until someone reads it...

i'mma fuckin' post it.
​​
i don't even feel like writing this. i don't have the motivation. plus my fingernails are too long, and it's hard to type.

three recent incidents with women.

crystal. i told you, one of the things she said that bothered me the most, was that she didn't want to touch me because my cock was too big. so i finally confronted her about that a couple weeks ago when she's trying to be my friend again. she ends up joking about it loudly infront of her two gay buddies like it's funny, still not getting my point. since then, she won't talk to me much. the other day when i was panhandling, she came to the seven eleven with her two gay buddies, i was trying to joke with her, and said 'where's my hug', when she hugs me, i said 'i'm still curious to see if i fit inside you', and she gets disgusted and says 'you had to ruin it'. i'm sorry that women don't even have a sense of humour anymore. less than five minutes later, she spreads her lips and asks me if i can see her cameltoe. are we children here?

yesterday in starfucks. i see jamie and trish crowded up around this foreign dude's computer who i took to have a heart the other day. he's not too bright, and i think his desktop looks like shit. my buddy mike thought he was more suspicious than that. a few hours later, jamie comes up behind me and hugs me, and says 'and i can hug this guy all day long'. i said 'i see you ladies crowded up around dude's laptop, and i still can't get anyone to even look at mine', and she says 'i'm walking away now'. boy, they sure don't want to hear my feelings, so what do they want to hear?

this morning. i'm sitting here, it's six:thirty am, i just got plugged in about an hour ago, i'm sitting here trying to focus on what to do. the other day when i was panhandling, the same day crystal had to 'ruin' the joke, the lady with red hair i've met a few times, that reminds me of the singer in 'lost in translation'... she sees me panhandling, and gives me ten bucks. over the last few weeks of knowing who she is, she's told me about love interests, family, friends, and what she plans to do with her life at this point... older lady, maybe in her fifties... pretty much, she wants to start doing open mics and stuff... by the way, she's told me all this before i've gotten to say a fucking thing about myself, my website, or my pursuit of talents, she doesn't know shit about me. all she's heard out of me is fragmental small talk and mumbled answers to 'how are you doing today'. that's all she wants to hear from me. anyway, this morning, she walks in, and sticks her face right in my face, right over my shoulder, damn near infront of my laptop, makes me take my headphones off, cause i'm never allowed to have my headphones on in this fucking society, because my job is to answer the dumbest questions possible, repeatedly, every five minutes throughout each day, so trying to have metal in my ears is like trying to have a female touch me. i don't get what i want in this life. people rarely give me shit, especially ears, arms, or hearts. she asks me for a dollar. i said i don't have it, i'm broke this morning. she stutters out this chunky and almost incoherent, 'then i'll never buy you a coffee again, just goes to show people's selfishness, i've been asking everyone'. at least that's what i could piece together. first of all, you didn't buy me coffee. but i felt like ranting at her in the starfucks, which would have gotten me kicked out. but i feel worse for having held back my response. i felt like saying 'what the fuck did i ever do to you? all i ever ask is to be touched or appreciated, i don't want anything else from this stupid society, i hate money, and i never get touched, you women can't even look at me, then you treat me that way when i can't fucking please you, what the fuck do you want from me? how perfect am i supposed to be before you can make it worth my time? does that question even make sense to you? i don't want your fucking money, read my fucking blog, that's what i want!'. i don't have any money, what the fuck do you want from me, i'm homeless, asshole.

i'm fine with being outdoors. i'm fine with being dirt poor, and not being able to afford anything. i'm not okay with being this invisible, untouched, unwanted, in a society that revolves more around money and paranoia, than physical contact. i give a fuck about cash. touch is my currency. and i think women's minds are too tiny and too scared to figure out what kind of touch i'm talking about.

i mean, open up your fucking heart. give yourself to someone completely. like my wife and i did with eachother within days of meeting eachother. surrender and let go of fear. that's what i fucking mean when i say touch. don't hold back, not even one hand, not even one moment. that's what i'm willing to do with every female i meet. they do not reciprocate that. and no one understands that.

i showed you that tool song, 'cold and ugly'.

underneath her skin and jewelry, hidden in her words and eyes, is a wall that's cold and ugly, and she's scared as hell.
trembling at the thought of feeling, wide awake and keeping distance, nothing seems to penetrate her, cause she's scared as hell

am i the only person that doesn't possess these fears? these inhibitions that only keep us separated from eachother? these childish excuses, that's how i see them. can we not mature? can we not grow the fuck up already?

but history has taught us not to take a chance. history has taught us that the brave do not survive. yeah, did i miss something? how the fuck did that happen? when did the weak, fragile people take over?

and how many of them do i have to wade through to find a heart? there are oceans of mindless, fearful clones around me.

and speaking of cash, i wasn't even asking you for cash anymore, you've helped me out more than enough, and you've got your daughter to worry about. if i had one person's help, though... i could still handle my own shit. before, when i was alone, and handled my own shit, that other person was my car. and i was able to take care of my mother. managed to maintain a life for five years without having it destroyed by everyone else and their 'spontaneous decisions of responsibility' that destroy everything i've ever known too often. that is, until it was destroyed by exactly that all through twenty thirteen.

you want to mend some of the heartache in this fuckin' heart, it's gonna take a lot more than ten bucks. get the broom, start sweeping up the pieces of glass. you've got to superglue every piece of glass back together with every other piece of glass, like building a fucked up puzzle, it's also kinda like the game 'operation', you can't hit the wrong sides, you've got to be very gentle, it's a delicate job, and takes a lot of human heart, and some steady hands, then, you've gotta start seeing a face in that reflection, that's the hard part. you've gotta gain trust, get that face to stop crying, break through some impossible barriers and traumas, minefields of triggers, get past the security system, and still have the dedication left that it takes to plant yourself in that heart, and get it beating again. you think you have what it takes to even grab the fucking broom? didn't think so. so thanks for the ten bucks, lady, but i'd rather give you every dime i'd ever have for a fuckin' handjob, cause it's worth more. for what i got ripped off this month, i could have bought an eight dollar hooker, but i would have given her three hundred just to emphasize to her how much more i need the physical contact and passion than she needs all that money. figure out who the fuck you're talking to please, before you act that way again. figure out that my tolerance for that treatment is gone, and next time it happens, i won't hold back. i'm tired of being walked on by you fucks who couldn't care for me if i paid you to. oh, and i forgot to add, included in the whole 'mending this heart' package deal... some other requirements in the fine print. you have to not only read all my blogs and poetry, but memorize it, give feedback on it, study it... you know... the general practice of someone who's... say... dedicated enough to life to... oh, i don't know... become perhaps an einstein scholar? see, to be a scholar of a person, you need to know everything there is to know about that person, and do you think it takes the puny level of dedication you can muster, or something a lot more grand? you dumb fuck.

do i have to join mensa to find people to talk to? do i have to join a nudist community, or fly to hedonism in fucking jamaica to find someone willing to touch me? do i have to fly to sweden to start a fucking metal band? cause it ain't fucking happening around these stagnant fucking morons in this country. small talk has retarded you. consumption has consumed you. and you've got no fucking clue.

go ahead, watch more television and forget all about me.
forget all about the value of that poem i wrote, it doesn't mean shit to you.
forget what i was saying about utopia, forget that i was even here.
and maybe someday, my share of happiness can reside in you.

but i'm sick of being misunderstood and walked on. especially by women. i want a lot more from you ladies than money. you're gonna have to get that through your impenetrable layer of fears, ignorance, and cold hard credit card protected skin, and all those layers of ugly plastic product fucking clothing you have to wear to protect the excuses why. oh, i know exactly what's in there, but it's just the pink flaps of skin i'm looking for, not all that other shit, and the wrapping, and the fucking 'sealed by nasa' label... no... i used to know this killer joke, and joe, this is just for you, in this email... ready?

you know what that useless piece of skin around a vagina is called?

woman.

sorry. i know it's good. take a moment. there you go. yeah. yeah, they don't make 'em like that anymore, i know. okay.

so... yeah. that's where my heart is this morning. it drags like an anchor through the concrete. because of you fucking females. that's what i think of you, you cowards. fuck you.

that's why i still have a picture of the mother of my children sucking my cock on my fetlife page. for what that bitch did to me, she'll always be suckin' it.

fuckin' women. useless, worthless, careless, mindless, chaotic idiots. good for no solution. and i'm still hopefully only talking about maybe ninety percent of them. the ones with price tags in their eyes.

why is everyone else so fearful. why can't i find anyone who, like me, has been through the shit enough that it's hardened the skin just enough to not still lock people out, but actually let someone in.

is that even possible. is that even worth trying.

to think, i typed this whole fucking thing anyway, even with my fingernails too long, and i'm still going. i got the point out long ago.

fucking women.

i'm so doing at least one show, if not several, where i basically go on a full on offensive against women and the mentality they have to fear men, i want that destroyed. they wanted equality, but didn't even know what they were asking for. you want equality, than let go of your fears and step up to my fucking level. meet me on my fucking level. till then, you're not worth a fuckin' handjob to me.

if i looked back on all the shit that women have destroyed in my life, or taken from me. maybe compared it to what men have destroyed in my life. and everything i've done for women.

(i'll be honest, i haven't done much for men... there's nothing from them i'm needing to get that bad).

and if they need a little incentive, i'll just bet that i'm not the only guy that feels this way... are we done here?

now i'm gonna go watch natural born killers and try to piece together some brain matter.