removal

i'm seriously considering just taking all my writings off the internet.

i have scared off too many women. that's all i can seem to do.

when are women going to stop being so offended by my opinions?

when are women going to start fucking me! you cowards!

excuses

i am never ever going to find a woman without fears.

why the fuck does everything have to be so normal for every fucking person, and nothing can ever...

goddamnit, i want to sew my own mouth shut!!!

more shit outta my head

i just took a trip up to capitol hill to get smokes and chocolate milk. on the way back... i had my music down low in my headphones, i didn't feel like having it too loud... this lady got on the train and sat close to me... which... first of all, they never do that... she answered a phone call, and i could hear just... no words, but i could hear her voice... then, the one sentence she said loud enough that i actually heard... she said 'yeah, he forced me to have sex with him'... i'm so thankful i managed to turn my volume up right then. i did not want to hear one more word...

women get too much sex, while men don't get enough.
women are tormented by sex, while i'm tormented by a lack of it.

when do these feelings stop. when does this loneliness end. it's so heavy i can't even think through it, and any motivation i build to reach out leaves me way too soon. i don't know what to do with this weight. but no one will reach out to me, it's always been up to me alone to reach out, why. why can't anyone even answer that.

at least i'm writing again, getting this shit out of my head. venting.

i hate this heavy conscience, i hate always feeling like when i'm the most honest, that's when people are the most offended no matter what it is i'm saying. whether it's about women, or the shape of the fuckin earth.

no wonder i can't find a women who can develop any curiosity about me, all the women are living on a flat planet where curiosity is outlawed, while i'm living on a round planet where my curiosity is so vital it's like a lion that can't be tamed, that must be it.

i can't help these thoughts, i can't help what i'm sick of seeing too much of. every woman clicking away on her smartphone instead of looking up. wearing the skin tight pants you can't touch, the fancy and luxurious crap to advertise how untouchable and unattainable they are.

i sat thinking this morning about trying to write something about all my...

now i can't even think of the stupid fuckin words, this goddamn defective brain...

...unreachable, unattainable dreams? i guess... (i even hate seeing my own typos, the fact that i'm making any alone is just sad, that's when i actually go back and read over my own crap, after i send an email, i regret sending it cause i can't remember what i said or if it would offend anyone, then i rarely get responses, so i assume people got offended... fucking mindfuck...)

okay, shut the fuck up, brain. i'm thinking right now.

i thought about using the word unattainable...

wanting to start my own church, religion, restaurant, sovereign nation, city, metal band, movie studio, recording studio, harem, computer company, school, "village" (to raise children)... invent my own everything since everything else sucks.

i don't know if i have the strength left.

the list has gotten too long, i can't even remember it all each time i try.

for twenty years, i've imagined giving lectures on how different this shit could be, to a fuckin... abandoned library full of dead crickets. i don't know why the fuck i speak anymore. i don't know why the fuck i ever spoke. i really regret not taking my mother's advice seriously.

'it's better to keep your mouth shut and let people think you're stupid, rather than open it and prove it'...

yeah, thanks mom, but there's only one big problem with that.

the world doesn't change with a bunch of closed mouths.

or... at least... if those who have a clue remain silent, and those who have no clue are the ones doing all the talking...

am i a decent example of how miserable life can get?

how alone you can feel on an overpopulated and misled planet.

imagine if our history has been erased, if a highly advanced civilization was actually wiped out by an asteroid thousands of years ago, just stretch your fucking brain vagina for one fucking impossible minute here, please, for the love of round fucking planets, please...

first of all, why was it erased, kept from us?

and secondly... i can't put it into words...

but why can my mind touch that easier than i can touch a woman?

why do i hate mark fuckin twain so much? and fuckin' shakespear.

and a bunch of those historically overquoted losers.

i can't even watch movies anymore. it seems like every fuckin movie i try to watch starts off with a fuckin mark twain quote and a fuckin rap song. and just talks about rich dog walking god fearing coffee drinking fuckin...

sometimes i think i hold back too much, other times i feel like the biggest prick on the planet.

like i make trump, andrew dice clay, and charlie sheen look like adorable little minions.

there has to be some way out of this endless nightmare hell. this suffocating, debilitating pit of loneliness, hopelessness, despair. i don't see anything changing.

i wonder how disconnected from the world i've gotten.

but it took this long to find someone with a heart. and i still can't believe that actually happened. still wondering if i deserve it, or if i'm the only one who thinks so, or questions it.

trying to piece together a mind that no one else understood, trying to remember everything, from having to repeat it over and over...

imagine if your entire life were video recorded.

would you ever have to repeat yourself?
would you ever have to introduce yourself?
would you ever have to explain anything?
would there be any liars? or crimes? or lack of evidence?
what other kinds of 'proof' or 'pleasure' or 'convenience' could you imagine?

do you think humanity would get lazy, or find something better to do?

at this point, i feel like... if you can't see the future... to the point where you panic over the slightest thing, and constantly think armageddon is just around the corner, one television commercial away...

if you seriously can't deduce what's coming next, to the point where you can't create your way out of it with a mature, collective focus...

am i seriously even saying this, why the fuck am i talking.

i'm glad it's not actually out loud. think i'm even sick of doing youtoob videos. i feel like more of a douchebag there than i do here. but it's easier to babble to a video. and smoke.

have i lost my path?

do my wants and needs still matter to me? should they?

i keep wanting to poll a bunch of women and ask them questions like 'what type of man do you find completely repulsive on sight alone?', or 'are you completely disgusted by the male body?', (and i'm even tempted to finish that question by adding on 'unless it's thor with a fuckin job').

this goddamn neck. like a stone easter island head misaligned to a stone body.

the tiny bit of brain left in this dense skull of impeding pain, barely attached to the miserable heavy shoulders it fuckin rests on, while the pain builds up like frozen slime between the cracks of the rocks, and the head stone just has to fuckin move, but the slime just readjusts, it never falls off... the tiny bit of mind left in there just questions everything in a miserable disagreement and disbelief that this is what it's actually seeing... kinda like... if a snail crawled over one of those hallucinogenic frogs, and started feeling extremely alien in its own shell, as its skin starts 'seeing' the inside of the shell on a microscopic level, and feeling the colours, and smelling the sounds...

it's just a tiny little pond of confusion and questions and an overwhelming sense of disconnection in the center of that fuckin earthquake ridden land of turmoil...

i've already used so many words and repeated this shit so many times...

i used to list a whole bunch of synonymous words like alienation, isolation, and then just joke about throwing a thesaurus at someone's head, but now... i get two words in, and i feel my heart plummet through the earth, and my mind just cuts off, the words just disappear.

i've said it too many fuckin times.

my mind is trapped in a cycle of repetition...

and somehow, that's what makes me unattractive...

i've never gotten that logic. seriously.

society stomps you into the quicksand, claims no accountability, blames it on you, refuses to acknowledge you or pull you out, and once you get yourself out, you're still covered in quicksand shit and mud, and they look at you like 'why can't you clean yourself off?'. uh...

boy, i can't help but thinking, what if you were the one crawling out of the quicksand?

they all act like this is the first time anything like this has happened.

uh... no... this quicksand has been here, consuming people for quite some time, actually.

you'd know that if your news source wasn't absurdly fraudulent.

or... if we even had a fuckin news source.

i think that's what the cia actually covered up, the killed all the reporters, and put a bunch of androids on cnn. the news is the worst reality show, the kardashians is more informative.

i could find more truth on a fuckin barney episode. or gilligan. or lucy.

fuck this, what was that show... laverne and sherley, yeah, give me a couple hours of that, i'll come back with a fuckin thesis on the difference between bullshit and truth.

there, did that quite say it yet?

because i still don't see anything or anyone else changing.

i still don't have a lady next to me.

i'm still disturbed my everything i see, it still seems so morbidly backward to me.

a reverse image of what reality should be, but every time i try to define it, my mind tells me it requires too many words for one brain to conceive alone to explain how i see this world, and how...

well...

what these two eyes see is backward...

when i close these two eyes, what i see then, is... much better.

and trying to describe, and convey what that vision is...

so far, has proven virtually impossible, or at least, extremely difficult.

but i know that people are naked. they touch just to greet eachother. there is no money anywhere, no need for it. there are really no complaints, nothing to complain about.

there's heavy metal music, but it's very very evolved, to where it's not even really heavy metal music, because we have no need to be offensive and harsh anymore, but we're not gonna be the happy sappy poppy crap like taylor fuckin swift or katy fuckin perry, that plastic radio horseshit...

trying to advertise yourself, trying to get popular attention, what the fuck are you?

why do i see a warehouse full of mannequins with barcodes and record contracts.

why, lord, why do i see that. please remove that image from my mind.

the god within me says 'no, you have to see that, it's truth'. fuck you, lord.

why can't i be the truth?

why didn't you pack that luggage in this particular brain compartment? fuckin ass omelet.

fillet o' turd.

if there actually was a god... all i can say is, he's got a lot of beatin' comin'.

i couldn't disagree with that fucker more if this were a contest on a reality show.

and yes, that's my final fuckin answer. ask me again, i'll stuff it in your ear.

sick of being the only freak in this circus.

close the eyes, stupid.

there's evolved music where people still beat the shit out of actual instruments, but have a more passionate and uplifting reason to do so, still plenty of anger to get out in a healthy artistic way, we're still making points and valid statements and educating eachother...

nothing has to be advertised. there are no 'products'. no 'shopping malls'.

no ads. anywhere. no price tags.

just flesh. music. evolved visual reciprocal hands-on education, love...

no fear, no monogamy, no stupid pathetic superstition or tradition...

no illogical indoctrination, no one making you feel ashamed or cutting you down...

you may think, 'well, if we're no longer being degraded, what's inspiring us to improve ourselves?'

that fuckin argument.

as if yin and yang can never just shake hands. smoke a bowl together. take a break.

i understand that friction is necessary to avoid stagnance, but at the same time, how can you tell me that this isn't stagnance? take a good look at what's around me.

the only friction i feel is two rocks grinding me between them.

and an anvil on my fuckin heart, but technically that's pressure, not friction.

you took physics, i didn't.

i feel like my ghost is just trying to shut me up now.

i'm gonna make a sammich and smoke for a while. i can't fuckin think anymore.

i don't... i don't even feel like...

this fuckin heart.

i don't even feel like i've had a joke of mine be laughed at in years.

i can't remember the last time someone thought i was funny. i certainly don't fuckin feel funny anymore. i feel like what i look like: angry. disappointed.

outcast. rogue.

honestly, i think there are too many fuckin words, and i wish i could just find a good one and stick on it.

but it seems like every person i talk to requires a slightly different definition of me.

hence the repeating being slightly different every time... i once thought that was my need for uniqueness, or my distaste for repetition, but...

i'm really starting to think this world has controlled me and deceived me a lot more than i've been able to control or even change any part of it.

i am molded by this world. not the other way around.

if these were my delusions, they're more real than i am.

and more... influential.

imprinted by a false texture, the reflection of a fraud.

no wonder i can't remember myself.

whatever i wanted to be...

...if it were ever relevant...

if i'm even displeased with the shit that comes out of me...

i don't think i've said anything that i've enjoyed saying for a while...

how can people expect a smile out of me when... all they're actually pulling out of me is...

solid gold high priced snobby hobby walrus shit.

on a fuckin turntable.

covered in five week old mcdonald's fries.

and splattered with a hunny mustard packet.

that's art.

if brian posehn is the fartist, i'm the shartist. eat that, turdbundle.

'f' is for 'futile'

most recent search attempt to find people like me...

fruitless.

start time: midnight, december twenty eight.
end time: one twenty am, december twenty eight.

last of my kind

will i ever even find any other morning people?

i really really hate being the only morning person i know.

the rest of you fuckers just sleep and work, sleep and work.

what year does the payoff finally happen?
in what fuckin nostradamus prediction does the fun finally happen in?

WHEN DOES THE FUCKING FUN START!!!?!

when do i finally get touched?

when the fuck does anything change...

depressing world

this is such a depressing fuckin world, man. no matter what i search google for, it doesn't fucking exist yet. heh. i can't even make the stupid little text box on this very page bigger. i searched the windows store for a google blogger app, there is no such thing. i spent the last half hour searching facebook and google for seattle nudists and naturists, exhibitionists, there is nothing, no results.

i'm in this motel. yesterday, the maid lady comes around, knocks on my door... the knocking is so impatient, that i rush to the door... i watch videos of girls answering the door naked for the pizza delivery guy, but i never see a naked pizza delivery girl. i see videos of the hotel maid walking into a room and catches the guy naked, but... what do i get? i get embarrassment, shame, humiliation, and a phone call from the front desk, saying 'don't be naked'.

where the fuck can i go, to find other people who refuse to wear clothing, people who refuse to hear any more rap music, people who... this is where my mind stops. i get two options into the list anymore, and my mind just stops right there. i can't ask my therapist about this, i can't ask sophia at the library about this, i can't ask anyone about this.

when do i get to stop feeling ashamed of myself. when do my talents get recognized so i can finally afford to get myself somewhere where people like me already exist, instead of having to conceive, build, and invent a fucking place where we can actually be happy without being nuked or abused by fascist control freaks who can't handle nudity or intellectual stimulation.

i'm losing my fucking mind here. i cannot be myself around anyone i know, no matter what. all i've ever heard is 'put your clothes on, turn that metal off, take a shower, how dare you ask that, no smoking, have a beer like everyone else, why don't you like coffee, why do you wear skirts, why can't you dress like a normal person and get a job, why is everything about you so wrong, why are you so angry and depressed, why can't you just be happy with the way this prison is like everyone else, we love having fears and clothing and repressed sexuality and excuses to not give a shit'.

these people don't realize that every suicide is just one more person desperately trying to escape their world because their world fucking sucks, it's not as cool as they make it seem. food is too expensive anywhere you go, everything costs too much when it shouldn't cost at all, and what the fuck are cops? are they really necessary? seems like every crime i've ever seen is a cop's fault in one way or another, just depends on who the fuck is looking at it, and from what angle, but i've never seen anyone competent enough to look at a crime and determine the real criminal, not even a judge.

that gives you a lot of faith in this world, doesn't it?

so if you're like me, and you don't like to wear clothing, and hate rap music, and would rather smoke weed and drink hot chocolate, than the societal norm of getting inebriated with alcohol to 'loosen up' every night, the resurrecting your corpse with coffee every morning, and loading your day full of addictions and a ritual based on fear and comfort, satiation and contentment, excess and dreams of unattainable luxury...

i feel dumber the more i say. i can barely even type right now with my stiff back just hurting and it won't stop, the pain will not let up for one fucking minute, it's just this constant wrenching fucking agony and i can barely breath over it. and no one gives a fuck. no one except maybe greg.

i'll never find a woman who gives a shit about me. all women want to do is change me.

i'll never find anyone who actually wants to see me naked or touch me.

it doesn't matter where i search. i could give google a bunch of crack, and still get no results. because naked people just do not exist on this fucking pathetic planet. i haven't found one yet. haven't talked to a single fucking naked person in forty years.

at least... that's how i feel.

they're not still here, so...

they're too busy working and shopping.

if you're anything like me...
prefer to be naked...
hate coffee, alcohol and rap music...
prefer hot chocolate, heavy metal, and weed...

heh...

i just can't stop wondering at this point...

why the fuck won't you talk to me?
why the fuck won't any of you touch me?
why the fuck won't any of you make yourselves visible to me?

because it's the only thing this world has ever told me...

it's too much to ask.

that's why it still hasn't happened yet.

out of seven billion people, every last single fuckin one of them needs clothing.
out of seven billion people, every single last fuckin one of them likes rap.
and coffee, and alcohol, and fear, and jobs, and money...

this is such a fucking endless nightmare for me, i barely even see death as a way out of it.

i've seen though my own ghost's eyes...

tried flying away, tried swimming away, tried running away, tried evaporating into darkness...

the agony persists.

these stupid people just won't go away.

i've imagined ghosts designing their own ships...
then the living see this herd of ships leaving the earth with no visible occupants...

would it ever occur to them, that it was the dead souls leaving their planet because we found a better fuckin teevee show to change the fuckin channel to!

does that thought puff like weed smoke in their heads?

do they think, 'wow, all the dead souls just left our planet, i wonder why'...

'did we suck that much?'

'they really didn't like being here, maybe we should do something different'...

yeah, it wasn't bad enough that so many people killed themselves.

that didn't help accelerate the clue.

why do i feel so fucking alone, so fucking alien, so fucking ugly...

on a planet that's no less alone, alien, and ugly than i am?

why can't i belong anywhere?

why can't i be around naked metalheads instead of cops and 'put your clothes on!' idiots?

why can't weed replace alcohol, why can't hot chocolate replace coffee, why can't heavy metal replace rap?

why can't men grow the fuck up and stop staring at me, and why can't women grow the fuck up and touch me? when is anything going to fucking change?

how the fuck can i change it when i can't get the first person to give a shit?

how do you walk across a bridge of clothed people to get to the land of nudity?

no one will even read this.

same feeling

god, i fuckin hate myself, i hate my life, and i fuckin wanna die.

i still have no people in my life.

seven billion people on this planet, and they're all busy being stupid.

i know why nothing changes.

red pill blues

it's still raining outside.

sunday morning, eight am.

watching the red pill, wanting to marry cassie jaye. wonder if she realizes how many men want to marry her now, i know i'm not the only one, we're in love.

one of my biggest questions, that i know there's only one good answer to, is 'who raises the children?', because the only good answer to that, i know for a fact, and i wish that this is what society was built around, literally, i think it's very vital for the village to raise the children, no exceptions, we've gotten this fucked because we haven't been raised by the village!

men can't understand women, women can't understand men, and neither of us are very much attracted to eachother right now because we've been so conditioned and indoctrinated to be attracted to mister suit and tie and little miss boob job. little miss 'sex object', and mister 'success object'. ladies, you can bet your tushie that's how i feel.

i do not want a woman who's just going to be attracted to what i've got over who i am. if women want equality, the way i see it, you need to grow some balls and rape some of us. i'm first in that line. i'm drivin' that fuckin bus and i've cut the brake lines.

too many of these people don't want to admit or realize that money and wealth are the true enemy, it's not a patriarchy because men built everything, it's a patriarchy because rich men built everything while simultaneously using and oppressing the poor to do so. when are they going to realize, the reason we're all so confused, misled, and alone right now, is because of the control that wealth has had over us. it's not the people who are evil criminals, it is and has always been the conversations between these people that is the true evil. the sooner we realize that, the sooner we'll figure out how to balance ourselves off this unstable foundation.

the wealthy man has done a good job of cloaking himself in the skin of a regular man. he has deceived you. remember the sale. the handshake, the flaming sleeve.

building a better society

My new Meetup just launched! Join Building a Better Society and help spread the news: https://www.meetup.com/Building-a-Better-Society/

still here

not really sure what the fuck i'm doing lately. hating everything i see. staying away from males. obnoxious, belligerent, barbaric fucks. they're all the same. clone number one, dragging his pants on the ground. clone number two, shorts and flip flops. clone number three, suit and tie and god complex. i know that i'm absolutely sick of money and society. if money is the root of all evil, the entire tree which grows from that demon root, every pathetic aspect of this society, i fucking deeply loathe. i know that. everything that ever stemmed from anything to do with that dollar bill and the control it offers. from monogamy and marriage, to how we raise our children, to the laziness with which we use our own language without evolving it to something simpler and more efficient. the way we dress, the fact that we can never ever be naked. we have to be perfect little obedient, complacent, docile consumers at all times and can't have a moment of enjoyment. the only thing that attracts a female is a fat wallet. everything is fucking pathetic and i'm unhappy with it. i'm very sure of all that. i'm at least a thousand years before my time. painfully aware of that. i'm also aware of the fact that whenever i think of my ideal life, i can't help diving miserably into the cycle of everything i hate. it hurts to even picture my community lately. because the chances of ever getting it to start are at once so seemingly possible, yet so impossible. so i'm telling my therapist about this, and seeing if i can change that little thought. sometime soon. how do you stop seeing everything that makes you miserable? how do you stop letting it make you feel miserable? how do you numb yourself to hell while walking through the depths of it? picturing a heaven that won't exist until you build it... because every other heaven is a fraud. how the fuck.

reverse psychology of trivial traditional paranoia

whenever i say that i don't deserve anyone's attention, people say 'if that's what you say, that's what you're gonna get'.

okay. then let's try it the other way, shall we? and see what happens?

i deserve everyone's attention!

now, what do you think they would say?

i'll bet you a thousand fucking bucks.

go ahead, say it.

oh, but they're always right?

i think i just proved them all... not only wrong, but stupid.

but do you think they'd listen? or change?

oh, i'm still wrong, i'm sure.

fuck you, society.

you keep living under the same rock, one of these days, i'm gonna step on it.

place a landmine under it.

every member of a monetary society is a selfish coward.

prove me wrong. go ahead. i'm daring you.

fuck you all.

inevitable suicide

i fuckin' hate this fuckin' life so much. i'm so totally fucking done living it. trying to make friends. it's fucking pointless. there's no one i want to be friends with. i hate everything i see. spent the last few months talking to ron and abbey, they couldn't give a fuck about me. i haven't heard from dawn in months, so she obviously cares. that's really the only three people i've managed to connect with this whole time, and i can't get them to give a fuck about me. i can't get them to even reciprocate what i give, they just think i'm not giving anything. fuck it. what the fuck is the point. i'm so done living this stupid pathetic fucking life. i can't wait to get the fuck off this stupid plastic fucking planet. a planet full of consumers, and i was hoping to make a friend out of one of them. what a fucking moron. how so many people have to persistently misunderstand me like it hasn't gotten fun enough yet.

fuck you all.
fuck your planet.
fuck your products.
fuck your fears.
fuck your excuses.
fuck your dogs, gods, and drugs.
fuck your skintight pants.
and fuck you.

alien comfort

i fucking want to die so goddamn bad.
i'm sick of living this fucking life.
i'm done. i give up. i'm fed up.

no one will ever give a fuck about me.
cause it costs too much and the excuses are free!

fuckin' proud of this little piece of poetry

if this involves my freedom of speech or willingness to listen, am i allowed to speak? do i have a choice to listen? do i have to live life your way? if that's the only reason i'm on this planet is to follow your orders, count me out. did you hear that correctly, do i need to repeat myself? i refuse to live life your way. that's the purpose of my existence; to resist everything you've got. society isn't capable of grasping this concept, but i'm a metalhead. there are always song titles i can think of when people like you won't stop telling me how to live. 'whatever you got, i'm against it' by murderdolls, or 'people hate me' by murderdolls, or 'pure hatred' by chimaira, or 'replica' by fear factory, where he sings 'i don't want to live that way', pick a metal song, i can explain how it sings against people like you. people like you are responsible for the destruction of my life, but would you take responsibility, or keep blaming it on me? who's the real child here? why can't you grasp that i don't have to live how you want me to? what part of that don't you understand? where in the concept of 'i'm not you' are you dumb enough to get confused? do i have to keep asking these same questions for the rest of my life? will i ever get a legitimate answer, something with more human effort that doesn't puss out before the satisfaction line is reached? aren't you the least bit curious yet why i oppose society like a thumb? have i overloaded your brain yet, have i asked you too many questions? stop typing in all caps, learn how to fucking spell and form a sentence, and then i might be inspired to act more like you. till then, i'm living life my way, and you're just gonna have to grow up and come to terms with that. every person on this planet does not have to be a 'you' clone. you need to stop telling people how to live your life, and let them speak freely, or sites like this need not exist. the internet doesn't need a boss, and neither do i. you do not own me, and you need to get that through your thick skull. it all comes back to the point in my first question; did i ask for your loving input? no, i did not. i was asking for sympathy, not orders. there is a massive difference. see, sympathy heals. orders kill. that's exactly why i'm living this way, i'm sick of following orders, building a system that doesn't want me. i'll bet you twenty bucks, you're one of those 'one world government' supporters, aren't you? slavery, fascism, tyranny, that's okay with you? really? for me to have no choice whatsoever, you think that's okay? yet another reason i've dropped off your morbid pyramid, but that's not your responsibility to know. if you don't know me, and don't understand anything about me, why must you keep stomping on my life and telling it how to grow like a weed in a sidewalk of your precious, perfect happy world, why must i keep encountering your negative, finger-pointing, mirrored insult, pot-and-kettle, closed-minded, order-throwing kind? why can't you just leave me alone and stop telling me how to live? that's what pushes me away from your society more and more each time. are you capable of comprehending that? how stupid do you have to assume i am to still want to live in your mold? to want your god, your job, your IQ. why can't you stop? why can't you stop? why can't you stop telling me how to live? do you think that's the normal way to behave? do you think that's acceptable? excusable? can you not give up on this dictatorship and let me breathe for once, let me speak, let me experiment? do you even think the freedom of speech should exist? would you rather piss on the constitution, the bill of rights, the declaration? i've declared my independence from you so many times, i could laugh in reverse, but all scientific evidence tells me you have yet to evolve ears, which is why you're not hearing me, could i be more correctly observing this situation than you? is that a possibility in your perfect holy world? can you ask your god if my question makes sense to you? if you can't fit me in your head, stop trying. perhaps i don't belong in your moldy mold, you're shoving a square peg into your round hole, and not wondering why it won't go, that's the argument science and religion have been caught in for decades now, but someone's not paying attention, so if a scientist discovers evolution quietly in a forest, does god know? hmm... boy, i can see how these questions would puzzle you, but i don't care, it's my job in this life to offend everyone and pry those third eyes open without mercy, so... ooh, sorry, you need a tidy wipe? are we done yet? can i be understood yet? i've only been caught in this loop of yours for twenty years now, but go ahead, keep it going, i'm loving this argument, i've almost got it diagnosed, then i can turn in my dissertation and get my futhermuckin' ph.d. and since i don't have a wall, i'll hang it on yours, how's that sound? still wanna keep this argument going? still wanna keep telling me how i'm supposed to live your life to comfort you cause you can't admit how scared you are to deny that you don't know what darkness we're flying through, or what part of it you actually constitute? does it blow your mind that we're standing on the surface of a living organism and above our heads is infinity? does that hurt your brain? did i kill a brain cell? is that five points? are you dizzy? do you need to take a nap? cause that little concept makes my brain tingle like my pineal gland just had an orgasm, so i'm gonna keep picking my nose obsessively like a kid with a spinny hat, and you can keep trying to lead this pack of retarded sheep in the wrong direction and see how far you get, just let this one ugly sheep go off on his own, and find the source of this telepathic tingling in the twilight of your highest sanity from fifteen thousand years ago... did i miss something? where'd he go?

response to little auk on ps

first of all, i would never tell you to fuck off, my dear, i'm not that kind of douchebag. secondly, i've got absolutely nothing to hide, and no reason to hide anything. i love answering questions, i just hate talking about the past, or being called a criminal when i insist futily i'm not. i never get asked enough questions, so the answers in my head are just spiraling around with no beginning to be found.

the pictures on my profile are all of me. i would have no reason to post a picture of anyone else, nor would i want to, as i hate most other males at this point. why would i put some other douchebag on my profile, i wouldn't even do that if i were ten times uglier, i don't false advertize something i'm not. and i'm certainly no clone like the rest of those males. cloned shoes, cloned haircuts, they look like they just stumbled off an assembly line, i can see the barcode where their soul should be! but they get the ladies!

no, the pictures are all of me, it's just that the older ones are of me a hundred pounds heavier. when my life was destroyed in twenty thirteen, i lost everything, including things no person should ever have to lose, some of those were my choice, some i'm thankful for losing, some things lost were damage done to me, that i undid. a good example was my weight. between two thousand five and two thousand nine, the mother of my children had me in and out of the psych wards, fucked up on mental drugs, including a shot even though i hate needles and pills, i was in a haze of confusion, a fog. i pulled myself out of that swamp, back to clarity. but the mental drugs and sugary foods... i woke up one morning a hundred pounds heavier, in a fog, with a newborn daughter, thinking 'i can't raise a kid like this'. it took me five years, but i pulled myself out of that fog, got myself to the right psychiatrist who understood me. the mother of my children sold my kids to cps like a back alley drug deal on january twenty third, twenty ten, even though i fought like a warhead for two years. everyone can blame any part of this on me that they want, but i know what happened, and i know what parts were my fault. meeting the mother of my children and talking to her? i'll take the blame for that mistake, hell, i'll blame myself for that. stupid, stupid, stupid, what were you thinking?

so from two thousand five till twenty thirteen, i weighed two fifty, two sixty. from two thousand five till two thousand eight, i was in a mental fog. i never should have met that evil woman. but i would have felt... the same way... as when women won't give me the time of day... i don't like to be that type of asshole. i don't want to have anything to do with them. but i'm pigeonholed by assumptions and fears, and whatever douchebags came before me who fucked it up for me. i know, i just know, for a fact, before i got here, some douchebag went around pissing off all the women, and that's why they won't look at me. that's why they won't date anyone who doesn't have a job. and that's also, ironically, why i don't want a job. but you think any woman would figure that part out? is there no other way to separate myself from other men?

in twenty thirteen, my life was destroyed, and i'm glad it was, it was a crap life i shouldn't have lived in the first place. i wasted twenty years on the wrong people, plain and simple.

but twenty thirteen, while it may have appeared that my life was swerving off course, i was actually getting it on course by cutting all toxic ties out of my life. now i'm free to travel and roam as i please with no hands hanging onto my feet anymore, no fingers pointing at me and blaming me for their problems, while accepting no blame or responsibility for what they've destroyed. pots and kettles and fingers and projection, a game my family knew all too well. i escaped that hell, and i'm damn glad i did. by summer of twenty thirteen, i had lost a hundred pounds on the poverty diet. lost my long hair, two kids, my cat, my computer, my car, the avengers lunch box my mother had just bought me as the coolest birthday present i had ever gotten, lost that the day she gave it to me, as an early birthday present, yeah, i'm that much of a loser. i'm that much of a fuckin' loser! but at least i didn't hit the ground rolling. everyone else i knew from my past, they'd all be dead by now, having walked in my path. i'm still standing. endurance is worth more than gold.

i can even show you (send you pictures) of my id and debit card, so you can compare the pictures for yourself, the one on the debit card is of me a hundred pounds ago, the one on the id was taken on a very very bad day, where i don't even have point one percent fraction of a smile going, and no hair. i used to have my sides shaved under my long hair, and kept it pulled back, but after i shaved that dead rats nest off, i'm growing it back, i have three years' growth since january twenty fifteen, it's thicker, healthier... softer, smoother... the moist air helps it grow better, not the desert hell i come from (which i no longer tell people; it's like a dirty word sliding off my tongue anymore).

so... the pictures may look like a different person, but i assure you, it's me, and there's only one me on this planet. i look just like my mother, and my daughter looked just like me. i have more pictures to prove it, as well as three blogs, two deviantart pages, two facebooks, a fetlife, a twitter, an instagram, a youtube, zero watchers, and a partridge'd family in a dead fuckin' tree. it says that on my twitter. i'm high tech and low maintenance. (i loved george carlin's rant called 'a modern man'. he also said 'think of how stupid the average person is, then try to imagine, half of them are dumber than that'). i miss my mama. she passed away may thirtyfirst, twenty fifteen, as i was hitchhiking up the coast of california, from san francisco to humboldt county. i was surrounded by thick, dense, white fog, lime green grass, and crossing a wooden bridge, and i felt my mother go. called my family doctor on july fourth, and sure enough, mom died, she said.

i can show you whatever pictures you want, from whatever i have left, but this is me, i'm not trying to pretend to be anyone else, and no one's brave enough to be me, so... for what that's worth. there's only one me, and i like it that way. if only i had tits, i'd be self sufficient and able to attract a female. it's raining outside right now, so it's gonna be a pain in the ass to get to the doctor today. or panhandle. if you want, though, you can take a look at my deviantart pages, they have more pictures of me, and you can find those links on my main blog, which is evolutionhotline.com

the picture i currently use as my main profile photo, is one of my favourite shots i took of myself. i'm not a lazy millennial selfie taker, i put much more effort into doing shit myself. i was starting my own photography, just teaching myself, i had gotten a semi decent camera, a couple big tripods, a couple small ones (for ground level shooting), memory cards, etc, and i started taking pictures. i taught myself how to use the timer on the camera, so i set it, put the camera on the tiny tripod, ran and sat down in front of the camera, lit a cigarette, and took the picture myself... oh, wait, i just realized i'm describing the wrong 'selfie' picture of myself... i have two, they're both favourites... the one where i'm sitting in shadow under a sunset smoking, has the words 'like growing thumbs on planet earth' typed into the picture... the one of me standing behind a bright storm cloud, i also took myself, i set the timer, stood in front of the camera... but that's when i was a hundred pounds heavier. i've always worn trench coats, since i was a teenager, that's what i feel comfortable in. i only wear three shades: black, ultra black, and death. i'm offensively unique, dangerously original, and daringly suicidal. the most misunderstood portable red pill salesman on this planet. but i am me and no one else.

i know i'm not attractive. most women make it so obvious how ugly i really am, it's hard not to see it. but i'm still glad i don't look like that asshole with the shorts and flipflops. i have my own style, and you can't have it. i said that to some dude, he says 'i don't want it', i said 'exactly'. (thinking in my head, 'then stay the fuck away from me, you're not my fuckin' friend, you'll never be in my phone book, stop begging me for shit, stop thinking you're better than me, get your own fucking cigarettes and lighters, and leave me the fuck alone! stop calling me bro, i'm not your fucking brother, i'm an only child and my mother's dead, pull up your fucking pants, grow the fuck up, and next time i'm talking to a lady, don't walk up and interrupt! asshole! i'm supposed to be friends with assholes like that? i can't tell you how many times i've started talking to a lady for the first time, and some douchebag with drugs and dragging pants will walk up, invariably, and off she'll go... and i was in the middle of a fucking sentence, trying to advertize my ugly worthless fucking peacock tail to her, knowing it's hidden in the shadow of some bigger fuckin' douchebag... zero fucking hope!!! and every fucking time, this big fucking alpha male turd tank will interrupt, talk over me, incoherently, and the woman will still leave, because i'm not interesting enough to compare with meth and heroin and whatever the fuck's in that jerkoff's pants. faith in humanity? how much does that cost? why the fuck am i alive?

at any one moment, any pantdragging rapper idiot wannabe homie douchebag can walk up and take a woman from me, and i'm supposed to WANT to live? how does that work? can you write that out in mathematical hieroglyphs, it might make more sense to me...

sorry, not meaning to rant and go off on tangents, some crackhead had to trigger me this morning by not taking no for an answer, and now he's dancing in front of me in a starfucks to his rap music crap.

and i have to sit here blocking womens' view of him... i'm necessary. oh, and don't make him get out of the way of the rich khaki wearing fucks that just walked in, am i on teevee?

my mama taught me, 'son, don't just learn from your own mistakes, watch the show 'cops''. i just want to know why he keeps looking at me. even pointing sometimes. as if there's some regulated level of obviousness that's required here for male dominance to be visible to women.

anyway... babbling... sorry. trying to answer your questions as informatively as i can, while i wait out the rain. and trying to ignore this douchebag. i should turn around, but i don't want the starfucks employees to see the naked girl on my desktop. if life were any more unfair... i might be necessary. stand in everyone's way, dude, that way they can blame me for it all. i should travel back in time and shoot anyone crying wolf, that's what i should do. no, wait... shoot the fuckin' wolf. possibly before he blows three pigs in a brothel.

got a joke for ya... first little piggy walks into a bar, sits down at the bar, asks the bartender, line me up ten shots, bartender lines him up ten shots, piggy takes a deep breath, and downs all ten shots real quick. sits there for a minute, then asks the bartender where the restroom is, says round the corner to the left, piggy goes, and then leaves the bar and walks home. second little piggy walks into the bar, sits down at the bar, asks the bartender, line me up twenty shots, bartender lines him up twenty shots, piggy takes a deep breath, downs all twenty shots real quick, sits there for a minute, then asks the bartender where the restroom is, says round the corner to the left, piggy goes, and leaves the bar and walks home. third little piggy walks into the bar, sits down at the bar, asks the bartender, line me up thirty shots, bartender lines him up thirty shots, piggy takes a deep breath, downs all thirty shots. sits there for a minute, starts feeling pretty good, then he gets up and starts to leave the bar. the bartender asks him, 'aren't you going to ask me where the restroom is?', little piggy says 'no, i'm the little piggy who goes wee wee wee all the way home'.

these crackheads just will not get out of anyone's way, nor will they leave the fucking starfucks, people are stepping over their crap just to get to the counter, but this is all okay, i'm the only one who's doing something wrong, i'm sure. and i'll walk out of here and encounter more violence from who knows who. i can't predict the future, but i can clearly see the obvious. there's no debating if that train is coming for me or not. my name's on the end of the tracks.

i used to wear a pink hair tie around my goatee. someone asked me once, why, i said 'for my daughter'. but ever since then, i've gotten sick of facial hair. get this scumbag away from me! what the fuck, you think this is your fucking starfucks, asshole! get fucking lost! sorry... chaos... my driving pictures were taken by the mother of my children while i was driving my 'little red pill' (a chevy cavalier), before i got my white pontiac torrent. i miss that car, i loved that car... i named him buggy because he had electrical issues. all his dash lights were red. i miss my car! i got my torrent in april two thousand eight, had him till twenty thirteen, when he ran out of gas, i had to leave him in an arby's parking lot, my mom had him towed home, and sold him to my uncle. broke my fucking heart. after all the care and oil i put in that car.

the pictures of me looking thinner, you can tell, if you look at them close enough, it's me, just thinner. a hundred pounds thinner. it's me. would this idiot please stop dancing in front of me, what the fuck is going on here! seriously! i'm turning around, i can't stand looking at this moron. i can't turn around, the cord won't reach. but he won't leave. this is his starfucks. and if he grabs his crotch one more fuckin' time... how can i block this particular distraction... beanie over my eyes? that might work... the starfucks employee who made my hot chocolate this morning... she just left... of course waves at him, but doesn't even see me waving at her just after him on the way out... yeah, i know how invisible and ugly i am. but in my eyes, the rest of this world is so ugly. so fake and evil.

i love how you call it a 'gagger', though. i smoke a lot. my trifecta of therapy is marijuana, menthol, and metal. i keep metal in my ears, smoke in my lungs, i do okay. if one of those tires goes flat, i eat curbs.

i'm almost offended that people actually have to do a criminal background check on me, and that the cops harassing me and charging me with bullshit charges actually show up, next to the ugliest i've ever looked, just to enforce the inevitable 'no'. but it's okay. i know i'm not a criminal. the cops can charge me with whatever they want while they're abusing and violating me, humiliating me, it doesn't matter to me, i know they're the real criminals, they're corrupt and barbaric, but you can't even say that to them. which only further proves the fucking point, but not when they're always right. oh, and they have to bring a dog in here now, great, as if i'm not uncomfortable enough, let this beast shred my skirt, why don't you. oh, cause it's cute!

yeah, february twenty fifteen, i went through portland. big fucking mistake. the cops there are so fascist, there are way too many of them, they can't admit that they've criminalized homeless... what the fuck is this idiot doing!!! goddamnit, i can't look low enough! they can't admit that they've criminalized homelessness, but they use that as a loophole to harass and abuse you and get away with it by blaming it on you, along with whatever other crimes they can use to incriminate you. it's all just so the politicians hellbent on our destruction can get richer off people like me just before they nuke us all. i wish this moron would die soon. i'm not allowed to exist, and constantly being told where i don't belong and what i'm doing wrong, but this dude can march and dance wherever the fuck he damn well pleases, okay, that's fair. sorry, trying to stay on topic. i spent one month in portland. during that month, i was taken to jail twice for scraping resin out of my pipe, just before weed was legalized there that july. they obviously needed one more posterchild for their war on drugs, that's all that was. but telling the cops you have ptsd, in fact, complex ptsd... doesn't mean shit to them, they can still, by law, stand there and trigger you all they want, while anything you do while triggered can still incriminate you... makes a legal ton of sense, doesn't it? i'm accepted and welcomed in this world! right? so, because i spent one month in portland three years ago, and made the mistake of going back there the end of this last year... not only did a crackhead have to break my nose two mornings before thanksgiving for not letting him use my lighter, cause that's what i deserve when they can't take no for an answer, that was my 'happy thanksgiving welcome to portland' present, which i should have taken as my warning sign to get the fuck out of there, but had to wait till december... so december first, i get my disability check, get a new sleeping bag, new luggage case, new shoes, eighty bucks worth of weed, and made myself tired walking too much, so when i should have left portland that night, i had to lay down, so i wake up saturday morning, december second, being arrested for a warrant... how's that for forgiveness? and mercy? that crackhead who broke my nose, you think he'll ever pay for a crime his entire life? fuck no. i still feel so violated and traumatized from that, that i'm not even sure if i'm making sense half the time. i feel like a turd.

jail sucked. spent christmas, my son's tenth birthday, and new years in jail, not to mention most of may twenty seventeen in the seattle jail for threatening to kill a security guard who decided to wake me up by banging his stick on the metal pole next to my head... but yeah, i'll take all these different unintentional crimes and use them to tape this dead lizard tale to my ass so it will never fall off till society's ready to forgive me and let it fall the fuck off, because my protests about it being traumatic aren't relevant, i even had a cop tell me my ideas are not valid. oh, i so totally belong in this world, don't i? if there's a 'king of the mountain', i must be 'king of the abyss'. or slave to it, one or the other. i can't tell down here, it's too dark. so fuck holiday seasons. i no longer do holidays. there's no reason to. they're someone else's good days, not mine. i don't deserve kindness, so... okay... let's keep this shit up, and i'll keep wanting to leave this world. it wasn't my doing. jail was not my fault, and it was not because i'm a criminal. i'm not on probation or anything, i finally got to talk to the judge, got her to understand what a horrible misunderstanding it was, and that they were basically preventing me from getting my trauma therapy in seattle i already had set up... she threw everything off, including half the charges, and let me go. i don't give a shit about charges, because i know i'm not a fucking criminal, i don't even associate with criminals or drug addicts, let alone other males or bums. call me whatever you want, i know what i am and what i'm not. and i don't need anyone else telling me what to do to be more acceptable by such a morbid society.

'it is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society'... (jiddu krishnamurti).

but i'm just trying to repair myself, getting my feet flat, and starting my trauma therapy again, talking to doctors, trying to get into a community college and a van, something i can sleep in and drive.

but i hate my fucking life, i hate this fucking twisted, toxic world. and the abusive nightmare relationship between me and authorities. let them overpower... what the fuck do i have to do to keep my headphone cord from catching on absolutely nothing every five seconds while i'm trying to type, how many fucking times do i have to hit the fucking apostophe and backspace keys, what the fuck!!! goddamnit!!! i could get rich off betting people which females will ignore me, if only i were slightly more social. i fucking hate this life.

sorry. i can't help that. it just comes out. it's always misunderstood. the weaker the people, the happier they have to be... the more they're going to misunderstand that verbal stress ejection. this headphone cord just isn't going to stop catching on nothing, all that's down there is my skirt, but everytime i go to move my head, they pull out of my ears, and goddamnit, if i have to hit the fucking backspace key one more fucking time, i'm chopping these dead fish fingers the fuck off!!! i could type better using the 'claw' from the stuffed animal arcade game thing! what the fuck!!! my cat could type better than this!!! what the fuck is wrong with my fucking fingers! they won't do a fucking thing i ask anymore! just chop them the fuck off! save me the fucking stress! the only reason i type anymore is because whenever i try to record my voice, the phone spells my 'because' as 'cuzz', and i fucking hate that fucking modern hipster doofus lingo! fuck, it's ten thirty already? how fucking much have i written this morning... too much... two other comment answers... i guess... sorry... confused... can't fucking think... anyway... the oregon shit... i'm not a fucking criminal, and i'm sick of being called one. i've never done anything wrong, but i've been violated and wronged way too much, and i was even too poor to have anything done about it. when i was a kid, back in the eighties, my mother built her own hotrod seventy one chevy nova. when it was wrecked... it was hit head on by a cadillac... simultaneously cracked the engine block and my mother's fucking heart. by a cadillac. by a fucking cadillac, we took out a cadillac?! that's like two tanks colliding. my mother tried to sue the dumb blonde who hit us, but the dumb blonde slut filed bankruptcy, and then called my mother a 'fat bitch', to which my mother replied without hesitation, 'you're fuckin' right!'. we couldn't even afford to defend ourselves or protect ourselves... that fuckin' 'privacy and security' product they try to sell to you? i've never fucking needed it! i've got nothing to hide! i'm too poor to keep from getting fucked and screwed and cheated and beaten and abused! i'm too poor to keep from being ignored and unwanted!

i once wrote a poem about poverty, called 'god's gravity', i lost the poem, but i still remember the last couple lines:

'the only solution i can see from my hell, is for your expensive heaven to fall'.

money is my enemy. i see what it does to people, and i don't like it. if i could find a woman who hated money as much as i do, i wouldn't be bitching about a fuckin' thing. try telling any woman that.

i also don't mean to generalize so much, but it's not easy to see better here. i had a therapist once tell me not to see things so black and white, i said 'it's hard to see colour in a black and white world'.

i wish people wouldn't do background checks on me. that's the invasion of my privacy, and it ends up saying anything worse about me than is even true, and making me look worse than i am, instead of anything out there to help me look better. but it's not relevant to me. i know who i am. i'm confident i'm not a criminal. i mean no harm to anyone, i just hate a lot of aspects of this society. people i try not to hate, i try to blame it all on money, from their behaviours, to the reason i am where i am. it's money, the true root of all evil.

but i am not evil. i'm the enemy of money. i just want to be noticed. acknowledged. recognized. appreciated. wanted. needed. necessary. valid. yearned for. touched. heard. i don't think that's too much to ask, i refuse to believe it's too much to ask, and i refuse to live on a planet where it's too much to ask. i'm valuable. but not if i'm the only one saying so? then where the fuck's the gas pedal? who's drooling on it?

sorry for all the ranting, please forgive me, ptsd sucks. i make no excuses for my mistakes. about my ptsd, people say 'you've got the perfect excuse', and i try to explain to them, i'm not looking for excuses to support me and whatever delusion i think i am. i have a legitimate reason for being damaged, of which i regret, and am trying to undo. is that not a totally different thing? then faking it and trying to get something out of life for nothing, making no effort, and... i see so many other men living this way, but all fingers lead to me. why is that? after i've said i'm unlike any other male, still? makes me question the reality of this haunted house of mirrors here. if all i see are fingers... hmm... nah, couldn't be... should i be here? on the only planet that tries to convince you that it's the only planet, while calling you the narcissist? oh, i get it, this is planet irony.

the playpen in the middle of a turd canyon...

with an irony deficiency. ha. good joke, lord! i get it!

those cops can't even spell or pronounce my name correctly, then bitch about me disrespecting them.

honestly, all i see are elementary school students throwing monkey shit back and forth, that's all i see on this planet, every day, all day, every day, every person, every store, every dollar, every corner, that's all i see.

and if i speak up... i get covered in shit.

also... i've never understood homeless people's bail... that's... that's not even humour...

no bail, no probation, no handcuffs, no, no, no. my uncle was the liar and thief of the family, but somehow, i got either his karma, or his target for blame, cause people can't stop calling me a criminal just for wanting to be touched, like i'm such a pervert that i have to be locked in a cage for asking for compassion and physical fucking contact! like it's against some law for a bum to be touched! i haven't even asked for sex in the last year, but their assumptions don't reflect that! wow! oh, i'm so wanted here.

if i were in prison, you would not be getting emails from me, my dear. unless they were handwritten snailmails. and even then, i would need a physical mailing address, not a dating site.

i can't... i'm sorry... i can't look at another woman in skin tight pants, or i'm going to stab this heart of mine, all it does is want, want, want, cry, cry, cry, hurt, hurt, hurt, ache, ache, ache, yearn, yearn, yearn, shut the fuck up and do something useful and productive, you fucking useless heart! don't type my 'm's or 'k's, but keep typing double 'n's and 'j's, fuckin' lovin' life, lord! these aren't even my fingers, are they? they're being remote controlled by a nerd in a spinny hat! end this fucking nightmare!

god... fuck it... breathe... breathe... relax... breathe... i miss my mama.

i forget what i was saying, and i may have left off on a couple thoughts, but... sorry.

i've never looked for any excuse to defend me to people. no, my mother taught me to defend myself, verbally, against everything, from ignorance to accusations, from criminals to cops, from liars to thieves. my mother raised me to question everything, trust and fear nothing, to think about what i'm going to say before i say it, to keep my mouth shut and let people assume i'm stupid rather than opening it and proving it, to learn from everyone's mistakes as 'what not to do'. i don't think i've failed yet, but i know i haven't succeeded. what would success look like? a female by my side. i know how sad it is to ask. i fool myself not.

i wish someone could ever acknowledge my honesty, but they claim to have to know you for years before that's even possible. i hate that. no one knows me. and i've had to introduce myself to too many of the wrong people, only to have them render my breath irrelevant and wasted. pull your fucking pants up! sorry. i'm sick of having to forge every friendship myself. i'm sick of making the only effort forward, while everyone else tells me repeatedly how i'm not trying hard enough. and telling me to 'just do it yourself'.

you ever hear of a one man revolution? neither have i. but try telling them that. go ahead, i'll wait.

not in jail, not a criminal, not faking my pictures, not trying to be anyone else, not a fake or a clone, and no clone would ever be capable of saying the words 'offensivey unique' unless it was about to short circuit.

pride had never meant anything to me. that being said, i'm proud of who i am, because i'm proud i'm not that asshole. i've seen his music collection and his porn collection, he's a douchebag.

that phallic rage swinging in my face...

i feel violated enough by jail and cops. please don't press it in. i am who i say i am, because no one else is brave enough to be this. to oppose society so vigilantly. in fact, another line from my twitter...

i oppose the entire fucking world... like a thumb.

you know anyone else who would put that on their twitter?

if you find them, fuckin' let me know, cause that's my fuckin' drummer right there!

froze my ass off last night. in fact, if you see my ass, tell him to get home!

people with homes can say 'i rolled out of bed this morning'... homeless people? i stumbled out of the concrete!

concrete is earth cancer!

if you cloned me, i'd fuck me.

anyway... hope that answered all your questions. don't feel bad for asking, you're doing me a favour by helping me sort thoughts that are currenty scattered and shattered across a floor...

like cheese on waffle house hashbrowns...

sorry again for all the ranting and rambling. can't hold it in these days. i honestly feel more sane when i let it out, especially when someone's listening. what i wouldn't give to just sleep on a woman's chest for a week. like a curled up kitten. we need to find all the women who would still take that as a compliment, and round them up in one area... like shooting fish in a barrel, just get the right selection of fish, right? this barrel is cod, this barrel is flounder... this barrel is women who can take a compliment, this barrel is women who... shop too much...

i know i can sound like an offensive asshole. it's not my choice. i wanted to be mister smooth rockstar.

anyway... i better stop now, or else i won't. thank you. sorry. hugs. please just don't... jesus christ, lady, keep that thing in a fuckin' box, would you? goddamnit... fucking distractions. just advertising ass like it's beer. fucking, i feel a braincell commit suicide everytime that happens. when will this stop? she was walking like the aliens in 'arrival' with charlie sheen, that ain't right. what the fuck, man. there's a difference between high heels and stilts. fuck it. sorry. i was trying to say, just please don't hurt me. i'm sick of being hurt, neglected, left hanging with abrupt endings, no explanations, rejected for the saddest excuses... i just want to be touched. i want female hands on my flesh, and vice versa. is that too much to ask? and not even of you, i just mean in general, in today's society, did i miss a meeting, when did that price skyrocket?

anyway. stopping now. hope this long ass message makes you chuckle even once. that's all i ask. just fuckin' laugh at something. that means the fuckin' world to me. whenever someone tells me something i said was funny, i could float on that for a couple days. but i'm almost out of weed and i need to panhandle my ass off. fortunately, i don't have much ass, so it's easy to sit on my house, instant panhandling spot, just knock it over, ain't no wolf blowin' my house, my eyes are the only front door i'll ever need...

and i get to advertise on the front of my own house... i wrote on my luggage case, 'please support the ozz cause, paypal.me/ozzydraven, too ugly to be a prostitute'...

another one of my favourite funnier signs i haven't used in a while, just before i go... is...

kicked out of mensa for being a smart ass.

toodles. best wishes. hugs not drugs. make love not war. fall in love, not in line.

munday

i hurt so fucking much. my neck, my stomach, everything. my heart. what female is going to just touch me. what day is it going to happen. when will i be worth their attention. i want to die. i want this life to end. women will never give a fuck about me. i want to die. i'm ashamed to be on this fucking planet. get me off this fucking planet. take me to somewhere i can be touched.

dear mom

apparently there was some extinction level event in twenty twelve. i don't know how or why i'm still alive. my heart is very broken. i attract no female's attention, i see them dating all the wrong douchebag guys, and only the desperate males approach me begging for shit. i don't know how much longer i can live in this fake world. all i wanted was to be noticed. touched. not violently. i'll never deserve to be loved. mom, i'm confused. i don't know why i'm here.

lost joke

i fuckin hate my life.

twenty eighteen

god, i hate my fuckin life. i fuckin hate myself.

spent december in jail in portland.

just before i was arrested, i was talking to ron. she said she was going to help me. so that whole month i'm looking forward to her helping me... i get out to hear that she's killing herself. just what i needed to hear.

so i'm back in seattle, no one's talking to me.

i'm... not worth anything.