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Wednesday, December 2, 2015

I stood in front of the mirror, stared deeply into my own eyes, and saw nothing but darkness...

Don't let me fall into that pit again...
It took all my strength to crawl and scrape and drag myself out the first time. It was unbearable torture with no reprieve. Yet my strength won out in the end. I freed myself of that indescribable hell. I was again myself. No more were the hooks of demons ripping violently at my flesh. But still, it wouldn't last, it never does...
Again the beast came to my door. It creaked and shook with fury. This time it was here for good. Now the monster was going to ensnare me and never let me go. He came so swiftly that I had barely any time to react, but again I made my move and gained victory... but at what cost?
I lost all that was dear to me. I may have driven away the demon, but now I had to live with the aftermath. I had to live with myself, with what I've done. A boulder I'll carry on my back for eternity. There was no going back. Believe me, I tried. Nothing could come close to repairing the rift it created. I was myself again, but what's the point? I have nothing. I've ruined it all.
I live on for one reason. Hope. The hope that one day things will get better. It's all I have and it's next to nothing. Now the real torture begins. How long can I last? The demon is always at my door. I've only known of it's existence. But this time I saw it. It's eyes glowed a fierce crimson and it had two crooked horns. It literally emerged from the wall. I was keeping it in there and it was breaking free. Each day I saw the fury in it's eyes grow. I was terrified and alone, but then again, when am I not?
I won, technically. I had my life and my mind. Everything else was lost in the confrontation.

But life went on, life always goes on, and it doesn't stop for me. I slowly regained a sense of purpose and friends to laugh with. Things were getting better and better.
It came again. It tried to drive me to violence, but I ran. I ran far far away. It always comes back near familiar ground. So I threw it all away. I freed myself yet again from it's grasp. Only I made things worse in the time it tried to grab hold of me. I didn't think that was even possible.

It's been four years since then. I've hidden the door even from myself. It's not safe there. But 2 days ago I walked an invisible path in a world of light. I dive into my mind. I came across an object in this illuminated garden of forked paths. And just like that I stumbled upon the door to my insanity...

And look, it's green.

Hahahaha, it is truly the only color befitting such an agonizing object.

Soaked with tears and sealed in blood.

I fell to my knees. I grabbed the edge of the horrid thing. I won't open it. I thrashed at it screaming bloody murder. I gave into crying at it's feet. It was only then that I noticed it's degrading. It has holes carved into it. I dare not look inside lest the demon escape again. But I knew. It was inches away.

I sat alone and broken until I had forgotten everything. The world seemed to disappear with my thoughts. When it all had left me, I rose to my feet. I was not in the light anymore. Everything had gone dark. The light faded and with it all the beauty and goodness of my mind. Now, in front of me, there was not a door, but a mirror.

I stood in front of the mirror, stared deeply into my own eyes, and saw nothing but darkness...

Then the pitch black eyes that were so fixed in place suddenly fell from their thrones. I tasted my own brains as they gently rolled along the gray matter and mental sewage. I've missed this taste...

Tuesday, December 1, 2015

It Was Just Another Day.

And I sat down for a moment to read. Upon sitting, I felt it. It was strange and hard to explain, but I shall try, if only to preserve the memory for myself. For you see, strange things happen at seemingly inconsequential moments for apparently no reason at all, but something powerful is happening. It is a constant process of transformation of mind, body, and soul. It only took a moment of rest for the effects to take place. A feeling of happiness, pure and true, to activate the dormant genes. My DNA is shifting. I understand that. It's only part of the process. I shall not die as a mortal man, but rise above and enter the higher plane. These things have been confirmed by others.
    It's ridiculous, I must admit, but I am a ridiculous man. I admit to that. I can see what I am doing is peculiar. I have no fear of this obscurity. I do not damn my individuality but, on the contrary, embrace it as a long lost lover. Never shall I let myself fall from this path. You may think I'm insane, and you may be right, but I see no difference between lunacy and genius. They are cut from the same cloth.
    I'm losing track though, there is a point to this. I felt what few others have felt. The tingle. It's very similar to temporary loss of circulation. The legs go numb for a moment. You feel as though they have become smokelike. No longer solid and firm. They float below, writhing twisting in the wind. Electricity fills them abundantly. They feel to be pulled off of you, dragged down to our mother. Yet she is not taking but giving. It is an exchange of sorts. You give yourself to her, she takes you in and makes you better, then returns you to yourself. Don't laugh at my beliefs lest I show you the absurdity of your own.
   Faith is a strange thing. There is no proof. So how can you know? You just do. That is what faith is all about. And I know what I believe to be true. Who are you to say different? What gives you the right to persecute me for my beliefs? If you don't believe me, then don't. What do I care? I only wish to express it like anyone else.
   So here I am, sitting down, book in hand, as this miraculous transformation happens once again. I give her my light, my love, and she accepts it entirely. She takes it and loves me for it. It grows strong with her. It becomes a part of her own light. It glows brilliantly. She takes my offering and gives me back something more. She gives me back the light we have created. A part of myself in her, and a part of her with me. It is only a step to a goal, but an important one. Although most of the work must be done alone in solitude. Only then can one concentrate on what is important. Only then is the truth revealed. This is why most people fear it. They are terrified of change, of the unknown. When the truth weighs down on them they run and hide in fear. They hide amongst others. They hide together.
     For the enlightenment to happen, there needs to be space for it in the mind. Space to accept our creator inside our minds so she can do her work to better us. Out of fear of this, we fill our minds with the most trivial bullshit. We literally stuff our minds with useless fucking garbage to keep her out. If you haven't noticed this, you may be lost. There is no hope for thee. But if you see, if you can honestly see what is happening may be there is a chance for your salvation. We have not finished evolving. Do not be content with your inefficiency. You are an unfinished work of art. Please, don't be a dueche. Let yourself become the masterpiece you are meant to be.
    And so I felt it, my own personal transformation. It's happened before and it will happen again. It's an ongoing thing. I am not nearly complete. I will not cheat. I shall rise and become a saint for modern times. It is my destiny. You can not convince me otherwise so do not try. If you don't agree just leave me be. I am not hurting anyone. And if I am wrong, let me at least enjoy it. It's one of the few things that brings me any happiness anymore. I have purpose. I am confident in this. Why would you want to rob me of that?
    Afterward I stoop up. I felt no numbness or pain. No, my legs did not fall asleep. I stood just fine, had all feeling, if not more, and walked away. I walked straight here to this computer and began to type this. Not a moment was spared. It is all fresh in my head. It has literally just happened. And it filled my entire being with a need to share it. I'm so proud of my progress. I must admit however, I am impatient. I know what's happening, I know what has happened, I know what will happen. There are no surprises left. Yes, I am admitting to seeing the future. And why not? Many prophets have seen the same. Alone in a secluded cave they think and believe. The future comes to them just as it comes to me now. It's not impossible. It's happened.
    Knowing the future only makes it more difficult to accept the present. It drags on in seemingly endless seconds of boredom. I do not care for the world as it is. I know what it will be. I see the potential in everyone and everything. I love it for what it will be. I love you for what you will one day be. Yes, I love you deeply, all of you. And I hate you so much. You resist the changes that will inevitably take place. You fight it with all your might. Please stop this frivolity. It will come to pass. Let it. I am. Join me and we will bring forth an era of happiness the likes of which have never been seen. We live in a perfect world, where everyone's like me. Does it scare you?

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Intimacy Issues

I have a TON of intimacy issues.
The only ones I'm missing are issue #17 Fear of Abandonment, which contained the first appearance of Emptiness, issue #26 TRUST, and issue #52 Overthinking, which had a guest appearance by Spiderman.

Touch Me

Touch me and I'll scream...
and moan...
and gyrate...
and shoot a hot wet load down my pant-leg...
and cry...
and fall over...
and shit upwards of 5ft...
and convulse violently...

And beg for more.

Stare Into The Void and Chill?

The other night I was at the cemetery in my usual spot, draped placidly over a tombstone feeling empty, thinking about the nothingness of existence, when a ghost appeared before me. She took me back to her place where we talked about the ineluctable qualities of death, listened to obscure spookwave bands, and had silent emotionless sex. Afterward, I went home, existed for a few hours, and went to sleep.

Thursday, September 24, 2015

Two-Headed Boy

The way I see it, there are two categories of lovers. I'm not just talking about interlocking genitals either. I'm referring to love of all things, beauty, art, music, whatever. These two categories are like the two ways one can fish. Catch and release, or gut and take home.

I've always considered myself to be of the former type. For most of my life, I was fine with the experience itself. I had no need to capture it. I loved, and I let my love be.

The other type feel a compulsion to own all they love. They want to capture it and take it home with them. They want it documented, contained, and readily available. These are the people at concerts with phones held high. The ones taking pictures of sunsets, downloading all their favorite albums, texting their lover 300 times a day.

I see nothing inherently wrong with either practice, nor am I condemning any of them. I am simply noting an observation. I've simply never felt the need to hold onto the things I've loved. I am content with the experience itself. I take what is given me and let it come and go as it pleases. I saw this as a fact of life. When we die, we leave everything behind, so what is the point of fruitlessly trying to hold onto anything?

When beauty comes my way, I let it. And when it goes, I also move on.

But there are those who feel the converse. They desire control. They are not content to let some outside force govern when and where something lovely happens to them. They want to instantly call up happiness from the massive vault of significant moments they lord over.

There have been many times a song is played that I adored and the moment and memory were enough for me. The idea to record the song's information to find and keep for myself later never occured to me. Maybe I'll hear it again, maybe I won't. The other type will flip shit if they hear a song they love and don't note down the artist, album, year it came out, backstory of the band, etc.

I think I somewhat understand them. In fact, most people are them. I'm one of the few exceptions. For as long as I've lived, they have tried to convert me to their ways. They think I'm insane for not trying to keep what I love. They ask what I will do if I never hear it again. I say, then I'll never hear it again, I'll just do something else. This blows their mind.

I had hoped with age, these people would change, but they won't. I can see it now. Many older people still feel this way.

I get a lot of shit for being myself. Apparently my personality is some strange patchwork quilt of minorities and exceptions. That's okay, I guess. I've been trying for years to see from their perspective, and I think I have a general idea.

Honestly, I think the main cause is insecurity and fear. If what you love isn't firmly within your grasp, you might lose it forever. Documenting all you do is proof you have lived. Constant entertainment forms a sort of barrier between oneself and death.

Like safety, this is but an illusion. Love is like sand and the harder you try to hold onto it, the more it slips through your fingers. All the instagrams in the world can't stop the inevitable flow of time from washing away all memory of you. And not acknowledging death doesn't make death any less ineluctable.

I'll adopt a few of your ways in order to share a bit of my world with you, but for that reason alone.

Sunday, September 20, 2015

When In Rome

The saying doesn't end there. It's only the first part of it. The rest is implied. This is how common saying usually go. Common sense/knowledge takes over from there.

But I've been noticing a little problem lately. There are people so daft, they don't realize that these bits of statements like "the grass is greener" or "when you can't beat em" are only parts of larger sayings. (The rest being so abundantly obvious there is no need to actually speak it.)

The problem is mainly a philosophical/spiritual one. Many sects and orders have overtly bleak life views when not understood correctly. Buddhism is a great example of this. "Everything suffers" can be perceived as an immensely negative statement at face value. But... it's not. It is only the beginning. A necessary step on the road to peace.

"God is dead" is a freeing statement. Nietzsche's quotes are some of the most misused today. My heart truly goes out to him. First the Nazis, then the hip intellectuals, now the misguided neo-nihilists. He's so often used for malign purposes that it makes me want to cry. The death of God isn't some hopeless misery, it's a cage removed. No longer are we bound to the chains of organized religion. We are finally free to seek meaning for ourselves, taking whatever we'd like from whatever we want. A bit of Taoism here, a dash of Christianity there, some Manichean ideas tossed in for flavor, and maybe a couple teachings from Hassan i Sabbah. We can find purpose for ourselves with no more arbitrary limits.

But I digress. I'm not here to speak about these concepts individually. I just want to bring to light how, with a bit of thought and effort, the depressing garbage spouted by the disillusioned misanthropic youth are actually early steps to inner peace.

Now I know, I know, you want everything spoon-fed to you so the thought might never occurred to try, but you really should. For your own sake. Only you can save yourself.

Today, on social media, I posted this: You can't do or say anything these days without someone hating you for it.

At face value, it seems a little depressing, doesn't it? It's not. Not at all. You simply need to follow the organic flow of this thought.

I grew up ignored and hated. Unlike some spineless little wimp, I did not try extra hard to garner attention and praise. I saw the world around me and accepted it as it is. Why waste time seeking impossible praise? Instead, do what you enjoy, what's fulfilling to you. As for hate, well if I'm going to be hated no matter what I do, then fuck it, I'll do whatever I want. The approval of others no longer applies to me.

For instance, if I have to fart, I might worry about being laughed at or insulted, so I would opt to sit in discomfort, only to be made fun of for sitting weirdly. So fuck it, let my ass sing! Let them laugh. I feel great. You don't like it, I'll aim that fucker right at you.

You really don't have to do anything you don't want to. Their control is but an illusion. Only by understanding and making peace with hard facts of life will you be able to overcome them.

There's no such thing as fairy tale love, you say? Well fuck it, then I'll make my imperfect love work. I'm a meaningless speck of dust, you say? Well phew, that's a load of my back. Now I know I can fuck up as much as I want and it doesn't matter. No one is really happy, you say? Oh that's great! Now I don't have to feel bad about feeling bad. Everyone is crazy, you say? Wonderful! I don't feel so ashamed of my insecurities. It's something we all have.

The list goes on. I like to call it The Positivity of Pessimism.

So next time you hear or read some seemingly depressing shit, take a moment to think about it. The person saying/posting it is probably just being a miserable bastard by leaving out the good part.

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

I Touched Her Thigh... And Death Smiled

In the dim half-light of a local bar, hermetic and shrouded within the din of hazy thoughts and twisted minds, I sit, waiting for tomorrow.
Across the writhing, swaying expanse I notice an ethereal creature swathed in black leather surreptitiously admiring my... pulchritude.

Her eyes look into mine with open, daring lust. Boldness and challenge electrify my brain.

"Destroy me, I'm yours."

Casually, I stride past the mindless meatbags across grimy floorboards. The air is thick. Heavy. I'm swimming on a current. Drawn inexorably to the wild animal bathed in blue neon light prowling the deltas of her vicissitudinous presence.

A boundless expectation floods the interstice of our forms. Words yearning for utterance pummel the ramparts of my lips. Burned out pathways brilliant with luminescence.

Sublime Lupa. Formless nephilim. Unbearably weightless. Cascading into me as gently as moonlight falling down. Exquisite resplendence in my arms. Soft and warm, her lulling aroma of undiscovered places and wild forests transcend through my mind driving me mad with desire.

Her calm, even breath caresses my neck. Fingers probing the small of my back. Her breathless whisper musically ringing in my ears electric and benevolent. Slightly swaying in magnetic embrace the world outside vanishes in a puff of smoke.

I pull back ever so slightly. Turn her face to mine. Our lips meet. Commingling spirits trespassing upon each other's dreams. A curtain of sparks floods my vision in shimmering brilliance. Simultaneous frailty and strength. I want to hold on to this instant forever.

Our lips part, the stars gradually extinguishing. Time seems to extend inexorably before us. We stand immobile, arms enveloping each other. Clinging to a guttering flame of hope.

A flame that dies.

She writes her phone number on a scrap of paper ripped from a nearby flier. I accept it gratefully. I hold her hands. I kiss her once again. I turn and walk away, not sparing a look back at the angel with a halo of blue. Fading back into night, into silence, into nothing.

No Matter How Close Two People Are, An Infinite Distance Separates Them.

I like humour that is engaging and tricky. Some have called me an asshole for my special kind of jokes. I guess they're right, but fuck em. My style has a purpose.

I want to get you to think. And more importantly, I want to get you to think in different ways.

But not only that. The type and presentation of my humour does much more. They are, in a sense, tests. When I interact with you, I'm learning about you. You can learn more by talking than by listening.

Much information is purposely omitted. I call these spaces "Intuitive Gaps." The larger the space, the harder the trail is to follow. Like in animal tracking, there is a very definite trail left in these gaps. Anyone can follow one footprint to the following footprint, but to follow a winding trail through the forest takes skill and knowledge. The further down you can track the animal without straying, the better you are of a tracker. The same applies to Intuitive Gaps. The larger the space, the further your mind must be able to leap. The further you can leap, the more intelligent you are. This is only the tip of the iceberg.

One can be intelligent in some areas, and lacking in others. Variety is essential. This is why constant testing is imperative to a more accurate reading.

Many statements are of an ambiguous nature. A compliment to one is an insult to another. The more ambiguous the statement, the more freedom you give the listener to choose its meaning. In film-making, there is an isomorphic technique. You have your actor give as emotionally devoid of an expression as possible. The viewer will project their own feelings onto the actor. The same can be done with language.

I find people I like by applying these and myriad more methods.

Every little action both physical and verbal carries deep, rich meaning.

It is not simply what you say. It is a slight dilation of the pupils, the angle of your chest to my chest, the pitch of your voice, a wrinkle in the corner of your eye, the blood distribution throughout your body, the speed between reactions, the directions your eyes wander to. The real trick is picking up on these signals without being caught. Putting your subject at ease is first and foremost if genuineness is what you're after. Openly studying someone destroys that.

Even harder is to be aware of your own actions and reactions as you do this.

If at any point you feel I am insane or entirely arbitrary, it is simply that you could not follow the trail.

Sunday, September 6, 2015


There's something inorganic, and therefor disingenuous. about quotes from historical figures or celebrities. There is an unrelatable diconnect. It just doesn't feel "real." It functions more like a piece of propaganda, only carrying significance for those who have already fully submitted to its ethos.

To the rest of us, it is registered as a meaningless annoyance and promptly blocked out before its message can be delivered. People who actually use their brains respond much more positively to organic self-expression, even if it is less powerful or elegantly worded, than a Gandhi repost or a Neil Degrasse Tyson meme. Even when it is flawed, natural expression is more engaging and feels truer. More constructive conversations begin this way. Quotes from historical figures or current celebrities tend to incite ignorant screaming matches of a caliber only slightly higher than that of a religious debate.

You may find yourself writing a page of material before you choose just the right words, but I believe it is worth the effort. I mean, just look how genuine the previous sentence feels. There is a famous quote that says the same exact thing. Yet, if I were to have used that quote, I would have come of a bit preachy and pretentious. Instead I use my voice to speak my message.

Speak what you honestly believe, from an unguarded, slightly afraid place inside of yourself, or no one is going to give a shit.

Friday, August 28, 2015

Unawareness Groups

Whenever I see awareness groups for queers, women, and other minorities, I get confused. What exactly are they trying to do? Who are they appealing to? To me it seems like they're asking for help. If they are asking for help, then who exactly are they asking help from? They can't be asking themselves for help. That would be silly. So what group isn't forming an awareness group? White men. By that logic, these groups are simultaneously hating on white men while asking for help from them. That's stupid. That can't be right. Let's try something else.

Since the day I was born, I never noticed that there was such a thing as "different" people. I've always thought of people as people. They're all different. I saw them as individuals only to be judged by their own individual merit. I never lumped people together in abstract groups. Apparently I was wrong because there are all these clans of people that form based on the most tenuous of requirements. Like whether or not you were born with a penis, or what color your skin is. They make it seem like we were given a choice of this before birth and that by having these things, it makes your very personality and core characteristics change. I have no idea how this works. The logic here is fucking idiotic. Every time you form a "we" you also form a "them." Those in the category of "we" are good, wholesome people to be cared for and respected. Those others, those nasty bastards belonging to the 'them" are evil monsters not even worthy to be called human. Everything "they" do is an attempt to destroy everything that "we" believe in. "They" want to corrupt "us." "They" want to rape "us." "They want to kill "us" and "we" need to rape and kill them first in order to protect ourselves. Right? No. This can't be right either. Why would we form arbitrary lines in order to violate and fear those "others" who, we all really know, are exactly like us? Hmmmm... this is strange though. Those groups do exist and they definitely must have a cause other than promote hate and intolerance for no reason.

Many feminists have berated and insulted me because I was born with a penis. To my knowledge, I haven't done anything to deserve such abuse. Why are these women being so bigoted toward me? I just want everyone to be happy. Is that a crime?

I've also been threatened and yelled at by black people for simply existing. In one particular incident, I was buying a slice of pizza. As I was waiting for it, a black man was shouting about how the white man was keeping him down. That he never had a chance because the white man never let him have one and so on in that vein. He was yelling on and on about being oppressed by white people. That they are the problem and need to be fought. As he was yelling, I thought to myself, "I'm a white man. Am I oppressing him somehow? No one ever told me I was doing something wrong. How am I unknowingly oppressing this man?" So I walked up to the screaming black man. I waited until he stopped shouting, looking him directly in the eyes as I did. When he paused for a moment, I calmly asked, "How am I oppressing you?" He ignored me and continued to yell. So I interrupted him and said, "Excuse me. I am a white man. I live down the street and barely make enough money to afford food. How exactly am I oppressing you?" He continued to ignore me and kept on yelling. We weren't getting anywhere and my friends were really nervous for some reason and were trying to get me to wait outside. But I had a legitimate question. This man three feet away from me is talking shit about me for no reason. I would like an answer.

I didn't get one. The man never responded to me. He would only falter in his rant when I asked him questions, then continue as if I said nothing, albeit with a bit less conviction. Why will no one give me a straight answer? If I'm hurting you somehow, please tell me so I can stop. Why do people insist on being so difficult? How are we ever supposed to get anywhere as a species with this dumb crap constantly going on?

As my day to day (solitary) life goes on, I forget about pretend issues like this and almost forget silly things like this exist. Yet inevitably something happens to make me remember that I'm a terrible person and should be ashamed of myself. Like black appreciation month, LBGT celebration pride something or women appreciation day or whatever. These things remind me that I'm a piece of shit for being born a white, straightish, male. And that everyone else has it way harder than I do. That's right. Me. The very same person who, for most of my life, was told all day everyday that I wasn't wanted, that I didn't belong, that my existence was a drain on everyone around me. I've been bullied by all races, all genders. I've been locked in dumpsters by all kinds of people. I've been stuffed in lockers, jumped on the sidewalk, left bloody on the side of the road, humiliated by girls, exiled from classrooms, ejected from parties, looked at with undisguised disgust and hate, ignored, attacked by mobs of people at a time, held down and tortured, and that's just for starters. Where is the superiority there? Where's my privilege? I'd give $100 dollars to the minority who can tell me a more depressing life story than my own. I may be physically alive, but I died years ago.

At this point, I'm simply wasting time until that happens. I don't think I'll ever trust or get close to anyone again. Everything you see is a lie.

I got a little off-track there. What I wanted to advocate were groups composed of all kinds of people. Anyone who felt like they were being held back can join. There would be festivals and concerts and parties, all geared toward total acceptance of everyone. There would be no signs or posters or zines. If you weren't expressly told, you wouldn't know it was an event for any specific reason. We'd all just be cool to each other. There's only one reason to speak up about bigotry, and that's if anyone says anything bigoted. You don't yell at the person, you don't attack them. You simply and calmly let them know that type of behavior is not tolerated. That is enough. Realizing the mass of people around you could instantly become your enemies is enough. Trust me.

That's it. That's the one rule. When you join, you must accept that rule. That if you are aware of abuse, you are required to speak up. It's not so scary when you know that everyone else there has your back.

Monday, August 24, 2015


I've been thinking up new words for people who are like normies but in a bigger sense. Normies are dull, small-minded, cowards who entrench themselves in the titanic fog of the mundane. Choosing anonymity over self-expression. But there's another level to this. An upper echelon of ignorance. The main (and easiest) way to spot them is by their false belief that people of the past were any less intelligent than people are now. They love to look at random (usually incorrect on some level) events from history and pass judgement on the people who lived during that time. Before the discovery of germs, nobody really used soap. The Earth does seem pretty fucking flat from most places. A lot of these since debunked commonly held "truths" turned out to be wrong. That doesn't make them any dumber than you. They simply did not have that knowledge available to them. When someone (or multiple people working together) figured this crap out, it was then given to you on a silver fucking platter. So of course it seems like common sense to you. You've known it all of your life. But it's not like you figured that shit out on your own. If you were alive during these eras, you would most likely have believed the same wrong crap as everyone else.

Most of you believe marriage is all about love. This is what you've been told all of your life. You grew up watching animated movies devoted to the shit. You harbor unattainable expectations about love and marriage because that is what you were fed. Hate to break it to you, but all that true love, endless joy, happily ever after nonsense is a load of bullshit. Marriage has only extremely recently become a matter of "love." (Whatever that is.) I won't go into the history of love now because it will take to fucking long and you assholes can easily push a few buttons and find it yourself.

People have been at roughly the same intelligence level since the dawn of modern man. It's our knowledge that has had a substantial boon over time, not our overall intelligence level. We have gotten smarter, but only marginally so.

This is a series. There more of these. And they have millions of views. Tell me now how much 
smarter we are now than we were in the past.

And because I still don't believe you get it. Those highlighted words up there, are a link. You click them and it takes you to a video. You move your mouse cursor over the highlighted words. You push the left mouse button down.

Tell me now how much smarter we are.

Sunday, August 9, 2015

Workin as a waitress... in a cocktail baaaAAAAaaaAaAar

Alright. So basically there is this big fuckin place with a ton of shit on it. All kinds of shit. Shit that moves around and does stuff. Shit that just sits there. Useful shit. Entertaining shit. Cute shit. Weird shit. Hard shit. Liquid shit. Shit gas. All the kinds of shit you can imagine. And the one thing all this shit has in common is that it is all beautiful and special in it's own way. Which is nice.

The problem is that there is one very specific little type of turd that hates itself and wants to make itself as miserable as possible. We call these miserable fucks Human Beans. These bean people hate feeling happy and safe. They don't want to be loved. They just want the other bean poles to violate and abuse them. This is stupid.

So what I do is V simple. I go around fucking with the leguminous monsters. I come under the guise of a great and powerful destructor and all beans from fillet to romano worship my awesome might and prolific grandeur. I break them from the inside out. I corrupt their worldview. I sodomize their static perspectives and piss all over their crinkled brain sacks. After that, I trick them. It's easy. They don't even see it coming. I trick them into noticing the pulchritude within them and this big fuckin place full of shit. I get them to love themselves, the dirtball, and all the dumb shit on it.

And that's it. All done.

Click this if you are sexy.

Update* The government is probably following my every move and systematically destroying everything that brings me joy in this craptastic excuse for a country because the video/song this was named after was just removed. Now the title makes no sense! It barely made sense in the first place!

I know you're watching me, Government! I know you know how much I love jerking off. Let me enjoy the things I enjoy. Quit fucking with the system you yourselves put in place. Media exists to quell the anarchistic chaos-driven malintent notions within us before they can substantiate themselves in reality. I get that. I don't care. I'm not trying to start a revolution. I'm just an asshole. Now give me back my stupid videos, the rest of my Fleetwood Mac, more Cramps, allow someone to upload a good quality version of Bladerunner to Youtube, and let me continue to jerk off both literally and figuratively.

In lieu of this current dilemma, watch this instead. It actually makes more sense (which I despise)

Thank you

PS I'm sorry your job sucks and you're paid to creep on and make strangers sad. That blows.

Sunday, June 28, 2015

Substanceless Accomplishment

I don't believe being important in the eyes of others or making some vast change for humankind is actually any kind of genuine accomplishment. What is a person, after-all? A bit of nothing. No. Less than nothing. Completely and utterly inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. So what is zero multiplied by a million? A billion? 7 billion? Still zero. We're lying to ourselves. We push up others to heights we feel we will never reach in an attempt to create importance out of nothing. We tell ourselves lies to give meaning to supposed power and talent belonging only to the holy ministry of fame and it's disciples of celebrity. Cognitive dissonance on a massive level. By having a system in place that glorifies the few while devaluing the many, we protect ourselves from harsh, unmerciful truths. The few who made it become more than human. Eternal and god-like. The many console themselves with the idea that they lack the magical prowess of a deity required to elevate to such nirvanic heights. Whilst simultaneously birthing a reason to keep others from striving for the summit of their own ambitions. We can mock and vilify those who dare to dream. And if they fall, gratify ourselves with their ruination. A ruination that appeases the voices of fear within our minds. The ones that say you are never good enough. The ones that persuade you not to try, to stay where it is safe. Despite all the conventions driven into our brains from birth, there really is no point to anything we do. So, look upon Time's incalculable might, and tremble! Then get up, abandon your pointless fears, and waste what little time you have, doing what makes you happy.

I needed that. Every interaction with others is a test in self discipline. I tired of holding my tongue, or answering with a nod or a word. The back-flow of words is building to tempestuous grandeur and if I don't open the sluices I'm going to fucking suffocate in a mire of frustrated silence. I don't care if my opinions are sharp and biting. I need to set the steel-toothed monstrosity loose or suffer it's death-grip myself. I don't care who gets it or who is hurt by it. It needs to roam. I may not know what I'm doing, but at least I don't pretend I do. At least I can look at myself with pride, and face the uncertainty, standing alone, with head held high. Nothing out there can knock me down and I dare them to try. I'll never follow your advice. I could care less for your approval. And I refuse to be tied down by your needs

 It's just I've been feeling the tenebrous tentacles of my life constricting around me more than usual.

Wednesday, June 24, 2015


When I started smoking, I started for one simple reason: I wanted to die

For me, my inevitable death was the only comfort I had in life. And with every cigarette I felt one step closer to death. That was a good thing to me. That was the only freedom and peace I could ever look forward to in life of constant fear and misery.

As the years passed by, I always felt I would quit one day, if I lived that long. The age I always focused on as my quitting year was 35. If I was still alive by 35, I would quit because it was taking too long. If they don't kill me by then, they're only making life worse. So that is when I always promised myself I would quit.

Lately I've been thinking about this. I love to sing and I think about how much better I would be if I stopped. I think about how much faster, stronger, and better I would feel if I quit and I start thinking that I might actually do that earlier than planned. It is logical after all. I would feel healthier and better if I quit. I dwell on this more and more. And how stupid it is to smoke. I get almost to the point of deciding to give it up right away when that old question floats back into my thoughts: Do I still want to die?

It's a hard question. I don't really know if I can answer that yet. As incredibly better as life has become, I still feel old pains ringing out from my past. I still have issues and problems that drive me to loneliness and despair. I still can't tell whether I'm actually happy, or that I'm just that good at faking it. In short, I don't know whether I want to die or not. I've been alive too long to feel such comfort from drastic change. I've grown accustomed to this shit life. There are even rare moments where I even fear death.

Now that scares me. The thing that brought me so much comfort now scares me sometimes. What do I have left to look forward to now? Being scared of death makes me not want to live anymore, but not living anymore scares me, so I want to live, but I hate life, so I want to die, but I'm afraid of dying so I want to live, but I'm afraid of living so I want to die...  It's an ouroboros effect.

I hate this ambivalence. It pervades every aspect of my outer and inner life. It chases me in dreams and haunts my every waking moment. I feel as if I've lost all substance. Like I've become amorphous, hollow, invisible. I do not have an opinion one way or the other. I'm constantly torn by indecisiveness. I am simply existing. And at that, just barely. I have no goals. No ambitions. No motivation. All has become gray. Happiness is just a thing. No better or worse than sadness. Hardly even different at all. One flavor is as good as the next. Whether I disappoint or overachieve, I feel no different. I feel nothing, always. I see things and I understand them, but nothing truly moves me. It's all just there. I respond with how I feel I should respond, but without the actual feeling.

Do I still want to die? I don't know.
I'm looking for something, anything to breathe new life into me, but it is hard when you don't really care.

I drift.
I drift away.
I drift away from you.
And it goes unnoticed.
Without a whisper.
No sound at all.

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

I'm back. Miss me?

I have a lot I've been meaning to write. Now I know it is probably not a good idea to start with a horrible, hatred-spewing rant, but fuck you. This blog is for me, you're just along for the ride. If you don't like it, then do something else. I don't have the time or energy to pander to an audience I could care less about.

See? Bad.

This piece is about why I am so miserable. I adore myself and all I've done thus far. I'm not the problem here. The problem is much bigger than little ole me.

If you feel trapped and depressed. Maybe unfulfilled and tired. Fusstrated or downright peeved. Maybe this will help.

As of now, society has a sickness and we've been treating the symptoms, not the cause. A society is an organism like any other. So yes it can get sick! Its symptoms are generally seen as trends in mental illness. A doctor of societies can (in theory) diagnose the health of a social system based on its prevalent mental illnesses. But this is America! We have pills for that! Who cares about fixing problems? We just want to feel good, right?

Here is the unfinished piece.

We live in a world where heavy music is bad, light music is good, brown people are bad and white people are good. Where you should feel guilty for being happy, ashamed for being unhappy, and momentary pleasures are the name of the game. Money is life and fame is all that matters. To be religious is to be good, wholesome, but only if that religion is Christianity. A place where, right from birth, you guided toward assimilation. Conformity is rewarded, individuality is loathed. Caring about things and experiencing emotions are equated with lunacy. Negative thoughts and feelings should be suppressed, destroyed, and never shown. Hurting someone's feelings is worse than hurting someone's body. Nudity is more taboo than murder, torture, gore, rape, and violence. No one can be special on their own. To be special, you must first have the acknowledgment from others that you are special. Reading is boring and only for smart people. Smart people who are assholes that think they are better than everyone else and the sole reason to read is to make others feel stupid and shame them for not being readers. A place where beauty equals talent. Where people who are different must live in constant fear of unprovoked attacks. Obedience is rewarded. Ignorance and stupidity reign supreme. Women are little more than sexual objects and secretly desire abuse. Competition obliterates cooperation. Everyone believes they are entitled to everything. Scientific facts are only true if you agree with them. Stretching makes you a spiritual person. Humans are exploitable resources. Things are to be hoarded. We must be remembered. The leading reasons to bring a child into this Sick Sad World are loneliness, and depression from being a failure at life. Food is unhealthy for you. Natural resources are enframed, overfarmed, and overmined. Edible food is thrown away. Empty homes outnumber the homeless. Ads constantly bombard you from every direction. A place where six companies can own everything. Where freedom is only a word used in propaganda. Art is rigorously censured. People are consistently told that they never have enough. Most can't financially afford to be alive. Each of you are easily replaceable and deserve to be treated like slaves. You have no choice. And it is executed so subtly over such a long period of time that most of us don't notice until it is too late (if at all) and accept it as normal.


I also wrote an elegant bit of writing the other day that I plan to edit a bit and post later.
Then I am going to write an advice article on personal happiness you might find intriguing. Maybe it will help you to get closer to actualizing the bliss I feel every time I think of myself, and how sexy and interesting, and smart I am. I really am the greatest.

Saturday, January 31, 2015

Movie Synopsis and Review BLACK CANVAS

   For my first ever movie review I'd like to start with the little-known visual masterpiece (and one of my all-time favorite flicks) BLACK CANVAS from 1976, a movie whose history is nearly as dark as its contents.

  The film opens onto a completely black screen. Ambient, echoing sounds give the feeling of vastness and isolation. You hear a man wake with a start and call out into the emptiness. His calls fade away unanswered into the void. There is no color or definition save for the silhouette of a man in a suit and the natural graininess of the film. All is darkness. With every step the man takes, a faint glow appears on the ground and lingers as he walks on, slowly fading as he continues. The only visible things are the objects and surfaces the protagonist touches. They glow in an otherworldly light before eventually being engulfed in blackness.

  This trick is intended to mimic the helpless uncertainty of total blindness. We see by touch, and as our memory of the exact positions of things fade, so do the objects onscreen.

  Our unnamed silhouette of a man wanders through long corridors seeking escape, finding still more and more corridors. The effect is jarring. A few minutes into the film a distinct sense of helplessness pervades the mind. The longer he travels, the more panic sets in. It gets to be wildly discomforting, and before it can be too much to bear, or lose its effect, a glimmer of hope appears in the form of dim flickering torchlight.

  The man searches for a way to it maddeningly as he stumbles in and out of disjointed hallways. He at last reaches it, but is separated from its source by iron bars. The light is coming from a small lantern held by a shadowy cloaked figure who stops before the bars. The man shouts for help, yet the figure is unsympathetic. It mutters a few noncommittal words before slowly pacing away into the distance. Alone again, the man resumes his quest for freedom. Foreboding noises steadily grow from behind him, forcing him to move more quickly. He looks for his pursuer and is greeted only by endless blackness.

  This is one of my favorite parts of the movie because although the main character sees nothing, the audience is shown glimpses of terrifying and horrible monsters sliding through the background. This is executed beautifully as the man gets fed up of running and doubts there is anything behind him at all. I confess I cringed and whispered pointlessly to him to keep going as he shouted out for whatever was behind him to show itself.

  Ultimately, he does escape from the catacombs via a staircase into a moonlit garden of forking paths. He chooses one and follows it down. At one point. he is able to see across to some of the other paths and notices cloaked figures like the one before. They are carrying lanterns and leading others down the trails. The path ends at the top of a sheer cliff. He is forced forward as monsters emerge form the shadows behind and he decides to jump rather than let them have him. The film ends with our protagonist tumbling into darkness.

  This movie clearly draws inspiration from copious mythological sources. Thousands of years ago, people did not believe in heaven and hell. Instead, they believed in a single underworld where all souls went after death. The stone catacombs lined with coffins is showing us that this is a place of death and only the dead dwell here. The setting is cavernous and dark so even before we see the protagonist climb the stairs out, we already get the sense he is deep underground.

  In Plato's Phaedo, Socrates states that philosophy is a purification process. Those who cling to worldly pleasures are intrinsically bound to the material world, inexorably attached to their tombs, and dwell in a half-place before true death. Not only that, but he goes on to say that the after-world must be hard to navigate and that guides must be needed to traverse it. He explains that souls who have committed crimes against their fellow man are denied these guides and must wander aimlessly in torment through the after-world until they are at last reborn.

  This last sentiment changes the dark, sad finale into a hope-filled one. He is not falling into destruction or torment, but is instead being reborn here on Earth. He has escaped and found life once more!

  Other parallels include the after-world guides are seen in such examples as the Boatman, the Valkyries, and Dante's Virgil which lead me to believe with ever more conviction that this is a story of a dead soul navigating the afterlife and being reborn.

  Moreover, there are more references both ancient and modern hidden throughout the film suggesting to me that these inferences are not accidental, but planned. The several appearances of twin ravens hearken back to Huginn and Muginn. The function of the pursuant beasts to The Divine Comedie. The garden of forking paths to a lesser-known philosophical story of the same name. And finally the title of the film itself is a reference to the well-known series of painting that was ridiculed at first only to become recognized as great works of art upon closer inspection. I am speaking of Ad Reinhardt's "Black" or "Ultimate" paintings.

  Even with all of my repeated viewings, I am sure there is even more woven into this black tale that I have overlooked. It is absolutely overflowing with symbolism and references. Inscriptions carved into the stone walls of the underground library are replications of passages found in the Voynich Manuscript, hinting at otherworldly origins to legendary, unreadable 15th century codex. The faces of the demons that appear in the background briefly are reminiscent of Japanese legends that are steeped in meaning, too. I believe every aspect of this film was planned out and executed perfectly. It is a shame it never received the recognition it so rightly deserves.

  And now for a brief look into the dark history of this black film. The original reels were found buried in a warehouse in Los Angeles after a fire destroyed the building. Only the film's title, date, and director (George Marten) were printed on it.

  It was shown at a few small art galleries but was largely misunderstood and was not well received. It was put back in storage where another fire ultimately destroyed it, but not before (miraculously) it was transferred to videotape. Copies of the tape were made and a few circulated around film schools, cult movie enthusiasts, and collectors. Still, it never quite gained a large following. Most of the tapes were lost or destroyed in the ensuing years, but at least one copy survived and ended up being uploaded to a website of the same name. This is where I first viewed it. I watched it religiously until it was finally taken down. The ownership of the domain expired and it brought you to one of those ads saying it was available and asking if you would like to purchase it.

  I did some research and found out the former owner of the domain died unexpectedly at the age of 34, three years prior to the site being taken down. I regretfully have not seen it since. Every once in a while I do a search for it in hopes it will pop up again, yet all I've found thus-far was an old forum in which users talked about its history and rumors of curses for anyone who owns it. I can't quite write them off so easily as this film seems dead-set on destroying itself. Either way, if you get the chance to see it, I highly recommend it, curses be damned!