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.

mystery of vagina's competition

i don't feel like writing this, but it needs to be written. in the past three years, i have been through the loop of all the homeless organizations on the west coast. i'm sorry to say, they're all frauds. at least, that's my impression. it's... sad. i don't even know what to say about it. other than... i can't even tell you how suicidal i am. i see no point in living anymore. this whole fuckin' thing is a scam. a lie. make people homeless so they can... what? not live to finish that sentence? rebuild their lives under your rules and restrictions and cold, heartless fuckin' corrupt fascist tyranny? you think this world is so great. that says more about you than the rest of us. it's sad to see what society looks like from beneath it. the bottom of the shoe, that false love. i don't even know why i'm writing this, there's nowhere i could post it where anyone would ever read it. let alone give a fuck. it's sad to see. rex with facing homelessness. ben with operation nightwatch. i can't even think of the rest at this point, but i know i've been through them all. every fucking one of them, begging them for help, and they just refuse to send out an actual human hand, it's just a shitload of excuses. they don't intend to help any of us. if they did, there would be programs in place to take suggestions, and programs in place to help us pursue our talents, rather than following orders and scrubbing fuckin' floors, but that's all society wants, is their grunt work done for them.

i don't know why the fuck i'm still alive, but this is fucking sad. this ending is growing very dark and narrow, and i don't know why i'm still alive. i don't think i should be. i don't see any alternate futures anymore. it's just a dark little cone. being ignored by women, and rejected by everything else. until you finally snap and shoot someone, and that's society's entire solution to all their problems, and they think it's so fuckin' great! they think they're something to be bragged about and celebrated. they think there could never be anything better than this planet.

i swear i'm gonna put a fuckin' knife through my heart soon. just to kill the pain. to end this nightmare.

but i really want to try to think of what else i can still do, as miserable as i know it's gonna fuckin' be. i need to stop focusing on females all together, get my heart to stop wanting that useless shit, and find some other way around this roadblock. but i know it's gonna be hard, i know that motivation for anything comes from physical contact. but that's just never going to happen. then, when i become successful, girls are going to line up, just to get kicked down the fuckin' stairs. and they're gonna wonder why i'm so cold, such an asshole. gee, ladies, i wonder. perhaps because you're too lazy to even do your own research to find out why. but i'm obviously wrong, and that's all up to you to figure out, so stop asking me to inform you. fucking cheap fake plastic cowards. you're all the same and i can prove it. i don't see you fighting for love. i see you pampered with way too much of it. and no, you don't fucking deserve it. you take it for granted. i can prove that, too.

you want money, drugs, jesus, and mister gq fat wallet clone. you make me fucking sick. prove me fucking wrong, you cowards. i'm still waiting.

i fucking hate women, i fucking hate men, i'm declaring war on women. i'm sorry. that's all there is to it. this is war, you coward cunts. you cheap fake plastic fuckin' squatgoats. you're useless, not worth a fucking thing. wastes of fucking vagina. just like the homeless organizations. i'm doing more than any of you to make this world better, and all you can do is tell me i'm not. fuck you. credit cards don't buy this kind of love, assmaggots. all you can afford is plastic. fake life. fake love.

blowup dolls purchasing blowup dolls and fucking blowup dolls to produce animated mannequins and credit cards with shoes. i detest this entire fucking planet.

so... it's occurred to me... if the homeless programs aren't doing what i think they should be doing, just start doing my own, no matter who tells me no. and if women aren't doing for me what i need... do it my fuckin' self. if they can't stand there and hold my camera, find a fuckin' rock. if they can't drag my case a few blocks for me, or watch it for ten minutes... fuckin' dump it in the fuckin' ocean. along with my castrated self. where does motivation come from, if not females? there has to be another source of motivation other than vagina. i feel like i'm starting a quest for a holy fuckin' grail or something. the lost mystery of vagina's competition.

fuck you women. you're not worth the fuckin' dime you were made from.

women just don't fuckin' look at me. they just refuse to fuckin' see me. you fucking cowards. pink little fucking whiny spoiled pampered fucking cowards.

until one of you is brave enough to prove me wrong... it's every fuckin' one of you.

keep waiting for someone else to save the fuckin' world, it won't be done your way. lead by example. cunts. you bitch more than queers. you should be ashamed of yourselves. and all that bullshit, i really can't wait to take you down on every fucking point of your argument.

to start with, entitlement. ladies, i know you're too stupid and oblivious to understand this, but... you're all entitled to one hundred percent of my body, free of charge. i know it's too ugly for you to touch, it's got ebola and cooties, it's an unbathed crime, and it would actually bankrupt you just to look at it, but aside from that, it's all yours. so that just about bludgeons that argument to death.

point number two, objectification. boy. you ladies are such cheap products, you actually have to bitch about which body parts get more attention? we seriously still cannot suck one nipple without the other feeling neglected still? what about the bum in the dark who's been lonely against his will for three years? if you're so bothered by objectification, then fucking objectify me. every time you ladies get raped, come find me and rape me back. every time you get sexually assaulted, come find me and sexually assault me back. everything those douchebag males do to you against your will, you can do to me just to make yourselves feel better. deal? is that fair? come on, ladies, don't puss out, put out. you don't want me to win this game, do you? you don't want me to go down in history as being more brave than you, do you? cause all you have to do to even this playing field... well... i'm sure you know what that is. it's everything you're sick of. it's what makes your eyes roll. mel gibson couldn't say it better at this point. it's what women don't want. think i'm wrong? now's your chance to speak up and not be such a coward. i'm offering you every fucking chance in the book. if you're intimidated by me because i'm so intelligent... fucking go back to school then! learn something i don't know yet! hit me with it! fuck me with it! do something! be a living breathing part of this planet! you fucking cowards! prove me wrong, and i'll pay you! i ain't paying you until you're worth it, until you do something to earn it, other than being born with a fucking vagina.

point number three, one you're not brave enough to answer. why is your body a commodity while my body's a crime? simple question, but i'll never ever get a legitimate answer, let alone a brave, ballsy one. or the truth. or at least the honest version. no, you've already got the offensive version locked and loaded, but you're underestimating me as always ladies, i'm the one with the arsenal of ammunition to fire back at you, i'm just waiting for you to get on the fuckin' battlefield. don't believe me? go ahead, test me. tell me if it hurts. i'd offer you a warning from the mother of my children first, but you see her around anywhere?

hypocrisy. double standards. lies. excuses. watch me tear it all down, ladies. watch me make your 'free will' less relevant in the face of free love.

all you're doing to stop me, is ignoring me. that's not a very heavy duty weapon, ladies.

i fucking want to die. so bad. so much. i want this nightmare over. end it. stab this fuckin' heart. stop this pain. stop the yearning. delete me.

take everything that this life ever wanted to be, wrap it in a little ball of pain and shame, throw it in the wood chipper, and hit the button that says 'deep six'.

surrender to the arms of darkness beneath me. cease to exist.

nothing changes until you, like i do, blame yourself for every single suicide. sympathy grows, but empathy knows. compassion glows.

you're void of anything good. you and your pussy.

couldn't post this on fetlife

nazis at fetlife wouldn't let me post this, it's too much for their attention span to handle.

fetlife wouldn't even let me post this in my writings. it was too long to send as a message, so i'm still trying to post it here. i'm just not allowed to fit anywhere.

imagine having a large family, who say they love you, but you never see them. you live in a big house, but every room you check, no one is ever there. a ghost house. or ghost family, if you will. it's been ten years since you've seen any of them, or heard anything. would you still feel like they are your family?

yes. when everyone is always too busy to spend time with me, including my family, for most of my life, and all i ever get from most of my family, is 'get a job', they don't feel like family to me. most of my friends, i had to realize, were not geniune friends. they were social filler. or maybe i was their social filler. either way, it's not a life i should have been living. empty. isolated. and when all anyone ever says to you is just some default form of telling you how to live their life, and think the way they think, cause whatever you're doing is wrong... would you see much value in it? i don't. i never have. people who don't have time for me... the way i see it, that's your loss, but i'm fucking sick of being so lonely on a planet with seven billion fucking people. i seriously refuse to believe that not a single fucking person has one day when they don't have to do something stupid, consuming some stupid product that makes a parasitic choice in your head, and takes ownership over whatever you were. i refuse to live that way. when you can't afford the lie, all you can accept is the truth, and it helps to further define the absurdity in their lie. it's a product with a price tag on it, that's all it is. i'm sick of every person i encounter thinking that consumption is the be all end all to human existence on this planet, isn't it wonderful, we can just shop, shop, fuckin' shop! i never want to do anything else, this is the best possible existence ever! livin' the dream!

yeah. i'm aware that i'm living on the surface of a living organism, and that above my head is infinity. i'm not in denial of anything, i don't fear anything, not even death, i buy no product, i follow no trend, and i'm proud of that, i just wish i could find someone else who feels the same. this world is a fake, plastic lie. a product credit card playpen that perpetuates ignorance.

i have much higher intellectual standards, and i'd give anything to see them reflected in the world around me. i don't know how better i can say it, but this existence makes me fucking sick, every day, every moment, and it does not fucking stop. how can you people stay sane when you're living the same day over and over again in the same world... no, you're not sane, because you're living the same day over and over again! and no one can beg otherwise!

(not you personally, none of this is directed at you, rather society).

i can't say it any better. but i am not happy in this life. alienation, rejection, feeling unwanted, repulsive, repugnant, ugly, detested... how could that possibly make for a healthy mindset? how the fuck is that expected to inspire hope and change? i cannot afford that shit! all i can afford is to watch people pass by me, ignoring me, frowning at me, in denial that they're miserable, and it hurts me the most because i'm the only one who can see it. i've observed society for thirty years now. i've studied their actions, their emotions, their thoughts, their intentions (even the unspoken ones). i question everything like my mother taught me to do. that's never been a bad thing. it's gotten me this far out of society, which is where i wanted to be. i'm not trying to get back into society, i'm trying to pull someone else out with me.

there are people dangling off the bottom of this pyramid. left hand hanging on for dear life, mouth hooked up to the consumption tube, little screen infront of them, right hand sticking the credit card into the slot.

if you look at the pyramid on the back of the dollar bill with a microscope, you can clearly see the broom handle hanging between you and i. on the handle of the broom, it says 'revolution solution'. the idea is, if you sweep the poor people over here, and let them start rebuilding their lives without so many ruthlessly, retardedly, childishly paranoid restrictions... you can watch that fucker crumble, can't you?

just because you may be happy with this life, just because you may be living comfortable, doesn't mean everyone is. but it means everyone should be, if we were to call this world 'fair'. if we were to call ourselves mature, responsible.

personally, i'm fucking sick of so many homeless people coming up to me asking me for drugs. i'm sick of the fact that only desperate males approach me begging for shit (a total count of thirteen yesterday alone), yet no female ever approaches me. ever. ever. ever. ever. it just does not fucking happen. i sit every moment of every day, aching for a female to walk past, notice me, and end up not walking away. curious enough to stay. that never fucking happens. nothing out of the ordinary ever fucking happens. i'm dying to see nudity, sex, anything. i'll never see it. it will never fucking happen. not in a world owned by paranoid children. consumers. products with shoes. walking credit tards.

i'm sorry if this offends these people, but i can't make it not. it's intended to wake up, to shock... i'm into shock value as a fetish, a kink. are you starting to see my intentions? the world i'm dreaming of is not this one. can you understand? i was not meant to spend money, i was meant to learn how to live without it, so i can teach others. that is my gift, my ability, but it interests no one. i interest no one. i can't sell my product to anyone. is that an enjoyable life? would you like to live that life? would you like to have your house taken from you, and spend four years of your life being told only where you don't belong, being kicked down the street like a piece of trash, kicked when you're down, in so much physical pain and emotional trauma that you can't even think most of the time, you don't feel like yourself anymore, and people get off on ignoring you... would that make you happy?

how is it that society thinks i'm not allowed to not be a consumer, i'm not allowed to not be just like them? are we happy with the fact that our only option in life, is to be born wealthy, or work like a slave until someone notices you? are we content with the fact that jobs are our only option out of this hell?

i wrote a poem in twenty thirteen, while my life was being destroyed. it was a poem about poverty. i was so poor, i could barely get it written, let alone keep it. i lost the poem, it was called 'god's gravity', and all i can remember is the last two lines:

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

this may not answer your question, but... i know who i am, i know the life i want, and i know what i don't want. i don't want to be like anyone else, i don't want to be told to be like anyone else, i don't want my friends to expect me to be someone else, i want people who value me for who the fuck i am, because i know who i am, and i don't need anyone fucking telling me.

recently, i locked a bunch of males out of my life. my buddy james... coming off heroin. he can't stop telling me to wear pants. 'if you wanna find a girl, you gotta put some big boy pants on'. does he assume i want to date some shallow twat who cares more about how i dress than who i am? cause that would make him officially wrong, wouldn't it? or can others dictate my life? which planet are we living on? am i delusional here? am i not making any sense?

buying products and following orders for a paycheck does not make me happy. in any way whatsoever. it never has, and never will. what makes me happy, is heavy fucking metal, talking about evolution, psychedelics, laughing my ass off at comedy, and being fucking naked as much as possible, having people want to see me, want to touch me.

not being avoided like i have ebola.

and i have to ask you... why are you happy with this world? what about this world satisfies you? why are you still happy working a job and buying products? wasn't there some point in your life where you maybe perhaps wanted to educate yourself on something cool, something interesting, and you never got that chance because you had to work that day? any other regrets or things you missed out on that might have fulfilled your life a little more?

i'll bet you twenty bucks you can think of at least one thing.

i know i can. it's not hard.

i wanted to learn computer programming.
i wanted to learn chemistry, physics.
i was always fascinated by chinese puzzle boxes when i was a kid.
stereograms, optical illusions, and those 'glass dirt mountain' things.

i like cats, heavy metal, muscle cars, hot chocolate, mexican food.
i do not like dogs, rap music, trucks, coffee, and fuckin' tofu.

can you see it yet?

i never got to learn computer programming. when i tried a community college, they couldn't stop raping my ear with the word 'prerequisites', and stuck me in a classroom without computers, and beginner guitar... i'm sitting there on the first day, back of the room, jamming slayer on this little acoustic like i did through high school till i dropped out because they weren't teaching me anything. which is always my fault, of course. it's always good for a teacher to blame the student for not wanting to learn, right? isn't that how we got here? boundaries, limitations, restrictions, paranoia, excuses, and irresponsible childish behaviour and treatment of our fellow scumtards? what's the price tag on that wonderful product? i'll pay double for the answer! i would surrender my flabby white ass to the master of all lies for that one answer.

i'd sell my ass to a catholic priest for a legitimate answer to this question:

your god has eighty billion voicemail messages from me on his machine. i'd just like to know why he hasn't been able to answer a single one yet?

i've been praying for a sober female who actually likes me.
i've been praying to get this stupid body out of pain.
i've been praying to pursue my talents as if anyone actually cared.

is it fair that my prayers should go unanswered?

begging, pleading, yearning, constantly, for three fucking years.

is that a product you'd purchase?

am i worth more than your morning starfucks latte?

would it be worth it to sacrifice a couple meals to get me off the streets, give me a heart to heal in, a room to live in, and is it too much to ask for a little inspiration? wouldn't it be worth it to watch that dude take off? perhaps he'd send you a check of gratitude someday? no?

cause if i had a company, if i ran a business, that would be its focus.

find the talented homeless people, and launch them.

i would hope that would make it easier for society to decide what to do with the rest, but i hope for way too fucking much. obviously.

but this consumer world is just so fuckin' great, isn't it! aren't you havin' a fuckin' ball! whoo, party!

i don't like alcohol, drugs, jesus, jobs, television, wallets, credit cards, capitalism, corruption, fascism, tyranny, lies, excuses, immaturity, authority...

i'm sorry, i guess i really don't know how better to say it.

the truth is just the truth. this is a consumerist nightmare. only those who can afford the lie, are comforted, satiated, and pleased with the results.

i don't want the intravenous mayonnaise television incision.

i want nudity, comedy, metal, evolution, anarchy, utopia.

is that not worth a fucking dime to anyone else? because i can't fucking find anyone. other metalheads i've talked to, show no interest.

is that a product you'd buy?

yes. to answer your question the best i can, the shortest i can... yes, people are too busy consuming to give a fuck about anyone but themselves. that vanity satiation station is all that matters, and we pour the dollars into that machine every day, not even dreaming of anything better. we drift off to sleep each night, comforted by the snow on the screen. into the darkness of demise. hushed to sleep by a needle and a lullaby.

why is it a bad thing that i feel that way? why does it have to be wrong?

i think that way because it's all i see. i'm left alone on these streets for the majority of each day. trying to connect with someone who might help me start my career.

how rejected have you been in your life?
how many people have physically kicked you away from them?
how repulsive do you feel?
how important do you feel?
does anyone look up to you?
does anyone admire you?

then what did it get you?
working all that way, all those days, years... for what?
did you get what you wanted out of life?

i don't want to be spoiled, pampered, and entitled to everything.

rich people have that product.

but i'm too poor to be noticed or valued in the rich man's world?

i'd rather take my chances finding a different planet. honestly.

that's how much this world disturbs me. it's evil. as long as money exists on this planet, as long as we can't think of anything better... this will be a hell i'm not allowed to participate in, and not even really willing either.

but... if someone had a couple days off, and nothing better to do, nothing more vitally important like saving the earth from an alien invasion, and they spent that couple days getting to know me, and decided to let me stay on their laundryroom floor for a couple months, and even got me to a few open mic shows... if a human could dedicate that much time to helping a fellow human... it would restore my faith in humanity.

am i not allowed to be resentful?
am i not allowed to feel this way?
am i supposed to be smiling while i'm being shit on?

cause i don't make the best slave, i'm not very obedient, i've got too big of a reason to fight back. is that painting a vivid picture yet? am i being explicit enough? am i making sense? am i even halfway answering your question yet? is my answer satisfactory yet? cause i've repeated this shit about a billion and a half times in my life, and it's still getting me nowhere. into no other human's heart. because all i see in those hearts, are dollar bills. endless 'to do' lists. priorities. morning walks to starfucks with your dog.

i'm so poor i can't even formulate my own 'to do' list.
i'm so poor i can't even afford "FREE WIFI".
i'm so poor i can't afford to wipe my nose or my ass most the time.
you know paper costs money, too, right?
can you afford restroom tissue right now?
can you afford free wifi right now?
are you dragging a corpse through the streets with you?
is your heart dragging like an anchor through the concrete?
do you check your phone every morning and fail to see any evidence of humanity?

when you say something cool, or write something cool... does someone comment on it? do they say more than one sentence about it?

cause i'm starting to wonder if that's ever happened to anyone.

i'd imagine plato, socrates, sitting on their thinking bench, and waiting for a thousand years for someone to walk up and say 'dude, you're cool'.

or 'that idea you had about wormholes was brilliant!'.

see, i picture a silent world of dirt, dust, ghost echoes, and eternal twilight. one man, sitting at the evolution bell curve. tiny tree next to him, with a hanging dragon. maybe a puff of smoke once in a while.

as the aeons slip through the mirage betwixt the horizon and its predecessor.

that's where i reside. and i am not happy. i am lonely. against my will.

tarzan no want jesus, tarzan want jane!

if you want me to think society is actually helping people, you have to show me proof. evidence. fact. you have to show, not tell. i don't just take anyone's word for it, i need to see it. because i fucking don't. i do not see it.

what street corner does this happen?

cause i'm mister wrong place wrong time, so i'd sure love to know. if a human were kind enough to let me in on that little piece of knowledge i seem to have missed, would be fucking wonderful, i'd be eternally grateful, i'd make it worth their while, i wouldn't waste their time, i wouldnt' waste that chance, and i would show my gratitude in any way i could. but that's not enough of a guarantee to make any other human think in their own minds, 'hey, i don't think i need to keep my receipt with this guy'.

i'm no thief. i'm no liar. i'm no drug addict. i'm no criminal. i'm no pervert (well, maybe thirty percent, if you're counting exhibitionism).

i fit perfectly on a laundryroom floor. i'm not completely useless.

if i have given, and given, and given...
if i have given more than enough of myself...
and gotten nothing in return...
and my life is destroyed, and i relocate...
and it's time for me to start getting something back...

why then...
why the fuck does society say 'we have no evidence of what you've given, so you have to keep on giving us more, before we have any reason to give back'.

first of all, that society, whether you think so or not, desperately needs to be executed without hesitation or reconsideration. if you deny that, you're part of the problem. it's my job to break the concrete beneath the cold hard truth with my head. and i have done so. now it's your turn to purchase the product.

if society has no 'evidence' of me giving and giving and giving, can't they consider the fact that i have nothing left? is that not evidence?

three years.
four cities.
three blogs.
two deviant art pages.
two facebooks.
a fetlife.
a twitter.
instagram.

not one human.

okay, so... you tell me what i'm doing wrong.

i'm a writer, i make the best panhandling signs i can think of, but i see every other drug addict panhandler making so much more than i do, while i sit there, hurting, suffering, sober, crying, shaking, and watching frown after frown walk past, and each one is like a nuke in my heart. just sending me further and further into the concrete. would you like to do that?

okay, then tell me what i'm doing wrong.

if you answer includes the word 'job' even once, this friendship is over, because you clearly don't understand me, and how different i am from this society.

on the other hand...

if your answer includes love, acceptance, forgiveness, compassion, sympathy, empathy, anything like that... a little dose of humanity from an actual beating heart... a little love... some warmth... humanity... a hand reaching out...

anything but a carrot on a stick or a cartoon stick figure with a stick up its ass...

aren't we friends? aren't i worth knowing? aren't you worth the effort it took to reach out to someone else?

why does personal experience matter so much, especially when it's mostly silenced and stomped by society, and shown to be less valuable than greed, selfishness, and the voice of society telling you to be just like them?

and why would anyone want to be what society wants them to be?

did you lose your inner child in some fuckin' cave lookin' for a treasure?

i saw this thing when i was a kid...

'your inner child would be whippin' your ass right about now'.

and a friend in high school told me this...

'i'd rather stay a child and keep my self respect, if being an adult means being like you'.

i wrote that on the jail cell walls. cause they kept calling me a child.

i can't help if society actually thinks that way. all i can control is how i feel about it. and i'd rather feel disgusted than try to mask that hatred, lie to myself, and paste a smile on my face to appease someone who doesn't appreciate me. i'm sorry, but i don't see the point, the price tag, or the receipt for that product, so i'm not buying it.

and if value is only taken on someone's word for it...

then i say my product is more valuable than yours.

oh, so you can dictate my life then?

another buddy of mine just walked up to me, right here in this starfucks, six thirty am, not even a full minute ago... and said 'how are you doing', i said 'still lonely', he says 'you gotta get yourself out there', i said 'i've been trying for three years, why does everyone assume i haven't tried', and he walks away.

why the fuck does everyone assume i'm not trying?
why the fuck is it everyone's natural fucking instinct to assume i haven't been fucking trying!!!???!!! WHY, LORD, WHY THE FUCK!!!

WHEN DOES THIS SHIT FUCKING END!!!

when does anyone understand who the fuck i am?
when the fuck does anyone give a shit!

my other buddy david... a fuckin' mooch, a leech, always hanging around me, nothing to offer, nothing to say, and can't even tell me why he hangs around me, but smokes my weed and cigarettes, won't even help me panhandle or carry my case for me or anything, won't even watch it for me while i use a restroom, is this a friend that's valuable enough to keep around?

my other buddy bob, and his 'wife' jamie... they break up every month. constant drama. they're both uglier than a goat's ass. i've given bob a bunch of weed and smokes over the last year, even cash here and there, food. but damned if they can't stop body shaming me for not showering and being a nudist. so i told them to fuck off, called them mooches and leeches.

COULD SOMETHING STOP FUCKING ITCHING YET, PLEASE!!!
COULD SOMETHING STOP FUCKING HURTING YET, PLEASE!!!
SOMEONE HELP THIS BODY OR I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL IT!!!

so i told them to fuck off. while doing so, they had to body shame me once again, for being a nudist who doesn't like to shower.

seems to me, that if they wanted a friend who showered and dressed like a paranoid fundamentalist christian freak... if they wanted that friend, wouldn't they look somewhere else? just... elsewhere? anywhere else?

but... play with this theory... if someone wanted a friend who was a nudist who smelled more like a human than a product... you think they could have found me by now, it's not like i'm invisible, i've been all over the internet for twenty fucking years. i've been through four of the most 'open minded' cities on this coast, you'd think we would have run into eachother by now?

no, cause i forget that there are seven billion consumers on this planet that i have to sift through to find the one other nudist metalhead in existence. the other fucking unicorn. mythical creature. possibly fictional.

WHY THE FUCK DOES EVERYONE ASSUME I HAVEN'T BEEN TRYING!!!

what the fuck do you want from me that you're not getting...

cause i can tell you exactly what i want from each and every one of you, all of you, that i'm not getting.

change.
kindness.
forgiveness.
courage.
inspiration.
healing.
respect.
recognition.

all things that i have given, and given, and given.

i have compromised myself, sacrificed myself, wounded myself to make others happy. to help them. it wasn't even worth returning the favour.

and apparently, i need to do it even more, so new people can have their evidence that i'm a human, though i have no evidence, and can't even ask for that from them. boy, oh, yeah, that's so fuckin' fair, makes me wanna cum.

do greed and paranoid not go hand in hand?
do immaturity and excuses not go hand in hand?

then where are my leaders that don't acknowledge the fact that i don't need them, don't want them, where are they? why do they hide?

no one is looking to have a psychedelic nudist metalhead anarchist evolutionist comedian as a friend.

did i miss something?

'connecting with friends and family and having fun'???

gee, doesn't that sound like the exact reason i hate them so much?

i'm not worth a friendship to these people...
i'm certainly not family...
and i don't offer them any fun...
i think their 'fun' is fake, and undeserved.

i'm sorry. if you wanted me to see it differently, maybe you should have cared a long time ago. or point me to someone who might.

that's no humanity i'd like to be a part of.

the people i see frowning when i panhandle... they are my enemy. and, ironically, my target audience. demographic, i think they call it.

oh, i see exactly how well i belong here. it's hilarious. i could sell that joke if it wasn't an 'inside joke'. completely unwanted mcdonald's nuclear cheeseburger, raped in its wrapper, and thrown to the street. i know i'm fooling myself. and i don't know why. but i do know i'd rather die.

no, people who get to 'connect with friends and family and have fun'...

you don't deserve it. you take it for granted, while the rest suffer.

if you can't accept that...
that blame...
that responsibility...

you're not worth the dollar you're printed on.

do me a favour then, if you want more 'evidence'. sit on a street corner with a cardboard sign, and wait for a security guard to tell you to move. and tell me how you feel in that moment. let it happen to you a thousand times, and tell me how you feel. get woken up by a security guard at two in the morning, by him banging his stick on the metal pole next to your head, setting off every ptsd alarm in a twenty mile radius, and then taking you to jail for a month for defending or protecting yourself. and tell me how you feel.

have your house taken from you. your wallet. your kids. your car. your computer. your wealth of writings. your heart. your soulmate. your cat. your mother. your dignity. your confidence. and tell me how you feel.

be single against your will for three years, lonely, rejected at every turn, by every possible female, even the old ones, the ugly ones, the fat ones, the stupid ones, the drug addicted bum skanks, the rich women, the beautiful women, the perfect women, the plastic women, the fake women, the sidesluts, the fearfully excusedriven monogamous tainted whores, the shiny whiny bitches with silver price tags on their panties, the makeup, the mannequins, the hair, the dresses, the shoes, the purses, ass hanging out on display every day, but only for a certain price bracket to have access?

my ass doesn't cost a dime to touch, to fuck, to hold.

ever hear the term, 'the undesirables'?
ever hear the term, 'the peasants'?

i want to make a couple metal bands out of those names.

i'd be shot before i hit the stage, and you fuckin' know it.

i'd be nuked and burnt to the ground like the branch davidian in waco.

machine head, davidian

blind man ask me forgiveness
i won't deny myself
disrespect you have given
your suffering's my wealth
i feed off pain, force fed to love it
and now i swallow whole
i never live in the past
let freedom ring with a shotgun blast.

burn my fist to the concrete
my fearlessness is my strength
power, rage unbound because
been pounded by the streets
cyanide blood burns down the skyline
hatred is purity
the bullet connects at last
let freedom ring with a shotgun blast.

scarred, pour the salt in the wound, unscarred.

one of my favourite songs right there. one of my favourite metal bands, one of the few that's gotten me through this shit word for fucking word. one of my main influences for starting writing, the other two being geezer butler and maynard james keenan.

i.e.: machine head, black sabbath, and tool.

their lyrics not only gave me direction, but fuel.

what has society ever given me that's matched that in any way?

'choosing to participate in society, having commitments to jobs and property that they must answer to and care for'.

i'm really sorry, and really ashamed if you can't understand how wrong, how sickening, how evil that statement is. no one in society is capable of understanding just how wrong that is. it's ugly, vile, disturbing.

why do you think that way? and why can you think no other way?

how about this... i choose not to participate in such an evil, hateful, cold, cruel, heartless, apathetic society.

i have no commitments to property, because i was never allowed that luxury.
i have no job, because i'm sick of that being the only option out of this.
i'm literally trying to invent another option.

and 'that they must answer to and care for'...

first of all, who the fuck ever gave a fuck about me?

and secondly... i have nothing and no one to answer to or care for.

i don't need someone telling me what to do.

oh, yeah, and we're almost missing another vital piece of why i'm not allowed to make a fuckin' friend, another piece of me that society constantly misunderstands or assumes should be their way... i love this one...

people love to tell me that i only care about myself and no one else.

yeah. oh. wow. see? yeah. fuckin'... whoo! yeah, what a zinger, huh?

felt the heat off that one... my ear's deaf now. my eye's watering. cough, hack, sputter. yeah!

no, see, i have no one to care about because no one gives a fuck about me. i know you think that's just an excuse, but i'm living in a world of pots and kettles that are completely unaware of eachother right now, but oh so destructive to eachother, and... is that 'spin the bottle'? if i had someone to care about, don't you think i'd care about them? or do you assume i'm more of a robotic clone than you are, and i'd take advantage of it?

fuck, i hate cologne and perfume. plastic fucking products.

see, it makes you sick that i smell like a human.
it makes me sick that you smell like a plastic product.
but you did throw the first insult/punch.
so if you cower from this war... that means i win.

does it not?

and secondly... the exact same could be said about you, and is said about society frequently, by those who don't belong there. but how would society know that? you have no ears, no heart, and your head is filled with parasitic product choices... so... you know... oh, but i'm sure you'd know anyway.

infallible idols, dishonest leaders, and a chain of command...

but you can't even acknowledge the bedrock on which you grow this delusion?

and you think society is all that great.
you think participating in this nightmare is getting you further ahead.
you have to realize, your humanity, your conscience, your truth, must realize, that you participating in this nightmare means that someone else doesn't.

that is the essence of this spinning bone machine.

and society itself calls that 'fair'.

i call that delusional. i'm sorry. i know you think i'm wrong, but...

i own my eyes.
i know what my heart yearns for.
and you've never been able to convince me otherwise.
you'll never be able to convert me, buy me, sell me, own me, enslave me, control me, or silence me.

i'm sorry if that offends society, but it's kind of intended to.

remember... shock value?

i should be valuable to you, to her, to anyone else.
i could be valuable to her, to her, or even her.
i could matter to someone.

but society whines and cries like a spoiled little child, throwing tantrums and knives, bitching, crying, and always getting its way, while the poor suffer.

that's okay to you? because you benefit from it, that's okay to you?

does that mean i have to be okay with it even though i don't benefit from it?

i'm not okay with it. i'm repulsed by the very theory. it should have been discarded immediately, instead of turned into a ten thousand year fuckin' scam. oh, sorry, i keep forgetting, i'm still wrong no matter what.

i have no proof to back up my claims, theories, and assertions.
i haven't done enough research.

i know my place, you don't have to stomp me, master.

(again, still talking to society, not you personally).

i disagree with everything society says. i can't help that.

my question is, how do i fix this?

and if anyone says 'do it yourself' to me one more time, i'm taking my head off, and throwing it into the street sweeper.

i don't want to hear the phrase 'do it yourself' ever again.
i don't want to hear the phrase 'love yourself' ever again.
i don't want to hear the phrase 'get a job' ever again.

how much do i have to pay to have that understood?
how much of my ass do i have to sell?
how much more loneliness do i have to live through?
to deserve that much respect back from humanity?
this wonderful, flawless, perfect society.

blameless.
frameless.
nameless.

every time i see a hot woman walking past, my heart stabs itself, and i can't help but think in my head, 'fucking fake plastic slut'. simultaneously realizing she'll never ever ever touch me, or even look at me, and for me to touch her, i'd have to take it up the ass for about fifty years, polishing knobs to a golden shimmer, carrying buildings on my back full of the wealthiest scumroaches, while they toss monkey turds down at me... for fifty years, before i could afford to even ask that lady for physical contact.

hell, i probably know that better than you do.

all i wanted to do was touch. but your paranoia assaulted me.
your fears imprisoned me, and your excuses shot me down.

you and all my male friends i just recently pushed away... just answer me this one quick question, if i'm even halfway worth it. humour me, please.

am i allowed to be myself?

yes or no?

it's that simple. just answer yes or no. am i allowed to be myself?

'yeah, but you'll never make any friends that way'.

gee, thanks for the truth there, sparky. i feel so human!

'consider that it is not neglect of another, but that time and energy can feel finite'.

okay. considered.

now consider this. if this is fair.

i have nothing but free time because i achieved that for myself by sacrificing everything else, so that i could pursue my talents without other 'commitments' thinking they own me. and i'm extremely, immensely proud of that.

i was brave enough to achieve that, why can't you?

it's never too late...
'every passing moment is another chance to turn it all around'... (vanilla sky).

also consider this. i have absolutely no energy. i'm sapped, drained, overwhelmed, exhausted, constantly overexerting myself and getting nowhere because i have to do everything alone, by my fucking self. with no help from anyone. ever. my fucking self. butt fucking alone! me!

goddamned alone!
mutherfucking alone!!!
my godfucking self!!!

dragging a case around with me... alone.
dragging this corpse through the streets with me... alone.
trying to heal this stupid pathetic heart... alone.
getting to places... alone.
thinking of shit... alone.
rocking to my tunes... alone.
watching my movies... alone.
sending out emails... alone.

i know that sounds like paradise to everyone with money, but...

you have to 'consider'...

that life makes me want to carve this heart out and fucking eat it.

do i need to repeat myself? because i will anyway. i feel i need to.

that life makes me want to carve this heart out and fucking eat it.

can you understand yet? please?

your life does not make me happy.
why must i live it, when i can't even afford to?

is society seriously that incapable of understanding, comprehending poverty?
is society really that blind to how harmful this shit is?
is society in denial that poverty has harmed and mangled lives?
is society literally that unaware that poverty shouldn't exist?

the 'american dream' was sold to us, as the 'land of opportunity', that 'opportunity came knocking at your door'.

that's a lie.
that's a scam.
if you couldn't see it, don't blame me.
i fucking smelled it from a thousand years away.

and if this is a contest... i can't even see dust behind me anymore. but i know i'm still alone.

the 'american dream' mentioned nothing about equality, yet called itself 'fair'.

and if the only things you balance are checkbooks... you're failing everyone.

including yourself, considering if we united together and worked for better, better would actually be better.

instead of the defeatist attitude that 'this is as good as it's gonna get'.

or, even worse, 'this is as good as it's MEANT to get'.

i refuse to believe that lie. i refuse to buy that product.

and i have every fucking right to reject that delusion.

if you think this is as good as it's gonna get, go find a history book and go back to sleep. cause you're not helping anything get better.

those who are displeased with this world, of course want better.

that means there are two types of people on this planet right now.

those who want change, and those who don't.

those who don't want change, look here, you've gotten to appreciate this earth and take it for granted for a couple thousand years now.

what do you say we get a chance? you know... the 'meek'?

you might have forgotten about us wth all your greedy self worshipping money mongering and boasting and pride and patriotism and children and breeding and colleges and paychecks and nuclear weapons and carbonated drinks and alcohol and crystal meth and heroin and charlie fucking sheen, yeah, i get it, boy, you're so proud, all your achievements and accomplishments, your mountain of success that dwarfs my entire existence, yeah, i'm in awe, i love it, i get it, total worshipper of yours, hello!

'dear meek,

it's time to inherit this earth.

love,
today'.

'the meek'
'the peasants'
'the undesirables'

how long do these rich scumfucks keep getting to enjoy their antigravity levitation shoes that run on our blood?

when will we have our turn to just enjoy the ground we walk on, without delusion and concrete around us?

for society to be brought down off its high horse...
another option must be invented.

because whether you think so or not, this world is not fair. it is anything but. it is bloodthirsty. powerhungry. never satisfied, but always satiated.

and any machine that runs on fear...

can you not see it yet? have i not said it well enough yet? cause i'm making so much more of an effort than anyone else is, pouring words out of my heart, trying desperately to tell a story that hasn't been heard yet, and it's just passed off and insulted under the childish assumption that 'this is as good as it's gonna get'. that's exactly what the people said when they stopped heading west and gave up when they got to nebraska.

if only the strong survive, then how is los angeles still alive?

have you any idea how many females i watch pass by me, refusing to notice me? have you any idea? how many a day? too rich, too perfect, too selfish, and way too high above me to even see me. do you have any fucking idea how many? how many women? do you have any fucking clue?

cause i'm waiting for you to try it and tell me what you think.

tell me if your self worth diminishes.
tell me how close you get to stabbing your heart.
tell me how relevant you feel, how necessary.

now, another misunderstanding.

i am not looking to society to care for me. at all. in any way, whatsofuckingever, no fucking way at all am i wanting society's care.

i'm wanting a few people who share my interests to step out of the pyramid, and help me build a new one. one much more flat. with a big fuckin' smiley face on the top. is that getting fucking through yet, cause i've said that one exactly precisely four billion three hundred and forty two million, eight thousand, six hundred and fifty four fucking times in the past two years, and do you see where the fuck it's gotten me!!!??? do you see where the fuck it's gotten me yet!!! yes? no? are you even fucking trying???

i'll repeat that. i'm looking for another metalhead. another nudist. another anarchist. another scientist. another comedian. another fucking hippie who's not acting out some ancient role. anyone who shares even one of my fucking interests. to step out of the woodwork, come out of hiding, find me, have the balls to tell me 'hey, let's do something big', okay! how hard was that? how much was that to ask? how long did that seriously have to take? how difficult did that really have to be? was that worth aching for twenty years for? was that worth sacrificing myself, compromizing myself, bludgeoning myself? was that worth all the crackheads who beat the shit out of me? was that worth my mother calling me delusional? was that worth all the hell, all the pain, all the poverty, all the arguments, all the boredom, all the loneliness, all the rejection, all the alienation, isolation, the walking, the walking, the fucking walking, seeing all the hot plastic mannequins and never getting to touch the plastic surface of the reality of your dream, the membrane surface of the reality of the lie you can't escape, the prison cell walls, the cold, the cruel, the vicious, the attacks, the republicans, the forced sobriety, the orders, the asses, the short skirts never blowing up, the lack of love, nudity and sex in public, but being repulsed whenever i see a rich couple kissing or touching or holding hands, was it worth all the tears, the blood, the pain, the loss, the sacrifice, the damage, the hell, the agony, the misery, the torment and torture, was it fucking worth it? was it fucking worth it?

was it worth the herpes, and the end of my sex life?
was it worth the mother of my children selling my kids?
is it worth every douchebag on this planet staring at me?
is it worth having fifteen desperate males approach me every day begging me for shit, but not one female in three fucking years taking the slightest fucking notice of me, was it fucking worth it?!!!

would you do it?
would you ever consider yourself brave enough?
would you even want to?

no. fuck no. i am absolutely not looking to this sick society for care.

i'm literally trying to invent my way out of it.

but to do so, don't i need to start here? where else would you suggest?

if not the bottom, how do you start near the top?
if not luxury and privilege, how would you start?

if not spoiled and pampered, how would you prefer to carry that?

am i not making sense yet? am i not getting through yet? have i not said this enough times to enough people? what the fuck am i missing? what the fuck am i doing wrong? can anyone tell me? does anyone care enough?

apparently not, i mean, i'm still asking this fucking question.

september twenty, twenty seventeen, eight fifty six am.

my birthday is in six days.

on september twenty six, at six:twelve pm, i turn thirty nine years old.

i don't fuckin' know why.
i don't even know how the fuck i'm still standing.
but i'm seriously considering skipping the party, if you catch my drifter.

condemned to loneliness.

did i inherit hitler's karma, or what?

can anyone answer me?

if not to be your personal ass kisser, why the fuck am i here?

i'm not looking to society to care for me. don't insult me by misunderstanding me that horribly. i'm not stupid, i know i never said that. never even implied it no fucking ambiguous innuendos or anything. 'a few' does not mean the whole of society'. 'like minded' does not mean everyone. and 'to give a shit' does not translate to 'care for me'. and by care, i'd like to point out, most of you just mean me having the ability to shower and bathe myself to your obsessive requirements, which will never fucking happen. you obsess about hygiene, doesn't mean i have to. stop telling me when to shower, how to dress, what to think, and what role to act out, what job to get, what car to drive...

just stop.

get it through your thick fucking skull, society, you childish, evil pond scum!

i do not have to be you!
i do not have to live your fucking pathetic life!
like it's so fucking great in anyone's eyes but yours.
how did you convince everyone that this was so great, that's what i wanna know. besides hitting this planet a thousand years before i did, how the fuck did you sell your product when it was so obviously a scam?

and why do i have to buy it?
do you not have enough customers?

could i have just a few? 'fuck no'!

boy, where's that exit?

i see it. i see it clearly. in my head. i fucking see it. am i delusional?

is that grounds for my execution?

just because i don't shower doesn't mean i don't care for myself. i don't need to obsess over hygiene like society does, because i'm not going after the same jobs they are, or the same friends they are, or the same plastic fucking life! it's not a life, it's a fucking product! you're just wearing a product, and acting out that role! you fucking morons! how can you not see that! when i see that douchebag in the nineteen fifties business suit with the brown leather shoes and brown leather hat, i ask myself, who the fuck are you trying to be?

when i see the girl dressed in the nineteen fifties polkadot dress, corvette sunglasses, matching purse, and matching dog, i can't help but think to myself, who the fuck are you trying to be???

who the fuck are you trying to be!!!

no, by comparison... black trench coat, black skirt, long hair, cigarette...

ever seen that before?
in history?
throughout history?

search your history books for the word 'outlaw'. go ahead, i'll take a smoke break...

yeah. rogue. see?

not trying to 'fit in', but rather trying to invent 'out'?

so these plastic people can stop worshipping themselves, and forcing their opinions on us, as well as their feet...?

making any sense yet? cause i could keep going. obviously.

i've seen those plastic party masks. the glasses of champagne. sparkly clothing. golf claps. fake laughter. fake smiles. and the thoughts. 'are they looking at me'. 'do they see me'. 'what are they thinking'. the glitter. the lights. the tits. the makeup. the skin. the music. i can feel the numbing of the alcohol around your brain. i can feel the security and paranoia battling in your chest.

i've seen that party. in that golden door.

you think you're so special.

when you turn the lights on, the animation stops, and it's just a bunch of mannequins in a warehouse. didn't we see that movie?

i've seen it.
i've seen it.

why would i ask those people to 'care for me'? do i really seem that weak? fragile? dependent? whiny?

why does society have to be so flawless, blameless, perfect, infallible?

and why do i have to be the lonely enemy. the unwanted wallflower at the wrong party.

do you ever ask yourself these questions?
do you ever find yourself asking anyone else?
do you have to defend yourself and explain yourself as much as i do?

exactly.

so how the fuck did i even imply that i wanted society to 'care for me'? and when? where? can you copy/paste what i said?

no, see, i care for myself in ways that do not include society's hygiene obsession for the perfect job and the perfect wife and the perfect car and the perfect cologne and the perfect champagne and the perfect dog and the perfect mercedes and the perfect white picket fence and the perfect checking account and the perfect relations with the right neighbors and coworkers...

i'm ashamed of myself. humiliated. disgusted with myself. i feel repulsive. useless. ashamed to be a human. in this rat turd of a body. in a hell of a reality. i'm... sickened. sickened. disturbed. humiliated. can you understand that? can you understand, that underneath all that shame and disgust... i still value myself more than any of society's lies and clone molds?

can you really, truly understand that?

my flesh wants to be touched every moment, and i live among fake plastic fear bags who never touch unless money is involved, they never let anything be seen, and they call that 'class'.

no, see, if women can get popular by posting selfies of their ass on instagram...

what's stopping me?

go ahead, answer that, it's not a rhetorical question. not hypothetical either.

here, write your answer here...

____________________________________________________
____________________________________________________

yeah. my point exactly. egg fucking zachary. two dorrah! you pay!

not asking society to 'care for me', i'm asking for a couple other people who have detached themselves from this selfish, selfinflated, selfjustified society, so that i can pursue my talents, and get the fuck out of this nightmare.

does that make sense yet? is that too much to ask for? how long do you think that should take to accomplish? how much pain, how many tears, would you be willing to pour into this endeavor? free time? money? shoes? your cat? your mother? your kids? your dignity? your confidence?

you say that it's 'because time and energy can feel finite'.

am i supposed to be fooling myself thinking they're not?

i wake up exhausted. worn the fuck out. in pain. stiff, sore. i check my phone, and my heart plummets through the concrete. you ever have a morning like that? see, people with homes can say 'i rolled out of bed this morning'... homeless people? yeah, i stumbled out of the concrete. dunk that in your starfucks and choke on it. or, you could be brave, and try it. come back to me with your own statistics. if you think i'm worth a minute of your life.

how many years of your life would you dedicate to a good friend?
how many fingers would you sell to keep them next to you?
if they had straight blonde hair, a plastic looking face that looks like it's covered in meth dust, ultra skinny, billion dollar clothing and golden jewelry, so much plastic surgery you could use her as a hookah...

would you give a finger for that lady?

cause i wouldn't. i don't want her to 'care for me'. i might inhale too much plastic and fuckin' die. i might drown in coffee, or get eaten by her yippie fuckin' little dog. scrodent roach.

'put your shame in a box
how could you be so wrong
you sit there broken as the world moves on

do you fall like rayne on the crying
cold and alone like the bitter and dying
do you fall like dust on a ruin
empty and dead like the life you are losing'

i present in a way that says i care for myself, just not to society's ludicrous demands and paranoid but retardedly low standards and childish fucking intentions and motives, i'm sorry, i don't know why society can't understand this, cause i've explained it a billion fucking times.

i dress the way i like.
i bathe as often as i like.
i like the music i like.
i'm trying to start a metal band, not a 'dress code company'.

why do all mannequins expect you to be just as plastic and just as stupid as they are? why do they fear you if you're smarter or your flesh feels more real? what do they do when you prove yourself more human than them? do they run back to the assembly line crying electrolyte tears?

i'd bet you twenty bucks...

'why do you choose that?'. do i not own my choice? do i have to choose what you choose? seriously? society just cannot handle me thinking for myself? deciding what i like based on my preferences and intellect, and not just doing everything the television tells me to do? does that scare you?

i choose not to be a part of this society because i think it's sick.

simple as that. i picture a better world. a better reality. a better society.

i picture the next phase of human maturity, collective responsibility...

evolution.

i was born to see that. why would i plaster over that with television commercials and jerry fuckin' springer? doctor fuckin' phil?

what do you call a guy with no arms and no legs in your coffee mug?

phil.

what do you call a guy with no arms and no legs in your wallet?

bill.

what do you call a guy with no arms and no legs on your lawyer's desk?

will.

don't forget bob, art, and matt. matt's on your doorstep, art's on your wall, and bob is floatin' down the river. my name is no longer joe, and i never worked in a fucking botton factory, cause i ain't no fuckin' slave.

i'm the opposite of a slave. i'm an outlaw. and i can even spell it.

imagine that.

so... i'm sorry, but i take a lot of offense when you say that i said i wanted society to 'care for me'. that's a brutal misunderstanding of what the fuck i've been asking for, for three years now. that's not right. that's not fair.

and usually, when i try to stand up for myself like this at these certain times, i usually get the whole 'if you're taking offense to something that socially accepted, you must be insane, not society' debate that always ends in a fucking terminator scenerio. and then they tell me i watch too many movies, or too much teevee.

pots and kettles...

psychologists actually call that 'projection', where someone projects their problems onto you, and blames you for what they've done wrong. see, my entire family was professionals at that, and i tried not to be anything like my family, so i get thrown into the scapegoat pool and treated like shit because i'm not a hypocrite like them, i don't share their selfish agenda, so i must be insane, i must be labeled and dismissed as such, and never acknowledged again. am i projecting my problems onto anyone else? am i blaming society for my problems? am i just a fragile little weakling that's not happy with his own failures, so i have to hold it against everyone else?

or is that the most maturely a child can comprehend that i am?

'the caterpillar cannot understand the butterfly'. (old buddhist proverb).

the way i see it, i have a solution to this problem. the problem keeps telling me that i'm the problem. so i have figured out, if you paint the kettle white...

debate's over.

and like shattered mirrors, we finally recognize eachother.

just two wounded, lost, confused souls swimming in a fish bowl.

two eyes trying to see one another in the darkness of space.

do i still not know what i'm talking about?
am i still living in a fictional reality? a dreamworld?

i'm a dreamer, not an employee.

you're trying so hard, so desperately to make me an employee. why?

do you not have enough already? why do you need one more?

why do christians need one more christian?
why do drug addicts need one more drug addict?
why does any addiction want everyone including you?

cause none of you are ever getting me. you can't afford me. i'm too intense for you. you can't buy me. you don't own me. i am not your puppet. i'm not your dog on a leash. i'm not your mannequin you can dress how you like.

i wear skirts so i don't look like any other male.
why? cause i'm sick of being dominated and told how to dress!
i fucking detest males for this reason!
you're taking all the women, corrupting their minds, and it's still not enough for you, you need to own me, too... i already can't find a fucking girlfriend because they're all under the impression i need a job and a fucking shower first, thank you for that, but i still plan to change that with a brutally offensive debate, tickets are on sale now for 'touch my ass ninety five'.

every douchebag i see wearing jeans or khakis, dress shoes, the perfect haircut... i just think... you fucking clone. you soulless robot piece of shit. you think by being what society wants you to be, that's how you get a girl, but all you're getting is another mannequin like yourself.

if i want a girl with balls, and not a plastic coward...

do you think i'd attract that lady by wearing what that douchebag is wearing?

yeah, fuck no.

see, that's called chemistry. i've got a poem called chemistry. that's called irony. and that's also called bravery. balls. scrotal pulp.

am i just talking myself into my own dream, or are you still following?

cause i'm still getting to your last part.

'why does it feel that you want from society only in the way you want it. why do you not meet them halfway'.

again with society's most common misunderstandings of me.

society is incapable of thinking outside the box, but i'm incapable of talking into the box, cause it's a worse angle than taking out jfk from a school book depository window, so let's try this a different way. i'll use that high and might tone that you're all so fond of. even though, when i've used it on you before, you act attacked, and take offense... not understanding the psychology of hypocrisy in your own head, but luckily, i understand it well enough for the both of us in this instance, so here we go, ready?

knockin' down walls like a bulldozer... that's my job.

the more misunderstandings and roadblocks you put up, the stronger i'm getting at knocking them down, by the way, but let's keep this up!

practice makes perfect, after all...

okay, assuming that i 'want from society only in the way i want it'...

does that mean the only other option is to keep taking it up the ass?

it's too much to ask to be turned over and treated like a human with a face?

society can only give you kindness in the way it wants? you can't even suggest a different delivery system?

is that okay? is that fair? is that mature? is that responsible? is that sane?

fuck no, it's not. that's a child dictating the classroom. if you can't see that, then i shouldn't even be talking to you. i have higher standards. going through this argument over and over again for twenty years, that's the shameful part. how fucking stupid could i be? dumb enough to repeat myself for twenty years without charging for it.

if everyone else can capitalize on their talents, i can capitalize on repetition. you want me to tell you what time it is for a fifth time when i have much more useful information in my brain going to waste?

fifty bucks, mutherfucker. it's not my fault you can't google.

now... sorry that i have my own preferences for how i like to receive random acts of kindness, but when people hand me coffee, i'm not going to just drink it, i fucking detest coffee, the taste, the smell, and more importantly, how fucking retardedly popular it is, so i'm gonna pass on that coffee to the next homeless person i see, and get myself a fucking hot chocolate.

i'm not stupid. i'm not a robot. i'm not a fucking slave!
AND I FUCKING HATE COFFEE!!! I FUCKING LOATHE COFFEE!!!

if it's a 'random act of kindness', you don't get to choose which hole they stuff it in? is that it? is that how society justifies their abuse?

or how about the old lady who passed by me, and said 'you know why women won't talk to you, it's because of all the weenie wackers out there'.

the mentality behind that statement is so sickening... i'm saving it in my arsenal for later. it's gonna take some contemplation. but do you think that's okay? do you think that's excusible? cause i fucking don't. and i shouldn't have to take that shit. being blamed because all other males jerk off, wow. that's high class, lady. fucking elegant. stylin' and profilin'.

if that's how all women think, about all men...

where do i aim the first nuke?

cause i claim zero allegiance to either side of this stupid fucking room.

immature.
childish.
spoiled.
and fucking wrong. dead fucking wrong.
this classroom of children fighting over who gets to fuck who harder.
and paying for it.
and you think this is so fucking great, there couldn't possibly be anything better comin' down the pipeline?

i asked a cop once, what do you think comes after a monetary society is no longer necessary?

without hesitating or contemplating for more than a second, he spits back 'chaos'.

so i let half of his 'beat' pass, because i already knew what he was going to say (authorities are literally that predictible), and i said 'are you really that paranoid, you fearful coward fuck?'.

it says on my twitter, 'those who think anarchy means chaos, are not meant to survive the chaos, to appreciate the peaceful anarchy which follows'.

i think that says it all. copyright ozztek industries, all rights reserved.

so... for an experiment... what do YOU think comes after a monetary society is no longer necessary? (hint: you win fifty bucks and a chance to touch me if you give a better answer than he did, with a little more... what did you call it... 'consideration'...?).

it's obviously my job to think of this shit... not y'all's. deal?

okay then, stop trying. let me do my work.

am i wrong to think that... everything else i have sacrificed, compromised, and lost already... means that i have already 'met society halfway'.

the twenty years i've been trying to start a metal band without finding any other metalheads dedicated enough to see it through...

i've met you halfway.

losing my kids, my house, my car, my cat, my hair, a hundred pounds of myself, a severed head worth of writings i wanted to build my career with...

i've met you more than halfway.

being homeless, lonely, and rejected by thousands of snobby women for three years...

i'm getting real fuckin' close.

not finding anyone who has any idea how to publish a book, comic book, or even one person willing to get me to an open mic?

oh, i'm almost to your door.

if it was a contest of 'bringing whose fight to whose door', i would have won by now. no?

cowards still won't come out of their docile domicile, but the sun is still calling for them and ignoring me.

complacence.

but they still think they're winning this war.

studies show alcohol creates delusions like this. and living under a rock.

i say i've met society more than halfway. just because they can't see it, doesn't mean they can deny and dismiss it. it's not my fault they can't see it. it's theirs. blame should be placed where it's earned. and not thrown around like monkey shit. pots and kettles, if you let them rule the classroom for too long, you're gonna have to walk in there with a bazooka to get their attention back. you didn't learn that one either? yeah, neither did columbine.

'son, don't just learn from your own mistakes, watch the show cops'. (mama).

'it's better to keep your mouth shut and let people think you're stupid, rather than open it and prove it'... sorry mama, i broke that rule. i had to. they wouldn't leave me alone and stop trying to convert me. you remember what that's like. hey, now that you're up there in heaven, can you beat the shit out of pat robertson for me? thanks, mama.

how many fucking times do i have to hit backspace today?
what the fuck is wrong with you! act like my fucking hands!
do what the fuck i tell you! you stupid sacks of meat shit!
i used to be able to fucking type better than this!!!
what the fuck happened!!! these are someone else's fucking fingers!
i swear to fucking christ, i'm cutting them the fuck off!!!
they're not fucking getting me anywhere anyway!!!
i'm gonna fucking castrate myself, cut my fingers off, stab my heart, shoot myself in the head, throw myself off a bridge, and impale my head on a fucking parking meter in front of a pack of christian tourists just to prove a fucking point! godfuckingdamnit!!!

sorry...

anyway.

i believe... sorry... breathe... breathe... breathe...

i... believe... that i have met society more than halfway. and that's a sad excuse to not take one step toward me. society just wants, wants, wants, and never justifies, but always gets its way, like a spoiled little child.

i'm the adult here.
i have a lesson to teach.
i know for a fact, the class is not more mature than i.
i need to get their attention, teach something, and relax/retire.

now, if you were in a classroom, trying to teach something by getting everyone to look at you... but the entire classroom is playing videogames on their smartphones, and ignoring you...

when you ask them to look at you...

and they say 'no, you need to look at us first'...

i.e.: 'you need to compromise, come our way, step toward us, do what we say, before we even consider what you're saying, you need to baby us, and treat us like these fragile little flowers, but if you tell us that, we're gonna get offended and waste more of your time, but we aren't going to look at you until you appease us first, and coax our attention out of us nicely'...

would you obey? comply?
or would you get the taser?

society has been vegetized enough. pampered and babied and coddled enough.

all while throwing those dirty diapers at me.

and i'm supposed to 'meet them halfway', and compromise more than i already have because what i have compromised isn't visible or relevant to them, when i have nothing left to give... that's an acceptable excuse to you?

cause i could pay my old psychiatrist five bucks to piss on that with me.

fuck the classroom. fuck the children. i'm not here to coddle.

i'm here to smack the shit out of all of you, wake you the fuck up, superglue balls to your legs, and teach you how to fire a fuckin' weapon.

at this moment, children would start fantasizing about guns and airplanes and army shit and lambourghinis... fucking douchebags.

even when i was a kid, i thought those 'lambo' kids were fucking douchebags! losers! fucking queers in their mother's panties! sad sacks of scrotal goat shit!

am i making myself fucking clear enough yet? i was raised in a seventy one chevy fuckin' nova, three fifty small block, rally rims... not a fucking lambourfuckinghini! you pansy ass fucking posers! fakes! what the fuck was wrong with this boys, and how did they make it to manhood, let alone make it past the fucking scalpel? the hairy legs hanging out from the shorts? seriously? douche fucking bag! is this thing on?

has the terror alert rainbow gone up to nuclear alien neon red blood toxic goat vomit green yet? is that a colour?

i can see it.

anyway.

yeah, see, the children who, right there, start fantasizing about machine guns and grenades and army uniforms and shit...

right now, they're wearing shorts and flipflops and spending daddy's money on their morning starfucks, and feeling extra spoiled and pampered today.

notice the pink shorts? the strawberry panties underneath?

but i'm the child?
am i wearing pink shorts?
no, i'm wearing a mutherfucking black skirt.
find one other male with the balls to wear this.

in fact, i had a couple gay guys tell me, 'dude, it takes balls to wear a skirt like that'. thank you. i'll stick that compliment on my fuckin' wall. and even though i have no wall, that compliment is still there. i'll take that to the bank, cash it, and spend it on fuckin' pussy!

if i could get my fucking eyes to stop fucking itching!!! for one fucking day!

i swear to christ, i'm taking myself off this planet soon. just the pain alone is reason enough. everyone just wants to tell me what to say, and doesn't want to hear a word i might have... so fuck it... why try to pass on a universal lesson to a classroom full of apathetic spoiled shits. it would be better for the universe to just flush that fuckin' turd party, and move on.

but i'm wrong.

yeah. no. bull fuckin' shit. i refuse to believe i'm always wrong just because society is always right and self justified. fuck you all. ain't no fuckin' slave. as if YOU even deserved a slave.

no, see, i wear a skirt to tell people, in an offensive, scary way, that i don't have to be anything like them, and i'm never going to be.
i wear a trench coat to tell people, in a very abrasive, violent way, you will never own me.
i don't shower because it's my way of telling society, if you don't like my human smell, fuck off back to your plastic product life.
it's my way of weeding out the useless plastic fucking pansy poser fakes phonies and clones that are so readily in my way.

how many of them do there really have to be? seriously?

and there's still no god to wake me from this nightmare? but every fucking one of them gets to tell me daily that i should believe in their god? that makes a lot of aneurysm sense.

ooh, bloodclot, watch it. furball. hack! hey, he's still goin'. tumbled under the house, and swung right back on top. that's what the chinese call a five pointer.

no, i'm offended by this notion that i have to meet society halfway, that i have to do what they say, pamper and coddle them, just to get the attention i deserve in return. see, i think it's much more worthwhile to earn respect. and that's not accomplished easily. and it's never fun for the class. that's why you would get pizza afterward. remember? i was there.

why the fuck should i have to do a single fucking thing society ever tells me. i wasn't planning on begging for their attention, i was planning on acquiring it by force. shock. playing offense, not defense.

the first twenty years of my life was playing defense, and getting no further down the field. it's time to stop playing their game, and start playing mine.

no compromise.
no more fucking lies.
it's not fun till someone dies.
i don't stop till the last pansy cries.

this is my game.

i know that should answer your question. my question is: is that understood yet?

i'm sick of being misunderstood and stuck in your molds. to even conceive me, you need to think way outside your box. stop living under a rock. invent another box, and live way outside of it. i was born outside of your pyramid, and i'm not alone out here. out here, i'm not just your puppet, i'm a fucking hero. an outlaw. the vital opposing perspective required to topple that pyramid delusion and free humanity once and for all.

oh, i know, it's all fiction to you. just let the days keep passing... maybe you'll see it, maybe you won't. doesn't matter to me. but the winds of evolution are blowing.

when i finally escape these walls...
the walls of this mold...
the delusion society puts around me...
the rivers of misconception...
when i finally crack this eggshell...

y'all better run.
it's gon' be fun.

yeah. not trying to fit into society, trying to invent 'out'. so... can i finally be understood yet please? recognized? acknowledged? noticed? thank you! took me four hours to write this fuckin' thing? and how much did i earn for this waste of time? not a dime? perfect!

and hey, it's too fuckin' long to post! haha! wow!