potato’d up/out

what do I live for? for what, do I live?

hey, we are elements. we love turoque

omfg, I love twitter. 6:54 pm, 10/16/12

10/20 continuation. may compose some e-mail today.

have. read the first few paragraphs of this.

ok, i’m reading more, and it bothers me. decide how decisions are made? no, make the decisions. this issuing declaration on our issues with issues has issued me a headache. not really.

one dollar can. shut up, dude. ohh. dasso ray-cyst.

when did I become such a hater? seriously, you’ve always been the queen bea of the hayters. no, faders, bro. I keep rhyming everything. it’s that twitter yore a dickhead, too. addict edu. aye dew. firefox keep crashing faced book. dat database sluggish. adware, mostly. yeah, but it’s popular. it is.

I have been meaning to update you on my situation. i’m having a difficult time shuffling about. my human costume isn’t fu-ling any body. I feel like making videos an taking pictures. get one of them androids. that’s a hundred dollars. yep. shopko? why not. best gots more options. perhaps. online research. can’t I subcontract that out? apparently not. I am not the one who should be psending tiem mayking cashs. what do you know? tool up, soldier. most open, hackable. I just took a huge lungfull of miraquell plant. I have been dranking. two pints of pibber, headed to dance party with cashs in pocket. I will not drink all my money, but a bit, yah. shit. 8:27 pm. I know, it started nearly a half-hour ago. the jumping-ness of the place will increase as the evening ages. there will be many there I will like to see.

it’s weird. I feel like I made a best friend. no, it started me completely crushing. I know, like usually, right? pfft, whatevs. these college girls are like, i’m way too mature for you. I giggle. i’m not disagreeing with you, sweety. i’m sick of talking. what more is there to say? I am the rambler. I don’t know how to initiate these projects. if my coop was full of cheerleaders, or color guard, whatever. you know, that motivated me, I could do all the actual works. yes, by myself. if I have a something worth working for, I work circles around mere mortals. don’t we have a concert to get to? chill, son. but yes, we do. I know a new bruiser. yeah, roller derby. ee-sea. what up, lady? you are pretty and we should snuggle. i’m not kind, of a whore. I am complete, an udder, whore. de-war, un-bank, anti-profit. pro-health raw. blend a plant, smoke a plant, plant a plant, earthship. coldbike, hot destination, balance incarnate. beauty, too. love 8:48 pm saturday.

2:54 sunday. dancing for my new barista friend. I meet the best people. little lady, seeing you makes me happy. I do better when I am happy.

so I had this channelled to me: what do you want to do? the coop is here, and not a single person seems to understand it but dictator. does accountability not matter to you? does credit where credit is due, not matter to you? there are two ways to approach the complete elimination of “intellectual property,” and ethically put into practice, they’d both yield the same result. yes, the credit and compensation to not only past innovators, but a constant, up-to-the-second crediting of actual contributions. the transition department hands it off to production/ongoing-implementers. whatever you want to call yourselves. you will not escape this. I will make you a part of this cooperative whether you like it or not. that’s what inclusion is. I was thinking today, about prisons & jails. one of the poor terrified souls what lives in the 1/8-of-the-way haus with me. we ain’t even close to half. half of a half of a half. I dunno. it’s a maths thing.

earl, you keep popping up in the angel deck shuffling. in other words, you continue to stabilize me from wherever you may be. 3:01 pm.

ftf 95

what if to join you had to knock down a brick wall with a sledge hammer. but you have to join. no passing the buck, little missy. can’t be wrong. I am delusional to think that one human would want to not-compete with me, and snuggle most of the time. yes, I would kind of like to be attached at the hip, for a while. then unattached, and re-attached, regularly. it matters. who are you telling this to? whoever cares. everyone. dictator don’t shuffle out the important bits. you get a slave to do that. you don’t really “run” for office when you’re a dictator. you are the office. it said to its personified truck-house. why ain’t you got a wifi antennae yet? ‘cuz we ain’t got a community shop tool library with an e-printer yet. oh there will be snakes. I just can’t afford them yet. oh, dave. there are so many of you!

I don’t want to whine at you about my living situation. it’s not like it helps, or anyone cares. I don’t know. I figure you’re keeping note, so as to return the favor when you have my ear. pain is best shared, don’t you think? as with pleasure. can one get greedy with one’s pain? not sharing it, does that do more damage? what’s your damage? if you base your entire existence on the very system which must be dismantled before humanity can move on, transition seems not like the goal. how’s that? positive words to end a downer sentence? the music switched, from a dancy, celebratory, yet somewhat shallow/consumerist lil kim song (the jump off – I love this song), to an internet-techno masterpiece entitled “i like trains” I also, love this song. I get shit stuck in my head, and dance to the same playlists for months at a time. I remember driving to work, from dinkytown minneapolis to roseville, listening to one or two songs on repeat. for most of the trip. important to mention that now, eh? yes, it’s for the information parser algorithm. what? yes, it will feed the film scripter, integrate with the document archives, and create as many flavors of instant-mash of your life and music as you care to create. it’s software, you can reconfigure it. you know, like rock or metal? abrasives, cutting implements, tools of the trades. we’re all in all the unions, because none of that information is so sacred that we can’t all be schooled in it from the get-go. you mean your co-op has a built-in, career-choice-jobs-training-apprenticeship-prarie-school kind of thing, too? yes, it is that. it is whatever helpful information or materials can be made aware to the commons, and knowing who has the expertise to put to positive use, that which is unwanted by the producing party. why not credit the producing party with what our coop produces? any industrial concern which drops a load of matter which we can process into human/animal shelter, crop-moving infrastructure. a rollable track for vegetable harvest. trolley pulled by winch. erv pto. yes, she’s part tractor. why wouldn’t she be? hehehe. cheeky. auto-fill suggested cheerleaders. good auto-fill. collapsible corrugation? sounds like another scrap business. oh, limbs sprout everywhere when dictator types.

dreams of late? ahahahaha. happiness, contact. with multiple partners, simultaneously. my boyness seems a liability, as of late. I never imagined I’d ever have so many acquaintances, and all on seemingly good terms. ah, but you know how paranoid I am. the fact that i’m ‘alone’ suggests I am not trusted. you don’t act very trustworthy. no? really. is it like how a person would act if they were constantly beaten and abused? threatened. I recently stopped sleeping with a knife, on my person. that’s my security system. that and a bouncy house. no sound insulation, or little. that aluminum roof is like an upward-facing ear. people who ask me how i’m doing, I know the question itself is intended to provide a positive contact, but when it reminds a person how utterly shitty their life is, it gets old. your life isn’t utterly shitty, you fucktard. stop that. I thought you were giving up on the swear-blurting, realizing, finally, how painful that is. I would like to, but then again, here I am, still attempting to convince the rest of the population, or most of it, to stop cannibalizing your species as you poison yourselves with glittering approximations of what was once good in this world. that ween song about the eldest sister is on now. yes, dictator has considered the possibility that its role as personal pleasure-bot may not materialize in more than one other human. huh? yes. and part of me just wants to give her erv. just, outright. here. I can’t stop being in love with you. I understand saying that is something other that doing it, but how I am where I am is intricately linked to you. all. I am of a new world. I am a visitor from your own future, and I am having a hell of a time integrating socially into this web. yes, I flit about from human to human at public appearances, and what? scare them away? no, you direct them towards that which they want. yeah, lady. you are free. always and forever. I am a boring crybaby, aren’t I. even for a time-traveling alien. whatever. lol.

pal, I opened a different application, for to listen to the music you traded me. I am an overprotective, overbearing, micro-manager, and I appreciate every moment of presence and attention you gave me during the overlap of our paths. i’m honored, seriously. that, probably applies to most of you. lots of people know exactly what i’m talking about, typing this. hmm. are you going to tweet more poetraps today? rhyming derplets. aye bee, ai bea, exxx. I scheme all the rhymes. so we’ve dumped enough of this brain-mush to go have fun in the stream? that’s what it is, eh? whatever, it’s everything. I am entertained by my work. you could be too, if you stopped being such a crapitulatist fucktard. thanks for the tip. if you get the tip, you get the root. I am not proud of my actions. any of them. I see no benefit in pride, or my actions weren’t, haven’t been, pride-worthy. through some systems of interpretation, there are those who would say that they are, some of your past deeds. the goodwill bank seems to have been drawn down by its absence. that shit ain’t got a solar trickle-charger, attached. why isn’t it attached? I couldn’t tell you. I ought to charge up the batteries, eh. that.

the engineering cooperative. yeah? get a quote from them. they’d run away scared. the legal liability of your reality prevents any industrial from working with you. bullshit. we can power it with that. cow poops. pig poops. human poops. yes, I know. we have things to do. real-world things. listen here, sweety-cakes. writing is a real-world thing. I am saying this to you because it is going through my awareness. I am what/who, I am. there are some good tweets in here. I know. they probably last longer than tweets.

what makes these databases inaccessible is the lack of complex queries. that, and too few people understand what a complex query is. it is a multi-field question. a date range, a range of character-lengths, etc. content-tagging, by any character combination. dictionary/keyword statistics, with links to results. I am the twitter app. the info-app. is this it? no, the design limb. the entire set of self-publication features, of the internet, opened up and shared however one may wish to participate in them. i’m not a rapper that tweets, I tweet raps. steal this text. spit this diss. enunciate my brain-fart trashs. i’ll pay you back by taking pictures of your daughter’s class. you are pushing your luck, mister. I know. thanks mom. if you ain’t real in the really real world, you can’t declare yourself real on teh entro-webz. that kid skyying a disc is one of the prettiest things i’ve ever seen a human do. I hope I was as much help as I ought to have been. I know, bad example is still a role. everyone in the world wants that, don’t they? no, you might be the only. I think you may not be as in love with these friends of yours as you say. if they felt that, mutually, wouldn’t they be around you more. my hands are dancing to gaga. and feets, love games. 3:57 pm.

i’m going to need a refill soon. there is more yet to type. app. errantly.

so, what does that mean? you build the farmville reality-show, ride/house-‘pimping’-good-time-uber-business from the pixels up? bits. data bits need not manifest themselves as pixels until they are viewed by meatbots. many processes can work in the background. certain paper records would be good to have. paper’s bandwidth is limited, doh. it does privatize effectively, if physically hidden/protected. even then, the long-arm of the law has “the right” to examine data, regardless of storage medium. do you not see how you are a database? do you not see how the protection of your data keeps you isolated, crapitulatist. perhaps you do. I won’t assume intent, understanding, anything, really. I put these words here because I don’t see evidence, or hear evidence, in the interactions of human beings, that non-competitive communication is in any way “interpreted to be” a positive thing. otherwise, it would happen.

yeah, some rappers should sit down. this is soul-sucking music like my friends make. wouldn’t you categorize this blog-wordiness as that. yeah, you could. if that’s what you choose to highlight, focus on. love/hate any of its particular components, and they will haunt you.

the residual flavor of weak highlander grog sits near the bottom of my coffee cup. you should rinse that more. don’t rinse the ice cream out of my coffee. why do baristas rinse my cup without permission, or against my wishes? don’t enforce your water usage or standard of “gross” on my odd habits. speak up then, mumbly. I tiptoe in like a wrecking ball, dance up all the floor and nuzzle all the walls. it is a lode-bearing element. gift of data, dee enn aye. I need a meditation vacation, or a multi-week/girl-roll in the hey. hay is poky. like me. love me. touch me now. pleasure-bot antimate, sends love, and how. 4:10 pm

I was on the 414, with the room full of people that I adore. bloggins in the real-world, what this life is for. it wears the colors of the queen. I love you so much, it makes me want to scream. I don’t. I turn my love into horsepower, as much as I can. how much territory shall we cover?

I am listening to mr. dibbs’ primitive tracks. they are good, or seem to be, two tracks in. your taste is delicious, if not corporatized. oh, enough of that. large distro does not devalue arts. no, but the releasing agency are up for discussion. why wouldn’t they be? no, you are not allowed any sacred cows in this cooperative. we are going to discuss sex, out in the open, between human beings. we will share our preferences, without condemnation. condemnation is a punishable act. that’s why you remain in cageless isolation. free range reject. ooh, good band name. no, I thought of it before. thee blacklisted weirdo banned. I like that. one-human shitstorm wrecking ball, with guest appearances by whoever I decide to share amplification with. with whom, I decide, to share, amplification. humans are mostly girls. females. occasionally, if a male one is less drunk than normal, and in the presence of at least one child or vagina-haver, it will act human. I have witnessed this, personally, in real life. eerrlll. en realife. this has oboe. woodwinds are dope as fuck. fucking is so much fun. why don’t we do that for a while? I promise i’ll like it. umm. I can’t speak for anyone. else, either want to learn how to enjoy it with me, or know that you’ll enjoy it yourself otherwise. yeah, dictator instituted the sex sober policy years ago, and seems to stick to it. whatever, he just never gets the opportunity. you can’t take opportunities. they have to fall in your lap. well put. you’re the queen, but there’re more than one. line-item veto applies. preference will shake itself out. I know not what I will find, where I will go, or who will accompany me. that’s it, isn’t it. yes. I need a buffer, and an escape. from those people. all of them. you can’t always run away. I don’t. you can’t always not-listen, or anti-help, the way you do. says the foot-dragging impediment of a wet blanket. wool. yes wool. wool insulates, even when wet. you don’t want to get that wool wet. really? even as a heat-sink? uhh. I don’t know.

here’s what I don’t get. public appearances, you say, are difficult for you. you seem to avoid them. not exactly. I appear in a select public regularly. it is where/when I feel safe. if I am not, I will not, cannot, go. the key/trick will be finding security in erv, in the great wide open. we’re close. we need a retractable extension cord and sidewalk cord cover for pluggin in erv at laundromats, truck stops, gas stations, restaurants, and businesses with external outlets. yes, we track our energy usage and credit the business accordingly. by kilowatt hour. what, you want to trade offices with dictator? yeah, once he gets erv set up, she might be worth something, trade-wise. ain’t she now? sun goes behind the pioneer place apartments, and evening chill sets in. dictator laughs at our freaking. he believes in our toughness, and seems the only one with the willingness to trudge on. he knows we have no choice in that. or, that we have made the choice already. some things are too good to give back. this role is as heavenly as it is hellish. still with the expectations, unenlightened one? apparently. they are momentary.

dope. schedule overlap with two friendly gentles tomorrow. gots to move kim chi out of the car. basement, then? root cellar. right. do that up, down. love the last-minute clown. I am a cute little feral ginger, so they become my friends. kindred spirits. are they all feral? I don’t think so. some are merely amused by me. or, they are more balanced than they thought, being what they can hang with me as they do. I could burn this onto cd to bring in the car. not here. the cds are in erv. I smell weed. it’s probably on me, huh. this town passes joints. 444 pmz. in duh. knock off the clowning. if you can’t be yourself, unscripted, then make whey four won hoo-can, toucan, sam liek yo-semmitea. park it californian, worries ain’t the remedy. these systems are trussed up nicely. yes, we get the snail-shell off in p-lover, trailer it up, the old-heavy. strip it bare, sandblast it raw. leave the R22 as trade for services and find the middle ground. am I a co-op, or are we a co-op? the legal terminologicals ain’t there yet? how aren’t they? what is that website? practices aren’t set. true, neither is membership. we must canvass. yeah, door-to-door. household representative dinner swap. training sessions disguised as free feeding. lunch? yah, breakfast or dinner. supper, brunch, or snack. also, that is how ofen I enjoy touching the small of your back. oy. I am a horndog, aren’t I. oh, well. aka good. ;D I can’t make a semi-colon with my phoen, so I got to make one here.

dad’s putting me on the verizon phone plan. what’s your proposal, old man? why haven’t you shared it with me? little sis left it in 9 am voice-mail. she had to add that she “wasn’t near the computer” as if being a fucking evil cunt every time you talk to me has anything to do with physical location. don’t act like you want to talk to me when all you do is abuse me and whine about my refusal to take your abusive, manipulative shit. yes, family. you are assholes. every fucking one of you. your houses are enemy territory, fascist anti-thinkers. I am so the abusive useless. so are they.

hey, it’s writing e-mails.

what is wrong with you people?

whatever. i need help, and this is helpful. i think it’s manipulative, anti-communication bullshit, too. but that’s all i ever get from you guys.  words are real communication. you both ignore most of what i say and act like i never said anything.  that is abandonment, betrayal.  i neither trust you not to harm me, either in word or deed, and i don’t really like talking to either of you.  i don’t know how or why, or when this happened, but i assume if i ever have some sort of “material” success, you may begin to treat me like a human.

dad, what is the budget? if you want to help me get a phone, it’s not going to be conditioned on seeing you in person. that’d be like a forced enslavement of a rape victim by its piece of shit “father” who refuses to acknowledge its wrong. i can only assume you do that to pretty much everyone, and i have no interest in endorsing that shit, ever again.

so, spend your lives talking about me, rather than sharing thoughts with me, and i’d rather just get a wifi device that only works at hotspots. i honestly feel like you have both told me to go die, so paying for something that allows you to be abusive shit more often than you already are barely seems like help.  the ability to send text from phone range, and maintain a phone number are undeniably convenient.

hey, look, the feral is gettin’ all uppity with cash in its pocket.  IF YOU’RE GONNA FUCKING JUST CALL ANYWAY, AND I FUCKING KNOW THAT YOU ARE, DON’T FUCKING APOLOGIZE FOR CALLING EVERY FUCKING TIME I WILL NEVER ANSWER AND YOU LEAVE ME A SHITTY WHINY MESSAGE.  fuck.

ok, we copied it over to the blog. you have to share this kind of venom. witnesses, I feel hurt by these people, and how they communicate, or refuse to communicate with me. I know, when I get the co-op up and running, it will take care of them how they hoped I would. I am sorry that you felt that you had to work for so much of your life, and I know it sucks being in debt, but why can we not talk about how things could be otherwise? oh, right, because you’re still addicted to the means and practices of crapitulatism. and I am still hopelessly addicted to free speech, marijuana, and fucking. yes, even though it’s been a few years. four years? or five? who cares. hanging out with my new, or real friends, is better than sex. what? ok, it’s better than inconsistent, occasional sex. you don’t remember what regular sex is like. I barely remembered what pleasant daily interaction with another human was like, until she ensnared me. she must have, she keeps coming back for more. I must be getting closer to being a human. maybe. I thought we were going to quit writing at 5. yeah, but then we got this urge to compose e-mail to the family people. they really infuriate you, don’t they. yes. I don’t even know why. oh, wait, yes I do. they are yelly and mean and cruel and generally difficult to be around in my present state. they refuse to be influenced by my quirks, too. yes, they have their own. make life as difficult and information-restrictive as possible. now you’re projecting. oh, and what was I doing before? yeah, that. well, this is me. like I said, no pride. no gain. honest truths, as much as I can garner them. in person, you force me to be silent and listen to you ramble about meaninglessness. then you mock my ideas and revert to addicted children in candy-store, pigs at the feeding/fueling trough. I hope the suprise you left me was ruined in the cold. fuck your surprises. tell me now, if you already know. then, if I ask, tell me again. can you not see which details would be useful? do you care about usefulness, or do you just want to trudge through the isolated suck of crapitulatism? you make that decision clear with every act you do, and your clinging to that religion is what keeps me shut out in the cold. my tribe is a disconnected set of “educated” slaves, over-worked and under-loved. more data gets passed without the gloves. is that a bare knuckle reference or another baby-planting sex euphemism. yes. great. browser crashed. should re-set that. I suppose. 5:37 pm

this concludes this test of the emergency dictator’s life-log. signing off, your humiliated servant. your existential whipping boy/girl. if this had been an actual emergency, you would have done something about it. that’s a mean sign-off. yeah, this was a mean entry. different how? I don’t know. you say that a lot, and you say, a lot, for someone who claims to know so little. hop in the pit, the daugher’s fine. pool, water. you know what I intend, love.

peace, happiness, joy and comfort,
t

~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2012-10-28 (Sunday).

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