Saturday, January 23, 2016

my poor baby.

if i'm not religious, but i have a lot of curious thoughts about religion, is there a chance i'll get into heaven? is it like winning the lottery? and then you get a relationship with god and you don't have to worry about not knowing anything about anything except god anymore? santa? santa? can you read minds- are you reading mine?
what does winning the lottery mean- does it mean i don't love the way things were before and now i get to exclaim it? am i expanding on something? what is it on which i expand? you've got it!- my legs are being torn further and further away from each other. fleas nest at the center- at the center is the return of stillness. my soul trying to tolerate my shit and give me a chance. that's where the fucking plague started and you know it, cut the crap. in humanity, there is nothing for us to discover in one another. we are addicted to ourselves which don't even exist. my self is a manipulation probably the government or his friends jammed between the squishy parts of my squishy brain. you like that, don't you? my mind is a manipulation that couldn't have been avoided but nobody had it in me to kill me. my mind is a battle field of weeds and roses trying to choke each other before they reach the sun. this was how i learned what sex was- from the conflict inside the boundaries constructed in my thinkings. still wanna fuck?
my mind does not exist outside of its idea of itself. you know how i live with that kind of thing? with hostile body language..

you sure you're okay with spending your money on my pussy? motherfucker is a viper. it loves to cuddle up around men three times my size and break every bone in their bodies.
masturbation does not exist without them. these guys are my daddies. when we arrive wherever their wives aren't, i tie them to whatever they can be tied to, put my pistol against their temples, and tell them to shut-up while i'm making money, which is always up to me.
emotional attachment does not exist because of them.
once, i was a particle floating off the all-knowing mother of female passive sexuality- a real cookie seller, all right. i am an angel passing by each personal goal in order to have something else, some shit i don't care about. all of this matters to me, watching my shit get flushed down the toilet- the doctor i could've been. the lawyer i could've been. the clown, the dirty dog, the magician i am. i don't want this shit.

in the united states of america, romeo and juliet were a couple of silly kids, real whores. those two tumbled with typicality like bowling pins to the cover of every gossip magazine or every magazine. they killed their bodies quickly with as much pain a person is permitted. in the limelight they sobered up, the way propriety makes sure of it. they met. soon after, they were together. next, married. next day, pregnant. unfortunately they cheated on one another with themselves and both caught each other in the act. (it was easy as neither of them realized they were fucking up).
they divorce. juliet downs poison. romeo follows suit. it is all very complicated and unfortunate- basically they both had cancer somehow. laboratory-born cancer. it's all the fault of our families at the end of the day, is it not?

once upon a time i was a little girl with a big name and no idea what a dream is supposed to be under the rule of the general construct of society which gives us bullshit cancer, spills radioactive substances in our tea. i did not understand the use of adding definition to the dream that is life. this is important to mention.
my parents had to take care of their own shit and, it meant leaving a regret behind in order to set themselves free- they forced themselves into feeling sad as much as they could be couldn't do it.
i was deported to a very conservative kind of country. it would be that i'd be exorcised everywhere i'd go. i'd also get jumped regularly and pushed into this dizzying, blinding self-trafficking circle- if i wasn't drained of all my honey at this rate!- i'd continue fucking however i was fucking before because that's how i happen to come across when fucking. (it's not about fucking somebody. it's about somebody seeing me fuck.)

and i'd been forcing my fucking in the faces of anyone i'd fucking see because i was molested and you better listen up about that and my tits are everywhere now.

one night, early american anarchists ("i'll do what i want")-two dandies: in a dream of mine came a boy and a girl. both had assholes- that's all i could really see, and they were talking and spitting. laughing at me. i really really want to be a guerilla girl when i grow up, so it's important i take the shit.
according to the thinkings of the boy and the girl, they were big believers in chance, following chance, without even knowing this; sitting back and watching the universe, until they tried to manipulate it themselves. then all went to hell.
their names were romeo and juliet. they never fucked anyone before, though they were both thirsty for honey.
juliet got her period at the age of fourteen. she got diarrhea too. she thought it was funny, so she flaunted her soiled panties in the public square. juliet had a very young soul.
romeo woke up pissing himself every day because the content of his dreams were sexual. he was able to exonerate his dreams very easily- not for any other reason than that they got his cock hot and that's all he wanted from life. romeo walked around with a stiff dick everywhere he went. he learned to get into diarrhea, even, which juliet had.
when romeo traced the scent of juliet in the public square, they made the mistake of reading the souls of one another in their eyes before anything else. allowing love to take over your life makes you become co-dependent.
they took lubricated condoms and turned them into balloons. often, they would burst on their faces. they would lick the loose bits and the lubricant off of one another's faces. still in the public square, everyone thought they were homeless- they frolicked in the fountains, unaware of the dirty dirty filth and hypodermic needles laying at the bottom.
these hoodlums did whatever they wanted because they weren't told any other ways of being- of acting. some old friends of mine had warned me about those two. the two that talk about life experience but have nothing to say about what they learned from it. the two that are my parents.

fucking psychotic motherfuckers are my parents therefore me.
they started all the filler information we too have since compelled ourselves to magnify, as in ideals or ideas stuck in our values, crapping out on us, clogging- until they burst in our faces. tumors tumors everywhere.
the solar system exploded to teach anyone happening to listen that you can never have something that can't exist no matter how badly you want it. i fist-fuck myself every night hoping to relieve myself of my dryness. i believe i'm getting fucked like mad, but i'm on top of my shit. i know that this is a passing fuck.

i want the history of my fucks to be erased so i can stop fucking. i want my clitoris to be snipped and stapled up. i want my vagina to be stapled up.
i want my history to drip down my legs out of my underwear with scraping unwanted sound.

i pretended to want it, hurting everyone in the process- because they did not feel my wanting.

i want to pretend everything inside of me, everything i focus on, can come true. i want you to know that the only thing there is to me is playing pretend. i've been lying and hiding as long as i can remember. this is my maker meeting my perspective- "look at this shit." i wouldn't be anywhere without my perspective which i do not care for. the surface of my body is jagged with the history of a mountain. no, i care not to look at everything and call them names. i wish to invite them toward me and look at what they seem to see.
get me out of this chair, at once. i wish to unveil what it is my speculation truly is. we need eyes all over it. we need eyes glued and melting down the body.
without eyes glued and giving attention, this is not clay our hands have touched all over. this is a display of some kind of attention; perspective testing its feelers.

i am coming it barely hurts or matters because i'm dry. i've lost pleasure- i'm sick of it.
i am coming honey. it doesn't matter to the tricks i turn until i stab them. lost count how many times.
i pretend it means something to me. i pretend i am dead.
i pretend i ooze honey.

i want you to die. i want you to pretend you're dead. i'll get my stuff back that belongs to me, stolen long ago, if you do what i say for once.

we will be dead until then. it will be nice.