safety loops

2:33 pm in the Waupaca Public Library. I have two more days at mom’s, and I have no idea what i’m doing here, in any sense of here. That’s a lie. We need those who wish to help to actually verbalize or put it in writing. *has been asking for that for years without “luck”*

Is this really productive? Typing at the ether? I can’t manage to do anything else. This is all I have. Yes, even with a nearly full tank of gas, I have no interest in going to that place. Assholes, there. Single-minded, lying sacks of shit, there. The present state of life in the united states is competitive assholishness. Beat up on whoever is around you, take whatever you can from them, and keep it from being improved upon by anyone. This is “intellectual property” and this is “ownership.” I know it’s not just the untitled fates of teh mareickka, but every banky shithole on planet retard slave. Why are you so bitter? Because nobody will listen, let alone respond, let alone act. They are stuck in concrete boots, repeating retarded shit they heard on tv from professionally written lies memorized and read by people seleted for their ability to sound trustworthy and be easy to look at. Fuck you all. No, seriously, fuck you all.

What even is the point of documenting any of this? Nobody reads, or cares, or fucking thinks i’m talking to them. I’M TALKING TO EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU, YOU WORTHLESS CRAPITULATIST FUCKTARDS. Yes, that is me yelling, and in my head, I am screaming at all of you. Way to go, you pissed off the dictator. Great idea.

What does the dictator want. Help. Both a place to work, and people who are interested in helping me to do what I want to my vehicle, to my home, to my life. When I am able to exist as an actual human, hah, like that will ever happen. Why are you here? To make your life a living hell, obviously. Oh, ok. That was what I thought, I just had to make sure. 2:52 pm

6:47 pm I feel so completely alone. My mom’s “help” is conditioned on nothing changing. She wants me to talk to her new age guru. I refused. I should ride to point. There’s nothing for me in point, either. Yes, but there are people there who make you happy. That matters. Not that happy, but what am I supposed to do?

I am still having panic attacks. Anxiety attacks. Some are the responses to my evil, retarded mother. Some are to the yelly anti-thought fascists every-fucking-where else in my life. Yes, I only have loud, belligerent people in my life. Oh, don’t get me wrong, i’m completely useless myself. I thought I needed a place to work. When I had a place to work, I didn’t do any work (not true. Lots got done). Now, all I do is start crying and take naps. It’s a pretty luxurious life. I’m so lost. I’m so confused. I should be talking to people, but I don’t know where to start. If they had questions for me, i’d just start crying. Go do something happy. Do you have anything happy to do? no. I have places to escape the awful people. Mostly, those places are just bike routes. That doesn’t sound like a very good or useful life. I know. I told you I was fucking useless. Nobody wants to hear anything I have to say, read anything I write, or look at any pictures or videos I take. Seriously? Nobody? What exactly is a person who reads this blog out on the internet supposed to do to help? You don’t even have a link to send a paypal donation, let alone bitcoin. Nobody nearby understands any of this shit. You have done a terrible job of explaining the whole structure of the cooperative, as none of the “anarchists” or other homeless people even want to help you set it up. Nobody wants to help you do anything. I know. I’m shallow and mean. I am a complete fascist, and I don’t know how to change. Why would you want to change? Find a place to be who you are and quit worrying about it.

So, tweeting, then? I guess. Do you have any better ideas? Wood carving? I don’t have a place where I feel safe working. I don’t have a place where I feel safe, period. How does that keep happening? How do these places go from feeling safe to not feeling safe? Are you seriously asking me that? I’m sure it’s internal. Do you think you need some sort of medication? Only as a counter-balance to not having a safe place to live/work. I am the problem. Yeah, that’s pretty obvious. I always have been. Yeah, that also. You do want to die, don’t you. This life is fucking retarded. I’m obsessed with what I can’t get, can’t have, and i’m too poor to do anything. So, you’ve been out of weed for what, a week now? Yeah, but resin. So today is the first day you’re without any significant buzz? No, some days I can occupy myself for a while before ye olde sobriety panic hits. Plants are good food.

Both vehicles? Both. If you sell both vehicles, then you’ll be stuck in the middle of nowhere without transport. Yeah, but i’ll have cash. And weed. ha. I doubt anyone will even sell you any weed now. You’ve burned every bridge, and demanded more of every supplier than they ever thought an abusive pothead could even demand. That’s retarded, not to mention false. Fine. We have less than an hour here. Are we really going to keep tying shit until we head back to mom’s hellhole? Yah, probably. Great. I hate you. I hate having to spend all my time with you. Uh huh. Fuck you, too. 7:11 pm

fuck. FFFUUUCCCCCKKKKKKKKKK!!! hahahahaha. Right, as if sex is what you need. It wouldn’t hurt. Yeah, well, it would require either way more cash than you’ve seen in years or actual kindness from a nearby human without expectation of payment. Fat chance.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EUxvaCPyjv0

what I would say to the guru: I hate my mother. And my father, and my sister. I need to leave. I don’t want to leave. I want them to listen to me. This is so hard to listen to. I know i’m doing this to myself. I don’t know.

I do know this. When I log onto twitter pissy, angry, or self-pitying, the people I see when i’m loving and happy aren’t there. All I see are the other angry, pissy, self-pitying people. Smokers, whiners, people who don’t like where they are. I don’t know where I am. See, stop that. Watch that smile video again. Listen, anyway.

Next day (4:33 pm, Tuesday, August 28):

productive day, so far. Here’s what I did

  1. made coffee, drank some of it
  2. cleaned out e-mail inbox. I’m down to 9 messages. It was up to a hundred fifty something. I get kinda lost when that’s cluttered. I get kinda lost anyway.
  3. Ate warm food
  4. Set up an appointment to speak to the owner of the accounting firm opposite my mom’s house. I have a pipe dream that will one day prove useful there.
  5. Spoke to the city planning people about what’s necessary or allowed as far as easements, structures on properties, and food growing. Most farming is specifically banned. Yes, that is a completely fascist policy. I didn’t use those exact words, but I told them so.
  6. Face-book’d.
  7. Ate warm food
  8. contacted the local domestic abuse shelter to see how they could assist my uselessness. The person with whom I will speak is going to be there in a few days. I will get a stable living situation figured out before my birthday if it kills me. Anxietily speaking, it does, but whatever.
  9. Began cleaning my thumb drive & laptop.
  10. This

I know it’s not that impressive, but I am not that impressive. In addition to the few warm meals I made for myself in there, I stopped by the gas station to get a donut, and got some yogurt pretzels from the health food store. God bless food stamps.

Do you have tourrettes? I may. Here is a list of some of the ways the fascist categorizing assholes may or could have categorized me:

that probably covers most of it, but I could go on. Most of these, I have known about forever, or that aspects of them applied to me. Most of the times in my life that I have gone in for therapy, I had employment and therefore a means of handling whatever happened. With money, you don’t really have to be normal. You can pay people to cook for you, you can get wasted and not have to stress about the people who stress you out, or you can take breaks. You can drive places. There are means of escape when you have a job, or cash. Without, there are not (or, they are severely reduced). This is where I find myself today.

The humorous irony of this (I hope you find this funny. I sure do.), besides the fact that I am “walking for president,” is that I do not think there is anything “wrong” with me. I am all but incapable of interacting with other humans of this society in a way that will support my survival, but I have what I would consider reasonable explanations for these difficulties. I’m frightfully normal, a product of an abusive and twisted society. Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahha. You wish. lol.

Oh yeah, I nearly forgot about this psychological profile that my family paid for me to get. I try to re-establish contact with them every few years, to see if they’ve given up on being abusive, non-communicative assholes. They call me crazy, insult me in other ways, and passively-aggressively invite me to things that cost money when i’ve told them that I don’t have any of that. Then we call it good and go our separate ways again. It’s a retarded cycle, I am.

So, i’m done pretending i’m not categorizable as “flawed,” because if I allow that, the government may give me enough money to pay for rent in a place where I can sleep when I want without stompy yelly door-slammy retards playing shitty music and news that offends my sensible sensibilities. Sensitives. Whatever. I fucking hate planet retard slave, and you know it. Love, I mean. You are mean. Why do you rip on mother earth like that? Ah, I do not insult the dear earth mother herself. I critique the acts of her humans, which is a far different thing. “do something about it,” they say. I am running for office. I am honest with everyone, and in as public a place as I can find. When I fall in love, I make those who are the objects of my affection aware of it, because my damaged ass can be of assistance in a variety of ways, if one is willing to allow it. Allow it, allow it! Heh. ok. 5:21 pm

reading through these “disorders,” besides being all, “yup, yup, yup, yup,” I get to the section on treatment, and there’s language about a supportive family environment. ha. My supportive family environment is the other rejected, abused, and homeless people that i’ve met. They’re the understanding ones. The fucking job-havers? Fat chance. They just want to mow on their meats and booze and keep fucking driving everywhere. My dad spent as much money on fuel to move his multiple tons of hoarded shit half-way across the state (the long way) as I have spent/used in about three years, including the purchase of my tiny recreational vehicle.

Speaking of erv, let’s do a that list. Good call.

  1. Fork 1: sell her
    1. fix roof leaks
    2. re-attach air conditioner
    3. fix furnace
    4. fix water heater
    5. get new battery
  2. Fork 2: fix her up as single-unit for me
    1. raise ceiling to 6’2”
    2. design/install solar water heater
    3. install solar photo-voltaic system
    4. design/install computer cooling system, water heater
    5. reconfigure air conditioner pump as air compressor
    6. install fuel switch to run propane for primary engine
  3. Fork 3: erv
    1. detach house portion, set on axles/tongue for trailer use
    2. strip frame, rebuild from scratch
    3. features
      1. floats
      2. solar panels
      3. biogas/compost generator
      4. woodgas generator
      5. electric drive
      6. wankel fuel generator

this is all a repeat. This has been done already. I know. It’s slightly different. I know. Continuing to type this in a blog nobody reads is not that helpful. How do you know? I receive fantastic benefits from spending my time like this. Rather than actually working on the rig itself? Yah, when I have a stable living situation, the work will get done. How stable do you need? No yelling. Adequate sleep. Respectful interactions, monetary transactions in writing. Ahahahhahahahahahhahaha. Only job havers get those things, and not even all of them. Yah, well, that’s going to change. Amen. 5:55 pm

here, hear some black ambient metal:

so, yah. Should we go watch the sunset? Maybe. Let’s post this & tweetabit. oh. Oh-kay.

Peace,
t

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~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2012-08-28 (Tuesday).

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