days off

for a homeless person, you live in pretty sweet surroundings. the buildings, yes. the people? they mostly stay out of my way. people flat out refuse

no, they don’t.

i’m lost, right now. right here. swirling rage, at every human who controls land or a meatbot. you are free to decide what to do. I am aware. I have been backed into this corner for a while now. true enough. how do we get out of it? hasn’t that been the primary task? what? I don’t know.

8:54 AM considers moving workstation (it’s on wheels, attached to an extension cord). shuffles one of the infinite piles of useless shit through which it cavorts, daily. how do I make this more useful? witnesses, everywhere. every fucking person I know is such an awful jackass that nobody will speak to them. oh wait, that’s me. I know. either I am pretty awful, or, no. you are. does repeating that even help anything? can we move on to the next point without all this whiny “you don’t,” “i can’t” shit? we have actual concrete things that we should be talking about, but as soon as I bring anything of substance up, you go full drama crybaby. FULL drama. it’s awful. then I leave. to preserve what little sanity one can have after standing naked freezing and starving in full public view for years on end. oh, who’s being dramatical now? I know.

how do I know when/if you have your wits about you? I always have my wits about me. right. so when you’re preventing re-negotiation of the contract by lock-out, you’re not being a fascist dick. oh, you relish you dickishness, do you? ok, great. you win. as if this shit is a fucking competition. the actual competitions you dismiss because you “can” but that’s what turns you all psychopathic. what bargaining table? no, I have this right, so your preference and hyper-sensitivity don’t matter for shit.

what I need:

rent, internet connection, coffee, food.

so we’re abandoning erv, just like that? not abandoning, putting on hold. she’s spent her life on hold. you can’t sell her right now you fucking retard. besides being incapable, that’s the respite. the dream house. your life turns nightmare with unwanted people, doesn’t it? grabby, bangy, non-listeners? yeah.

teaching dictator legalese was a good move. thanks. the computer crashed earlier. I know. hard crash. I know. this is a fresh build. windows update. it will be fine. then why have I felt like crying for so long. have you hurt anyone? those emotion-complainer-addicts will say what? that you complained about work when you didn’t? that you broke something? that you injured a smaller creature? if anyone says anything about you, you can diffuse it. you say worse things about yourself than anyone else would imagine. hardly. people share more with you than they have ever shared, and you treat them as if they withhold everything. they withhold most. so do you. it is the nature of craputlatism. of amerikka. of the textile-wearing populace. we still haven’t gotten the sewing machine out. you know how much we’d get done in a campground? no, how much? they’d never let me run a sewing machine in the middle of the woods. you’d be surprised. you have a way of making the silence of the world so amazingly glorious. I do say a lot. of that. i’m sorry if it strikes you the wrong way. hay, mister wrecking ball? umm, can you tell the thread from which you’re hanging and the boom and the crane and its operator that we disagree with the way our building fell down. yeah, rather than having it re-form into an off-the-grid earthship house, we’d rather that it be an ugly pile of hastily demolished building materials which can be processed, at further expense to mother earth, to be re-formed into different corporate for-profit shit that humanity has no right to unless they steal it from someone else first.

second hard crash, and i’m still working on this computer. I don’t understand much of what I do, to tell you the truth. I do what I can, which seems to be very little when i’m pressured. 10:52 am.

12:18 pm. still tweeting.

11:59 pm. good night.

I have to talk about “hate crimes”

tv drama. that’s what they are. that’s what the term is. what happens in the law? legislators waste a bunch of time to add additional factors to the murder statute. murder is illegal, in writing. so, you say? what’s the problem with this? an over-simplified “satisfaction” of a list of elements of “the crimes” must happen, in writing, so that the cages will stay full and the tv addicts will remain simultaneously proud and terrified. ok, focus? right. elements of the crime. who cares about elements? oh, people care. there are people who make animated gif’s on teh interwebs. holy god, where are you? here, i’m here. prosecutors. the lawyers that work for the big etheric daddy in the sky, what whose eye you peed in when you broke these laws. they’re elected, often, some of them. chosen by the people. they pick juries (or, strategerically disqualify people for jury duty), and submit assertions of law-breaking to the court. most importantly, prosecutors decide whether to initiate judicial proceedings in the first place. it is a power termed “prosecutorial discretion” and it is a massive loop-hole. anyway, prosecutors have a difficult enough time even convincing a jury of the standard elements of crimes, what with watching fucking cee ess’d eye all their retarded lives, and thinking about everything as a competition. so what does it matter if someone hangs for murder or for a hate-crime? righteous indignation in those who wish to preserve racial differences on planet earth? what? no. tv ratings. well, yeah that for sure, but we had a real point here. another one? lol. probably. glittering generalizations of solipsism. you mean the socratic method. know your a hippocrattic oaf. oh sheesh. I think todaze lawlisson is over.

so, i’m going to siphon a few gallons of gas from my car so I don’t have to a) stop at a gas station and b) dip into the last $40 of my checking account. why haven’t you just finished your will? isn’t it done? the co-op? yes. but who gets it? the harem. lol. which one? lol. all of them. I ain’t call it the harem until they did. whatever. the females with whom i’d contractually attach myself. and, uhh, physically. you know, and have. I don’t know much about life, but my heart is overflowing with love.

how do we let things get this bad? what, bad? so we’re siphoning gas from our own car. if we can extract enough information out of the whiny dramatic in person, what does it matter what’s in writing? because the lies and guilt trips and dramatic bullshit are intolerable. abusive. THE VERY REASON THAT NOBODY WANTS TO HANG OUT WITH YOU. why are you so goddamn secretive about all things social? can’t see friends? the only people I can’t see are my family, because they refuse to acknowledge my existence. it’s not quite that, they watch from afar. then they’re liars. seriously, the stars and @ mentions I get on this here internet keep me going, as much as this is that. the all-seeing eye. a witness in the man house. the LAW wants sponsorship. dictator has gotten enough of its message out, and each of its contacts are personally capable of continuing its work. i’m not done yet. honestly, a few torrents and all its expertise/art would be delivered.

pico-computers, rebroadcasting library wifi and seeding torrents, from trees, power-lines, rooftops

hehehehe. to live with friends, you have to have friends. why do you think I live on the internet? crapitulatism-flavored planet retard slave barely allows for peaceful interactions. not only do people prefer their enslavement, they prefer it to you. me? yes, no american-ego-having person could give you any sort of authority. why? because the murders being carried out in their name would cease? hm. no, because of your hair. oh. lol. well someone has to get close enough to cut it, and or get tardinader. sorry tard-i-nater. oh tartin8r? lol. someone has to help tardinator find an income or a thing to build or a gift certificate or something because it doesn’t have any cash and nobody it has ever worked for wants it back. sorta like how you sex with people too, huh? yeah, something. thanks. no problem! one of my handlers enjoys being hit. anyone on its radar is part perv. oh really. yes, really. you learn these things as the hottest skank in the room. that’s a dance. I agree with britney, sex is fun, and harmless as long as it doesn’t prevent us from doing that which needs to be done. I need a quiet place to live by myself for a while. please, world. I feel like I have a boulder of potential sitting on a carved stone pedestal placed by those who wished, at one point, to help me, yet now its presence and gravity keeps the mass locked to mother earth. i’m trying to explain something I don’t fully understand. I think you understand it better than most. don’t say things like that. you haven’t spoken with most. generalizations about any subset of humanity are pretty much a waste of my time. no, you only have to stop being a hater. then i’m a perfect angel to be around. heh. right. 12:37 pm

busking? the word induces a panic attack. ok, the guitar stays where it is. you feel like you’re on eggshells? i’m naked in the breeze surviving on my wits in enemy territory. you would not believe the terrorist attacks that the standard american populace will submit you to, as a non-participant with the cult of banking dollars, whether your exit was voluntary or not. was ours? no. mister hyper-sensitivity can barely divert from its well worn habits. please stop questioning my purpose. do I question your purpose? yes, you have. generally, I have questioned your role in commerce. that is not your human purpose. you must separate yourself from that. I know you’re a good person. deep down, you are capable of shedding your materialistic, paternalistic shell. let that inner child out of the basement. go play.

it is that, isn’t it. yep. have fun. k


~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2012-08-17 (Friday).

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