travel contacts

i’m nobody’s boyfriend
i’m no. body’s boy, friend
I hhm no. bodies, boy, friend

back from madison. I barely talked to anyone. that’s intentional, i’m sure. now i’m back in my favorite office, trying to be well behaved. I don’t know if it’s working.

life gives you lemons, you BLOW THOSE LEMONS TO BITS WITH YOUR LASER-CANNONS

I can’t get very far. yeah, you could. you don’t want to. tied to that shit. I know. what, are you going to yell at me about it? no. why are you so sad? why have I ever been sad? it’s what I was designed for. it’s on the wind. is it? I don’t think i’m righter than anybody else. I want to work with you, all of you. I know you already have work relationships with people. you can’t have more than one? strength through instability? no, strength through multiple contact points. strength is engineered.

I thought we were going to draw some erv. we are. can we not work in daylight? stop saying this isn’t working. you are a waste of keystrokes. I spent $40 to drink beer at a concert at a skate park warehouse in madison. it was about as perfect as I could have hoped. yes, cute humans introduced me to cute animals. other kewt humans played brutal musics that I thoroughly enjoyed. thoroughly. talked to someone with piercings who offered me a place to sleep. I stayed on my sister’s floor instead. it makes me sad, going there. their reality tunnel doesn’t look very far ahead. and it excludes me. you kind of invited yourself in. no, I didn’t. what is wrong with wanting to work with people I know, rather than having them do something independent, for a different amount of money

no, we have to keep my name off of the ownership certificate, because then I would actually feel safe doing work on land knowing that I would be able to prevent the jumpers from jumping ship. yeah, they taught me well. why am I getting kicked off the family plan again? because you’re getting new phones? you fucking assholes. what can you not take any more? never speaking to me? treating me like a stranger? just because you trust that asshole doesn’t mean I do. he’s a terrified racist retard. let him rot. what are we going to do? not have a phone. you don’t have one now. do you really have to text all the time? it’s not like it’s gotten you anything. literally, not a single thing, other than isolation and misery, have come to you, in real life, as a result of your time on twitter.

that’s retarded. lol. i’ve met tons of people on twitter, and hung out with many of them for extended periods of time. people like me. they do. they have. they can. right now, you are more than a handful. see ya 8:54 pm 11/26/12, temp’s in the teens.

stop telling people to not be themselves. my world needs more. of those. lol. i am. i am here. i don’t know how, but yes. i could use a road dog 10:28 pm. internet connection came, then went. then it came back, and I tweeted those, and then it went, again. so it’s 10:34 pm, and I should tweet. sleep. I should sleep. connection is back.

and gone. it’s probably fucking up somebody’s war game. no humans are harmed in the playing of war games, unless those playing are parents, or could otherwise be productive workers. in other words, every one is harmed by the playing of war games.

I could have worked at a coffee shop in sun prairie. yah, but den no dumpster loot. that car is a multi-use tool. too bad you’re not. oh come on. you could work more often. it’s 10:47 pm, and i’m still blogging! I don’t see you signing up to edit my blogs, to decide what’s worth publishing and what’s not. oh no? re-post it then, with a different name, and see if you can get anyone to watch. it has a built-in freeze mechanism. what does. my dancing. what? yes, it freezes viewers in their tracks. like medusa hair. do you doubt me? I have seen it happen more times than you have seen me dance. so, what is it, then? i’m not keeping you from giving me money, either.

what does my phone number matter. nobody calls it. nobody ever will. i’m as crazy as anyone ever has been. hardly. they’re training them for the reality tunnel that they think those kids need. I know. I am more disturbed than ever by most of what goes on at my “family’s” house nowadays. “are you seriously crying because I put cranberries in your oatmeal?” what do you want to talk about, old man? nothing. demon-seer, neither. if you don’t let me ramble your ear off on the telephone, you’re dead to me. ooh, brainfreeze. waterbottle. 11:00 pm.

it crashed on the living room floor, on the air mattress. yeah, we drank too many beers. slept in. got moved to the couch upstairs. dad didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t say goodbye to the little napping one, either. honestly, for crapitulatism’s reality tunnel, constant abandonment is the norm. your financial transaction is finished here, son. please be on your way.

no desire to understand at all. anti-understanding. well, if it’s not on tv, or if you can’t get it off the shelf, it may as well not exist.

bobby, nothing you post makes any sense. a cooperative is a business. anyone who takes part in this has to participate in the daily operations of a business. I would move to have you removed from the room at every meeting. or muzzled. i’m serious. have you ever run a business before? what marketing? we feed each other. we are our customers. if we have extra to sell, we sell it, to our networks. yeah, it’s useful to have a diversified network, then. we have more ranting, do-nothing white men than we know what to do with. that was a reference to me, wasn’t it. obviously. 11:11 pm

ok, to sleeps. peace loves ❤

have I been missing days again? hahahahaha. flashback humors.

we have url’s to share.

those are from my notes from the “worker’s cooperative” meeting last night. yes, I write down primarily url’s, and search terms.

erv still yellin, tea tree bronners got me less smellin’, crazy azzit waunabee an crombat bewts beat jellin’. the sound of boots gently stepping up a curb. the sound of combat boots glancing up library stairs, two-to-three at a time. I decided to love all these x-miss lights. you gonna keep calling it that? is sunmas a boy or a girl? -mas is the catholic designation for the anniversary of one’s birth, is it not? amazingly precise, yet so. far. off. target. it’s a show of capability. no, it’s missing as a rule. good analogy for the amercian social consciousness, eh? fatty blou blauw, what is you on a ’bout now? uh. kay. 5:30 pm, 11/29/12

6:05 pm. internet hiccup. I should report my income for harvest season. yup.

I have a good batch of grind here. good typing music.

well, anyway, the internet seems to be dead. who killed the internet? probably the same parties who deaded the electric car. shall we restart. yes. cool.

2:01 pm, 11/30/12 facebook is down. my phone is going away. what does that matter? people use telephones. you don’t. yup, barely. mostly as a texting machine.

inbox has apologies. that must mean i’m complaining again. I did something half-useful today. more than half. I am the sorriest. I know, one can’t claim that, can they. can they? I do not know such things.

left the camera, somewhere. couch.

I sent the following e-mail to my sister:

this is evil. i have a us cellular phone even!
i hate dad. i do not want to work with him. you are mean. seriously, mariah, it is your fault i am losing my number.  there is nothing you can say that will change that fact. i am very angry at you for this. i have absolutely no recourse. again, useless e-mail.  thanks for nothing.

t

p.s. “love” means helping, understanding, forgiveness, and communication. you are a liar.

and the one to my dad… well, I wrote it. the crash of my computer program deleted it. probably a good thing. he got this instead: “I prefer not to do business with you. Thanks anyway.” you better go tweet for a bit. [it did]

oh, hey, we’re in the other room now. it’s 3:55 pm, and we’re showered clean and nursing a case of hobo croch. yeah, ow. remember how I said i’d eventually be taking a clipper to my pubes in public. that day is sooner than ya think. nobody remembers the funny shit I say. favstar remembers, but you’d have to dig. I have to dig anyway. yup.

permaculture installation vehicle. piv. that’s not erv. no, it’s a different thing. cool. writing. usaprojects.org. we should also report earnings, and go find a phone. what? I thought we were going to say that was one less gadget we had to carry around. watch only, notebook. pencil. ooh, aren’t you hardcore. yeah, whatever.

so hardcore, in fact (4:07 pm), that I don’t have the login for the government stuff. how did I not know that? I want to say I saw it recently. the question is, where.

“turn the delay up in the headphones”

so, lots of potential, potentially, for erv as an art project, no? or the movie of her making. you and movies. what, you don’t think that’s a useful way to market, fund, and have a property upgraded quickly? do it for a film. it is art, that house. except real humans get to live in her afterwards. houses are mostly mothers, the ones i’d live in, anyway. yeah, there will probably be some dewd shacks, for the violent rejects who can’t get through their thick skulls that their harshness is the reason nobody wants to be around them. me, I can neither take a hint, nor a clue. and, I pretty much invariably over-stay my welcome now. this is the extent of my present self-loathing. I spend too little on rent, just because I neither cause shit, nor get in anyone’s way, very often. or, if I do, it is because they are moving in a way I find objectionable, as a human being. they don’t like having you here. I know, i’m not useful. you have been. you can be. mostly, you are an enabler, though. of all things terrible. don’t say that. well, it’s true. I know, just stop saying it. you really don’t think we contribute anything positive to humanity. smiling, and laughing in public for no good reason, just a nonsensical tweet from a cute, stuck-up little girl who doesn’t even listen to what we tweet or like our music or dancing? whoa. right!? hang on… *fixes auto-correct* ok‽ close enough. it won’t correct at the end of a word, but as its own word, it does. get it‽ yep. 4:27 pm

what are you expecting, or waiting for? well, not expecting much more than what we’ve gotten. a steady stream of metting locals. it is pretty much a steady stream, isn’t it. yup. mostly the pretty ones and smart ones go in front of our eyes, huh. yup.

we have to fill up a schedule. we can’t have this sleeping until noon-time wake & bake before a shower and coffee shopping. umm, can and do, have exactly that. the account name is in the ssi folder. that fucking application made us disabled. no, you, uhh, we were disabled in most senses of the word, from the beginning. planet retard slave shuts off all the types of ability that matter, and you, being the rebellious little hellion, terrified of being caught, as you were, were bound and determined to do and learn the right way. which, if you believe in any sort of protest or Gandhian philosophy, is non-participation with processes and humans which are unfair. I am flip-flopping on my opinion of humanity. that’s probably from listening to enablers. nah, it’s from being frozen solid. atrophied, dried up, chewed up, shredded cheese. nobody wants any of it. ok. I see the shit you worthless fuckers want. it’s retarded. I think you’re stupid for wanting your own destruction, but you proceed, day after retarded day, doing that which kills you. yup. dance on my grave, please.

so, what of erv. of usaprojects. dunno. seems legit. they introduce people to artists. oh. never mind. I thought that’s what the fucking video was for! if you don’t know me by now, you may nevermind.

I want it to be about anything. permaculture, meeting people on the internet. any way.

10:10 pm. my office closed an hour and ten minutes ago. I got 2 scones. I ate one. it was delicious.

11:35 pm. pulled a wifi signal. enough to facebook. I do not know. I feel like sleeping. then, sleep. ok. thanks. thank you.

this entry needs parsing. your face needs parsing. what does that mean?

I do not know how to word this proposal. I am terrified of all of you. I despise work, of any kind, as it all goes to crapitulatist shit. non-worthy projects. what are they supposed to do? you don’t find your own survival useful! no, my survival is useful, but I can… what. seriously, you can what? survive alone? no, you can’t. you’d be dependent on gas stations and parking spaces and coffee shop wifi connections wherever you go. what do you have any hope for, this entire life has been a never-ending string of disappointments. you keep thinking, it can’t get worse. someone will attempt communication. no, they forget you faster than you do. you have no idea what anyone else thinks, except that they have no interest in working with you. permanently, ever. what else is there to know? what the fuck do you people want, legal documents? registration with the state for a contractual arrangement between sober parties? there aren’t any of those, either. anyone with a foothold on property will only ever maintain that hierarchy for the purpose of getting others to do its bidding.

I hate this planet. you people make it impossible. you’re all GIVE ME THE FIVE-MINUTE VERSION and i’m like you can’t explain it all in five… and you’re all TOO LATE, IT’S AFTER 5 PM, HAVE A FUCKING BEER AND NO TALKING ABOUT CONTRACTS OR PERMACULTURE OR WORK OR ANYTHING OTHER THAN WAR AND STUPID FUCKING RELIGIOUS HOLIDAYS THAT OSTRACIZE THE POOR AND ENTRENCH THE RETARDO-SLAVES IN THEIR IDIOT-BOXES (yes, both houses, living rooms, and televisions. all 3.)

I fucking hate christmas. I hate it. and all of its celebrators. you don’t listen. you are mean, you are evil, and NOT A SINGLE FUCKING ONE OF YOU CAN THINK FOR YOURSELVES ANY MORE.

fuck. calm, you. yeah, wheatever. get us the fuck out of here.

and still, we sit. the rock god created which is too heavy for god to move.

I lost it long ago, whatever it is.

still kicking,
t

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~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2012-12-4 (Tuesday).

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