Monday, September 21, 2015

a lover of kingdoms.

war heroes are war geniuses. i like to go to the cult and hear them tell their war stories the same ones over and over because they're santa claus- because they do not know they're santa claus they need to project it onto the cult in order to survive. things seem merry in the microcosm (slammer).

i'm passionate about making heroism - not war!- i'm so passionate that i forget everything except the things i've done to get jesus to love me that i get all worked up into a sweat.

is what they call loverfest in regular language.

this is what keeps drinking positive- look, it's christmas, it's given me all of you, all of this. to keep it negative i say drinking is the number one deceiving constitution in the united states of america right now that i've got. everyone that's drinking is actually initiating themselves into the cult of those to whom drinking has given. drinking is obviously i repeat the number one most freely used form of deception in the united states right now though marriage is too and all words which have "cult" in the beginning of them and are culturally acceptable.
i've got so many stories and only one cult. we don't wear cloaks so it's a culturally acceptable cult. we're not into satanism (the doctrine of satan) or witchcraft and we only light candles during the holidays which are solemn and with paper holders around them. the wax that drips through reminds me of sadomasochistic sex of which i would be playing the masochistic role. roles need to be filled. it's what a job is....we all have to have jobs or else we'd all look like cows (but not the sacred kind).

it is impossible to spread myself out thin so i slit my legs up for others in the cult to proceed into examination; procession. there's stuff coming out and stuff coming in. sex. sex. sex- that elephant in the middle of the room. your gender is a gender that isn't mine and it reminds me of weird memories
more than words hurt and the memories never happened but i'm frightened of them and live on the outskirts of. it's not the words- it's my responses to them. my fight-or-flight; my reaction. reminders of my reactivity. it is important to - socialize- - - - - the less you do
that- - - -the less likely you are going to want- - to do
that- as if you wanted to do things in the first place- i don't experience pleasure- - - - haven't experienced an orgasm in ten years.

your problem. destroy your needs! i should be nice
to the whoever i am anger as hell at during those moments

although its cancer is eating me alive, my pervasive head
is the only safe place.

the german forest is black. the german forest is never ending. the trees of the german forest are sharp and spooky. they cut my skin. i run out in my nightie. i run out of skin to run in. i run out of blood.

i am a puddle of once-was (no memory- history).

the german forest runs away from a freaky cultish communist building. it is obsessed with structure, and not losing. everyone knows a cult when they see one but react differently. AA is a cult.

it compensates for the distaste of structure with blinding colors and repeating the same noises and words over and over and over and over and over and over and over

this is what i said: "must i go outside? i'm fine inside." but you've got to complete step number [x] or else you're going to feel terribly uncomfortable with yourself....
everybody is doing it; going outside. everybody is dreaming outside. it's california dreamin'. so, because i was still in this body- undeveloped and c-thru, however, within the body in which i had not felt safe- i had to go outside for my initiation to being "the only girl".

i did not want to be a big star, though, at the same time, i did. i felt guilty about it. i wanted to sit on it.
i was pushed out the enormous double doors- the front doors to the communist building. "no!" i was pushed.

i didn't have to go somewhere, but i had to leave this-where. this very place. i had to run away from the dark, ancient evil fortress. i can't open my cunt at will
she sleeps- she sleeps-
i'm sorry i run away from orgasms- i, i dont'- like- them- sex
is stupid- i don't want to be an animal- but since- i had
sex- i run to the woods- to the animals- away from the

haunted castle- fond of love- but not of being
a posession- an object- i want to be
my own object- my own switch and bait experiment- my own
taking things too far- over the edge
i run into the black forest- meaning to run away far past

the black forest- from the
black forest-

without learning anything about
nature- i am nature. everyday i go to sleep. every night i go to sleep. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz,

hello. (i wake up).
i am a nymph- a forest nymph. little else do i know. i am a little hard
of hearing.
i sweep sweep sweep for little men in a little cottage. it's a quaint little cottage. i am six feet tall so i have to lean over, but that is okay, because it is practice for my future of osteoporosis. my mother had it. who was my mother?
the little men with whom i live in a cottage said they found me one day. i was a puddle of indeterminate fluids, but it wasn't animal piss, so it was worth looking at with either wonder or curiosity for half of a moment. "are you my mother?", they tell me i said.

"yes," they said. yes. they said again. yes. yes. yes. yes. so it became- the little men with whom i live in a cottage are my mother, and also fragments of my self. they are very reflective, so they are mirrors.

"now sweep-sweep," they said, in unison, "and don't go accepting half red half green apples from ugly old women who come to the house. talking to strangers is a normal people thing to do, and we want you to be special. you are the only girl; a star."

"okay," i said, but i was hard of hearing, and i couldn't get the hang of lip-reading as of yet, so it was irrelevant. it was lip service i paid them- they paid me with a place to clean. i was just scared, mostly, but also determined to sweep-sweep. to have control over my environment.

"oh, and only girl? if you do accept an apple from this old lady?" they added.

"yes?" i nodded, with a perplexed expression.

"you'll get in trouble. don't do it. or else."

or else tasted like something i wanted to be curious about.

little dearie- emily-

i heard something; gasped.

yes- emily- that be- you- knock. knock. i've got a knock knock joke.

i went to the door, curious.

your figure, dear. your figure! wouldn't you like
an apple? it's half red because

it's that angry, and half green because no matter what,
it comes from a tree.

my figure? an apple? i got it. i was hungry.

it took convincing.

apple. i ate it to the core- i even- sucked the worm out- and swallowed-
it- whole.

i was asleep, and limp in someones arms. it was a carriage that was
taking me to the big city.

cit-y? i said.

you vapid fruit.

what's a cit-y?

a cit-y is where a chosen one belongs.

in the city, i met more little men. i went to somewhere small where i wasn't allowed to sweep-sweep so it drove me a little crazy called CBGB's. before i wilted entirely (women: flowers), i was swept up behind a microphone where little men jumped and jumped around me and were noisy. i was charismatic and stylish and led the little men into shithole after shithole. we became arena rock!

WASHINGTON, HUNGARY, SEA WORLD, GERMANY, ISIS TERRITORY, INTERNET, RESOURCE AVAILABILITY EVERYWHERE- SOS: asking for advice- second opinion advice. disturbed by advice given to original advice request and the source. disturbed by advice-asking in the first place. it's hard! i'm awkward! i have to humble myself and really really quickly, because my self is the only authority left in town- in ghost town, i need to re-learn all the stuff the self learned from scratch; need to undergo hypnosis. i need to destroy all developmental foundations of my education- for the best. i need to grow without overpowering myself.
the countries that hardly exist anymore went silent like the stub of the giving tree when i rang them for a word. those countries are decomposed, which is the opposite of how i'm gonna be. if we consider semantics today, the countries that hardly exist anymore are called "wastelands". i see weak parts of myself in them and that's why i let them deteriorate.
the world continues to orbit in spite of the wastelands, because even wastelands (shitholes), in time, which also has a lot of authority, change.
i personally believe change has the most authority (gravity) of us all because even after i hack my history and die it will continue existing. change is all of the elements ever.
wastelands, however, are the most grim card of the tarot deck. i suspect not the devil because the devil doesn't scare me a lot.
we need top secret ingredients to historical recipes. over.
we need to copy you. copy. i saw on CNN this morning that policies and politics don't matter anymore and that's why personality is really really important.

i need to be a star when i grow up. everyone hates me. i need a reason. over.

let me tell you a story.
let me tell you that the latin roots of new words are as distant as distance gets. it pushes my eyes back until i'm blind and i don't remember anything except a strong sensation of distance.

it's about a man of metal who was taken from an akira kurosawa film and thickly pasted into a future setting.

he is drinking water today, to be good; to keep himself hydrated. it adds wellness to your life

to keep yourself hydrated. drinking water is really good for you even if it's tap water.

he is a shark so you have to watch out unless you have advanced degrees in science, because scientists are elite. they are knights; noble people. queen elizabeth likes their music and invites them to learn how to go to parties; teaches them etiquette. if you do not kiss their feet people get mad at you.

tetsuo the shark was a shark whose face was eaten by a faceless shark. the faceless shark was an envious shark and wanted faces; wanted a collection of faces to choose from; wanted choices. other people had choices, so it must be a natural (decided) merit that he was deprived of.
this story is about tetsuo, however.


tetsuo also grew envious of those with faces. he could just sense everyone except him had a face. "never like sharks," he would warn other sea creatures, "sharks are loners for a reason. we fuck with others."

sharks kill people and wear real leather. they aren't listening to you- they're calculating their priorities. they don't know you all that well like how you assume they do. they hardly know you at all.
sharks are born with remarkable drive to be very famous- not just smart, but ambitious (01:02). they want to be very famous. "make me a star," they write the studios, the president, to god, they write all sorts of resources and to the bottomfeeders as well.

pimps. whores. et cetera sex workers. dealers. office-workers. inner city children. (inner city children are bottom feeders because they steal the hard earned cash of their parents and everyone else- instead of stealing it from strangers who they'll never feel bad about stealing from more than a little.

they steal for expensive sneakers and coats marketed toward them by rich people (this is how the rich people make their money- it's not their fault they have to be this way), simply because they didn't have the guts to kill other inner city kids for their expensive sneakers and coats.)

bottom feeders live without remorse. they should be so sorry but they just aren't because they're all sociopaths. they've made so many mistakes in their lives. they just numb themselves out from thinking about it because the rich people market their products to fit right into this habitual pattern of the bottom feeders


called nobody from nobody (in a persecuting tone) who just happened to live in a body which was more like a machine than a body. tetsuo's body was metallic, silver, and also overheated. maybe, this whole time, he just had a fever.
tetsuo wore expensive coats and sneakers made by rich people- highbrow feeders, givers- those who worked from food pantries who shouldn't get in trouble just because their food pantries are more desirable than others.

tetsuo had no right to wear expensive coats and sneakers. he wasn't a direct descendant of black panthers. he didn't have politics or policies. however, he was interested in investing his time into getting a personality.

tetsuo swam in spit. his mother kicked him out of the ocean because she hated him. he might as well not have been swimming in spit though, because he didn't know that he was swimming in spit. he didn't deserve spit, anyway. spit has nutrients in it.

tetsuo wasn't afraid because he was brave or anything. he wasn't afraid
because he was a dumb shark. a domesticated beast. a dog. a slobbering aged disgusting dog.

you have to keep in mind that metal-for-brains came from one end of the world to the opposite. he jumped from one extreme to the other.

there was a young lady he was going to fall in love with. she was seventeen years old at

the time, (he was at least fifty and he wore creepy white sneakers) but she would be

eighteen years old exactly within a few months.

surly-ann was this young lady. she wore dumb-girl target-me pigtails.

she lives next door. she knows what you are doing- that which you care

about and that which you do not care about.

"you care a lot about your feelings. i do too."

she has problems with her nose. she wants to get a nose job one day. she uses toilet

paper to blow her nose with. because you know so much about her, you no longer

care for her more than you would an old shoe. but goddamn, do you have some

weird emotional attachment to that shoe. in your head, you still polish it.

do you honestly expect me to feel differently now that you tell me you were abused

as a child? do you think being abused makes you special? this is what metalhead

cruelly, and rhetorically as well said to his lolita-lover, although he also has been

caught explaining his childhood too. his autobiography might have a lot to do with

his feelings which have nothing to do with science. so, it is bearable to talk about.

surly curly sits by his side and pisses herself on the carpet. she cannot take

her hearts-for-eyes off of his eyes. tetsuo's eyes, too, are lovely, however-

very far away. unreachable. they don't want to die, but they don't care

if anyone else dies.

hey, surly: my head is in deep shit. how about you?

hey, robot: mine too. but what else is happening right now? for me,
other parts of myself are in deep shit, too.

don't just lie there wounded, surly: do something
with your pigtails, surly. what song was in your head when you woke up today?
what color is your throat lubricated in right now?

you are a brave, brave, girl. surly: have sex with me. the last thing i fucked
was a bowl of stale chips the other day. i do it everyday. it's up to you
to break my habitual pattern. surly? the real thing...i'm shy, but honestly,
it's been so long for me.
i'll be on my best behavior while i court you, silently
examining you, until i figure out
what it is i want from you. then, you become a thing.
an object, that's right. you fade into obscurity and i don't care.

it's calling baiting the hoe. bait and switch. some people are just programmed

that way. don't treat them any differently then how you'd like to be treated.

centralized authority is the name of the game so too am i. hormones aren't

emotional. hard facts aren't emotional. emotional people live on the outskirts

of culture. they're actually not supposed to be there, but they're a friendly culture.

they're a friendly culture of nomads who explore the deep seas of emotions. they,

themselves, are super duper deep.

artists are a waste of life. they can't focus on shit other than ideas. ideas

carry them away. i don't care if artists are brilliants.

i'd like for you to marry me. i'm not ready.
you're not ready. well, let's see. i'm not ready, either. we both
know- and we both know a lot- that this
is a stupid thing to do. but we'll do it together.
so, we'll figure it out.