you dress like a skank. you know you dress like a skank, and you still dress like a skank

talking about dead philosophers,
let's synthesize our favorite principles like we're shopping for clothes:

"does this one make me look fat?"

"no, it makes you look like a whore."

finally,

i can finally run screaming down the street in a fit of paranoia and not worry about how temporary insanity may affect my academic standing.

godbless america.

sounds interesting.

[ fun with spam email. ]

Hi,

em.....
I gotta tell you something. Some years ago I used to watch porno often. I always admired those guys cumming.

They splashed out so much sperm on their girls, it looked so cool, so manlike.
Now I have a girlfriend.. but quantity of my sperm was so scanty, that I felt ill at ease.

I was advised to eat green apples but even this didn't help. A month ago I was hanging around at the bar with my best friend.

And he said that I should try MAX LOADS. Well, - I thought, - sounds interesting.

Having ordered and tried I was shocked how cool it was.

I'd even say, it changed my life. I'm happy. I even became a better lover, knowing how it all would end.

it's insane, i tell you!

someone ought to gather up all the books both written and unwritten by man and tally up all the words and strings of measly sentences. There have been many things written, and people are still writing. Most people are saying the same stuff over and over again, repeating what they heard and becoming vague toward the unfamiliar, but still pressing onward with the words in their head. verily, we are talking heads that like to hear ourselves again & again. Stand up please if you like to hear yourself speak. let these readings stand as pornography for poets: the awkwardness of watching other people have sex with themselves onstage for all to bear.

cheers.

moral absolutes / time-rehab / milankovitch cycles

we can say killing is wrong and take a stance of complete opposition, sure.

you could run over a pedestrian in your car and maybe nobody will witness it except you and the victim. thinking of the consequences for your actions, tell me the thought of safe escape by any means wouldn't cross your mind.

we tend to cover-up painful embarrassments. we tend to position ourselves better.

employee manuals for corporations tend to tell you 'we are all actors.'


. . .


i learned the price of addiction can exceed $14,000. for that pricetag, you get checked into a 30-day rehab clinic to be monitored at all times by a stranger / panopticon.

everybody wants your time.

let's aim for time-rehab clinics to break our cyclical dependence on time. the only cost is abandoning society and boarding up your windows to keep sanity intact.

. . .


shitting out that dead worm living inside you.
relief, staring into a bloody mess that's finally over.

raising babies. / i get it. / success.

one takes all their life experience and tallies it up as they see fit. they purport this exerience as grand, and relay as much as they've learned unto their offspring, hoping for the best. terrifed when it goes awry.

. . .

i've been a huge proponent of the eat/sleep/fuck/piss/animal dogma for over a year, and I finally get it:
the animal instinct.
i've pussyfooted around the notion of letting the cat play outside. until now, i only let her out for a few minutes at a time. but today: i let her out for over and hour, and i can sense the so-called savage, and realize it as only a half-savage, half-love. let it be known: i only call it love to relate to human, or my relation of what humane is.

the cat wandered around our parking lot, the neighbour's apartment complex parking lot, the front yard, and the side street. for the most part, she'd follow at a distance, tagging along because i was familar (or was it obedience???). mostly, we'd be 10-15 feet apart. i tried my best to keep her in view, even if she'd crawl under obstructions (i'd chuse a sentient point where i felt i could see her at all times, even if obstructed). i basically watched her like a hawk at every juncture, and made sure she wouldn't run away. i can't help but think my presence inhibited her, even if i kept her safe.

well, here's what i learned about alejandra approaching new material for the first time.
-if she sees a peculiar plant, she'll spend a good deal of time biting at it, presumably tasting it. i don't know if this is imporatant, but i'd like to think she was probably becoming familiar with her surroundings and generating a comfort level. i noticed she spent a good deal of time chewing the grass immediately outside our door, even if she'd been away from that place long enough to seem to have forgotten it.

-i can call her. i don't know if it's obedience, or if it's loyalty, or both. if i felt she was going into dangerous territory, i'd click or sometimes make some noise indicating me half scolding her. occasionally, she would act extremely cautious in new, presumably unseen terrain. if i called her name and used familiar methods, she would run to me, rub her face against my hand, and continue upon her way, always venturing forward. i think this is important. establishing levels of comfort before braving forward.

this is all important because we tend to forget how familiar we are with our environment. if i'd hear a noise, i'd think of what it'd be like to be the cat who hadn't heard a certain bird/vulture/combustible engine before in her life, and think of how that might make me feel. maybe that's human empathy, i have no fucking idea. i have no fucking idea why i think following my cat in the wilderness might be a good idea, in the grand survival-esque scheme of things.

. . .

my aunt explained to me how the catholics kneel in church for fifteen minutes. how it is some rule from the catholic church. i asked her why do you have to kneel for fifteen minutes and she said she didn't know, because the catholic church said so. my drunk cousin chimed in, because god thinks you have to kneel for fifteen minutes. per week. so fucking stupid. i agree with a pursuit of some form of religion, as we all adopt a means to interpret our lives and shortcomings, but organized religion and ritualized practice seem so fucking rudimentary.

"i'm going to kneel for fifteen minutes and try to clear my thoughts and think about jesus and what he gave. i am trying to clear my thoughts. football.. . .poontang. . . .success. . . moderation . . ., i must moderate, i must strike somewhere between here and there ***both made up*** and be fearful and seek wanton success and further injustice. i will support what i think is wright and i will fly."

. . .

punk fuckers want me to play their games. i am researching what it means to be animal. and nobody cares. that's fine. it's all part of my research. all the more beneficial for my half-assed thesis if you don't real care.

. . .


everbody believes apocalypse, because they believe the end. i've come to terms with death vision: the birds will chirp and some moments will seem slower and more clear than other moments of confusion and fear. i don't embrace these moments or any, really. my cellphone was busted and wanton destructo boys want to see pixels burn holes in their screens so fucking what.

some people see lives. other's see just people. i tried to argue this and fell flat on my face. i say even if morality and aesthetic as subjective, you can still blindly determine a projected fate over the course of our measly lives.

amen brother, fuck all. morality? nada. free will? maybe. fate? guided, but true. values / aesthetic: somewhere between here and there.

wrestling with language as a social construction and hence verily subjective and inabsolue: wrong. 99% is good enough for me. my veins pump and my lungs breath.


..

i am a scared battery of warmth.

success.