help

when you say, “how are you?” to someone, it’s not really a question.  it’s a command.  it means, “say something nice and positive to me or i will make a sour face at you and run away.”  depending on the scale & when you ask, i am never ok, or good, or anything positive.  i have no career, no “family” or “friends” as it were.  i have a bunch of random associations who have kicked me out for not towing the party line and saying “good” when asked, how i am.

i have an empty, non-networked house right now.  it belongs to my mother, but she won’t, or can’t listen to me.  she’s away for the weekend, anyway.  family camping trip.  i wasn’t invited, because i can’t pay my share of the fees, or won’t, because reasons.  yeah, like i’m going to spend my hard earned weed and booze money to go hang out with rapey capitalists who argue with me constantly.  i don’t think they shame each other nearly as much when i’m not around.  in the pictures, they always seem happier when i’m not there.  i do not understand how a social species such as humans can accept such a self-punishment regime as capitalist hierarchy, let alone embrace it with such fervor.

have you ever wondered why other nations, when they have elections, elect a “government”, but the united states of america’s executive teams are merely an “administration?”  of course you haven’t, you were born into this fascist farce and punished if you ever seriously questioned it.  caste out.  excommunicated.  my family stopped telling me what they were doing long ago.  because they insist that information be delivered by verbal speech only.  you must subjugate yourself to the heirarchical timeline, for as long as it takes to deliver and with whatever abusive side effects it includes.  i cannot abide such punishment as a matter of course.

i was born on september 9, 1976, which means my 39th birthday is less than a month away.  it’s a rather arbitrary designation, all things considered.  completely dependent on this planet, & on this historical configuration.  i prefer to treat people like humans every day, as long as they act like humans.  fascist capitalists aren’t really worth my time at all, unless they are receptive to learning, to adapting.  most aren’t, because they’ve associated learning with state schooling.  the torture chamber for children designed by the military/prison-industrial police state/complex, to turn the youngest of our species into obedient, know-nothing, hyper-violent, dichotomy-identifying cattle.  goyim.  sheeple.  the words sound disrespectful until you see people get into this “defensive” state.  they attack.  they “fight back” against such characterizations, because they strike squarely on the nerve.  they know.  they would never admit that they know, directly.  but, they know.

i wasn’t born at home.  i was born in a hospital, in a different city even than where my parents were living at the time.  i don’t remember much my childhood before school, but i know it was painful.  it continued to be painful, in a dull, aching sort of way.  i was an obedient child.  my parents both came from rather strict religious backgrounds, and rejected much of their own upbringings, except for the strictness.

saturday. 8/15/15, 3:36 pm

so i’m watching this movie that plays on the expression “bucket list”.  kicking the bucket being one of those joking expressions for committing suicide in prison.  in the popular mind, the term is now associated with this “heartwarming” sarcastic comedy starring jack & morgan.  so far, it’s typical corporate product placement.  as if there’s any other kind of hollywood “movie.”  it was about what i had expected.  the john mayer video “say” is a summation, if you want to get the whole sappy thing in the space of a song.

8/18/15, 5:20 pm

is there a difference between positivity and victim silencing?  between seeing the world through rose-colored glasses and refusing to reward bad actors by complaining about their actions?  is victimhood a mentality, or the reporting of hurtful behavior of others?  i have this feeling that there is, but i have a difficult time finding the line.  i cut off people who attack.  cut them OFF.  why should i give them the right to listen to me?  because they most need to hear it.  at my expense?  or, at the expense of my happiness?  so, you’ve chosen isolation.  no, i’ve chosen self-preservation.  self-protection.  if there’s blood in the water, the sharks will smell it.  you have to get out of the water.  on the other end of that transaction, losing the right to hear might prevent one from saying hurtful things.  or not.  it might just keep them in their own violent little echo chamber.  self-fulfilling prophecies.  can you remove all the triggers from your own life?  some will try.  there’s no singular response that’s appropriate.  literally every circumstance is unique.  there is only one.  i know only that i am far from perfect.

8/31/15 11:38 pm

i hate it here.  where don’t you hate it? the left shift key just stopped working.  ok, it’s back.  how can a universally hated social animal not hate itself?  this is stupid.  yeah, that’s our m.o.

since i last typed, i read two books.  congratulations.  tweeted a lot.  are you proud?  it’s difficult to have pride in a job that pays zero dollars per year.  check that, it’s impossible to have pride, period.  why?  pride is an error.  not a sin?  sin is a deathcult word.  pride is something like revelry in how things are, or what you did, or where you happen to be.  it sort of elevates your pathetic unitary self above everyone else, and the time which you happen to see things, above every other time.  it is an error.  you’re an error.  true enough.  don’t we have things to write about?  hating our family back?  boring.  wanting to die?  also boring.  also not true, by the way.  are you sure?  no.  all i know is that i don’t know nothing. 

do you get the impression that when your computer/phone operating system “updates” that it’s passing data you generated to microsoft or google?  yeah.  how would you know?  i think you’d have to be a hacker.  sniff packets or something.  get behind the paywall or iron curtain or proprietariness or something.  it’s not like we pay for this electricity anyway.  I TAKE DAILY PUNISHMENT FROM THESE WORTHLESS BYSTANDERS FOR THE RIGHT TO THIS PUBLIC ELECTRICITY.  cripes.  i’m not doing well.  clearly.  why are you still listening to “this comp kills fascists”? because it blocks out the bangy noise & annoying talking of the useless retards that surround us EVERY. FUCKING. WHERE. WE GO.  jesus.  oh please.  tell us about some movies, or those books.  yeah fine.

the first book was  the short & tragic life of robert peace .  i worked with him in college.  in the same dining hall.  i don’t remember speaking to him.  i remember being insanely jealous of his life, from this account of his life.  the variety of & success with people.  the intelligence.  the weed.  ok, mostly, the women & the weed.  you’re an egotistical retard.  i know.  spoiled rotten.  other than that i was a lot like this guy, i came to some revelations about class & education.  basically, never go into debt.  in fact, even if you don’t go into debt (mr. peace didn’t), it will probably ruin you.  you’re not ruined.  oh really.  why do i even bother talking to you?  i’m the only one who will listen.  oh yeah.  so poor people surrounded by the ridiculously rich will both learn about them and pick up habits/attributes from them.  is that what we did?  i don’t really know.  i can’t gauge what people think of me.  i say sometimes that i’m a sensitive, or empath, but i might just be terrified and numb.  what was there to be jealous of?  i don’t know.  a few moments of money.  didn’t you go to london & amsterdam once?  for a week/33 hours.  i got a knife pulled on me.  see, that sounds more prideful than any of your scholastic accomplishments.  he didn’t show me the blade, & he said he had a gun.  i don’t remember fear.  i remember thinking, “no you don’t.  i’m not giving my money to a liar.”  he said he was going to count to three, & did.  i said “no” very quietly.  he patted me on the shoulder & walked away.  what does this story have to do with anything?  i don’t know.  nothing probably.  just like everything else that’s happened to me.  completely useless.  god, you’re a wet blanket.  wet blankets are cold.  i’m a furnace.  this is stupid.  stop saying that.  it’s almost as bad as retarded.  i love medically dismissive terminology.  i’m trying to take it back.  you know how often i have to read “crazy” or “insane” from people who think they aren’t?  often, i suspect that means.  of course you know.  nah, i block that hurtful shit out.  that’s impossible.  ignore it.  also, impossible.  stop caring what people think of you!  ok, you know how we’re social animals?  yeah.  sensitive beings who can detect pressure, magnetic fields, all type of chemicals, & water, with every cell of our skin?  um, yes?  people put how they think of you literally on you, through the air, through the symbols they choose.  through the sounds that they emit from their voice-production apparatus, and the electro-chemical signals they emit from their various bodily systems.  point being?  we know, about each other.  regardless of what is said or not said.  everyone knows i am a hate & vitriol filled do-nothing who is entirely incapable of pulling its own weight under this completely unnatural, irrational, & horribly repressive system of power & exchange that we have on this planet.  ok.  now, we’re getting somewhere.

up until he arrives at college, the book is data dense & rather arm’s length.  the author, being his roommate at yale, switches to essentially first-person once their lives intertwine.  he reminds me a lot of me, too.  the parts i tend to hate & have disowned recently.  oh, that sounds healthy.  must be why my hemorrhoids are flaring like crazy lately.  must be.

i was the student manager of the dining hall where he worked.  i think i avoided him completely.  who don’t you avoid.  girls, lesbians mostly.  i’m sure there’s a scientific explanation for that.  not one my family or any judeo-christian ethic would accept.  the appropriationist dismissive pop shortcut is fuckboy.  the self-applied categorization is genderfluid transgender queer.  are you trying to get yourself killed?  perhaps?  i thought i was just being honest in an attempt to find a partner or friends who didn’t cause me immeasurable pain with every other word.  oh, that.  i hate men.  like, unforgivably.  the freudian explanation is that my abusive harasser of a father, the son of a child molester, caused me to so reject his teachings/way/ethic/standards, that i rejected “manliness” outright, but couldn’t afford transition.  i hate you.  i hate you, too.  but somehow i love being me.  and how.

spoiler: he dies.  what, you didn’t catch that from the title?  oh, right.  i think the author did it.  WHAT?  i’m not allowed an opinion?  WHAT WOULD POSSIBLY BE THE MOTIVE?  oh like rich people need motive to ruin poor people’s lives.  they do it for fun.  i don’t see HOW it’s fun, but psychopaths find pleasure in the pain of others.  you’re sick.  if you say so, doc.  WHY WOULD HE WRITE A BOOK HONORING HIS ROOMMATE IF HE DID IT?  to sell copies of a book.  why does anyone do anything.  ok, now you’re just trying to create more rich enemies.  uh huh.  like all of them wasn’t enough.  i didn’t hate the book.  did you hate the school?  dunno, maybe.  i went there for the architecture, and i enjoyed walking around looking at the pretty buildings.  clearly i didn’t learn anything useful as a philosophy major, nor did i make any contacts which would have assisted me in finding gainful employment in the service of people wealthier and better at concentrating the labors of others, over the years.  nobody’s allowed to like me, and nobody lets themselves learn anything from me, because of a few things that i find more plausible than the stories on tv and perpetuated by the corporate curriculum espoused by the mainstream cisgender gerontocracy.  i love those words.  me, too.

movies.  talk about movies.  other than self-hanging itinerary.  right.  slumdog millionaire, gandhi, three herbie movies, slums of beverly hills, two horrible dog training videos, butterfly effect 2, brokeback mountain, wolf of wall street (see also blood diamond, blow, & lord of war), transformers age of extinction, a noble lie, inside job (also see wall st. code), & dinotopia.  tragic beauty by rich white men to profit off of the death of poor people who didn’t deserve it.  that’s your review of all those movies?  yup.  marky mark was pretty dope in age of extinction, too.  lol. it’s really a wonder you haven’t been recruited for your movie-reviewing skills alone.  right!?  hurry up & die.  if only.

the other book was “run you down”, the second in a continuing suspense/crime/journalism series by my college ex who recommended the other one, julia dahl.  nice work, jewels.  it was hilarious, enlightening, entertaining, enraging, & momentarily nostalgic.  plus it made me think of your dad a lot.  lol.  i think the genre of crime novels is about as interesting as cop dramas: not at all.  novel serieses are sort of fascinating, in that the non-dying characters can keep mucking about and adventuring with one another as they uncover nefarious plots that aren’t dismissed as conspiracy theories, until published.  and even then sometimes.  whatever.  i enjoyed reading it quickly.

you don’t seem to have an abundance of self-respect on this blog, nevermind respect for pretty much anybody else, do you.  not really.  i don’t do much worthy of respect, & most things, not to mention people, trigger violent rage in me now that i’ve stopped taking the illegal medicinal herb that has stabilized me for the last 15 years or so.  driving places in my busted pile of a car terrifies me.  calling the asshole bureaucrats at the state to find out where my poor people insurance would let me see a doctor about these stupid fucking hemorrhoids terrifies me.  putting together the scattered pieces of plot that have been coming into my mind lately irks, enrages, and terrifies me, and speaking to the abusive fucktards who refuse to hear my complaints regarding their treatment of me, terrifies me.  i don’t have internet at “home” anymore, and my jerk of a mother makes it her personal mission to disrupt, interrupt, and ruin as much potential sleep as possible.  isn’t she letting you stay at her house for free?  it’s not free.  it includes ample servings of condemnation & abandonment.  you really don’t accept any responsibility for any part of your horrible little life at all, do you.  probably not.  the abusive child of abusives despises most everything here & now.

GOD THAT PERFUME IS AWFUL.
hella redundant

must be done writing.  FUCK OFF

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~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2015-08-31 (Monday).

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