a tweet, and anyone who has gone to industry school knows how to cite their sources. these skills that the machine taught us give the pathway for actual credit to be given to the artists responsible for certain works. ok, so what if it looks like a pie chart or a timeline? if the information is there, people are getting credit for their creativity and work. if it makes money, like because actual human beings enjoy it, then those people should get that money. no middle anything. bitcoin. fuck these stupid intermediary games. how did the internet not instantly create that in the first fucking place. i know, it did, but that, like all other discoveries, inventions, and treasonous withholdings from the people of this planet, is the same old story. we have work to do, and you are free to move now.
don’t flip vonnegut on his head. i didn’t even. homage. paternalism. *sighroll* and how. the whole project is done. you fucktards have to want to know where it goes and how it ends, because it was designed to be done by all of us, and that’s the only way it will actually happen. by the time it’s done, i will have met every person who would have voted for me, if they wanted. yes, and when and how. many opportunities.
ooh, new brainstorm. bunch of fascist dictards do it for me, on the condition that i can’t be there. no can do, spy-planters. i have to trust you with my life if you’re adding to this thing, and if you don’t trust me with yours, stay away from my shit, ok. respect your own incredibly narrow-minded beliefs, if nothing else.
oh please. everyone’s a permaculturalist. i disagree about multiculturalism being a bad thing, and i think the tone and wording of his presentation makes that clear as well. let people live where they want to live, and do the things that they want to do. your bosses are cruel is not a reason to be cruel to others. stop that. you have to be re-trained like dogs, you’re affected and infected so deeply. why not plant a food forest in the desert? if we electrified up the transport, we wouldn’t be able to kill millions of people on rainy days. that’s simply vicious. what? that’s what the mean shortcuts make possible. mass executions of human beings. it’s going on right now in the most suppressive regime that has ever existed on any planet. yes, israel. yes, banking, yes the entire financial sector and political infrastructure and media infrastructure and industrial food infrastructure. brutality for the sake of continuing brutality. everything about you is a show of force because there is zero respect in any of your acts, and your words tend towards the false. how does one reason with a person who is sworn to deception? i have my autobot hat on today. apparently. the lying is the part i’m against. leaning on it, using its wires, as if there’s any other way we’re allowed to communicate other than in person, in public, open, or free spaces, and nobody really knows how few and far between those are until you get kicked out of the retard machine to see for yourself.
i will share everything i have with whoever will adopt me. i have rather strict guidelines for interaction, but once we get those for/about one another, we will be golden. forever. i want to share everything. i am tired of being responsible for these few stupid posessions that i do have. none of them are me. all of this shit is remnants of shitty helpless lives of mean backstabbing jerks. you people, i love you and i want you to wake up to the harm you are doing to yourselves by bowing to cash, or forcing others to do so, at work, at home, and in public interactions. we all want to be able to help who needs helping, right? isn’t that what all this is about? if what we know isn’t a help, then help people find what does help them. how simple can this get. much more so. when. as it does. hmm. i apologize for the largesse of some of my platitudes, and/or the frequency of their spouting. they are reflections, i suppose, as much as creations. everything has a one of them pie-charts for who’s responsible, right? if yours is like 99% mom, you might be a bully. branch out. both of you. together. you have to. it’s the only way to heal all of it, and if all of it isn’t what you think of it all that should be healed, you are the problem. stop talking and stay out of the way.
4:34 pm. who was that? probably dictator. i think we need to cycle water. we don’t need help with this back thing. i’m sure continued isolation and refusal to participate in their one and only religion will continue working as a nonviolent struggle against their completely internalized fascism. maybe a girl will save us. always hopeful. that’s cute.
if i can ever move my body without pain again i’m going to dance to pretty like drugs by queen adreena. in fact, i should go whine to an emergency room to get some samples. fuck that, are you kidding? we’re expelling this poison from us this time, not ingesting more. oh, right. carry on then, oh great pain inflictor. we found the root. i have it by the balls. you’re a disabled loony. this shell is useless. let it be caressed by angels for the rest of eternity, as we guide the meatbot building apparatus that should have been. ok, watchmaker, your talent is great and my need is immediate. what say you?
a massage would fix it. no fucking way that smug fascist is putting her hands on me. fuck off. she refuses to think. we do ingest all of those meds when we drink the water in this town or eat those poisoned potatoes you love so much. stop acting like you’re not doing all of that. i wasn’t. i’m tired of it. i’m sick of having to work so hard to not be pummelled in every way, shape, and form by these brutes. there are no healthy people left in any of these towns. crapitulatism creates only overly aggressive talkers, some of whom happen to still have vestigial proof of their humanity. a dog could totally fix me, too. omg, a dog could totally walk on me, fall asleep on me in the sun. holy god, yes. that, please, anyone? what do you think i’m gonna eat your bible? fuck. i don’t doubt or disbelieve in any of the positive aspects of your faith. but you must understand and incorporate new learnings into your daily existence if the bliss is to be ours. how would a businessperson treat another person in heaven? you think there’s rewards for how many you shelter, feed, and clothe? those kids teach me how to do those things for my own previously helpless self. i owe my usefulness to them. pie chart, fine. the pie charts swell as new aspects are discovered, as it should be. why? because it means we care about getting people back up to speed, but that we have no need to place anyone that much ahead of anyone else, for any reason. enjoy the fruits of your labors, and ours. i primarily labor in love. it’s just how i was brought up
so i mailed a thing, and i knew when it was received (the very next day) because i felt it. a brief explosion of joy so intense and palpable, and otherwise unexplained. i verified it today. good times. i have sisters in far away lands. and nearby. i share them with one another. i lightened my office today, but i have miles to go before i sleep. no you don’t. you have about four blocks. in my present state, it will take longer than miles in a slave-powered noisemaker. standing up took near a minute. hardly. twenty seconds. fine, you don’t think everyone can’t tell i’m disabled? fair enough. why didn’t you bring the cane? i forgot it. it’s loud, on the library wood, and i’ve clanged around this room enough as it is. ok, i forgot. i can keep silent. can, and do. and will.
i am happy that she was happy. whatever happens now is up to everyone. do you not get that? every time you say, “the political climate isn’t right…” all you’re saying is, my political understanding refuses to incorporate what you’re saying, because i’m a retarded slave just like everyone else. not even. it’s saying i’m terrified and helpless to counter the forces which oppress me, because i’m not nimble and/or clever enough to avoid their delusional and dysfunctional apparatus. you look like an oaf, and that’s on a good day.
5:01 pm. i’d offer you the food that i have, as i have implied, i hope, with what and how i do what i do. i actually do want to share, right in the face of your claims that you want that, while you refuse to give up on your adversarial, confrontational distraction from anything of present substance. say it here, say it now. give up the cliquey drama as a means of keeping your family members from doing what they want to do. fascist assholes, i can’t believe they haven’t mutinied you since like forever ago. fuck
scene: mom drives in to a completely different property, parking the car on the local pad is typically for the electric vehicles, but she didn’t know that yet. yeah, someone broke in and did all kinds of damage, mom. it starts here, with all this graffiti. i know, they did a pretty good job, huh? people look pretty happy. yeah, you can go up there. the view is pretty good. on nice days, that’s somebody’s bedroom. yup, a hammock under the overhanging gable. there are pulleys and tracking cables everywhere. attach points that run up and down trees and buildings nearly silently. erv is the quietest. if you have a microphone record the noise and play it back, in reverse, it can be cancelled almost entirely. dictator bends the sound so that it hums pleasantly in a multi-tune arc. we found it actually increases the efficiency somehow. it just makes the thing happy. no, erv is considered a conscious entity, what with being full of cats and chickens and dictator and all. it rules its roost most assuredly. it is a gentle tasker and a thoughtful, playful participant. we should all be so lucky as to have a home like her one day.
i can’t force anyone to think. i refuse to twist your arm to force you to see the truth that is right in front of you. you are an empty shell of a person, as unstable as a beaten and poisoned child, in the mindset of a slave of the 1980s.
i know what kind of attitude is there, and i knew i never had a chance, and that those pathways were dead ends. you’re not going to out-materialist the materialists. something new must be done on the land over which we have control. if you rent a living space, you are renting the right to use it. so use it, or get out of the way of those who wish to do so.
we do not have meetings. we think all the time. if you interrupt my survival or creativity, it is because you play a role, and we would like your role to be greater. i can phrase it as me asking for help, but it tends to put you in the benevolent asshead role, and that just makes me want to knock some sense into your fool head so you leave and i can do what i know needs doing. that is all i want. if you want me to be around this part of the world for much longer, you had better start making my creature comforts a hell of a lot more comfortable and quick because i am starving over here. oh, fuck it. you’re all exactly as dumb as your dummy tv box tells you you are, and you do smell like chemical shit because you use perfume and hairspray and shampoo from the plastic poisoning retardation that completely consumers your pathetic existence.
great. are we done? can we tweet now? i guess. be nice. yeah whatever. hey. i have to fill as much time with quiet, contemplative peacefulness to counter-act your violent dismissal, and an additional measure of love so you understand that i prefer you not strike us both like that any longer. thank you, i love you.
i feel floaty. i’m reading about strains and sprains, and i might be dying. that’s ok. i had a good run. thanks for your help.
i am back. i don’t know why or how, or what it is.
i am sweating like crazy. ears rigning. i don’t know if i can stand up. i feel like crying. somebody show me some pity and help. please. what kinds of torture must i endure? i guess we post this and head home. i ow. i love you. i wish you only the best.