looks like her

okay.

as i'm finishing writing that last post, klarity shows up. i finish it, push the laptop over toward her, and i go out and smoke, and she reads... what i assumed she would... less than half of it. i was sitting out there smoking, and i thought to myself, she'll only read about half of it. it would have been followed by 'how much you wanna bet', but thinking that to myself isn't funny. in my own mind, i actually try to cut down on unnecessary verbage. what minimal time that is. anyway, she read about half of it, and i come back in, she says 'wow', pushes away, i hand her a cigarette, she says 'thank you', and goes out to smoke. i love the reactions i get. i wish people could ever consider their reactions and the effect they might have on the person requesting them. she comes back in, and gives me her 'more thought out' reaction. honestly, it was minimally helpful. what i found most helpful was the sympathetic aspect of it, but rarely do i find the advice helpful. sooner or later, this society's going to have to realize, what works for you, what helps you... does not work for me. that's what fifty percent of my blog is about, all through the history of my writing and having to explain myself, clarify myself, repeat myself, over and over, defending myself... you'd think someone could just understand once in a while. and say 'dude, i get you, one hundred percent'. not followed by any ancient advice or dust covered opinions. because i honestly feel like i'm hearing the echoes of your ancestors saying the exact same shit through your ear to mouth tunnel. she said that most of it was overgeneralized, which is fine, i tend to do that a lot, and i don't mind it. she said i might have misunderstood the interactions on the beach, that a 'double take' isn't a bad thing, and that the 'instagram' girl might have been saying something completely different. that's fine, i'm hoping i'm usually misperceiving those sorts of things. most the time in my head, i'm tracking two different perspectives of those thoughts, the one more hopeful than the other, thinking that their thoughts are more along the lines of 'why doesn't he come over and introduce himself?', or something like that. but to those thoughts, in my mind, i react with feelings of despair, which i cannot help, because i've introduced myself to so many people and circles of people, why can't anyone ever approach me? i imagine things in my head differently as they're happening, seeing all the different possibilities of what could be happening in that moment. alternate realities branching off in fractals of everything that could happen. when the naked lesbians came out of the water, i felt like the short haired one could have walked up to me and said high. naked, brave, smiling, dripping. she could have said 'you wanna come over and share weed?'. she could have said 'nice legs'. she could have said 'what are you watching', or 'is that the daily show?'. anyone could say anything to me, but it's me who has to initiate every fucking conversation, no, that is not fucking fair, on a social level, or an antisocial level. should i have to be the one to initiate every fucking conversation i ever have? seriously? how do you justify that? what excuse could you vomit out into my lap at this moment? how valuable should i expect it to be? no, i hope i'm misunderstanding you! i fucking hope to all of my dreams that i'm misunderstanding these situations! if i had a god, that's what i'd pray for! but how am i supposed to know when all the evidence i have to go on is that strange sour look on your face, and no words ever exchanged? because the language i understand much better than poetry or whatever shit you're spitting out... the language i'd much rather speak... is physical contact. flesh. the true language of connection. what the words should lead to. the goal. the higher level of communication.

so... she came back in, and told me those things, made a few calls on my phone, and then said...

she said 'why do i try?', and i tried to tell her, i ask myself that constantly.

then, she said...

...

what does success look like to you?

...

she said that should be our question of the day, that we should try to answer.

she said yes, most of the world functions on money, so it's hard to find the few who don't. it's one thing to say that, it's another to say it while stepping to my side of the fence. in fact, i'd be impressed if you kept the sentence going while sliding out of that haze, realizing you're suddenly all alone. so i ask you, klarity... do you know what it's like to oppose everyone? do you know why you would?

do you understand the purpose of doing so?

so... okay... we'll answer that question. what does success look like to me?

we stepped out of a cave, thousands of years ago.

man got to thinking... girl getting too bitchy, i need better ways to make her smile.

caveman doesn't quite translate on google, he could have meant 'moist' rather than 'smile', but what's the difference? the level of offense a female should feel?

women get offended by the dumbest shit. to men, what appears as a cooking recipe, or a chemical mixture, to a woman, is a mixture of ingredients she has to approve of or agree with, and therein lie the chaos between the communication or conveyance of what should be a savory meal. why worry over the curry? it's edible art, and they can't just be pleased. like the mother of my children. analytical to the point of total destruction and desecration of art, yet defends my art to others who desecrate it. and then sends me a note saying how she wants to stalk our children. as a chemical recipe, what would that resemble to you? a stable mixture, or an unstable mixture? and i should take how much comfort in that? see, i get two sentences into the concept, and i'm already off on a paragraph of explanations and horseshit because i have to clarify what 'smile' could translate to in caveman. fuck this stupid fucking brain. stay focused you piece of shit!

i don't see how i could write a book using this fucking skull turd. it's like, my brain started off as a rock in the old arcade game asteroids, but ships kept chipping away at my rock by firing little complaints at it, like bullets with 'you're not good enough' fortune cookies etched on the sides, and after you take enough damage, and your rock gets smaller, and your perception changes, and you start to believe that you're not good enough, you start to believe that your mind is a piece of shit. sure, people having gotten to the end of their road by driving a beat up old datsun pickup truck just as rewardingly as someone who drove a jaguar to their golden grave, but it's the efficiency i question, not the appreciation. people keep telling me i have to be positive first, before those outside me would react positively to me... which sure sounds like something my delusions would say. if you were real people, real authentic genuine humans, it shouldn't matter who acts positively first, if it's the reaction that needs improvement. is that making sense yet. i'm asking my delusions to prove to me that they're authentic humans, and they just keep feeding me the same shit, 'you go first'.

i tried leading by example before, it got me nowhere. through arguments and blame, through judgments and shame, i've dragged that explanation in an unrecognizable black body bag.

to make the example, started smiling, giving compliments, trying to inspire, giving an increased level of sympathy and compassion, being verbal about my admiration, trying to offer ideas as opposed to opinions... it would still end in me being called a downer, or too negative. now, sure, i only really tried this in san francisco, but should i have to repeat an experiment in every city expecting different results? or would i just be proving that hippies don't exist anymore? that love is in fact dead? chained to price tags, therefore no longer free? it honestly took me too much mental tracking to be that much of a part of a group, just to only expect any recognition much further down the road. i kept asking myself, how much more do you need, how much reassurance that i am who i say i am? what the fuck more do you need? it soon gets to the point where i feel like i'm just a butler for others again just so i don't feel like such a burden to the group, so i end up carrying bags of heavy shit, pushing carts through streets, just to be 'nice'. and still can't expect any recognition from these people, let alone have i even had the time yet to explain much of myself for them to get to know, and certainly can't expect them to be good enough friends yet to read my fucking blog, so that's still not an option, i just have to hunch through this same day over and over again till it gets me somewhere, even though i know these are the wrong people in the first place, but doing this shit for the right people would mean double the weight and triple the wait. ever been a butler for a billionaire? ever been a peasant? ever had to panhandle? ever had to beg for change?

'fed all the lies and desensitized, taught to believe that it is the way
taught to divide and exactly why, you'll never understand my rage
you've never had to borrow, you've never had to steal
you eat it with your silver spoon, for me it's real
take my scars through hands of god, i found a better way to break the walls'.

machine head said thems words.

you want to keep lacking the knowledge of why they're so close to my heart?

cause they also said...

'well i look at justice in a different light
i been to jail, it didn't make me right
try and conform, but won't be deaf, blind, dumb
been beaten down, just harder i've become'.

etched in the stones in the graveyard that is my heart.
or, like andy once said, 'from the crevice of a broken heart'.

this is what 'staying focused' looks like for me.

it's time i stop leading by example, and start expecting more from my delusions. it's time i stop coddling them, while they keep shouting 'we're not going to coddle you'.

it's time compromise gets fucking redefined. that's success number one.

secondly, as al jourgenson says, 'you can succeed, or you can suck eggs'.

let every other douchebag neanderthal male on this planet think that success is only measured in dollar amounts. let them. let them fucking have it. it's theirs to begin with. why the fuck would i want it. seriously, you need to ask yourself, right now, why the fuck would i want that? if you think you understand even one little minute thing about me, you need to ask yourself, right now, before we go any further, why the fuck would i want to be anything like what i am here to oppose?

you sick fucks that say 'you end up becoming what you hate', yeah, fuck you. i'm your walking antiproof. i'm the omega of that ancient fuckin' fortune cookie factoid.

what we should be saying, is 'you can hate, just don't become'.

machine head says 'anger is a gift and i won't be kept down, in poverty there is no democracy'.
rage against the machine says 'anger is a gift'.
machine head says 'you gotta know yourself, and you gotta know the enemy'.
in the matrix, the sign over the oracle's doorway, says 'temet nosce'.
it's latin for 'know thyself'.
rage against the machine has a song called 'know your enemy'.
they did that song with maynard from tool.
skinlab also has a song called 'know your enemies'.
they're from the same scene as machine head.

you want to tell me that those are not my people?
you want me to believe that this is not my argument?
how should i succeed in a world where you set the terms?

because i would measure success there, as destroying you and your 'terms'.

if you can't, what right would you have to exist in the same world?

am i making my point yet?

because that would be success number two.

back to the cave. we walked out of there, and built cities. couches. beds. porno theaters. chairs. tables. fast food dispensers.

ask yourself, why did we do that?

i mean, i know i gave away the answer at the beginning of this post, but pretend like you've gotten lost and confused and don't remember me saying that. it got lost in google's translation.

why did we build cities?
why did we build cars?
why did we invent dollar bills and credit cards?
why did we start this country by killing the natives who were already here?

why did we create guns?
why did we create republicans?
why did we create a society where you must be clothed at all times?

what theory could you possibly have, and how does it differ from mine?

and more importantly... why?

see, i think we built these cities to get pussy. sorry, feminists. be offended all you want. you were the payment, you were the reward, because every dollar earned was to be spent on acquiring and attaining you, the unattainable cave girl standing on a fucking pedestal demanding to be fed, instead of getting an arrow and feeding yourself. and you want equality with the douchebag that just dragged a dead dear into your cave? i'll be honest, right now, i'm telling myself in my own head, that right there should precisely define your insanity, exactly how illogical you are. and that it should stand eternally as evidence. but wait for trump to say that, it might hit you harder.

my answer to those questions, ladies... is you.

why did we build cities? you.
why did we design cars? you.
why did we invent dollar bills and credit cards? you.
why did we build happy meal dispensaries? you.

you refuse to believe it, you get offended at the very notion, instead of accepting the compliment, and you take pride and comfort in your feminist stance, and i can describe with verbal acuity and accuracy the exact imagery of the look on your face, the detail of the frown as well as the emotion behind it, because little do you know, that's my big talent in life. surprise, surprise!

just ask bill hicks. it's the same look that the nonsmokers have.

we know what all that look says. we harbour no doubts either way.

we're men. are we not?

we are devo. now whip it. whip it good.

those looks on your face say, so very clearly, 'high and mighty'.

written all over it. lips. cheeks. that little dimple on your top lip. even your eyes. that look on your face cannot possibly hide its intention: 'high and mighty'.

thinking the exact same thought that's in my head at that very moment: 'i'm so glad i'm not you'.

'sworn to a great divide'...

if the goal truly is pussy, ladies... ask yourselves... why do you think we did all this?

how do you think we got here?

twenty seventeen. june. we have daily show, naked news, and alex jones.

how do you like your news? daily, naked, or rogue?

we have mercedes benz, bmw, jaguar, maserati, ferrari, acura, audi, aardvark.

google spellcheck knows which of those are real.

one of these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn't belong...

listen to any comedian right about now. take a smoke break in the reading of this blog, and for about three months, you're going to sit on a couch with a broken rib, preferably my extra one, a punctured lung, stoned off your ass, watching standup comedy. taking their words of wisdom at face value.

then, you're gonna come back to this blog. informed. educated. healthy. balanced.

we have any hotel you could prefer, from hilton to trump.
we have all the food you could possibly hunger for, from tacos to shrimp.
we have fur coats for peta yetis, and cardboard boxes for billionaires.
we have vegan wraps for lesbians, and dildos for vegetarians.
we have economy sized hatred, and twitter sized love.
we have fast food and slow cooked cancer.

what more do you want ladies? can i get my payment yet?

'you didn't work for anything, why should i fuck you?'.

thanks, for discounting the last ten years i spent with a demon whore.
thanks, for discounting the fact that i pulled two kids out of a black hole.

so all those times i drove that cunt to work and back, that didn't count for anything?
that was just pennies spilling around the outside of the piggy bank?

cornbread crumbs for the rats i'm feeding, right?

what do we do everything we do for? why do we do everything we do?

now, of course, i can't speak for gay men, or lesbian women...
i can't speak for construction workers and child molesters...
i can't speak for housewives and deadbeat fathers...
i can't even speak for that kid in seven eleven...

but when i speak for myself, saying that i thought you ladies were always the reward...

you get offended.

why?

why do you ladies get offended at that? did you forget that it was a compliment, or are you just pushing us out of another cave?

yeah, i'm fucking born, lady, you can stop pushing now!

what if women understanding the functionality of their own vagina led us to understanding the secrets of infinity and the universal loop we're living through... hmm...

sorry, don't mean to distract you, i'm trying to stay focused with starfucks mannequin pussy all around me. sorry if i sound shallow and superficial, but when you ladies walk into starfucks with ass on display, how do you expect me to not be shallow and superficial in that moment? your ass literally looks plastic, in fact, it looks so plastic, it makes me feel real, which makes me feel less shallow and superficial than you are, which kind of undoes all the shit we're currently ranting about and fighting over, but then i remember that you still have different opinions in that head, and starfucks becomes that scene in indiana jones, where he's screaming 'just don't look at it!'.

am i making sense to anyone yet?

cause ever since i first said the word 'cave' in this post, i've been working on success number three.

being understood, that's success number one.
being touched, that's success number two.

you ladies? you are our success.

after all, you're what we pull eachother out of, in order to stay here.

saying you don't want your child to be gay is about as dumb as saying you don't want your child to be male.

you don't get to decide what your child is. you only get to decide what you are.

but so many children end up being what their parents want.

are you incapable of walking your own direction? forging your own path?
then why do you reject me because i'm doing that?

oh, and then you claim that i'm not even forging my own path, that i'm just sitting and wallowing in the mud of my own loneliness... gee, thanks for that observation, it didn't hurt at all!

no, i'm fine, i'm marching on like a good soldier, don't worry about me.

i'm drilling my way to success number three. pussy. vagina. sex. love. flesh. physical contact. the most offensive reward on the planet. whatever you want to call it. whatever term is least offensive to you, or in case you're choosing the most offensive, then i hope you find in my mouth whatever term is the reward you're looking for. take the most abrasive term possible, if it makes you happy, just pay me. i don't accept cash. i don't take visa or mastercoward. i might be convinced to take paypal once in a while, if i'm hungry or sober, but i'd like to cut out the middle man, because we've already got plenty of buildings now, most of which i don't even belong in, or can't afford to be in anyway, so i'm cutting out the bank, the guy holding the paycheck, the guy dangling the carrot off the stick, i'm cutting out all the middle men between me and pussy. from now on, for my talents, the only payment i take, is the only one i ever wanted in the first place, ever since i stumbled out of that cave and lost an eye to the sun. fuck the middle man. actually, don't fuck the middle man, that's the point. i'm tired of fucking the middle man, and his abrasive asshole, while women are calling my verbal talent abrasive, instead of appreciating the effect for change it has, it's like a beltsander, if you're going to change the surface of that human flesh table you're building, you're gonna want something harsher than a banana peel, aren't you? they even negate the fact that banana peels are hazardous, which makes me laugh.

but anyway... getting carried away here... 'now bring that shit in'... (rage against the machine).

yeah, see, i'm going to simplify everything right now.

fuck the banks, fuck the empty suits and stuffy ties, shiny shoes and golden lies.

i'm a vehicle for change. a vessel for evolution.

'spiral out, keep going'...

'to feel the rhythm, to feel connected, enough to step aside'...

you want to know what success looks like to me?

it looks like a georgia o'keeffe painting.
it looks like a fuckin' lotus flower.
it looks like a mutherfuckin' orchid.

i guess she was drunk last night, and someone wrote the word 'pussy' all over it.
(redneck dictionary word of the day: satiate!
say she ate a whole cow, could i still drive her home?).

screaming children come out of it like a water slide in an amusement park.

i never hear any laughter coming out of there, though.

but maybe i'm looking for love in all the wrong places.
or maybe i'm like ron white, picking the girl up and holding her to my ear to hear the ocean in the sea shells over her tits.
or maybe my metal is too loud, but hey, if it's too loud, you're too old.

parts is parts, after all.

success?
payment?
reward?
fulfillment?
gratification?
satisfaction?
satiation?

what's the one word i find most synonymous with those?

i guarantee you, whatever word i choose, it's going to be ultimately offensive to you.

which... i wonder why 'pussy' is offensive to women...

wouldn't the same definition in men's mentality be being offended by the word 'cock'?

and do you think we are?

oh, well, only the least mature of us, usually the televangelists and 'practice what you don't' preachers, and the catholic priests, and that's because they're busy molesting young boys, so we'll just temporarily exclude them from the consensus of this debate... even though, they're not used to being excluded from anything... at least not like i am.

see, i'm used to being excluded, rejected, and kicked out.

in case you weren't paying attention to the whole 'know your enemy' lesson, that's something i can use to my advantage... is it not?

what, do you think a priest would win in a fight against me?

cause i got a joke for you...

a priest and a metalhead walk into a bar, who walks out?

you're goddamn right, baby. let's go get some free dinner.

ladies, if you're offended by what's between your legs... perhaps not even a sex change would help you? because what's between your legs, i assure you, is more natural than you are. and that's meant to offend you. that's meant to be more offensive than the word 'pussy'. that's what boxers call 'below the belt'. i'm hoping that comment hurts you worse than you've hurt me. i'd love to see slow mo blood off that blow, when they make a movie out of this. like the dude in 'thank you for smoking', while he's standing at the podium, it's the machine gun sound coming out of his mouth.

'...and then came the shot...'.

take a wide look back at chivalry, if it ever existed. men battling other men over one lady.

now, either that means there weren't enough ladies to go around, and we got down to a game of musical pussy... or that could mean that some of the feminists were bitching too much, maybe they were looking at instagram on a nude beach and got sand in their vaginas, or maybe cartman was just saying that, but either way, something sounds very wrong in that situation to me, because i don't think you were paying attention to that part, which is where my observation usually reigns socially, but okay... hold on... we're going back... do that little wayne's world sound...

do da loo da loo...
do da loo da loo...

okay, i see two guys fighting, and one lady standing there in a dress...

i'm looking for other ladies. are they in the saloon, perhaps?

yup, got a couple drunk ones in here, but it looks like they're done for the night.

there's a couple sleeping in their beds next to their husbands, but they're out of the race, so they don't count anyway.

so, i guess this little lady really is worth fighting over.

what's wrong, you guys never heard of a threesome?
yeah, it's all the rage these days... i mean... where i'm from.

does google work back here? yup, sure enough, yeah, here, check it out, see that?

that's called 'double penetration', which means you don't have to put your swords down, you can just sandwich her right in the middle of this little party. make it extra fun.

is that not more rewarding?

because i believe the pen is mightier than the sword, because that's what nature intended.

shove your swords up your asses and fuck yourselves.
the language of my heart could conquer you all.
if you had audible receptacles.
but i already wrote that poem, too.
how could you sit back and let me get four steps ahead of you?
it's easy to be better than you, i'm out of your league.
i wasn't born screaming on some assembly line,
i was dropped out of god's cunt like an aborted fallen angel.
i make the phrase 'fuck you' more valuable.
i am offensive, i own offensive, so if you're offended by me...
you're just a human chemical experiment having the correct reaction.
like a mouse answering yes or no for a chunk of cheese.
this is my game. welcome to the battlefield.

and ladies and gentlemen...

i do believe we have success number three...

judges? yes!

the scores are in...

and we have a winner...

what i'm looking for, more than success... is love.

call it what you want.
be as offended as you want.
take all your abuse out on me.

'take your hatred out on me,
make your victim my head'...

take out all your abuse on me, and i'll take you out for teriyaki, deal?

ladies...

you are the reward.

and yes, i intend that as a compliment.

so can we get the roadblock excuses out of the way, the fears, the sheets, the inhibitions, the lies, the warfare and weapons of mass deception, can we brush the dollars off the bed, and...

can't we all just hit a bong?
bang a gong, get along...

he's got hair down to his knees...
hold you in his arms so you can feel his disease...
come together, right now, over me!

('welcome my son, welcome to the machine')...

yeah, i think i've got it now, mama. i'll never lose my tongue.
through all the trauma, it still defends me like a leather whip.

i don't want your money.
i don't want your jobs.
i don't want your apartments.
i don't want your cars.
i don't want your clothing.
i don't want your beliefs.
i don't want your arguments.
i don't want to fight.

to quote ozzy osbourne...

'i just want you'.

now could we stop the war and start fucking already?

'make love, not war'...
'fall in love, not in line'...

'when there are no thrones, we can all live like kings... and queens'...

money can't buy me love, but pussy makes the world go round.

we didn't put you on the pedestal, ladies... we sat you up there cause you just happen to be attached to the thing we did put on the pedestal. but the douchebag that sat you on the pedestal, was trying to keep you from the men who deserved you most, so he stuck dollar bills and shiny shit in front of your face, and your eyes were forever distracted...

all we wanted was a moment with you.

every building...
every car...
every meal...
every bed...

for you.

if you didn't have to set up such strict and confusing rules for how we can get your attention, we wouldn't be having this problem. if i didn't have to walk into a bar and buy a lady a drink just to find out she's an alcoholic who can't cuntrol her drinking or her mouth, especially when i don't fucking drink, should that be a fair option, and should that be the only option on the table?

so ladies, you answer me...

it's your turn, after all...

if i don't drink, where do i meet ladies?
if i don't want your jobs and paychecks and suits, where do i meet ladies?
if i prefer metal over anything popular, where should i meet ladies?
if i follow no trend, where do you think i should go to meet women?
if i'd rather smell like a human than a product, where do those ladies congregate?
if it's decided that we're done working for shit, and we can finally relax and celebrate...
if it's decided that success is no longer judged monetarily...
if it's decided that politics are no longer necessary...

where would i go to meet those types of ladies?

because i don't want a lady who thinks herself better than me while bitching about my smell, and thinking she's going to have to pick up the check...

those women are walking war zones. disasters waiting to be aborted.
those women are responsible for bringing criminals into this world.

argue that, you cunts, go ahead. i'm waiting for that war to start.
this argument is easy to put to rest, that's the war i'm waiting for. the big one.

the war to end all wars. don't you think, after you win the war to end all wars... you'd finally see sex in the streets? bars wouldn't even have walls at that point.

and the sign saying 'can't touch the strippers' would be sacrificed to the flames of love.

that's success.

but for now, i'm just looking for a lady, who, instead of the walking war zones, can accept me as i am, and enjoy the free meal i'm walking her to. maybe, she can even be open minded enough to actually appreciate the fact that i'm homeless, and still capable of taking her to a free meal, perhaps she could even see the style and class in that sort of experience, the originality, the uniqueness, it would be a story to tell her grandchildren, of how she fell in love with the most unlikely of companions...

how do you expect to change, when you can't step outside your repetitive routine?
how do you expect to change, when you're intent on living the same life every day?
how do you expect to change, when you use the same excuses...

i'm asking for change.
so you're goddamn right i'm asking too much.
and i'm not gonna stop asking.
i'm gonna keep asking.
i'm not lowering my standards, mom!
i'm not even rephrasing the question to appease the weak.
i'm demanding change now.
i'm standing my ground, i'm sick of this shit.
and how dare you accuse me of anything.
i've already changed.
i've already proven it.
and i've already written the song that says,
if you don't know that,
then you don't know shit about me,
you do not understand me,
therefore you have no right to speak on my topic in the first place.

this is my flag.
i've planted it in my ground.
and here i stand.

you ladies want confidence?
you ladies want to prove that you don't just want a free ride through life?

i'm right here.

you ladies want equality, or would you rather just stop bitching about shit?

cause i'm still single.

you ladies want something to look forward to, something to enjoy?

i'm standing right here.

a famous fictional woman once said, '...you have to plant your feet, and look them in the eye, and say 'no, you move'.'.

it's time for society to realize, i ain't budgin'.
it's time for society to realize... it's your move.

you want to know how i'm four steps ahead of you, why don't you look at my last four steps?

'the better you understand the pathway behind you, the more it illuminates the way ahead'.

who said that? i said that. would you know that? nope.

so ladies... if you're still questioning... if you're still wondering what success means to me... if you're still trying to deny the truth for the shiny shit in the windows...

let this settle it. debate's over. you can all go home now.

the answer is loud and clear:

you can say that we came out of that cave for success...

but we came out of that cave...

for you.

that success should not be unattainable.
if it acts that way, fuck it and shoot it.

a real woman is capable of loving a man who doesn't shower.
a real woman is capable of empowering a jobless bum.
a real woman is incapable of fear, inhibitions, excuses, and paranoia.
a real woman is capable of looking at me, and not capable of walking away.
a real woman would recognize her match.
a real woman wouldn't give a fuck about dollars and diamonds.

and she was so very real.

a real woman wouldn't only recognize her match... she'd balance it.
a real woman wouldn't like politics, because she'd be the solution to politics.
a real woman wouldn't cower from any opportunity.

does that answer your question yet?
do i know what i want in life?
do i understand this shit better than you?
can i speak for myself yet?
can i have my choice yet?
can you admit that i have a point yet?
can you touch me yet?
can we stop fighting yet?
cause i've actually won this argument many times, but she was too angry to realize that.
i don't blame her, i'm the loser in the relationship.

all the shit that i possess as a man, all the things i'm able to do for her...

does she realize, i'd trade it all just to be her.

i can't decide most the time, if i want to appreciate her from the outside, or be her.

i feel like this is what i was trying to start writing three years ago on facebook, just after my soulmate left. i had read the elliot rodger story, and posted a few things on facebook, like...

'four scores and twenty beers ago, you stumbled out of that cave in a black dress, and... we never looked back. thank you. we love you'.

shit like that. it was my poetic attempt to soothe the wounds.

when dollars no longer boast their importance... words will have value again.

'thomas tipp was right. people will read again!'.

when dollar bills no longer build thrones on your eyes, words will affect your heart.

if you could have seen the awkward stumbling of my special lady in that black dress with the low slung back, the black lace high heels, the black satin elbow gloves... if you had seen her stumble out of that cave... maybe you could feel the boner in my chest.

'my dick was hard enough to hunt with'... ron white.

she had that special recipe of smile and style, ass and class. i wrote a poem for her, called 'a smile worthwhile'. another poem called 'the suicide motel'. god, i miss that.

the jokes she'd make.
the squeals she'd give.

biggest smile on this planet.

i miss you, baby. when we end this war between love and love, i'm going to thank you, because it's all for you. we got separated so many miles back, but i believe the roads intersect again.

i still think of you whenever i play this song, and i dedicate this song to you...
it's called 'you always believed' by in this moment.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X7fr004sfUI

and i often cry to this song, because it punches my throat...
it's called 'love falls' by hellyeah.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iFdOAyyn76M

and i'll never forget... 'our songs'...
'beauty and the freak', by sonic syndicate
and...
'i would be your slave' by david bowie.

as well as the first song she heard, the first time she walked into my room...
'wild child' by enya.

we had those moments...

they're the most valuable things in my heart.

dragging a heart filled with picture frames through the streets like a concrete corpse...

all for her.

cause i still can't let go.

after she left, i saw the movie 'a case of you', and it hurt like a goddamn heart bullet.
also, the movie 'hit and run'. i wished she had seen those movies.

my heart aches for that life, because she had it.

and when i say 'life', i mean 'sprite', 'fire', 'power', 'uncompromising joy'.

in her quest to smile, she never even bent a knee.

all those douchebags that base success on money...
ask them one question...

what do they plan to spend that money on?

and i guarantee you, all answers lead back to the same synonym, the same purpose, the same goal, the same reward... if he's going for that promotion, ask him if he's married, because i guarantee you he's only getting that promotion for her. he can say what he wants to say, but that's the reason. inherent in every 'hmm' and 'haw', in the nervousness of his hands, in the boyish look on his face when you mention the word. the obvious signs of love that adults always tease teenagers for.

you know what i'm talking about. don't act like you don't.

and i honestly think... you ladies objectified yourselves. by being insulted by compliments while fucking rappers, that's exactly how you objectified yourselves. you're doing more drugs, you're fucking more methheads, you're being lazier and less responsible, you're bitching more and wanting more, deserving less, and giving less, loving the wrong people, and you take no fault, you accept no responsibility for your part in this disaster, but you're just as responsible as the men who start wars, and the less responsibility that you claim, the more i'll take from you.

you want to keep thinking i'm the asshole because of how i dress... no, you're the asshole for being so superficial and shallow that you have to judge me on my appearance rather than finding out what's on my mind, and that is your fault, no matter how much you blame me for it.

if the argument was 'which side do we take free will from: male or female?', i would assert that both sides would learn more from being enslaved. i don't have to justify my argument, you have to try and unjustify it. because it's already been etched in hearts all across this planet.

starting with mine.

go ahead, prove your point now.

that's my answer. take it or leave it. accept it as it is, or keep destroying it.

i won't change my answer. not for you. especially if you're not puttin' out.

you want to change my mind? first, you have to feel the way i do when i'm pushing someone else's cart up a hill. lots of sex is required for brain change, i believe timothy leary already proved that one. but hey, don't take my word for it. i haven't been laid in three years.

point is, if you ladies want minds changed, you have to work a lot harder for it. and i'll put it this way... the effort you have to put into that is going to make all that hard work in the brothel look like skinny dipping in a university pool. got it yet?

you can call yourselves feminists, but i can't consider myself the opposite?
begs the question: what am i allowed to do in your world, ladies?
go ahead, list it here, cause i'll knock the top half of the list off with my cock before it even balances.

shower? nope.
job? nope.
fat wallet? fuck no.

looks to me like you ladies are looking for love in all the wrong places, how ironic.

to support that which oppresses you, is to take love away from those who deserve you most.
and you can quote me on that. (just wait till i'm dead first, and only then, that's only if i end up killing myself... if i die any other way, those words die with me).

(now, how much do YOU want to bet, that all these people are going to have to say after this, is what they've already said repeatedly to me on places like fetlife and deviantart, like i haven't heard it before, or as if they're still justified, and i'm sure i could even go through previous posts and copy and paste their actual comments, just to compare how they plagiarize themselves worse than ivania trump, but i'll bet you, i'll fucking actually bet you a million fucking literal dollars, that their response will contain the word 'narcissist' somewhere in it, followed by an insult about how i wasn't loved enough as a child, which this society would have any control over in the first place, which is why it's such a relevant part of the argument, right? yeah, because i wasn't loved as a child, i grow up thinking this way, and the only way to fix that is to fuck me, so there's just no way to fix that, cause i ain't fuckin' that dude, he's too much like trump. fuckin' women).

you win.

but the request for more pussy is still on the table.

sure, you can take offense now, but you'll be drooling on it later.

'if your heart devours you... just burn a new one'.
-roberta daisy lowe, january twenty fifth, nineteen ninety two.