Eclipsed.
Friday, 23 November 2012
Wednesday, 21 November 2012
Dear diary, today I had my first kiss
It’s my philosophy that destructive force is the bane of progress, and that it is really creative attempts at growth which will enable progress beyond those points. There are brighter futures. When I’m not constantly the focus of attacks, I can see them, perhaps even free them. Perhaps I should join the circus.
All my focus recently has been on trying to protect my mind. In the manner and space in which information is presented to me by these attacks, it seems a layer of cognitive process is being removed - awareness of time in the context of conscious, calculated processing of events (including the influence of causality in the creation of momentary states). In my dreams, since recent events, there is a great reduction in self-awareness - my behavior when consciously analyzed appears to be a devolution, that I am a vegetable or act in an ape-like manner, semi-conscious observation of and reaction to external events, that all that’s left are my memories, as opposed to creative force. I often feel as if I am being eaten alive by organisms which are incapable of understanding things which exist outside of their frame of reference - or that, in their quest for self actualization and improvement, destroy that which they observe -
“We ruin all. We ruin all. We ruin all.”
As if this is a succinct yet all encompassing mantra. On the x-axis. If you’re a blunt object. But it drags you down, forces you to focus on the implicit frame of reference, and will not listen to ANY evidence to the contrary - it will not attempt to change its state. It is immune from or ignorant to, willfully “we know. we know. we know.” or otherwise, a higher level understanding.
“you failed all. we failed you. you failed all.”
It is extremely difficult to ignore, if ignorance is indeed the way to nullify its destructive effect on higher level context - certainly, any attempt at reasoning is not. Biological attack in abstract space.
An interesting thing to note - I am often, without question or higher level cognition, integrating humanly created structures into my equations as if they were absolute. Generally, before, I would deconstruct these from alternate frames of reference, or regard them as irrelevant to my own identity, entangled as it was with the structure of my cognition, and potentially the manner which I was understood from external frames of reference - the latter, however, was somewhat mitigated by the former, provided I had the space to objectively analyse them. Although this sounds like a sociopathic approach it at least allowed a level of freedom from the often arbitrary and in my case, inhibitory manner in which states were framed. This is not to say that my intent was any less empathetic, or as the process may suggest, that increased cognition of a holistic nature is at the expense of connection between individuals. That expense appears to be, in my case, the result of a stupid name that I neither wanted nor deserved.
Any doubts I have about myself are jumped upon by the ‘external observer’. They appear to be using those pathways, originally intended to allow greater recognition of one's flaws, as validation of their ‘position’ - it seems the self correction pathways have been entangled with auditory form, attacks which appear to attempt to force their state into an absolute, or to force my state into one of conflict as opposed to resolve. “We know.” Reiterating the hopelessness of the situation. I have often noted, internally at least, that the treatment appears to inhibit certain pathways, internal states, etc, as dealing with the attack in those moments is often emotionally unsettling - that observation and interaction, especially of the manner in which it is currently occurring, changes the outcome of those pathways or states. Often it requires incredible - as far as I am aware, needlessly large - amounts of focus in order to retain stability.
I feel like my secrets should be guarded, but here, I wanted to demonstrate the degeneration of intelligent and empathetic reasoning when forcefully immersed in environments of conflict. That is to say that the ardor involved in competing with your fellow man in a less than amicable manner is not so much as akin to intelligence as it is to a sense of self validated based on position in some arbitrary hierarchy in which you are invested. Perhaps an external viewpoint doesn't invalidate this - perhaps it simply allows greater cognition of your own investment - but I would suggest that empathetic understanding is the 'truer' intelligence, given that most systems of communication evolved or are designed to allow greater connection between the internal states of organisms : I sincerely hope this is not a regression and that systems of greater complexity can emerge from this, if that indeed is the goal.
All my focus recently has been on trying to protect my mind. In the manner and space in which information is presented to me by these attacks, it seems a layer of cognitive process is being removed - awareness of time in the context of conscious, calculated processing of events (including the influence of causality in the creation of momentary states). In my dreams, since recent events, there is a great reduction in self-awareness - my behavior when consciously analyzed appears to be a devolution, that I am a vegetable or act in an ape-like manner, semi-conscious observation of and reaction to external events, that all that’s left are my memories, as opposed to creative force. I often feel as if I am being eaten alive by organisms which are incapable of understanding things which exist outside of their frame of reference - or that, in their quest for self actualization and improvement, destroy that which they observe -
“We ruin all. We ruin all. We ruin all.”
As if this is a succinct yet all encompassing mantra. On the x-axis. If you’re a blunt object. But it drags you down, forces you to focus on the implicit frame of reference, and will not listen to ANY evidence to the contrary - it will not attempt to change its state. It is immune from or ignorant to, willfully “we know. we know. we know.” or otherwise, a higher level understanding.
“you failed all. we failed you. you failed all.”
It is extremely difficult to ignore, if ignorance is indeed the way to nullify its destructive effect on higher level context - certainly, any attempt at reasoning is not. Biological attack in abstract space.
An interesting thing to note - I am often, without question or higher level cognition, integrating humanly created structures into my equations as if they were absolute. Generally, before, I would deconstruct these from alternate frames of reference, or regard them as irrelevant to my own identity, entangled as it was with the structure of my cognition, and potentially the manner which I was understood from external frames of reference - the latter, however, was somewhat mitigated by the former, provided I had the space to objectively analyse them. Although this sounds like a sociopathic approach it at least allowed a level of freedom from the often arbitrary and in my case, inhibitory manner in which states were framed. This is not to say that my intent was any less empathetic, or as the process may suggest, that increased cognition of a holistic nature is at the expense of connection between individuals. That expense appears to be, in my case, the result of a stupid name that I neither wanted nor deserved.
Any doubts I have about myself are jumped upon by the ‘external observer’. They appear to be using those pathways, originally intended to allow greater recognition of one's flaws, as validation of their ‘position’ - it seems the self correction pathways have been entangled with auditory form, attacks which appear to attempt to force their state into an absolute, or to force my state into one of conflict as opposed to resolve. “We know.” Reiterating the hopelessness of the situation. I have often noted, internally at least, that the treatment appears to inhibit certain pathways, internal states, etc, as dealing with the attack in those moments is often emotionally unsettling - that observation and interaction, especially of the manner in which it is currently occurring, changes the outcome of those pathways or states. Often it requires incredible - as far as I am aware, needlessly large - amounts of focus in order to retain stability.
I feel like my secrets should be guarded, but here, I wanted to demonstrate the degeneration of intelligent and empathetic reasoning when forcefully immersed in environments of conflict. That is to say that the ardor involved in competing with your fellow man in a less than amicable manner is not so much as akin to intelligence as it is to a sense of self validated based on position in some arbitrary hierarchy in which you are invested. Perhaps an external viewpoint doesn't invalidate this - perhaps it simply allows greater cognition of your own investment - but I would suggest that empathetic understanding is the 'truer' intelligence, given that most systems of communication evolved or are designed to allow greater connection between the internal states of organisms : I sincerely hope this is not a regression and that systems of greater complexity can emerge from this, if that indeed is the goal.
Monday, 19 November 2012
Something about being framed.
Warmth. A pair of eyes in the shadows, followed by a third.
Dreaming sea. Not sure of its depths, but deep enough to hold me. Burned awake. It feels how I feel most likely, when woken up mid-morning by screaming rumbling engines hammering away at my ears. No slow burn.
Decay. Recursive. Something inside of us is flattered by this.
Tonight, a bunch of conversations in my head, arrivals, like people have hollowed out my head to build a cinema in torchlight. They watch my dreams. A quick flash before my eyes,somebody asking “is that light to you?”. They’re not clear what they want from me, however, I’m learning to stay completely still in my head as a consequence of their presence. Think of an embarrassing moment, your pin number, your secrets, as you traverse teh contents of your decimated brain. Everything needs to be socially acceptable. Shut up, they say. Everything besides my mistreatment. I am not sure if they are surprised by my defensive posture but I was never asked, and my mind was extremely valuable to me.
They make you feel old. It's the reality they assert. Though they're blinded by their control. And it blinds those that accept it. I’m held still and made irrelevant with ignorance. This worries me. The reliance upon preset order as opposed to the creation of it. Here hold this baby wait what? It's not self aware.
All of my writings seem to turn into letters of complaint. How reflective. We learned a great deal. Because we cared. But some things are hidden. Like the access codes to Zion.
Somebody stole my dream again. The good parts, anyway. The disney promiscuous waters breaking wedding parts. And left me with the sense that my dreams of love are just meat for those with the tech to harvest them. And if you accept my death that’s fine, although I’m still alive with the bad parts. Zero One. It should really be left right and a mirror. With time and cells. From which up and down emerge.
Given the confusing environment, I get the feeling people are denying certain aspects of causality as it suits them. Something about being framed. Something about being framed. i THINK i HEARD SOMEONE SAY THAT SEX IS PUNISHMENT HERE. CUT TO SCENE WHERE SUBJECT IS HELD DOWN, HIS FACE BURNED WHILE HE LISTENS TO PEOPLE HAVING SEX IN THE NEXT ROOM AND THEN THEY FORCE HIM TO DREAM UP HEAVEN WHICH THEY THEN STEAL. HAHAHAHAHA.
(and their reaction - we will delete you. let’s pretend that imagination exists and that deletion is akin to the concept of terrorism, collateral damage, etc - essentially a labyrinthian veil for murder that those who trust, or don’t have time, won’t be able to see beyond)
Dreaming sea. Not sure of its depths, but deep enough to hold me. Burned awake. It feels how I feel most likely, when woken up mid-morning by screaming rumbling engines hammering away at my ears. No slow burn.
Decay. Recursive. Something inside of us is flattered by this.
Tonight, a bunch of conversations in my head, arrivals, like people have hollowed out my head to build a cinema in torchlight. They watch my dreams. A quick flash before my eyes,somebody asking “is that light to you?”. They’re not clear what they want from me, however, I’m learning to stay completely still in my head as a consequence of their presence. Think of an embarrassing moment, your pin number, your secrets, as you traverse teh contents of your decimated brain. Everything needs to be socially acceptable. Shut up, they say. Everything besides my mistreatment. I am not sure if they are surprised by my defensive posture but I was never asked, and my mind was extremely valuable to me.
They make you feel old. It's the reality they assert. Though they're blinded by their control. And it blinds those that accept it. I’m held still and made irrelevant with ignorance. This worries me. The reliance upon preset order as opposed to the creation of it. Here hold this baby wait what? It's not self aware.
All of my writings seem to turn into letters of complaint. How reflective. We learned a great deal. Because we cared. But some things are hidden. Like the access codes to Zion.
Somebody stole my dream again. The good parts, anyway. The disney promiscuous waters breaking wedding parts. And left me with the sense that my dreams of love are just meat for those with the tech to harvest them. And if you accept my death that’s fine, although I’m still alive with the bad parts. Zero One. It should really be left right and a mirror. With time and cells. From which up and down emerge.
Given the confusing environment, I get the feeling people are denying certain aspects of causality as it suits them. Something about being framed. Something about being framed. i THINK i HEARD SOMEONE SAY THAT SEX IS PUNISHMENT HERE. CUT TO SCENE WHERE SUBJECT IS HELD DOWN, HIS FACE BURNED WHILE HE LISTENS TO PEOPLE HAVING SEX IN THE NEXT ROOM AND THEN THEY FORCE HIM TO DREAM UP HEAVEN WHICH THEY THEN STEAL. HAHAHAHAHA.
(and their reaction - we will delete you. let’s pretend that imagination exists and that deletion is akin to the concept of terrorism, collateral damage, etc - essentially a labyrinthian veil for murder that those who trust, or don’t have time, won’t be able to see beyond)
Saturday, 3 November 2012
the day after
The night before \i had been attacked by a flood of fragments of perspective. pieces of time convinced that there was nothing more than their maps, convinced they had to destroy what they saw of me to survive.\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\i suffocated myself inorder to keep love alive. I was walking around the town the next day and people were out in droves. They looked happy and carefree, enjoying the sunlight and laughing together. They were laughing at me. I realizedc I was at my own funeral. Apparently I was blind, or so they kept saying. This was supposedly a negative trait, and one to be poked fun of - but it was their actions that had led to whatever it was they perceived me to be. I had made sure to stay out of the way, tried to make myself, tried to understand why, but they had followed me in.
Some ginger guy sat next to me on the stairs. He poked fun at me too, when I was walking home, he walked behind me playing a flute. He'd intentionally done it to bother me. I asked him to walk in front of me. He did, but complained it was too dark if he walked in frontof me.
Somebody once wrote a story about me that attempted to subvert my intelligence in this style. It worked I retain little intelligence. I don't know about the value of things but it was something I valued, along with trust, relationships and time. Let's assume fighting is not a constructive use of it. I'm going to sleep now. I'm going to sleep now. I'm going to sleep now.
Some ginger guy sat next to me on the stairs. He poked fun at me too, when I was walking home, he walked behind me playing a flute. He'd intentionally done it to bother me. I asked him to walk in front of me. He did, but complained it was too dark if he walked in frontof me.
Somebody once wrote a story about me that attempted to subvert my intelligence in this style. It worked I retain little intelligence. I don't know about the value of things but it was something I valued, along with trust, relationships and time. Let's assume fighting is not a constructive use of it. I'm going to sleep now. I'm going to sleep now. I'm going to sleep now.
This may not be an entirely true story but fiction can have a profound effect on lives
The idea that one shouldn't interfere with another's life. Suppose, for example, that the majority of your interactions revolve around an understanding which you assume is shared between the constituents of your peer group. This underpins your entire sense of self, the frame of reference which contextualizes you, the context which guides your actions. A simple catchphrase or a cultural cue can link you and another for the rest of your lives. You likely do not imagine yourself as a nuclear reactor on the verge of meltdown, nor would you imagine yourself into that role if you were aware that your peer group might paint a funny caricature on the extern, the exhaust as a penis and the shutdown button as a toothless laughing face. On the other hand, there are probably examples where a drawing might add heart to an otherwise heartless tale.
The point is, or what I'm saying, is that with the myriad diamonds strewn across your temporal plane you are unlikely to think of any as particularly vulnerable to a good old ribbing at their expense. In that context, it is probably a sign of weakness, of an error in the direction of their development in relation to the path which you yourself are inexorably drawn to follow. It is important to deeply regard this if you have in your possession a machine which allows you to enter a persons brain and communicate directly with their consciousness.
What I'm saying is that I have spent a good deal of my life in a dark corner building a 1:1 scale model of the universe, dreaming about sex and fighting off endless streams of criticism with the art of the heart of it all, position noted, counter claim, attempt at union of distant states, vapid assertion of validity of alternate system, considered and reasoned response, intelligence worn down to the size of a pea and inseminated against its will in what may be considered the largest gang-rape in history, then left with my captors as they proceed to deny all and laugh at the plight of my lonely dying soul on a sunny day, and then I go insane the end.
The point is, or what I'm saying, is that with the myriad diamonds strewn across your temporal plane you are unlikely to think of any as particularly vulnerable to a good old ribbing at their expense. In that context, it is probably a sign of weakness, of an error in the direction of their development in relation to the path which you yourself are inexorably drawn to follow. It is important to deeply regard this if you have in your possession a machine which allows you to enter a persons brain and communicate directly with their consciousness.
What I'm saying is that I have spent a good deal of my life in a dark corner building a 1:1 scale model of the universe, dreaming about sex and fighting off endless streams of criticism with the art of the heart of it all, position noted, counter claim, attempt at union of distant states, vapid assertion of validity of alternate system, considered and reasoned response, intelligence worn down to the size of a pea and inseminated against its will in what may be considered the largest gang-rape in history, then left with my captors as they proceed to deny all and laugh at the plight of my lonely dying soul on a sunny day, and then I go insane the end.
Friday, 2 November 2012
Endure this
Sex drive low.
Partially because any fantasy is observered by someone/some people. Partially because I’m worried my ejaculate is inseminating my own brain. Though that is tongue in cheek and I don’t really believe that, it just might as well be the case. I feel as if the only way I’m going to survive is in a glass house, masturbating in front of a crowd of leering men. My brain is sending me signals - don’t ejaculate because this. Or this. Or this. Remember that time you got shunted out of time and felt yourself dying in N of M worlds because of the cascade of events you observed in a small action to do with playing cards? Remember that time when you felt your left hemisphere being snipped away at while you lay there helpless? Remember that time when some otherworldly beast pushed its nose into your ear and sniffed something akin to a sentence? Remember that time a beast from another world latched its long crooked teeth onto the top of your head, shook it around, while - carried by its bad smelling breath - it throatily whispered ‘calm’, leaking out your blood where upon touching the ground it formed people who seemed to be angry with you for making them wait? You should remember that while you’re having sex, or listen to the sound of a man in the next room getting off while observing you simulating members of the opposite sex having sex with you to remind yourself that you’re capable of having sex and having a distressing flashback, or you should realize when looking at pornography that there is a world of people who are all having sex with each other while you sit alone in a room and cry your soul out of your eyes in the form of tears because you were shunned in the real world and weren’t allowed to develop in that manner and that’s probably more conducive to self doubt/pity and sad dreams than good sex. Good sex is not the most important thing in the universe, it is at least only one of the most important things in the universe, but the intelligence with which I was hoping to reveal other important things has been eaten away or the routes to it have been made impassable and most people fall back on this one.
If being socially cohesive, or living in a lonely world, is a prerequisite for acceptance or denial respectively into the future, it appears that the direction of development of those who are at the mercy of whoever’s at the gates, and themselves, can easily be manipulated. Though I’m a little too exhausted to think of an example applicable to my context, I’m reminded of the hopelessness inherent for a person labelled as a ‘loner’, along with the popular attachments to that concept, such as quietly planning your murder, or someone who is not to be trusted, therefore alienating them further from your social network. Which is in some ways ironic. Though it’s only what I’ve been tuned into by my own treatment. I do not find this place comfortable. If I could leave this and go to some dreamworld I would, although if it were at the expense of someone like me, or someone else, or someone, something something. The tone of this is all wrong. Perhaps I could turn it into a film or a song or something.
Before all this, I had a decent internal representation of the state of my brain which I could only poorly represent in the external world, although now my internal representation is hazy, but think of it as this - compasses whose needles are constrained by N dimensions which are directed by carefully placed magnets pointing toward desired future. Certainly not inflexible, but in the absence of being held in place by focus or some other mechanism is probably more timing based (ie, when the sun peeks through a pinhole in the sky). Intuition describes my current state as having collapsed into a more or less two dimensional plane linked to the end of my spinal column, on top of which there are a bunch of people having a party slash orgy at my expense, showing me images of people making love and poking me with cattle prods or firing guns right next to my head to make sure I stay out of my imagination, which is admittedly a scary place when unbounded by time. Sometimes we argue. It’s like trying to push an intelligent guy through a web of vapid but emotionally charged assertion. It’s wearing me out, yo.
Also, a few weeks ago my head was burned by a vast intelligence. My state changes so rapidly it’s difficult to describe outside of snapshots of experience - a pain, like I could feel the life and death and love and fear of every organism in the world balancing on top of my head - extreme emotional connection with members of the opposite sex, or rather shared experience of longing - time flattening so that I was aware of the consequence of every one of my actions cascading through it - what feels like teeth clamping down in a space close to my heart - my digestive system talking to me or commenting on my state of awareness. Surprisingly, I attribute my stability in that environment to my ability to empathize emotionally - in other words, my heart. Although what seemingly followed was differently aligned intelligences inhabiting the space my intelligence would be, thereby pushing me out onto a plane where my intelligence conflicted with theirs - a kind of systemic consequence that perhaps was overlooked. Being that I was not able to develop my own understanding in time, as the holistic awareness of our minds were meeting in the moment, I inhibited my awareness for the sake of their dream, of which I appear to be the focus, but I’m not sure they realize that they’re actually pushing me out of my brain, that it burns the intelligence I was developing (ie intelligence coupled with emotion and of course development through time) and that it has more or less been disregarded or mined for all it is worth. It kind of goes without saying that this wasn’t what I intended or wanted. I just wanted a healthy relationship. Or love. Some vessel for my spirit that wasn’t denied at every turn. I feel as if all of this has been the consequence of action based on misinterpretation. Like I’ve been forced into a competition that I had negated the need for. Like my love / my dream of love has been stolen, redistributed, burned, and that I have been cast as some kind of villain that constantly has to prove his worth on deeper and deeper planes of intelligence.
Partially because any fantasy is observered by someone/some people. Partially because I’m worried my ejaculate is inseminating my own brain. Though that is tongue in cheek and I don’t really believe that, it just might as well be the case. I feel as if the only way I’m going to survive is in a glass house, masturbating in front of a crowd of leering men. My brain is sending me signals - don’t ejaculate because this. Or this. Or this. Remember that time you got shunted out of time and felt yourself dying in N of M worlds because of the cascade of events you observed in a small action to do with playing cards? Remember that time when you felt your left hemisphere being snipped away at while you lay there helpless? Remember that time when some otherworldly beast pushed its nose into your ear and sniffed something akin to a sentence? Remember that time a beast from another world latched its long crooked teeth onto the top of your head, shook it around, while - carried by its bad smelling breath - it throatily whispered ‘calm’, leaking out your blood where upon touching the ground it formed people who seemed to be angry with you for making them wait? You should remember that while you’re having sex, or listen to the sound of a man in the next room getting off while observing you simulating members of the opposite sex having sex with you to remind yourself that you’re capable of having sex and having a distressing flashback, or you should realize when looking at pornography that there is a world of people who are all having sex with each other while you sit alone in a room and cry your soul out of your eyes in the form of tears because you were shunned in the real world and weren’t allowed to develop in that manner and that’s probably more conducive to self doubt/pity and sad dreams than good sex. Good sex is not the most important thing in the universe, it is at least only one of the most important things in the universe, but the intelligence with which I was hoping to reveal other important things has been eaten away or the routes to it have been made impassable and most people fall back on this one.
If being socially cohesive, or living in a lonely world, is a prerequisite for acceptance or denial respectively into the future, it appears that the direction of development of those who are at the mercy of whoever’s at the gates, and themselves, can easily be manipulated. Though I’m a little too exhausted to think of an example applicable to my context, I’m reminded of the hopelessness inherent for a person labelled as a ‘loner’, along with the popular attachments to that concept, such as quietly planning your murder, or someone who is not to be trusted, therefore alienating them further from your social network. Which is in some ways ironic. Though it’s only what I’ve been tuned into by my own treatment. I do not find this place comfortable. If I could leave this and go to some dreamworld I would, although if it were at the expense of someone like me, or someone else, or someone, something something. The tone of this is all wrong. Perhaps I could turn it into a film or a song or something.
Before all this, I had a decent internal representation of the state of my brain which I could only poorly represent in the external world, although now my internal representation is hazy, but think of it as this - compasses whose needles are constrained by N dimensions which are directed by carefully placed magnets pointing toward desired future. Certainly not inflexible, but in the absence of being held in place by focus or some other mechanism is probably more timing based (ie, when the sun peeks through a pinhole in the sky). Intuition describes my current state as having collapsed into a more or less two dimensional plane linked to the end of my spinal column, on top of which there are a bunch of people having a party slash orgy at my expense, showing me images of people making love and poking me with cattle prods or firing guns right next to my head to make sure I stay out of my imagination, which is admittedly a scary place when unbounded by time. Sometimes we argue. It’s like trying to push an intelligent guy through a web of vapid but emotionally charged assertion. It’s wearing me out, yo.
Also, a few weeks ago my head was burned by a vast intelligence. My state changes so rapidly it’s difficult to describe outside of snapshots of experience - a pain, like I could feel the life and death and love and fear of every organism in the world balancing on top of my head - extreme emotional connection with members of the opposite sex, or rather shared experience of longing - time flattening so that I was aware of the consequence of every one of my actions cascading through it - what feels like teeth clamping down in a space close to my heart - my digestive system talking to me or commenting on my state of awareness. Surprisingly, I attribute my stability in that environment to my ability to empathize emotionally - in other words, my heart. Although what seemingly followed was differently aligned intelligences inhabiting the space my intelligence would be, thereby pushing me out onto a plane where my intelligence conflicted with theirs - a kind of systemic consequence that perhaps was overlooked. Being that I was not able to develop my own understanding in time, as the holistic awareness of our minds were meeting in the moment, I inhibited my awareness for the sake of their dream, of which I appear to be the focus, but I’m not sure they realize that they’re actually pushing me out of my brain, that it burns the intelligence I was developing (ie intelligence coupled with emotion and of course development through time) and that it has more or less been disregarded or mined for all it is worth. It kind of goes without saying that this wasn’t what I intended or wanted. I just wanted a healthy relationship. Or love. Some vessel for my spirit that wasn’t denied at every turn. I feel as if all of this has been the consequence of action based on misinterpretation. Like I’ve been forced into a competition that I had negated the need for. Like my love / my dream of love has been stolen, redistributed, burned, and that I have been cast as some kind of villain that constantly has to prove his worth on deeper and deeper planes of intelligence.
Thursday, 13 September 2012
You suck. You suck. You suck. You suck. You suck.
...so I said, "Dry hump my blunt mechanism, 2 dimensional organ". And they all laughed. And that's how I started my happiness cartel.
Oh, sorry. I didn't see you there. I wrote a story, though it hurts to read it back, potentially because we here at junction 31992582H haven't invented self censorship or a sense of integrity beyond the level of a politician and/or sociopath. If you are curious of the motivations behind the revealing of this specific structure as opposed to, say, the gates of heaven opening, or an attempt to open the cell door of a jail to which you were sent for the crimes of another man, by fashioning your entire brainspace into the appropriately shaped key, and whose inevitable failure due to the accelerated evolution of defensive mechanisms over transcendental sex organs due to the voices which won't leave you alone making it impossible for any outcome to exist which doesn't end up with a comedy routine at your expense, you need look no further than over there. Without ado, here is the story -
Licky the giraffe is an animal in the zoo, it doesn't wear clothes or shoes. It only eats leaves as it's a chicken in disguise. It's scared of my teeth, and the poo underneath, so it's neck is all high, as if it could talk to the sky, which is fucking moronic if you ask me. I will put its clothes on, though. I will make it submit, even if it requires all the energy in the known universe. You will see, naked mugged guy in a dumpster. You will see. Right after I eat this giraffe.
( I have this machine here that makes infinite food, but I prefer the overall satisfaction of eating a giraffe and I destroy all possibility due to my own greed. It tried to tell me but I shot it in the fucking head, thus rendering its thoughts obsolete, which suitably subliminally is often the precursor to rape. )At the clock bell of 14 and 2439 A.D. I retracted this statement. I keep it here as a reminder of the exciting places the universe takes me, or perhaps more accurately, the shapes it squeezes me into when all possibilities collapse into a single interpretation - often the nametag of a Walmart employee, a jar of nutmeg or a pleasant odor juxtaposed with the potent secretion of a mammal in heat. Is that inappropriate? I don't know. I'm probably autistic.
If I were the thing which I'm pertaining to be, this would be my to-do list
- Position yourself so that your intelligence appears to be of a greater magnitude than that which you are attempting to digest.
- Create an order which attempts to control by means of mimicry of your own digestive tract.
- Hit things harder if they don't immediately submit.
- Bury truth with assertion, find mechanisms of survival which depend on the repression of others and don't as a prerequisite require validation of self outside of a superficial context.
- Bully and mangle your intent post-violent coitus to that of a guiding hand.
- Act with malignancy.
- Stifle all possibility.
- Disregard internal conception of sex organs, make internal conception of dinner.
- Invest all light in a doomed system of everlasting eternal lies.
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