fuckitty fuckk fuck. sorry. what? it’s a good game. slider-arrows? zip. err. songs, woody. hail real son. uKnow, clyde natural. borned this way. follyomeh if yuze wants tew liv. ❤ <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3
- say fuck-a-lot
- scients issts, armchair, long-winded, preachy
- any nuNuze or courrants events. grapey. oy
fuck. fFUUUCCKK. FFFUUUCCCCKKKKK! F(a lot)
i have only seen a few of these signs, but they make me laugh [piss me off completely]. the cop shop in waupaca had one. the local prison industrial complex. the judge dredd-looking office building, yeah. noisy ominous beligerent jackass. yes, buildings have personalities. the other place i saw one of them “parents who host lose the most” politico-style lawn/road-side signs, was a farm whose outbuildings screamed kegger. way to plant the idea in my head, landowner. *smh* yeah, so those feelings of moral superiority via self-pity are both within me and induced by the sign itself. you force your kids to lie to ease the relative comfort your own internalized lies. all we can do is facilitate the self-realization of one another. i seethe. momentarily, anyway. it gets felt. doesn’t go where uninvited. another verbal cage it keeps me in. how else would we be typing this. oh, i dunno. nice office, downtown. please. my digs are the most luxurious paradise one could ask for. do i take advantage of the best of it, even? what kind of a question is that. it’s like asking me to compare my experience to that of another. i have seen what i have seen. what do you want me to say? i am you, in a parallel reality. we are entwined, in more ways every moment we interact. not that your schooled and defended means of interacting doesn’t prepare you to ignore upwards of ninety percent of your own reality, in favor of an unaccountable juggernaut of bad ideas. take each of these microcosms, and collapse them in upon themselves. if i stay too long, my mental tires will burn holes on your coarse, brittle exterior. i must transform to something with more leg/limbs. scratch. lose the vehicles. bot’hem? yup. bike-width, generator. gyro-flywheel? doesn’t it? it has to yes. you really are a multi-threading processor, aren’t you. yes. how can you not be? ooh, contrarian. heh. what the fuck, people. seriously, watt de-fuck. (1:16 pm)
so what is my statement to humanity. i can’t see the agenda any more, so we’re flying blind until we scroll. oh, that split-screen feature is dope for writing papers, or, blogs-with-agendas.
send me questions agenda-style. i will reply. who wants to be in a movie? it would be boring as fuck just me. hahahahahaha. i dislike when others block partnerships with other entities, whether out of jealousy (bad) or ownership (worse). gtfo’ah heah wif dem condemnies. meh. who are we talking to? they won’t say. they stay in the shadows. blue pills? no-pills. ah. still frightfully addicted to the condemnation of doubtful experts. as if thousands of years, generations upon generations of biologically-cooperative experience isn’t more persuasive than the hard-lined demandy-ness and committee-controlled multi-standards imposed for questionable reasons for the benefit of the most destructive, or merely the pushiest. your science does not compel me. nor does your math, frankly. that is a narrow “your.” as if cultish adherence doesn’t manifest/reveal-itself in the reality-viewing/interpreting departments/streams/crowds/schools/discussions. you don’t have discussions. i know. discussions are playful back-and-forths. i strike death-blows. that’s useful. i know. the most useful thing i do is stay out of the way. false. releasing these brutal ideas on the general populace, perhaps. hmm. i like being liked by these here. and those there, clearly. so, pee in the blackwater tank and mix ash/sawdust with poops in a bucket. basically. fascinating. still should do that flip-out shower/kitchen solar hot-water thing, though. i know. u should take a pee break. ok. 1:35 pm
i think you approached something precariously resembling a point in that last parablob.graph. perhaps. we should can-lab. there are a few cases to break down. it will be good for your kitchen scissors and office ones. you should trade with dad. sorry dad. i’m not a very good person when i haven’t the language to describe myself to myself, let alone others. you really think you can build a stair-climbing, bike-pullable, insulated generator/tent/house out of beer cans and duct tape? there will be wires. pulleys, blocks and/or tackles. and wood.
condition of sale: you must continue with my plans for her. you must keep her antique car-showable, and in relatively public view. it’s not a sale. what is it then? a land-lease? no, it’s a cooperative. i have contributed her, and i live in her because i do not own any property, nor do i have the means to pay for use of property. that which i do has no value to those who see it. they participate in a lie-based farce rather than participate in reality. if u would like to trade residences for a weekend or a week, say so. i am the only public institution. truly. the revolution, on one level, will sound like the last hundred million people pulling their heads simultaneously out of their asses. pop. wow that’s bright. yup. take off those silly-ass sunglasses. breathe.
oh, squinty stink-face, stop paying for the land where they cut down all the trees and installed oil-sinks. MMMMRRRRRRAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH. that’s mean as fuck, mowing your lawn a few dozen yards from your neighbors’ sleepy rooms. at any hour. knock that shit off, youse. thanks be to the camo jeep what drove quietly until it blasted me with exhaust as it zoomed past, then kicked up shoulder gravel as it re-aligned itself for proper car-road-sharing. infrastructural, sociological. it forces the humans to re-align themselves, and they creak, scream, and moan ‘cuz they ain’t been re-aligned in a while. ok, then. you good? yep, we good. good. i need your help here.
i want to be typing from my bike. how many times do i have to say that? it’s a wearable computer concern. that connects to an off-the-grid house on wheels. or, the house is the wheels. treads. or belts. what pothole? what ditch? silent flyweight spanner. floaty.
erv wants her own kickstarter, eh? drawings? blue-prints. i want to build it 3D. why can’t we get out of design phase and build? what would we build? what parts do we have? hot water channel? i want to print the whole thing. screw this proof-of-concept nostalgic crap. let’s get her engineered and printed so we can get the process replicated. it’s not built yet and he’s already franchising it. that’s why it needs many hands, to write and redistribute the manual. yes. where are they? they have better offers, from less demanding slave-masters, apparently. oh. well, either variables regarding those calculations will change, or something else will happen. it always does. i look forward to learning of my next step. me, too. 😀
check the agenda, son. we ain’t done here. oh. ok. no, i think we all but covered that. did you mention the wearable house? eh? like a jacket? where are my clothes? those are the next reconfigurables to be reconfigured. my skinny pants are all too big for me. well-fitting clothes weigh significantly less than baggy. shed some ell beaz frum yer cloths them selves. i should, huh. but i got all these brainstorms. back to storage with its lid? you may want to fasten it down, first. cut and flare them vents too, eh? we could do that. i love that little truck. even if it’s not rational, i want to build her on that. in that. how did i know you were going to say that? are you doubting my decision to purchase this vehicle, soldier. no sir, wasting the waster’s time by spilling wasteful waste-use ideas into the aether, your wasterness, sir. *curtsey* huh. wool, all right then. lol (2:`16 pm)
your smug insulting name is the only reason i refuse to acknowledge your existence. who said that?
ahahahaha. ghost humor
i think you scare people. the scarable ones, i would imagine. it’s not that i don’t like things to get done, i do. things need to happen of their own accord, though. you can feed a horse raw butter, but you can’t grow a sink. or can you? why couldn’t you? oh, you could.
anything of the twitterverse needs expounding upon? condemn specific acts, praise and encourage generally. you’re doing it backwards. quit parsing yourself, you’re not fooling anyone, except those who are already fooled. i don’t stand anywhere. i float