i hate to keep saying this

i fucking hate people so fucking much. every goddamn human on this fucking planet. i fucking hate you all. you'll never know that, you'll never care, and that's just one more reason i fucking hate you.

i sat at starbucks till two pm. went across the street to scrape a bowl and smoke my last cigarette. but the scumbags are there, so i have to hear their ignorance the whole time i'm scraping, plus the wind blowing all my shit around, blowing dirt all over me, i fucking love that. i try to bum a cigarette on the way back in. what do you think reality says? yeah, fuck no. so i come in and try to plug in. the zz top twins, two scumbag pieces of shit i keep seeing around, they're worthless, they don't do anything. they're plugged in next to the only open seat in the corner by the door. i ask them if i can plug in. they say no. i say you can plug your phone into your laptop like i do, and save a space. but he wants to act stupid and refuse. so now i'm sitting here typing on battery power. barely stoned. josh isn't back yet, and i'm so sick of that name, and all the rest of these names, when am i finally going to stop seeing consumers, clones, people named josh, drug addicts, scumbags, credit cards, cops, concrete, when am i going to stop seeing this shit! when am i going to meet anyone like me! when, lord, when!

what the fuck is wrong with this world?
what fucking delusion did i stumble into?
and i can't blame anyone for bringing me here, nor can i kill myself?
that's a wonderful, well thought out little deal there.
and there's a god that everyone but me can pray to!
there's money that everyone but me can spend!
there's flesh that everyone but me can touch!

oh, i really belong here.
boy, i feel right at homeless.
unwanted in a world where the rich...
i'm sick of saying this shit.
it's not obvious to anyone else yet, it never fucking will be.
you human fucking pond scum make me fucking sick.
there's no excuse for you, you disgust me.
you should all be ashamed of yourselves.
walking by panhandlers and not giving.
what are you trying to be?
you ever ask yourself that?

you make me fucking sick.
all of you.
every goddamn one of you.

can't give.
can't give.
can't give.

just can't smile.
you don't look like you're enjoying life to me.
and i'm certainly not enjoying watching your life.
you could bore the fuck out of a slug.
you evolve like a fuckin' hoola hoop.

i saw the documentary about ozzy osbourne. called 'don't blame me'.

and in the documentary, that christian right wing idiot, i forget his name, is going on about how he went to an ozzy concert, and saw all the fans with the 'sign of the devil' on their fingers, and he says 'not a smile on any of them'. he has to descriptively say that.

which, first of all, you know is a lie.
if you've ever been to an ozzy concert... sea of smiles. i don't know what denial that idiot was looking at, but he was dead fuckin' wrong. he was so wrong on that, his lie smelled like republicans.

but anyway. and secondly... uh... okay, the stench of hypocrisy as well. ever look at a christian? what's the look on their face? describe it. do you see a smile? pick out a sea of christians from christian mingle dot com, and let's see what we get. cause i don't know if it's just me, or what, but whenever i see christians in church, they're not smiling. whenever i see christians in the streets, they're not smiling. whenever i ask them for money, they don't smile. whenever they're bitching at me about whatever i'm doing wrong... do you think they're smiling?

no, christians are the most delusional, negative, hateful people i've ever known. their religion is about forgiveness, but i've never been forgiven for anything. they've hated me for no reason since birth, never explained a fuckin' thing, especially intelligibly. they have so many reasons to hate you, but very few to forgive you. they preach about forgiveness, but stick people in prisons for years. is that forgiveness? their dollar bills say 'in god we trust', well, if i don't trust your god, does that mean i have to spend your money? no answer. do they even understand what i'm saying? no answer. blank stare. is anyone else having this issue here? sea of dead crickets in a fuckin' library. is this thing on? hello? god, am i dead? so yeah, that's bullshit. they're the ones frowning and complaining about shit, metalheads just look that way on their album covers. in case you're... you know... hopefully you're not judging a book by its cover, and instead looking a little deeper, but you know... just in case.

i fucking hate people. you disgust me. two legged humanoid scumfucks with credit cards and dogs on leashes, fuckin' tattoos, buying clothes that make you look like something you're not, what the fuck are you trying to be? what the fuck is wrong with you? you sick, stupid creature! when does this shit end? what's next, cause i'm already bored? are you going to ignore one of your audience members who's bored with the show? and i'm not allowed to exit? well, something needs to be done then, the complaint wall has dead gods all over it, so i can't let anyone know i'm displeased with your little idea here, hello? is anyone brave enough to listen? i know this isn't what you want to hear, but humour me for a second. don't do what everyone else is doing. jim hightower says 'swim against the current, even a dead fish can go with the flow', but los angeles only has dead fish? where are the brains? i feel like a zombie, but i know it's the opposite side of the delusion, i'm a little lost here.

i fucking hate you all.

anyway. sorry. and third, the douchebag christian on the ozzy video... someone needed to say this, i can't believe this was never said by anyone, what the fuck are you people thinking if no one could say this, why did this have to be my fucking job, anyone of you could have done this, but i really feel like this needed to be said, still needs to be pointed out and said publicly, and accepted or legally enforced or something. can we vote on it? can we protest and write it everywhere? can we get some human spirit back together? are we all completely divided at this point? is there any hope of uniting?

but this seriously needed to be asked, and it never was.

i really want to ask that guy. just to see what reaction it sparks. i know i won't get a legitimate answer. i'll get lies, denial, accusations, diagnoses, all sorts of bullshit other than an answer.

here's the question i want to ask. ready?

drum roll...

do you know how stupid you sound?

i'd love to ask that guy, and most of these idiots, in person someday, seriously inquiring, honestly begging for a legitimate answer. i know i'll never get one. oh, i know that. i've already been through this argument a billion times. i know for a fact. scientific fact. proof, evidence, work shown, mutherfucking fact. i will never get an answer that's anywhere near honest.

but if they ever asked me anything, and i got a little angry, or raised my voice in frustration at having to repeat myself, or anything like that, they would say 'he's flying off the handle, drug him'.

mature approach, sure, okay. just like you dragged me out of the hospital parking lot. these idiots are so mature, aren't they? but somehow, they can blame you for all the shit they're doing. they accuse you of being immature, they blame you for being irresponsible. but i see another truth. i see that they are the lie. they are the delusion. they are the evil, the frowning, complaining, bitching, selfish pieces of shit. am i the only one who sees this? that cannot be true. i refuse to believe that. in fact, i refuse to believe any of this horse shit, and i'm waiting for something to happen that peaks my interest again.

i can't sit on my laptop or type without my elbows screaming in pain. my stomach won't leave me alone, constant rumbling. i'm thankful my teeth aren't hurting too much, i ran out of pain pills last night. my neck is fucked, it keeps feeling like it's going to break. and my laptop's already on low battery. i fucking hate these disgusting humanoid creatures, two legs, a credit card, and no heart.

what the fuck has happened to all of you?
who were you misled by, and for how long?
and how much are you enjoying living your life?
traveling, dining out, driving, flying, having money?

oh, i hope you're enjoying it like it won't last.

because these people truly do not know how stupid they sound. they don't want to know.

that knowledge is evil, remember?

yeah, well, it's time some of us climbed out of that playpen. i don't want to live among children anymore. children who would ignore a fellow human.

but rappers can walk down the street and talk to other rappers.

i fucking hate all of you.
and you'll refuse to think i'm justified till the day you no longer waste space on this planet. i hope to see that day. i'm praying for judgement day. i'd love for you all to be judged for how you've treated poor people this whole time. every goddamn one of you who ignored a panhandler. you think you're so much better than what? and is there a reason, an excuse? can you think of one?

do you even know where i'm going with this?
are you gonna act stupid, or act surprised?
are you going to hate me after this, or apologize?
are you even going to guess which options my money is on?

fucking lazy human shits. fuck all of you. until you stumble out of that credit card meth product haze, i will fucking hate you more than you hate me. just to keep the upper hand. don't think you can hate me more, i was raised around my grandmother. she was satan. you wannabe fucks.

so that question really needs to be asked at some point during this argument.

do they really know how stupid they fucking sound?
believing in a god that excuses them from acting like assholes, and treating people poorer than them like shit, people who don't want to work their jobs, or who would rather follow their own lives, but we're not able to do that in a monetary society, try explaining that to them! go ahead! i'll time you!

you pieces of fucking shit. hypocrites, lazy fucking human scum, i hate you. when will you know it.

your god can't even tell you how much i hate you, let alone explain the reasons to you. like you'd ever listen in the first place. and you think you're better than me. still.

i've been to an ozzy concert. i smiled. i've been to church. i didn't smile. neither did you.

go ahead. tell another lie. keep it going. you think i haven't been through this before.
you think i haven't learned what i needed to learn from this shit already.

i see it in the obviousness of hot women flocking to california. you think i don't know what you're all really doing here? you think i'm that stupid? i'd love to see a hacker hack into all your accounts someday, just to look for one little piece of information. what you're all trying to be. i'd bet two dollars for every dollar i'll ever have, that you're all trying to be the same fucking thing.

fucked.
taken care of.
spoiled.
actress.
porn star.
get a free ride through life.

all of the above. it's all the same fucking thing. the same choice. you're selling your bodies, and taking advantage of that, to live a better life than i can, and you fucking know that, you already had one twenty two year old shoot a few of you, how many more do you need before this herd of cattle wakes the fuck up and starts walking another way! you're walking through a permanent midnight of the human psyche, and you don't see anything wrong with that. and if i do, you don't have to listen. oh, but i'm being childish, uh huh, sure. yeah, keep saying the same thing, thinking it will always work. nothing could ever possibly learn from this, we've figured it out perfectly. boy, you're so smart. you must be proud. nothing ever evolves out from under your denial. if you can deny it, it's simply not there. god, you're so infallible, you're just like your god. coincidence? so perfect. well i'm sicking of looking at you all. i'd love to see all your heads on the fuckin' road. oh, let that offend you. cause the only reason you can sell your bodies right now, is because we're still in a monetary society. i'm counting days, hunny, till your undeserved free ride ends. fuckin' dollar sluts. i can't stand you. holding the arm of one man at a time, what toilet of denial did you drown in? i'm praying to see your skinny ass and your stupid fuckin' face splatter all over sunset boulevard. credit cards go flying. i'm praying to see it. let's see who's god shows up first.

cause someone needs to say this... your god sucks at judging.

keep it going. how long can this go on. how long can you enjoy life without letting every other human enjoy the same. how long can you keep excusing yourself. i'm really curious.

i've proven you wrong so many times. but my blog has four fucking views.

seems to me like you're just to lazy to get out of denial. which means the earth is going to have to find a solution. something to do with you, so we can move on already. time is ticking, i know that much.

take your doomsday clock and shove it up your ass, while you're falling into the volcano, please, so i can photograph it and put it on facebook. please? i'll pay you for that. i'll also give you this free tshirt that says 'i oppressed the poor for centuries and stumbled into a volcano and all i got was this stupid tshirt'.

all your movies.
all your pop music.
all your food products.
all your overpriced restaurant food.
all your paid security and waiters.
all your slaves preparing food for you.

you can take every godfucking bit of this unholy pyramid of yours, and shove it all up your stupid, unevolved, in denial, lying scumbag fucking ass. you fucking pieces of shit, you fucking human turds, why can't you at least be ashamed of yourselves? why is that so hard for you to admit? why are you incapable of truth? why do you smell so fucking horrible! like paris hilton's plastic credit card douche dildo, that's what you fucking smell like! drenched in perfume and denial, hiding in layers of clothing and cash, never knowing who or what the fuck you are, never having any potential for change, just spending that fucking credit card, and telling others what to do. and each time you ladies hold the arm of a rich man instead of the arm of a poor man... you're letting satan that much further into this world. i hope you know that someday. all your chatting about what products look prettier. i wish i could rape every one of those putrid fucking words back into your horrid mouths, so maybe i wouldn't feel so ashamed of all the shit i've said that was never heard. all the words and breath i've wasted in the wrong direction. the less ugly i feel... the more truth i see through your draining opacity. fucking die already. please let this offend you. let this ruin your day. get all bitchy about it. please. it's not the money i want paid back. you'll never have a fuckin' clue.

you are scum.
what the fuck is wrong with you.
and why the fuck are you still here.
i will fucking hate you like a goddamn enemy.
i am your enemy.
i am your outlaw.
i am evolution.

deny me all you want.

i exist whether you like it or not.

that concrete won't hold up forever.

misery and agony

there are so many things that have happened in this last week that i wish i could have written on here, but i don't even have the motivation for that anymore. doing this shit alone among seven billion idiots is just fucking sad. the fact that i can't make friends with a single one of you idiots. draggin' your dogs on leashes, draggin' your pants on the ground. why should i have to fit in with that?

i just tried to use the restroom at the library. it's bad enough that before each and every single time i want to use a 'public restroom', i have to wipe off the seat before i can use it. that's just fucking sad. that means that basically no other male on this planet knows how to use a 'public restroom' properly. do women have to deal with this shit? ladies, when you use your women's restrooms, do you have to wipe your fucking seats every single time without fail? do you think that's mature? fair? excusable? what the fuck is wrong with these idiot men? do they not grow up? do they not mature? are they standing there in the darkness aiming for the toilet like a kid playing with a star wars toy? what the fuck is wrong with these men? it doesn't matter where i am, seattle, portland, san francisco, i've been a lot of places, it's not just one town. it's... every day. every town. every bathroom. right now, there's some idiot guy, probly in his thirties, standing there purposely pissing on a toilet seat just to be an asshole, cause there's no other reason to piss on a toilet seat. is that not obvious? do we have to be potty trained again? did your mothers not smack you enough? what the fuck is going on here? every day! every fucking toilet! every restroom! every fucking time! i have to at least wipe off the seat, if not the floor underneath. what the fuck is wrong with you! how old are you? do you do that shit at home? my mother would be looking for her gun right about now.

can someone explain to me the mentality going on there. grown men pissing on toilet seats like it's a fucking ritual. what the fuck is wrong with you! you're children and i can prove it on a fucking toilet seat! i've got my proof, that's all you need to worry about. you fucking childish scrumfucks, i cannot stand any of you. the fact that i have to go through this shit because of you. you talk about responsibility. and you know the worst part? i ask the librarian lady, she says it's up to me to clean it. every time. i can't ask anyone else. ever. it's my duty to scrub down every other guy's piss on this planet off that seat, each and every time.

this time. i walked in the bathroom. observed. took a look around. you smell piss as soon as you enter the room. i looked at the floor. i always look for light reflections on moist surfaces. like when you see street lights reflecting off rainy streets, i look for those reflections. if i see shiny moisture anywhere. but i go in this time, and whoever was in there before me... my mother is shooting ghosts right about now, i can feel her ranting and doing her evil eye. whatever jackass, childish fucking moron used this restroom before me... must have pissed all over the floor. the whole floor's wet with piss, you can smell it... so i walk out and try to ask the lady, i tell her about it... she says i have to clean it. so i go back in there, reach for the toilet paper... it's dripping. what the fuck, how did he... did he have to aim upward for that? did he have to stand on his fucking knees and aim up in toward the fucking toilet paper roll? what the fuck, that defies physics, goddamnit, these children are so fucking retarded, there's no explaining the shit that they fuck up anymore!

my mother and i had my friend ben over once, and his little brother tim. tim was a fucking moron. a thirty foot tall shrek mutherfucker, a goddamn oaf at the age of fourteen. my mother and i don't know what the fuck this kid did, but whatever he had to do to get this to happen must have been fucking extraordinary, he would have had to have levitated at one point just to walk out of there, i don't understand these fucking kids these days, man. beyond destructive, to where you have to try to deduce in your head what the fuck events must have happened to get this mess you're looking at to be this particular way... you're getting chemistry sets out of the attic in your head just to figure out, i have to know what the fuck this kid just did. i'm sure no one else has experiences like these, it was just my mother and i, the only two breathing brains on this fucking planet apparently. but ben's little brother tim, walked out of our restroom into our hallway and sat down. by the time he sat down on the couch, the water was already creeping down the hallway. he fucked up that toilet so bad. my mother and i never had a clue what the fuck he could have done in there, though we theorized and hypothesized and contemplated like fuckin' scientists. what the fuck could he have done in there to get that result? was he sliding down the fucking wall? how the fuck did that happen?

what the fuck is wrong with these seemingly grown humans that walk this earth and use credit cards in starbucks, how the fuck... it's bad enough when i have to wipe the seat every time i use a public restroom, but to walk into that fiasco once in a while? that magical little surprise treat?

would that make anyone else's day, or are you all zombying off into videogame heaven already. 'oh, he's just bitchin' about stupid shit again, yawn, pass me the meth pipe, i need to focus, i got aliens to kill'.

you're children. you want my proof? walk into any public restroom, and tell me you don't see what i see. you're all fucking children. any doofus fuck on this planet with a wanger danglin' between his disgusting legs, you know you're a repulsive creature, those products don't make you a better person, they just make you look like it, and you fucking disgust me. you should all be ashamed of yourselves. i can't use a men's restroom without encountering the worst of boys and all the immaturity this planet has to offer. i fucking hate men. i haven't met a mature, responsible one yet. each one of you fucks has to have some stupid opinion that you use as an excuse to dominate me, and try to get me to do what you want. you don't see it the way i see it. i don't think even otep shamaya sees it the way i see it. i would hope someone does, but i have my doubts. but i see naked men walking this earth. every man, i see them inside my head as naked. those dangling fucking phalluses just waving around. and this is what i see. if there's something that needs to be done... that guy is certainly not going to do it. and i don't see any wallet or exchange of cash. i just see the dominant guy lean over the weaker one, waving his phallus in the smaller guy's face, and using that image, that threat, to get his way, to get what he wants, pressuring, pushing, forcing, even before the dick enters anything. just to get their way, just to get what they want, that's what i see happening. every bit of money spent, i see that image happening. the weaker man, aka the man getting paid, has to be down in a submissive position, and the guy with the money, aka the guy with the dick, has to be standing up, leaning over, with his one foot propped up on some rock or cement wall or something, so he can really dangle that cock out openly. and men just force their way around the planet with this. every building that has ever been built, every political agenda. and it's not necessarily sex they get threatened with, it's usually death. they use that phallic dominance to just barbarically kill the problem. and i picture the mentality. that neanderthal brain inside that skull, and what chemistry is going on to make what thought, i fucking study that. debate me all you want, you already know i've entered territory where you've never gone. try and tell me how to think more like you now, go ahead, fuckin' try. try to see what i'm seeing in my mind, when i look in your direction, and then try to justify whatever the fuck it is you're doing. you scrotal sack of shit. i fucking hate men, if this is all men are, then men are fucking pigs, every goddamn one of them, i fucking hate you, and i want you to know it, to feel it, you repulse me, you disgust me, you don't deserve to get to use public restrooms or wallets, you fucking children! you make me fucking sick. every fucking day of my life i have to deal with your shit. sometimes literally. creatures that shit all over this planet, yet live in some delusion that they're not. you're boys. with your fuckin' little star wars toys, and your fuckin' little...

when i was a kid, there was some children's book, where they called a boy's wiener an 'acorn'. also around those years, i found out that they used to word 'dork' to describe the same thing. when i was a kid, i remember looking down once, and not being able to formulate the words, but basically thinking in my head... i looked down once and thought, 'what the fuck am i gonna use this stupid thing for?'. i didn't want to have my mother explain it to me, and i sure as hell wasn't asking anyone else. mom, you were right. more than you knew. you cannot trust these idiots. not a goddamn human on this planet is responsible enough to be a human. they're pond scum. primordial play pen rejects. a living organism on this planet is... in this mental state? so deeply that i can not only identify it, but gauge it? measure it? is this really this sad yet? or do we still have some red line room left?

they talk about the doomsday clock being closer than ever... yeah, wonder why.

so this is what i have to deal with every time i encounter a human, pretty much. wiping down toilet seats every day of my life, being harassed by authorities every day of my life, seems to me like if i'm cleaning all your piss off all your toilets, you could at least stop harassing me, and maybe thank me. toss me a nugget of weed some time, and say 'hey, thanks for continually cleaning my piss off that toilet seat, buddy, hope you haven't sat on any, i got trouble aiming, i pissed on my glasses', something! but no. the mentality that would piss on a seat would never thank anyone for a fuckin' thing. i've seen that mentality be raised straight out of the parent's house, and they still think i don't know what i'm talking about. i challenge you, anyone reading this, if you really want to know, you can look back through all my stories, and find the story about this kid i knew when i was growing up... named alan crowder. not sure of the spelling anymore. you want to see what i'm talking about, you want me to illuminate this for you? you honestly want to open your mind to what i'm saying for once in your pathetic life? look up this story. this kid didn't know how to blow his nose. when i was in my mid to late twenties, i heard through some family member, that they heard that alan crowder is now a fucking doctor, graduated early... i'm thinking... you're talking about the same kid that couldn't blow his fucking nose? what the fuck happened? how did he find the catapult, and i can't? what the fuck? is that just how i get ripped off in this world? that happens here? seriously? you excuse that?

you want to know about the mentality that i'm talking about, be brave. do your research on me. walk into any public restroom, and look at the seats. ladies, i challenge you, too, to do the same thing. randomly walk into any men's restroom, take a quick glance at the toilet seats, the floors, and come back out, and you tell me, would you want to deal with that shit every day? would you marry the guy who did that? no? cause you're probly getting fucked by him tonight, you dumb cunt. you've been fuckin' that guy cause he showers and has a wallet, when you could have been pulling this world in another direction, a better direction, it's essentially up to you who shows up on this planet, you do know that, right? you wonder why men stare at your asses... fucking duh! it's time for you to fucking grow the fuck up and figure it the fuck out! we stare at your asses because that's where we all come from! of course it's going to look beautiful and attractive to us! it's not a bad thing that it does! you dumb fucks!

what if, just play with my brain for a second, what if... let's stretch our minds real wide here... what if... just hypothesize... what if... women planned on what spirits they spit out onto this earth?

i know, just what if. follow the thought through for a minute. don't be impatient, it takes time for that seed to take root. but theorize, what do you think you would start to see after a few generations of planned births. they use the term 'planned parenthood'. i think i just proved you have no clue what words you're spitting out of your mouths, let alone the definitions behind them, whenever those two words are anywhere near you at the same time. yeah, what if we planned on who showed up here?

i picture someday, there's a girl that gets pregnant, and she goes off and decides, 'i'm going to raise the next timothy leary'. so thirty years later, she emerges from the woods, and hey, comes driving out in a psychedelic bus with rainbows flowing around it, a shitload of hippies in the bus. i'm sure we could reincarnate half of our heroes just by having fewer sluts on this planet, not knowing where to aim those asses they're packin' around behind them. now, i know how crude this may seem, but try to see it from my perspective, and not your own selfish one. since that's obviously all you've been doing for the past twenty generations. yeah, oops. been peering through the same two eyes for too long now, and because of it, your kids have never heard the word 'clean'.

so what the fuck had to have happened to that alan kid for him to graduate fucking college? i still wonder curiously. no one ever said. did he eat his fuckin' wheaties, or what? i don't get it. if i had jumped off that same catapult as him, i would have landed flat on my face. i'm not even lucky enough to find a catapult on this planet, but that kid somehow stumbled across one, and didn't die?

was he one of tim's turds that lived? are they birthing immortal humans out of roach turds, or was that just the luck i got in this life? no one ever believes me when i talk about my body. i don't know why, what could you possibly have to doubt when it's not your life to worry about? how could it possibly hurt your ears when i talk about my pain? are you just that immature? childish? fearful?

i'm dealing with some horrible tooth pain lately, still dealing with my stupid stomach that can't leave me alone for a second of my life, can't decide if it wants to fart or not... it's worse than a little kid... it's like when you open the door to let the stupid little puppy run outside, and the puppy darts up to the door, and just before he runs far enough out the door for you to close it, he teases you by not being able to make up his feeble little mind, and he'll stop, right there on the carpet, and just sit there, staring at you, like 'are you gonna pick me up now?'... that's what my farts are acting like. i get all this rumbling going on, that interrupts whatever else i'm having to do, whether spitting or popping my neck, or the ten billion other annoying bodily emergencies i have going on at all moments of the fucking day, the rumbling will actually interrupt most of that, just to rumble around, so i go and lean away to let the fart come out, cause it ain't brave enough to come out right onto that concrete that is not conducive to gas release whatsoever, but okay, keep up with me here. i lean out to let the gas out, and it acts like that stupid little puppy. it'll just stop, like 'oh, i'm not ready to go outside just yet'.

i keep looking down at my stomach and screaming 'make up your fucking mind!', or 'shut the fuck up and leave me alone!'. still think that's normal and something you should ignore? by that rate, you won't hit mental puberty till jesus returns. nothing on this body will stop hurting long enough to let me enjoy a moment of life. never has. but doctors won't even believe me when i say that. cause that's how they're conditioned to think, but you try to tell them that, and they're so deep in denial you can smell satan's ass. and they'll just blame you for everything. cause that's how they're conditioned to think. but you can't tell them that. not even if you owned the concept.

you people make me fucking sick. if you were brave enough to read my blog, you'd see all the proof you need. but you're not brave enough, nor do you have the time, so fuck you all.

so those three pills i took earlier, to coax this three month long snake out of my ribs... irrelevant.

do i ever get to make a plan?
study my history and answer that, you get extra credit.
do i ever get a chance to make a plan and have it happen?
have i ever gotten to?

i agree with sonic syndicate...

i try not to make plans, plans are for people in control of their own lives.

i fucking hate you all. you want my proof?
you can grow up and clean it off the fucking toilet seat.
you human fucking swine.

you think yourselves to high and mighty, so above the rest.

you're just caught in a bubble of delusion at the edge of this fuckin' pond, asshole.
and the rest of us are looking at you wondering who the fuck you're talking to.

ask any psychiatrist. when you tell a delusional person that they're delusional, what reaction do you get?

get back in the fucking pond till you can piss through a straw, asshole.

that should be like a requirement for something... like taking your driving test, if you can parallel park, you get your license, if you can't parallel park, you get to try again.

you shouldn't be allowed to stand on your own two feet unless you can piss through a pineapple ring and still eat it. new rule. if only bill maher had thought of that one ten years ago, i might be able to shit like a human right about now. thanks.

so thank you, library patrons, for your responsibility and maturity, and thank you library staff for being adults and owning your own library including the adult human responsibilities that usually come with a house. something tells me, if these people honestly don't know how to clean their own restrooms... if they don't know anything you ask them... every library i walk into lately, i ask them something, doesn't matter what it is, their answer will be 'i don't know'. you're a fuckin' librarian, am i the only one here? what the fuck, you work in a library, are you saying you're underqualified for the job? are seven eleven clerks too incompetent to push a fucking button? and why are they so prejudiced toward poor people, that should be their bread and butter, it's a fuckin' seven eleven! that's poor people territory, yet they discriminate against poor people constantly. then buddy, perhaps you should have gotten a job at fucking olive garden feeding old people with dentures and diapers.

it's not my fault you chose the wrong line of work, asshole. it's not my fault you don't have that many options. it's not my fault this entire pyramid is built on the kissing of asses. it's not my fault your mother never showed you how to piss in a toilet. or father, whatever. i never needed a father, so figure that one out. pussy.

i think i've gauged your immaturity rather well. but go ahead and debate me on it, that'll definitely raise the bar. it's a clue you'll never get, and you're still not getting. are you even making an honest attempt, or are you just dreaming of your videogame at home.

my mother warned me about kids like you.
why do you think i never played videogames.

coffee.
energy drinks.
beer.

all that other horseshit you idiots pour down your gullets.

you're fucking pathetic. and my proof to back up that statement is right fuckin' here. the longer you debate it, the sooner i win.

...
side notes:

i've been sucking down ibuprofen eight hundreds like skittles.
they're doing nothing for the pain.
so i figured i'd try to call sarah today, and see if she's willing to help at all.
my teeth hurt, i can't keep my eyes open, my back is fucked, my stomach, my neck, my fucking sobriety, my constant spitting, my knuckles.

i wish i could die.
i would so love to die right fucking now.
there's no reason to stay here.
why should i help you people.
you obviously don't want my help.
you reject it at every mention.
you're children, you're not ready yet.
i'll come back in a couple hundred years.
don't be scared, the reincarnation portal works better than you.

see that roach over there?
how do you know you weren't just him?

figure it the fuck out, kids.
grow the fuck up.

i'd love to do some sort of study, and find out for fact:
how many adult males piss on toilet seats?

keep flappin' that wacker around.
i'm gonna laugh when a bus takes it.

the librarian lady, the manager just walked over to me, and told me that i spoke about the restroom earlier, and i can't be using that language... and then starts to walk away after she says her piece. i said 'can i respond?'. cause no one ever seems to want my two cents, even though i wrote the fucking high coup on it. they just spit their rules into my head, and walk away. do they not see that words are trying to come out of my mouth? do i not make it obvious enough to these complacent, apathetic fucks? so i told her the reason i just wrote in this blog, and got no response, she just walks away.

there's no excuse for this shit. if i'm acting more mature than you are, you can't keep telling me i'm not. i will fucking prove it once and for all, to end this fucking childish debate, by pointing out the real child in the fucking room! take that veil of delusion off you, and reveal what you should finally be ashamed of. now we adults can finally fucking breathe. fuck off, kid. go find a porno and grow the fuck up. don't come back till you got hair on your third eye, you pansy fuck.

they should segregate restrooms into 'adult' and 'child'.
the children's room should have the security guard.
and that kindergarten teacher from billy madison.
can we get kindergarten cop in there, too? my grammy loved him.

i won't have any faith in anyone till i start seeing dry toilet seats. fuck the rest of you.

still sober

i hate so fucking much.
i fucking hate people.

i can't find one fucking pothead in los angeles.

i hate this fucking place.

...
'i reject this fucking race
i despise this fucking place'...

i fucking hate you all.

march is grinding it corpse style

i've thought of so many things to write here...

i've tried to think of so many different ways to say the right thing to get the right person's attention. but those people are not looking in my direction, not even online.

this is making me sick.

i can't stand seeing people walking their dogs on leashes.
i can't stand seeing people enjoying their credit card consumer lifestyle while i can't.
i'm sick of being ripped off every time i try to find a friend with weed.

or hell, even just when i try to find weed. fuck the friends.

i can't wait to get to the point where i'm no longer trying to make friends...
and i can tell those people trying to be my friends to fuck off...
i can't wait till i'm at the point where i can tell people...
if you want to work with me, you need titanium balls...

people who i've pictured being my friends, are the people who don't fear a fuckin' thing.
my friends wouldn't fear a fuckin' thing.
my friends wouldn't bitch about who gets the check.
my friends wouldn't be pussies who can't decide which haircut to buy.

my friends know who the fuck they are, and no product can dress them properly.

those are my fuckin' friends. where are they. i know some are here in los angeles.

...
last night, i got ten bucks cash back from seven eleven.
this morning, i tried to buy a dime bag from a nigger named alex.
he was way too paranoid about the cops, so needless to say, i never got my weed.
i'm sure he had fun wasting my ten bucks, though.

that's what happens to me every time i try to buy weed. i get ripped off.

where are the people who don't look to rip you off?
where are the actual, legitimate humans, with organic hearts?
where are the worthwhile people on this planet?
and why can't i find any potheads in this pathetic fucking city?

there's too much concrete here...
there's too much plastic here...

i can't feel where the actual life is. and i'm at a loss for how to find it.

i've tried just about every social site there is. i don't belong there.

i can't get my voice heard online, and i can't get my voice heard in person, and i can't find where to go, to find a set of ears that might hear me. so what do i do? where do i go?

easiest step one: find someone who speaks my language. find an otep concert, something. anything. talk to metal people. find the metal people who also smoke weed. out of those, find the ones who have enough talent to play an instrument, and don't just spit out two dollar excuses like 'my job keeps me busy'. fuck your job, if you were really passionate about music, you'd do what i'm doing.

i don't make excuses.
i don't tolerate tradition.
i do not excuse superstition.
there is no excuse for fear.
there is no excusing procrastination.

stay in your little hole.

and you can see my bright mind light up the fuckin' sky from a cave where you belong.

stop telling me i don't belong here. it's you who... ain't from 'round here, are ya, boy?

you've been stumbling on this earth with no direction or purpose for long enough.

i have a purpose. and i'm headed in one direction.
get the fuck out of my way, so i can find the big brains.

...
that's not at all what i wanted to write here today, but... i have no weed.
i get inspired with so much hatred, that the hopelessness just takes over, and i say 'fuck it'.
i've let too much shit go recently.

i have a feeling it's all gonna come crashing back.

karma doesn't take a day off. i know that. i inherited hitler's karma, so i'll be the authority on that one.

my arsenal of information against you is pulsing and throbbing with excitement.
your fear of me gets me high. your paranoia gets me hard.

i'm into shock value as a kink.
i'm doing this just to scare you.

why?

cause you look so stupid when you get scared.
those faces you make look so fucking pathetic.
i can see the price tags in your tears.
i want to plaster those faces all over the internet.
i'd love to instagram the fuck out of your stupid mug.

doubt me.
debate me.
debunk me.
wallow in disbelief.
drown yourself in fear.

it's all making my job easier. and more fun.

and right now, i'm so sober, i could kill your god.

and i'm the best chance you've got of avoiding a global suicide.
maybe the only fuckin' chance, cause i ain't got no friends yet.

eat that, fascist.

...
i'm waiting for someone to ask me this question. or whatever question leads up to this answer.

i'm interested to see people's reaction, when i say that i've never really had a legitimate friend.

my high school friends were all a bunch of lazy, whiny little shits.

i could never find any of them to play guitar for me, let alone the music i like.

which... that's number one. i don't like music that anyone else likes, so... i'm pretty much fucked for the good social times there.

i never considered anyone a friend of mine yet. if i did for a short time, they'd quickly lose me by being some form of moron i just don't tolerate.

my stupid lazy high school friends... none of them ever had a direction in life.
and if i ever spoke of a direction in life to them, i'm sure they didn't hear it.
after high school, they all disappeared. high school was their best time.
i've never wanted to be friends with those pussies.

how come i have memories of setting foot on beaches of islands that...
i know these two feet have never touched.

how do i explain half of what's in my head, if i don't have a receptive friend?

that's been my entire life. misunderstood at best, unheard at worst.
well, no, honestly, i've seen it get worse than that, just about every day.
being dominated, talked over, authority poking its finger in my chest.
harassed, told what to do, where to go, who to be, what time to wake up.

but i'm curious to see what people think of the fact that i've been deprived of having something as simple as 'friends' my entire life, cause i haven't met anyone who could match my intellect.

'oh, so you think you're smarter than everyone else'.

no, i know for a fact that i'm smarter than everyone else, and i can prove it on a fuckin' billboard.

you see anyone from mensa talking to me?

no, i never had any highschool friends. none that even stuck around.

nannette is going to college in alaska, married with a kid, lives a basic paranoid life, never talks about anything to lively on facebook because she's scared for no intelligible reason, she hates herself and her life, and doesn't even like sex anymore, never smiles...

naomi... who the fuck knows where she is.

brad... last time i saw brad, he lost his job at klpx, and there was no personality left to him. married with a kid, and there was an empty shell of brad where the jokes used to be.

booboo... who fuckin' cares. i'm sure aaron still works at the fuckin' rent to own place.

every fuckin' pathetic one of my friends ended up having kids.
in high school, we were the misfits who thought we'd never get lucky enough to breed.
hell, one day, this jimmy hixon asshole chucked a glass bottle at a friend of dana's feet, hitting her leg, and dana said something, and the idiot says back, 'at least i'm not a breeder'.

dana and her friends were all lesbian and shit. the gay kids in school before that got too trendy.
when we were all still kind of oppressed and harassed by the society we didn't want to fit into.

after mom died, i wish i could have gotten ahold of dana, she was really the only person i wanted to tell. cause i remembered that picture of her and mom hugging and smiling in the park.

i always thought my friends liked my mom more than me.
now that she'd dead, it's become obvious.

i was just the 'misunderstood weird one' of the group of misfits.
are you paying attention? i didn't fit into a group of misfits!
how the fuck am i gonna suddenly want to fit into your plastic fuckin' world.
i think it's pathetic, and one morning, i'm just supposed to wake up, and walk to starfucks like you?
just stop bitching about how you get to live a better life than i do, but this is fair how?

there's so much hypocrisy in there, i could piss on it and sell it at ihop.

yeah, some dude named dave has never said thems words before. i'm proud of that.

i'm unique. from my perspective... you're not.

and spank. the only halfway worthwhile friend i had ever made...
i reluctantly sent him a friend request on facebook lately...
he sent back, 'not even if you were dying of cancer'.

that's fine, i didn't want to friend anyone who listens to minimum anyway.
and i can find a better satanist friend to argue with about the afterlife.

but that's the thing. i don't see any other satanists with pentagrams...
i don't see any other potheads who smoke how they dress...

if i see a slacker looking person, i'll walk up to them, and i'll ask them...
do you smoke weed?

most common answer i get: nope.
second most common answer i get: yeah, but don't got any.

is everyone in los angeles this much of a fucking loser?
is this pathetic plastic city really that fucking sad?

you'd think someone would finally get offended, and say 'hey, not everyone here sucks, come over and smoke a bowl with us, let us show you some actual humanity'.

that'll never fuckin' happen. that's how i've tested reality. if i think it, it won't happen.

anything i think, never happens. the proof is in the evidence.

so if i can't attract my type of people to me... what the fuck do i do?

where do i go?

but these half assed slacker wannabe idiots that i see dressing like potheads, and then i ask them, and they say no, they don't smoke weed, i can't help but thinking, every time...

and i'm even getting extremely tempted to start saying this, since i run through so many of these pathetic fucking clones... i keep wanting to say...

why the fuck are you dressed that way then?
why would you dress like a slacker, but not smoke weed?
smoking weed is what makes you dress that way.
the weed comes first, and then you can't afford armani.
that's the way it's been for potheads and people with hearts since the dawn of smoke.

what the fuck is wrong with you?
how against the grain are you going here?

and i'm not talking about the societal 'norm' you adhere to.
i'm talking about the grain of this earth you're standing on.

you're about as unnatural as marijuana laws.
you're about as full of excuses as the bag of dog turds in your hand.

you're children.

if you want to debate me on the fact that i'm more mature than you... i've already won.

but you won't figure that out.

and the next time i go to a doctor, i'm going to take a friend, a lawyer, and a piece of paper with me. and on the piece of paper, it's going to say...

'i'll bet you a billion dollars, and your license, that you're going to say the five retarded words i don't want to hear ever again, and that's 'i don't see anything wrong'.'.

because that's all i ever hear from doctors.
i know there's shit wrong with this body.
they just refuse to do anything about it.
because they've been through too many bullet wounds, bellyaches, and boys crying wolf.

so that's apparently my fault. so they take it out on me.
they laugh at me.

they use the word 'hypochondriac' like it's a skittles dispenser.

it's no different than my grandmother telling my mother it was just gas when mom had her gall bladder removed. it's one elementary school student talking to another.

that's literally all i see there. you never made it off the playground, did you?

still just the school yard bully with a pocket full of stolen lunch money.

and now you're telling me there's nothing wrong with this body. thanks, doc.

they mock me, tease me, and diagnose me in their heads.
they do all they can to come up with any excuse of why they can't do their job.

someone needs to tell these idiots, they're just excuses, and they need to stop.
this has gotten way too childish to still be excusable, you need to stop.
those who are talking need to shut their fucking mouths and learn to listen.
those who do too much listening to television need to think of something better to say.

you're a doctor. you have all the money and tools at your fingertips to help me.

and you refuse.

and i'm being childish and immature? irresponsible? haven't i already had this argument?

with clone number four thousand five hundred and sixty fuckin' two.

i can't meet any humans who give a fuck. about anything but themselves.
i can't find any potheads in los angeles. period.

they're just not here.

and by extension, all of california, there are no fuckin' potheads here. people from seattle or denver, don't fucking come here. if you're thinking about seeing what weed california has to offer, stay the fuck away from here. all there is here is the stench of sobriety, consumerism, concrete, plastic, dog shit, starfucks, hypocrisy, and whiny little bitches. plastic people.

you give me so much to hate on a daily basis...

yeah. sobriety. wow, there's a lively topic there. i see it floppin' like a fillet o' fish.

like an egg on the hood of a car.

stay the fuck away from california. as soon as i leave here with a pocket full of cash, i'm never coming back here. plasticland. i hope this turd goes in the ocean soon, it's been too long.

and i'm feeling just as bound up as the earth is right now, i'm sure these are sympathy pains.

carol told me, 'the earth doesn't need our help'.

that pissed me off and made me fucking hopeless. the night i thought of that, i was full of inspiration and motivation, sprouting these big ideas one after another. i sent her an email asking her to say this little chant with me every night around sunset...

earth, give me what i need to help you.

i guess what i said wasn't inspiring enough.
she sent back, 'the earth doesn't need our help'.

the fuck it doesn't. have you seen all this concrete? or are you in the denial hole with everyone else?

this planet is being run by ostriches who figured out how to fly on a plane. nothing more.

and if they think i can't overpower them. if they're betting on me losing.
if they're the slightest bit doubtful of my potential to evolve this planet against their will.

i'll bet you twenty bucks you'll see their faces on instagram soon enough.

life ain't that hard. swimming through an ocean of seven billion dead zombie clones and plastic mannequin rejects to find a set of ears... i could use a little help with that part.

i didn't quite do the math on seven billion, i guess. where's google translate?

fuck yourselves. this is happening with or without you. preferably for me... without.
have a wonderful day.

empty world

why am i filled with so much hatred?

why is it impossible to translate to anyone?

why is it impossible to find anyone who understands me?

why can i not break through that, and change it?

why can i not find a heart or mind in this world?

why does everything feel so numb and empty?

why am i so lost?

it seems like ever since my mother died, society stopped having a reason to understand me... if they ever did.

what delusion am i lost in?

and will there ever be an answer to this? an ending? something better? this can't be all there is to life here. this can't be all there is to my life. and this cannot possibly be the only life there is.

if i'm this smart, having trouble communicating with anyone in this world and being understood, if my iq is this much higher than the people around me, and if i'm lost in this illusion, on this planet, right now, this american dream horseshit... this can't be all there is. i couldn't possibly get ripped off that badly, and then nothing.

no god would allow shit to be that stupidly random and unexplained for this long. not even god, but consciousness, whatever energy does exist out there, is it completely chaotic and random, or does it have some sanity, some order, some function, some awareness, some logic. i can't be the inventor of logic on this fucking planet. you must be joking, surely there was someone before me. this is what year now? where are my fuckin' friends? is the bus late?

what the fuck watch or alignment do i need to look at here? what the fuck is going on?

help, god, this is a really bad joke, god, my voice is muffled in an ocean of chaos, echoed only by my dead heroes, and i can't find the living ones in this zombie videogame nightmare, god, are you there, can you hear my voice, god?

consciousness? energy? aliens? spirits? mom? michio kaku? otep shamaya? robb flynn? fuckin' maynard? anyone? hello?

half of you are in the studio right now, or just coming out of it, the other half of you are fuckin' dead...

god, this fog is dense. tool said this bog was thick and easy to get lost in, but this is dumber than it should be right now, surely a few candlelight brains have gathered somewhere, i can't see shit. i know i'm here, but where i am, i don't know. i know i just stepped back into the room, cause there's a black distance gap, but i know who i am. this soul is still here, why do i have these memories of you guys, but can't get a smoke signal. is anyone receiving me? is this translating? hello?

am i the only human who hates plastic human clones? hello? is that just the echo of my voice?

receptive ears...
dust...
i'm sure there's something to stub my toe on...

hello?

am i the only human trying to find humans with all three eyes? did someone mention that soundgarden song, or was that me? what the fuck, man, who here is not laughing at me, who here is the least bit curious, anyone?

numb...
apathetic...
staring at nothing...
videogames...
solitaire...
lord of icons...
trash...
pop music videos on youtube...
zombie clones...

am i lost in a world of my own bad imagination, or what the fuck's going on here? you guys suck, where's the cool shit? people who speak... i don't know, what the fuck language do you call it here, cause you idiots don't seem to know. you call it english, but you're american, and none of you can speak english, let alone spell, then hbo calls it 'adult language', but that offends everyone and stays in the garage, so i don't get it, where are the adults who speak poetic passion from the heart in a fluent blending of many tongues in a sharing of perspectives and debate in search of the truth... was that sentence too long, did i lose you? where do i find these people? does anyone know where the mensa building is, and how can i teleport there without paying soulstealing fishhook cashdollars to get on a packed sardine can with empty zombie humans who don't speak and listen to what the government sells them, can anyone help me? where do i how do i get to where to find the actual humans on this planet? take me to... not your leader or your dealer, but that guy, the guy who talks, looks kinda like me, where do i find me people? is this translating? are my sentences too long for you? are you on twitter? what's going on here? is this going to sound stupid if i shout it into the future? am i talking to myself or is anyone listening? where's the megaphone? is this making any sense to anyone?

why do i feel so fucking lost, i know i've been here before, i've done this before, why do i know that if i'm the only one who knows that in this world, and i can't find people i know i've talked to before, what the fuck is going on here, why am i so fucking lost, i feel like i'm shouting through a walmart with empty eyes staring at me and not saying anything, and why do i feel like i'm the only one looking for dead people? and are they supposed to be here, or not? if not, then why the fuck am i here? and why does random not play my music on random anymore? how many lives have i lost to you morons? how many lizard tales are off behind me somewhere? how long have i walked this earth with no connection? how many times have i been here without anyone knowing? and will i have to do this shit again? cause this ain't fun for a life on this planet, i'm not having fun in a monetary society, i seem to be the only one, i can't find anyone else to translate to, not even google translate understands me, where the fuck do i go, where are the big brains, i can feel them, they're here somewhere, i've talked to you before, i know i've translated, i've lived this before, but i'm lost and about twenty years late after i should have been here, if that makes any sense, but i know i've done this before, hello? is anyone there yet? i feel like i'm in chinatown again, being stared at. oddly, walmart is kinda like chinatown. empty eyes just stare at you, but oddly enough, you don't exist either. i can't believe i ever saw that. why do i feel like i should have been here two thousand years... after now? did someone hit the wrong button? what's going on? am i supposed to be here yet, or did someone shove me on stage too soon? i'm getting lost in a sea of my own echoes here, this really isn't funny, my sanity is seeing weird shit, i can feel my mind slipping through the cusp of the earth in this age, and the earth in the next age, and i can't find anyone that makes sense to, who would actually respond with a... what would you call something they haven't named or figured out, or even identified yet... unidentified... written... concept? object? objective? uh... wait... fuckin'... what's the word for a meaningful statement with multiple words... i know it's not just an 'essay', cause kids in school didn't realize the teachers were saying that word for that reason with that meaning attached... i knew that was off immediately, that was my first glimpse that something was unworldly wrong here. people don't know what the fuck a coincidence is. spit a reaction off your tongue that has some life to it, or maybe eat a steak first, see if that helps get some life out of your heart. why do so many people drink to socialize, and why am i the only one who doesn't, without having to fill that hole with a god, or some other plastic product horseshit. why, lord, why, why can i not find anyone else who hates this shit as much as i do? i know there are a few here, i hear their songs with my own ears, but no one else's, why are my people so unpopular, hidden, and hard to find? where are they? how the fuck do i find them? cause i can't find shit on google anymore. social networks are for retarded mindless clones who can't make a choice to identify any self awareness unless it's a videogame product or an opinion about another one. what the fuck is going on here, god, why... why do i say anything? why do i speak? why do i exist when all you wanted here were plastic zombie clones and walking products with credit cards for concrete cancer hearts... why, god, why!

something fucking work!

fucking come on, man!

what the fuck is this shit!

no matter what i try to search for on google, it has to be so goddamn difficult and frustrating, time consuming, and i can never find a fucking thing i'm looking for.

whatever part of my life i'm trying to track down and get back, it takes me years to find anything!

because any fucking site i search on, their search features are fucking retardedly fucked with no excuses!

i've been searching ftop.ru for two years now, trying to replace my red girl picture i love so much.
i'll never fucking see it again, i've been through that site for years, i cannot find it, there's too much fucking cheesy porn to search through to find the high class pictures. i've tried searching every fucking word i could think of, i cannot fucking find it! or the picture of the naked girl selling televisions, they're fucking gone.

i've tried searching deviantart, wincustomize, google images, fucking everything, for some old icons i used to have, or any new nice icons i might like. i like the round shiny orb icons, but damned if i can find fucking anything. all the icons i have to sort through are those stupid flat boring grey ones that everyone else loves. i cannot fucking find cool icons that i like. you idiots all like the flat boring plain grey shit, i like colourful roundy orb shiny fuckin' glossy icons with cool pictures in there, i used to have a shitload, damned if i can find them anymore!

trying to download or install updates for windowblinds, trying to get anything to work as far as windowblinds ten, any news on the updates, and if i don't have money, despite all the fucking money i've already paid them minus the complaints and inconveniences, well then i'm just fucked. there's no talking logically to these sick, stupid, selfish fucks. greed kills individuality, uniqueness, and customization tendencies, do you not fucking know that? do i have to fucking tell you that? what the fuck is wrong with you, you immature shits! let me tell you what the fuck to do, and believe me, this will all work out a little fucking better. if only so i can find an icon when i fucking search for it, and not having to spend weeks, months, years, trying to track down tiny little pieces of my shattered fucking life while i'm sitting in a library with slow wifi and socks that are way too old to be healthy for my fucking feet!

why! why the fuck can i no longer find anything on google? i used to be the king of finding free shit online! whatever you could get that you had to pay for, i guaranfuckingtee you i could get it for free, one way or another.

now i can't even fucking pay for anything and actually find it. the entire internet is a scam.

and all those fucks like firefox, saying 'working for a more open internet', and 'nonprofit organization'... yeah, fuck you, you can't convince me that you're not a bunch of corporate fucking whores just doing what the fuck you're told, you're not a fucking human, you're not working for the freedom of humanity, cause you have no fucking clue what that even is. and i know that for a fact, cause when i search google, i can't fucking find shit!

i've offered to pay people a hundred bucks just to track down my red girl picture.

money is no incentive anymore.

i can't beg anyone.
i can't convince anyone.
i can't pay anyone.
my money is worthless, useless.

i fucking hate you all.
i used to be able to use a computer.
now i'm left with your inabilities.
your handicaps.
your retardation.

and i fucking hate you for it.

when can i invent something better?
when can i find a set of ears that will care?
when can i find a heart that will help?
will it ever fucking happen?
who do i have to pay?
whose cock do i have to suck?

where the fuck are my people!
i'm sick of this shit!

taking the land back

fact: the british came over here, slaughtered the native americans... which... i just call them natives, i'm part native, and they were here before there was an america, so... natives. british came over here, slaughtered most the natives, left the rest in reservations and poverty. we know that story. don't we?

fact: they titled something 'the american dream', and let a bunch of... well... from what i see, being homeless, and walking into seven elevens and burger kings... all these dot indians and asians, who seem so hateful of poor white people... which... makes no sense to me... they work in a seven eleven. poor people territory. it's not a five star fuckin' restaurant, but they seem to think so. what i've noticed, the dot indians and asians come over here, hoping for a better life, and they get stuck working at a fuckin' seven eleven with scum walking into their store all day, and hey, i get it, i sympathize, i don't like them either, they're hostile, incoherent drug addict thieves, i get it. you were ripped off. no one asked what the american dream was intended to be to this day, and i find that disturbing.

so, i ask why. why are those asians and dot indians allowed to come over here, set up shop, and harass poor people? the poorer you are, the more they'll harass you. if you're homeless and they can tell? you're fucked, they don't have to have a reason to harass you. josh and i walked into the seven eleven we had been good customers at for at least three months, and out of the blue, the jackass boss says to us, 'we no longer allow homeless people'. i said 'you're discriminating against your biggest customer'. but they got an attitude, started having a problem with us, wouldn't let it go, and now we can't go back in there. very mature.

but it's that 'we have the right to refuse service to anyone' mentality. it's not anyone. they have to say that to keep from getting in trouble themselves. but you know who the fuck it is.

now, i get it, people with homes, you have a reason to not trust homeless people, i get it. most of them are thieves, because they're too poor to afford their own shit, so they have to steal yours, and that's a big deal, i get it, i don't like having my shit stolen by rich people, so we're even. my life was completely shredded simply because i wasn't rich enough to keep it. once the rich people came knocking, i had to go, and leave my life behind. any rich people ever have to deal with that? i don't fuckin' think so. moving on.

homeless people are also drug addicts, but look at it this way. your leaders, the american government, put those bad drugs on the streets. sure, they'll sell you excuses, like 'no, some crackhead named reggie thought up meth in the eighties', or 'it was all richard pryor's fault', but no, let's all act like adults here, we know the truth, all you have to do is watch that documentary 'american drug war: the last white hope', made by kevin booth, a friend of bill hicks. so if you want to blame someone, you can only blame yourself for supporting a system who put poor people on bad, manmade drugs, instead of the ones that grow out of the fucking ground, which the system already demonized through the last century. if you don't know your history, get the fuck out of this debate right now. cause it ain't a fuckin' debate. i'm telling you the fuckin' truth, if you're dumb enough to debate that, go back to moron school.

okay, so, we have poverty, lack of choices, desperation, drug addiction, hopelessness, lack of answers, thievery, fear, distrust, and tension growing between two sides of a very volatile coin. i see both mentalities trying to coexist in the same habitats. concrete. tall buildings. suits, ties, briefcases. right next to panhandling signs and heroin needles. and the two seem to coexist in this extremely unstable... those homeless people are fuckin' nuts, i've seen it, anything can set them off at any second, you ever seen a loose hand grenade? pieces rattling around inside, pin's out, but it just hasn't blown yet? that's the mentality of more than half of the homeless people you see on the streets. but they've got their excuse, they've been fucked in the head by some pretty diamond encrusted cocks. you know those crystals you see in the souvenir stores? big purple ones straight out of the cave? amethyst and all that? those big fuckin' crystal stones? imagine that going up your ass, into your head, fucking every bit of sanity out of you, killing your heart, fucking up your intestines, liver, lungs, shredding the shit out of you, mind, body, and spirit, exhausting you, and leaving you with anger issues, trauma, and on and on and on. you'd be pretty fucked, too.

now, you've seen those navy seals training videos? of the shit they have to go through, showing endurance, stamina, mental strength? all that shit? torture, training, more torture, more training... yeah? if you're not seeing a connection by now, you probly should have left this debate last time i asked. cause it ain't a fuckin' debate.

generations of this. people have died. and we're desensitized to all of it, we've been conditioned to not care, some of us are aware of that, most aren't, but we're just lost in this pool of confusion, not knowing what to do, if we did, we know we couldn't do it alone, what's the point, someone has to think of the answers who's in charge, cause they have the money, and there's so many people... stop right there. they keep using the excuse that they do not have the money, there is no money, we're in a multitrillion dollar national debt, whatever the fuck that is, and rich do not give to the poor, they have no reason to, these are people who are no longer willing or capable of being a functional part of the monetary society. hell, i see fat people dressing up all pretty and having a go at trying to fit in, and make their way in this society with only a legally paper proven education, but no talent or vision, lost in a dead end job the rest of their lives, miserable, barely making enough to pay rent... but that's where they keep the 'middle class' for a reason. those are the 'hard working americans who are the backbone of this country, and helped build it', so they're patriotic and they go along with it, and wear american flag baseball caps and drive ford trucks, and shoot their guns once a year, either forth of july, or halloween. i've seen it. fat average americans who know they'll never fit in enough to get those billions, but they're happy just paying off the mortgage, as long as they can buy their beer every night. they're happy with one woman their whole lives, they think their children are special, and they keep to themselves most the time, unless their neighbor phil comes over. that's america. the freedom to do whatever you want, as long as it's within the lines of the standard recommended american family dosages, so says the fda, and we all listen to and trust the fda, cause they're not the cia or nsa. ooo fucking kay.

conditioning through generations to separate, segregate, and divide, not seeing selfishness, fear, greed, or paranoia taking over. through the eighties, we saw the rise of senseless violence. rapes, murders, shootings, drugs, the show cops. i learned a lot more than you think from that show. i learned a lot more about humanity than you think. but go ahead and debate me, i'm sure you know more, and i should just be educated by you. i should be in awe of your expertise, i should bow to you, and i'm the one who loves the sound of my own voice, yes, sir, captain america, sir! aye eye, cap'n. yes master, right away master. oh, let me serve thee, your holiness, your highness! thank you for letting me serve thee, lord! xmen! i'm glad i have my own two thumbs. the day they take those away, is the day i pull the pin on this little grenade. you don't need a thumb for that.

now, please, pay attention. you're homeless. your life has been destroyed, you're left with nothing but mental trauma. what do you do. you have no answers. there's no one you can turn to. the answers being offered are horseshit and you know it. religion, churches, they feed the poor, but do they really care. can you trust the food you're being given? fuck no. if you think you can, you're about as retarded as they want you to be. you all know that religion is not our answer. since when has the lord blessed you? he certainly blessed america, but when it came to you, i guess that voicemail got deleted accidentally? sure, keep telling yourself that while you're standing down the street from a billionaire shooting a movie about himself. like he's actually doing anything. he's sitting on his ass the entire time on one of those comfy movie chairs. although, i'm a human with legs and thumbs, i don't see how those could be comfortable, but okay, rich people sit on some stupid shit, they design some stupid looking furniture and call it 'interior design', and sell that shit like candy, they also eat some really retarded shit, and i can prove that in any given white box scenerio. and that's how you should spell scenerio, cause some dumb cunt i shouldn't have known used to put too much of an accent on there like a douchebag, and even rolling her 'r' like she thought she was fuckin' french or some shit, if you can't use the word right, don't fuckin' use it, you fuckin' twatfish. if i even think that word in my head again, someone's gonna die. oh yeah, and her and the name 'javier'. if i ever hear that name again... same scenaarrrdio. deep fried cunt.

anyway. churches are not the answer. religion is not the answer. god has not been answering your prayers. obviously. you can live in denial all you want, or you can accept the fucking truth like a responsible adult. you've been fucked for a while now. there is no god. he's not on the back of your dollar bill, he's not the one feeding you free dinner on the side of the street every night, he's not signing papers in the white house, and he's damn sure not telling those idiots what to do. if you think they're listening to the same god you are, there is no hope for you. there will never be an answer for you. i can only offer an answer to the people who are willing to accept it. to grow the fuck up, and realize that this is the truth, this is the world we are trapped in, and we have to make it better now, or it will never happen. we cannot wait more generations, as more of us die with no hope. we can think we're not special, or we can be special. it's our choice, not the people who raised us and told us we'd never be anything.

right now, i want everyone reading this, to take a step back from their lives, flip those people off, and look at something else.

find something that makes you you.
find something that makes you who you are.
find something that tells you who you want to be.
something that's not a product of any kind. or a product belief.
no price tag attached.
no rules attached.
look at your own life, outside their box.
find something that makes you feel like yourself.
not a movie.
not a song.
not a type of food.
not even a passion or a talent.
not a taught piece of knowledge.

tell you what, i know i'm cutting a ton of shit out of your normal day.

go outside and lay down in the grass. smoke a joint. get stoned, fall asleep, and dream something.

when you wake up, sit there for a few hours, just looking at the sky.

by the way, if you never get to do this in your life, you're missing out.
how the fuck are you gonna tell me you know a fucking thing about the truth when you haven't even done this.

now, point in a direction. stand up, put your finger forward, and point.

feel your heart follow your finger, feel your heart WANT to chase after it.

now, before you start running through the grass like a buffoon, stop yourself, and let that want go.

that's no longer your want. let it be someone else's. let it go.

try again.

think of something ELSE that defines you uniquely, as opposed to anyone else. something that makes you proud.

that thought, that idea, that concept, whatever it is that you come up with, you're going to fold that one up and stick it in your back pocket. that's going to be your currency that's going to get you there.

now, you're going to think of a third thing. something that doesn't define you uniquely. something that makes you feel like you're a part of a collective, all of us, humanity, as a whole, on this planet, one united mind, one active choice.

something, that if you wore it on your shirt, everyone would give you a thumbs up as you walk down the street. something to connect you with everyone else. something all of humanity can get behind. can you think of it?

yeah, fuck no, you can't. cause nothing like that exists yet, and that's the fuckin' problem. what answer would you offer to someone with that look of hope and opportunity on their faces? the american dream? i think we've already returned that with a receipt enough times to get the fuckin' hint. fuck that, fuck you, and fuck the creator of it right up his diamond encrusted asshole. it ain't amethyst, he's spent too much time in thousand dollar restaurants.

rich people eat some morbid, greasy, nasty fucking shit, man. i'm glad i've never tried caviar. something tells me it'll kill my brain cells. and animals that no human should ever eat, or at least that's what the earth tells me.

cow, pig, chicken... edible. deer, baby cow, salamander, shrimp (like goatscag, aka, the mother of my hellspawn, obsessed with shrimp, i'd take her to a mexican restaurant, she'd get a fuckin' shrimp burrito, every time. i finally stopped wasting my money, and i'd only feed myself. fuck you, i ain't holding the door for you anymore, you signed my kids away, you scagwrench. you fuckin' putrid scrotal disease. goddamn goatsack. like a roach crawling on your skin, man, ewghughflibbityhaack! i'm glad i smoke. that's an animal you can eat, but i won't be there)... not edible. nature shouldn't have to grow that message into a fuckin' tree stump for us to see. stick a stick in a fish, pull it out of the water, set it on fire, and fuckin' swallow it. that's nature, fuckweed. no gun required, you overamped fuckin' steroid. when the neanderthal is needed again for history class, we'll let you know. till then, sit down, shut up, and learn how to flip a burger, jackass. feed someone other than yourself for once. do something earth might appreciate.

your life has been taken from you. you're left with nothing. just mental trauma, constant harassment, no quiet place to call your own, no door you can shut to keep the world out. what would you do. what answer would you be looking for, and what answer could you offer to others. you've got zero cash in your pockets, no bible, and you couldn't get a job if you wanted to. you're too ugly, too stupid, addicted to bad drugs, and a legal tail longer than your leaders'.

sure, hand them a bible, that'll help. it has before, right? yeah, but how would you finish that sentence. how do you always finish that sentence? every fuckin' time, what's the last thing you have to tack on there. come on, you know it, don't hide in denial from me, not right now. be brave, what's the one thing you always fucking say right there.

come on, spit it out.

'if they follow the word correctly' or whatever phrasing, yes, yes, there it is. we all know it.

you have to pray harder.
you have to be worthy of the lord's attention among so many others, cause he's busy with santy clause, right?

did they kill the easter bunny and make chicken nuggets out of him?

that cupcake's got some santa clause beard hangin' off it, if you know what i mean. uh huh huh.

'git r done' on my hat, with a fishing lure shaped like a fish hangin' off the 't' for 'titties'. that's america!

america! fuck yeah!

okay, put your cock away, let's be adults now.

fuck you, i am an adult, nascar is better than you, patuey! goes the tabasco flavoured tabacky. slim jim style. sparky, get me a beer.

yeah, okay, let you have a little proud moment there. great. back to the topic. pay attention.

you're homeless. got nothin'. you walk into a seven eleven with a pocket sized bible hangin' off your belt, some canister you don't remember where you got it, and you walk in there to get your morning coffee minus taste buds, you're three cents short, and the seven eleven clerk... who takes his job way too seriously, and doesn't quite realize his place in the world, thinks he's king of the seven eleven customer world, sits on his throne of soda can cases, waving his magic wand of fascism, which looks like a slim jim with a fishing lure shaped like a fish danglin' off the end of it. cause there's no 't' in slim jim, unless it's the tabasco flavoured one. the clerk... cause god forbid it's the manager... the clerk harasses you, and says 'no, you get out of my store, you no come back! you too poor to shop here, you stay avay! i call secooority!'.

the security guard comes and tasers you, calls the cops, which are just next paygrade up security guards, amped up on more hostility and steroids, and probly the meth they're filling the streets with, cause who's doing drug tests for that? you forget that the only drug that stays in your system long enough to be detected through most drug tests is still just marijuana, right? the most demonized and ironically most harmless drug on the face of this earth. did you forget that, cause i could force you to watch that documentary. these are all mandatory to become an evolutionist anyway, so you might as well get started some time. you should learn what priorities are, too. but anyway, i'm rambling about senseless shit, moving on.

now, you're observing, i hope, that mister asian dude, who manages a seven eleven of all places... hates poor people.

dude, i'm sorry that you're one step away from homelessness yourself, but that's no reason to shit on us while you still have a chance.

'no, you steal from my store'. first of all, no, i didn't. secondly, what could i possibly steal, that would put you out of business, and hurt you so bad, that you need to take your aggressions out on me at this moment? what could possibly provoke you to get so hostile with me over buying a hot fuckin' chocolate? i come in here every morning, wave at you, pay for my hot chocolate, and i always pay extra, and this one morning, you have to bitch at me. why?

are they coherent enough to answer you? fuck no.
do they shut up long enough to listen? fuck no.
do they have to listen to a word you say? fuck no.
if you explained it to the cops, would they give a fuck? fuck no.
if you called a lawyer, would any of this even matter? fuck no.
are they mature, responsible, and coherent enough to be working at a fucking seven eleven? fuck no!
that's why they're working at a fucking seven eleven!

they were sold the american dream!
so they dreamed of a fancy french restaurant with only dot indians allowed!
now they work in a fucking seven eleven, barely making rent each month!
yeah, i'd be fucking pissed off, too! but not enough to discriminate with racist hatred and greedy opinionated prejudice. fascism, tyranny, oppression... that whole fuckin' pyramid, but 'it's not to blame, stop blaming your problems on society!' why? i say it's time to blame society. you fuckers are at fault, and i'm gonna shove that down your throat against your will. i'm gonna shove that up your ass against your will. i will rape that into your ear hole, because that's exactly what you've done to me my whole life, and yes, you are at fault. you are to blame.

why? because you are society.

go ahead. call a lawyer. could you possibly, in all maturity, make this matter? fuck no!

you know why?

that little sign right above their head.

remember?

'we have the right to refuse service to anyone'.

seems to me like they shouldn't have that right.
are they going to refuse service to keanu fuckin' reeves? fuck no.
would they refuse service to laurence fishburn? fuck no.
would slave refuse to serve mister joel silver? fuck no.

if keanu reeves walked into a seven eleven, he would be catered to. how may i serve thee, lord!
thank you for giving me a glimpse at your holyness, sir! here's a free donut, it's the best i have to offer!

but we all know, that keanu reeves played a role based on a character who's very reminiscent of... me.

but no one remembers the outlaw. ever since nineteen ninety fuckin' nine, all i hear from you idiots is 'trench coat mafia' or 'the matrix', but you morons have no clue what either of those pussies were actually reaching toward.

they can't even afford to dream of achieving my greatness.

i'm not neo. i'm not a couple of angstridden teenagers, either.

no, i am the person they were trying so hard to act like.

i am an outlaw.

it's time you updated your dictionary definitions. see, chaos is for stupid people.

anarchy is for outlaws.

get it fucking straight, or don't speak on the topic.

people who think knowledge is evil? i want you to see them be the first to go. as my first little offering of truth to you. to follow me into no longer following.

no more mental issues. no more acting. no more pretending. no more lunacy. no more idiocracy.

do they care that you don't have the money to keep yourself clean enough to come into their store? fuck no.
do they care that you were woken up by the cops this morning, and that's why you're in a bad mood? fuck no.
they're in the bad mood because of you.

and the only thing they really own, is that little sign above their heads.

'we have the right to refuse service to anyone'.

because that store is basically an extension of their home. you're in their store, like you're in their home, like you're in their life.

would they ever be caught dead shopping in your store, whatever it may be? fuck no.

do they support their communities properly? fuck no.

do you pray hard enough to their god? fuck no.

are you worthy of forgiveness from an allforgiving god? fuck no.

are you worthy of forgiveness from them, so that you may shop in their store again? fuck no.

if you were forgiven, would you want to continue shopping there with your ptsd making you feel like it's the house you were raped in? fuck no.

are you able to find another seven eleven spot that's good for panhandling? without a smartphone and google maps?

are you mentally capable right now? fuck no.

what do you want to do? lay the fuck down. can you? fuck no.

it's not illegal to lay on a sidewalk. but if the cops stop you, yes, it's illegal to lay on a sidewalk, cause they can get you for whatever the fuck ludicrous crime they want. if you throw a cigarette butt, they'll get you for littering. doesn't matter if it was a butt you picked up and only took the last three hits off of, doesn't matter if that cigarette butt is doing less damage to the earth than the concrete it's landing on, doesn't fucking matter, your life is now officially legally fucked for the next ten years, financially and otherwise, simply because you weren't a good enough slave. you're sleeping on concrete, and they still expect you to pick up your trash... a: the concrete is earth trash already. b: they have people come along and clean the street. whether the street cleaners, or other housed people 'volunteering', or other homeless people trying to make a few bucks, there's always someone coming along to clean up some of that trash.

i've asked security guards before.

do you think i'm some piece of trash you can just kick further down the road cause you don't like me?
do you think i'm your fucking slave? that you can tell me what to do because you own me?
do you think you own this sidewalk, so you can dictate that i can't be here, where i can and can't be?

because the truth is, no. i'm not a piece of trash you can kick further down the road.
no, i'm not your fucking slave, no, you cannot tell me what to do, no, you don't own this sidewalk.

you need to grow the fuck up and realize that.

are they coherent enough to understand you? fuck no.
do they speak enough english to properly understand anything? fuck no.
and they're in your country, you're supposed to be patriotic and stand behind.
they're in your country, not speaking a word of your language, and telling you incoherently to get out, never having to tell you why at any moment, yelling at you, getting hostile and possibly violent, no matter how much you tell them you're nonviolent, then they call the security guard, who just calls the cops, so i don't even know what the security guard's job is, other than snitch and bitch. whine, harass, bitch some more. shout, act mature. repeat.

maybe throw in a little discrimination and profiling if it suits the situation.

i tried to walk into an in&out burger one day. a family of asian people walks in, i walk in right behind them, and the security guard, black guy, holds the door open for everyone. when i get to the door, he asks me, 'are you buying something?'. i didn't answer him, walked into the public restroom, got my phone, and started timing. one minute later, he comes banging on the door, shouting like a gangster, without taking a breath...

do i need a lawyer for that one? could i do anything if it mattered? fuck no. will it ever matter? fuck no.

most of these people are the ones preaching about a judgement day.

i'm the one betting the most money on it. every dollar i'll ever make is in that wonderful little pot.
and you will never understand my sincerity on that. i hope to see all of you on judgement day, i've got the biggest reason to be there. you bet your ass, i'll have golden front row seats, my own spotlights, my own megaphones, three dimensional high definition five point one surround home theater enterbrainment feast. i want to see every fucking second of that show.

you think your god is coming back for a sequel. so that gives you the right to harass poor people? people you think you have a right to think them less than you, lower than you? whatever excuse you come up with right now, is going down in that book right there, and my bookie knows satan, cause satan was my grandmother, so you're fucked either way. i've got every dollar riding on judgement day, and i wouldn't have it any other way.

but i say, these people are waiting for their big sequel from the screen in the sky...

i say, they're never gonna get it. unless it's manufactured by their trusted leaders, with a upc symbol on the back. and a fishing lure shaped like a little fish hangin' off the 't'. copyright symbol, patents pending, trademark, you get it. some little fcc compliance warning, and the tag you can't legally remove without risk of jail time and fines.

i should pay you... why?
stick me in a concrete cage... why?
what have you ever done for me?
i built your machine, and you fuck me with it?
gee, thanks, dad.
or should i say... master.

is we slaves freed yet?

fuck no.

you get a paycheck, and you think you're free.
what did you have to do for that paycheck?
what you were fuckin' told. that's what.

and you'll never see it. the invisible pyramid in the sky. but you know there's a layer you can't go above, you're not allowed up there, but you just try not to think about it, and you go on through the years, as it gets darker and darker and night, and quieter, and quieter, and lonelier, and lonelier, and darker, and darker...

until you find yourself on that street corner. one in the morning.

no one around but some crackhead a block down screaming at the street light cause he's on so much meth, for so many months now, that he thinks the street light is something to scream at.

incoherency.
confusion
blur.

how did you get here?
fuck if you know, but it's all your fault, whatever it was.
and you're a good little slave, you sit and blame yourself.

if only i hadn't shot that dog, my mama wouldn't have gotten angry and gone to jail, and my kids wouldn't have been taken, and i'd still have my house, but that dog kept barkin', cause the neighbors were methheads, and now you're standing on a street corner... doing what? acting how responsible and mature about what happened?

what are you holding in your hand?

the thing that destroyed it all, aren't you?

trust me, i know, it's the same fuckin' thing in my case. i mean, except for the drugs, my iq is way to high to ever be a drug addict, but my life was destroyed by a genetic turd circus, blamed on me, and now here i am, still not dumb enough to touch a drug even out of hopelessness or desperation. but you know, i'm right there with ya. stop giving me a bad fuckin' name in seven eleven, first of all.

but try getting this idea through to anyone.
try getting anyone to understand your position.
another homeless person? fuck no.
a business man? fuck no.
a politician? fuck no.
a church? fuck no.
seven eleven store clerk? fuck no.
cops? lawyers? judges? fuck no.

your legal system has abandoned you, and you can't admit it to yourself yet.
your religion has abandoned you, and you can't admit it to yourself yet.
your employment system took a shit on you, and you can't admit it to yourself yet.
everyone on the pyramid level above you, took a shit on you, and kicked you down.
maybe not out of selfishness, maybe just from not looking down, but you got fucked.

either way, you're standing underneath a pyramid, looking up at it, and i'm begging you just to admit that you do not have the answer.

because i have the answer.

i'm selling the evolution solution.

go up to northern montana, right next to the canadian border. cause that's where the earth is telling me there will be no natural disasters or bad weather for a while. trust me or not, how would you know any better.

start building a community.

have it be nonmonetary. nonviolent.

implement a religion based on psychedelic vs psychotic.

start forming your own technology and use it to design portable high tech housing.

build a stage and give everyone a fair shot at having their voice, their story, heard.

now, after about five years of this functionality, being a self sufficient community, communicating together on a daily basis, let that go on for about five years, and then compare it to the outside world.

what is violence?
where is the hostility?
what is fair? what is unfair?

i'll pay you a thousand dollars per answer. just to hear it from someone else's mouth other than my own.

cause you apathetic fuckers never say shit.

i'll read someone my song, 'i'm bringing thinking back', and then ask them, 'what did you think'...

you know what big passionate reaction i always get?

'cool'.

you know those essays you used to have to write in school, where the teacher would tell you to write a thousand words on abraham lincoln?

if you turned in a paper that had 'cool' written in crayon, possibly misspelled, what would the teacher say to you?

she wouldn't say anything, would she?

she'd smack you upside the fuckin' head, then she'd call your mother, and then your mother would smack you upside the fuckin' head, and you would go to bed that night with an empty belly and a pillow full of tears, wouldn't you?

see, there's the killer. for me at least.

i don't think death is any way to learn your lesson.

when i die, that's the earth's way of saying 'now you get to start over. better luck next time, jackass'.

and then you get to pick from cow, pig, or chicken.

to learn your lesson... dying is obviously not going to do it.

to get these rich, greedy fucks to learn their lesson.

death doesn't teach anything.
greed doesn't teach anything.
violence doesn't teach anything.
schools don't teach a fuckin' turd.
prison certainly doesn't teach you your lesson, and if you learn it, and get out... are you able to use it? fuck no.
god doesn't teach anything.
dollar bills don't teach anyone shit.
of all the tools we have at our disposal, not a fuckin' one of them actually teaches anything, but we sure think we're educated to the highest standards possible, don't we? and any knowledge beyond that is evil, or classified.

ask me what my iq is, go ahead. ask me.

'what's your iq'.

it's classified and way above your pay grade.

ask me what my intelligence standards are, go ahead.

'what are your intelligence standards'.

higher than yo mama's.

we feel so educated.
we're the be all end all to human existence on this planet.
and consumerism is the be all end all to human existence on this planet.
and we're not uneducated products living in denial and plastic fear.

but all the tools we have to educate us?

jail...
jobs...
gods...
dollars...
suits and ties...
lies...
gathering flies...

i think i already wrote that fuckin' song. hmm.

so what are we left with?
can we admit yet that it's bum fuckin' nothing?

no answer.
no religion.
no help.
no hope.
no faith.

can't rely on anyone.
can't depend on anyone.

possibly... just possibly... no one knows you fuckin' exist. yet you have to verify your identity and identify yourself constantly to these people who... should never have the right to see your fuckin' face, honestly. based solely on how much of a fuck they give about you.

the only thing that's kept you alive, the only thing you can depend on, rely on, the only thing that's guaranfuckingteed to be there every morning, is the earth. the ground you fucking sleep on. the sun will rise.

with or without you.

what answer do you have?

more importantly...

which answer would you like?

an old one?

or a new one?

one that's stagnant and unchanging?
or what that's fluid and evolving?

one born from the rich and set in place for your cooperation?
or one born from poverty, as a solution with no cooperation required.

when you discover what maturity is...
when you discover what paranoia is...
when you see the difference...

you will know the true meaning of anarchy.

you will understand that it is not chaos.
chaos is what comes after retarded minds no longer have anything to hold onto for security.
but those of us who sleep on the earth every night, and could never afford that security...

anarchy means that security guard that's about to wake you up by poking his finger in your chest and shouting at you... that cop that's about to wake you up and tell you to move, that you can't be there...

anarchy means that those fuckers are fuckin' dead. they have to leave you alone, because their bones are each about three hundred miles apart. that's anarchy. anarchy means that you wake up every morning without the need for them. because you're part of a responsible, mature, adult community, who picks up their own fuckin' trash, because they barely produce any. a community who, when you wake up every morning, there's breakfast on the fuckin' table, guaranteed, no bitching required. imagine having a job you love doing again.

i say, let the fearful retards drown in their prepackaged predicted chaos.
if that's the only thing they can see coming after they're no longer necessary...
let them drown in it.
let them wallow in it.
tears, blood, shit, cum, piss, lies, shame.
let them suffocate in it.
let them fucking choke on it.
let them fucking die in it.
let it consume them like they suck down a coke.
a fitting fate for a consumer, i'd say.
let them fucking drown in chaos.
if that's all their immature minds can conceive once their job is no longer required here...
if that's all their childish, fearful minds can predict will happen once money no longer exists...

let them fucking drown in it.

let them drown in their own fucking chaos and shame.

they created it, they get to fucking consume it, and let it consume them. i want no part of it.

if all you think comes after a monetary society is no longer necessary, is chaos... then fucking choke on it.

i hope it fucking ends you in a whimpering fucking shriek. i want to hear it, i want to see it, i want to enjoy it.

because after your chaos subsides... we will remain. and you fucking know that. you fear that. i hope that angers you. i hope that frustrates you. you get to inherit your karma as a fucking cow, asshole. our culture, we don't stop and let the cow sit on the road... you might have been an asshole in your last life, we eat you. that's logic. it's about as healthy as steak. i'd like to introduce you, but i'm busy eating.

the slogan on my building, just underneath 'the church of evolution'...
'fuck you, i'm eating'.

if you tell us the reference when you walk in the door, we'll fuckin' feed you. right then and there, no bitching, no whining, no immature little excuses like 'well he already came in once today', fuck you, eat this, shut up.

let chaotic minds drown in their own chaos. filth and shame, tears and cum.
let them fucking disappear with it.

because i know i will be standing there afterward. i know i'll get to hear that silence.

if you think the only thing that comes after this is chaos... i hope you never get to see what comes after this.

i hope every last one of you fearful, paranoid fucks actually dies, before we get to experience that.

a breath.
silence.
a moment.
the hum of the earth.
the vibration, the energy.
that silence you couldn't pay a trillion dollars for.
i see green papers raining from the heavens...
but not one person is touching them...
we have no need to.

chaos.

you fucking morons.

no, that would be anarchy.
i wish i could introduce you, but you weren't strong enough to stick around and see it.
couldn't handle the whole paranoia thing, so you fucking imploded like you should have.

good riddance.

peace and quiet.
nature.
echoes of winds.
the brightest sunset we've ever seen.
the most worthwhile sunrise we'll ever see.
open eyes.
open hearts.
open minds.
open futures.
possibilities.
potential.

and all you could think of was chaos. and you think you deserve to stick around to see it.

yeah, i'm praying for judgement day. and i will see you there.

drown in your chaos and shame, you fearful little fucks, you paranoid, panicky creatures. drown in it!

because you'll never get to see what actually happens. you're not good enough. you didn't pray hard enough.

you couldn't stretch your mind bravely enough.

you see, when we were slaves, we said 'we don't want to be your slaves anymore'. they said 'okay, how about if we offer you minimum wage?'. you gotta admit, minimum wage looked pretty tempting to a bunch of slaves. 'you mean, i get to work normal hours, and get myself a beer every night on the way home? wow!

but it seems like the very next day, the stock market crashed.

oh, we don't have anymore money. sorry!
we're in debt up to our tight, lying teeth, and our all seeing eye of tyranny. sorry!

you mean to tell me, your rich ass being driven around in a fuckin' bentley has no money. then what's that bloody green shit hangin' out your pocket, asshole? you mean to tell me that's a credit card with nothing on it? then why do you have it?

we're fresh out of those hot dollar bills you youngsters love so much. sorry!

here's a couple schillings, go get yourself a pack of candy and rot your teeth away so you'll never be as pretty and perfect as me. cause they know, that's all you can get for a couple fuckin' schillings.

is that why they called those guys... schills?

anyone remember that word?

yeah, no, if you can only think of chaos, you get to drown in that.

chaotic minds drown in chaos.
fearful minds drown in fear.
ignorant minds drown in ignorance.

those minds who can see past that line in time...
were born to deserve it from the beginning, and you fuckin' know it.
born outside of a society that was never going to accept you.
some of you tried to hang on, and i'll be the one to give you full credit for that.
you know damn sure they won't.

like fat people working in starbucks.
painting the pretty onto your faces.
trying to be attractive, trying to fit in.
trying to be an acceptable member of society.
because that's admired and smiled upon.

by who.

the guy your grandpappy used to clean shoes for?

'he's an honourable man'...
you know the answer to this...
what did that guy do that was so honourable?
fought for his boss. whether he was secret service and took a bullet for the president...
or he was a store owner that stopped a robbery in his own store.

you know the answer to that one.
deep down inside, underneath all that denial and conditioning, you know the fuckin' truth. stop denying it.

stand up against that asshole for once in your spineless fuckin' life.
tell them you're sick of being a minimum wage slave.
you're sick of pampering them, while they live in luxury, and you can barely afford your ride home, let alone the house you live in.

why does your biggest bill have to be the place you live?
why does your second biggest bill have to be your entertainment?
why does your third biggest bill have to be what you consume?
why does your fourth biggest bill have to be your transportation?
why do your children get to be your smallest bill?
kfc and beer every night, around a yard sale dinner table.
put the kids to sleep, fuck your wife every sunday, wake up every morning like a good boy.
grind your life away every day for a boss you would rather slaughter like a cow.

the community eye see?

where you lay your head is free.
what you put in your belly is free.
what you inhale into your lungs is free.
no one can tell you what to do.
but if you do something nice for someone other than yourself? you earn points.

how would you spend them?

i'll repeat that.

where you lay your head does not cost a dime.
what you put in your belly does not cost a dime.
what you inhale into your lungs does not cost a dime.

wash that insecure, selfish, paranoid society off of you.
god forbid you could go to a community built on the foundation of forgiveness, acceptance, and equality.
where every morning when you wake up, we all wake up equal.
when you wake up, you're welcome to go to the kitchen, fill your belly without saying a word.
while you're eating, you can smoke, drink hot chocolate, get stoned, start your day off right.
screw the right mindset onto your neck.
then, if you'd like, you can get on stage, tell your story, and not get boo'd off.
if the crowd gets bored, that's their fault, and if they really need to adjust their attention spans, they can leave the fucking audience. go off and smoke, sleep, and wake up more respectful and mature the next morning.

how's that sound?

if you enjoy working with food, you no longer have to clean toilets because that's the only job you could get. now you get to cook food for people who wouldn't complain if you paid them to. just cook the fucking rice long enough!

rule number one about cooking rice. it takes a lot longer to cook than you think.
rule number two about cooking rice. if you throw it at the wall and it sticks, it's done.
and the third and final rule about cooking rice. if you throw it at the wall, and it falls to the floor...

KEEP FUCKING COOKING!!!

simple as that.

see, at that point, there's really only going to be two jobs. there should only ever really be two jobs. everything else is distribution, marketing, and recording. if you cut all that self obsessed 'my career is better' horseshit, and get down to who needs to be fed, and where they can sleep, life gets a lot more enjoyable. you get to do what you want, because what you what to do, suddenly needs to be done, and is in rather high demand.

people need to be fed.
people need to sleep on something.

if you can't build a bed, get in the kitchen.
if you can't flip burgers, get a fuckin' hammer.

imagine...
someone walks up to you on the street...
says 'hey, man, did you hear?

there's this place where you can go, where, as soon as you walk in the gates, you're hired.
depending on what you can do, not what your criminal history says, or any of that shit.
your previous errors are forgiven as long as you flip a burger or build a bed.
if you used to work in fast food, get in the fucking kitchen.
if you used to work in construction, grab a fuckin' hammer'.

what would you say?

what if they said,

'i heard it's based on psychedelic vs psychotic,
and anything you turn into turd, ash, or drool, doesn't cost anything,
instead, if you do something nice for someone else, you get a point,
and you start off with six points every morning'.

what would you say?

and if they said 'in order to get in, you have to become psychedelic, and convert someone else'.
or 'if someone mistreats you who's not an evolutionist, their punishment is not death or prison, it's forced conversion'.

would you call it a cult yet?
would your leaders call it a cult yet?
can you picture waco, texas?
have you studied your history?
if you don't know about waco, fuckin' texas, you should keep your stupid mouth shut before you look any dumber.

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

well, mama, i've learned that lesson, but i've got something to say that no one else is sayin'.

something that no one wants to hear.
something that no one is brave enough to admit.
something everyone else can afford to run in fear of.

and if i say this on television, mama... they gon' kill me.

but it has to be said.
because no one else is saying.

since none of you will say this, i have to say it.
thanks.

that's humanity lookin' out for my back, right?

yeah, we got yer back, bro!

fuck you. don't call me bro. you're not my fuckin' brother, you sure as hell act like it, you pansy sack of shit.

you scrotal infestation.

i ain't your fuckin' brother, asshole. if we were all family, we wouldn't have any homelessness, would we?

douchebag.

so we exist. complacent. in a society where dot indian / asian store clerk clone number one gets to harass us because we can't afford to shop at a fucking seven eleven of such reputable places, such high class places, we're too low on the scum totem pole to shop at scum of the earth incorporated.

that's open racism.
that's fascism.
that's discrimination.
that's profiling.
that's prejudice.

and if you disagree, you're worse than them.

if you can't admit that there's a war on poverty going on... you're on the wrong side.

or maybe you haven't chosen a side yet.

that's where i come in.

enter: evolution.

clues. answers. solutions. not just an advertising slogan backed by a fictional story without a sequel.

the actual logical conclusion that even their story wasn't looking for.

but we have evolved this far. now we just need to crack our head out of the shell, and take our first breath.

whaddayasay?

brave enough yet?

get that first big whiff of sunshine in those fragile little lungs?

are you ready yet? do you feel mature enough yet?

there's no reason to be afraid, my children.
fear is itself illogical, thus it is illogical to fear anything.

do you know what gymnophobia is? fear of nudity.
do you know what thanatophobia is? fear of death.

why on god's green earth would you ever have any reason to fear your own body?
why on god's green earth would you ever have any reason to fear the end of your own life that you'll never stop?

why on god's green earth would you ever be dumb enough to believe anyone else telling you this?

they could have a suit and tie, look real fuckin' legitimate, but i've seen some slimy drug dealers look higher class than the fuckin' secret service, if you think you're not being fooled and sold a bad drug, then please do me a favour sir, who so kindly volunteered for this little experiment, do me a favour, for the crowd's curiosity, would you go peak into that volcano for us, and tell the audience what you see.

uh... i see... uh... it looks real... deep... i see... uh... smoke... and uh... red stuff... and uh... aaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!!!

join us next time on thumbs or no thumbs, when we see how donald trump behaves on sodium pentathol!

admit it. we have no answer.

and i see it when i walk into a seven fuckin' eleven.

asian dude behind the counter. no english in the brain. in my country, sittin' comfy.
and i'm supposed to be proud of the place i live?
dot indian dude sittin' comfy behind the counter, pushing buttons for a living.
click click, chaching, click click, chaching, take the change, give the change, sell that product over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and fucking over, cause it's fucking over!

harassing me because i'm not good enough to shop in a fuckin' seven eleven.

okay, master, how must i dress to be a customer in your store.
okay, mister, how must i act to be a consumer in your society?

hey, pops, if you can't tell your son which slave you want him to act like, how the fuck do you expect him to know?

hey, pops, if we're tired of acting like your slaves, can we kill you now, and get this shit over with?

hey, doc, if we're tired of you lying to us and making us believe it through patriotism, pride, fear, and stupidity...

can we talk now?
can we tell you how displeased we are with your little plan?

fuck no.

yeah, that's a big fuck no.

you think you can tell your leaders that you're unhappy?
you think they wanna listen to you, and how unhappy you are?
about how you lost your doggy named scuda, and your car named scooby.

your birth defect kids, your fat hateful wife, your regrets and grudges...

did you want those kids?
do they look that special to you?
they fell out of your fat wife's hateful mouth.
and the wrong one at that.
the one that actually shuts up once in a while.
you know, the nights when you sleep on the couch.

do you love her?
or is she an ugly clone of her mother?
fat, selfish, bitchy, hateful, opinionated, fearful, weak...
you could have had any woman, you could have had any kids...
this was all random and you're not brave enough to tell yourself that...
your father would have smacked that fact into you, and you know it...

and your children are special why?

because your wife showed them some movie one night, and you had a good night?
because you had time to form a connection and bond with those kids?

you know damn well, if you had kissed the redhead that day...

this would all be very different.

if you were born in los angeles instead of new jersey.
if you were born in pakistan instead of los angeles.
if you were born in korea instead of pakistan.

what the fuck difference does it really make what part of the earth we're born on.
every moment after that is all influence from outer sources.
very little we say and do is not influenced by the world around you after your birth.

so what's to say?
what's to dictate what you do?
how you act?
what you think?
what you believe?
if you behave for your boss or not?
if you're more mature than your boss?

if you can't keep your car clean?
if your house has two couches, one television on the wall, and the floor is littered with children's toys.
if the refrigerator has food in it, or just beer.

you drink beer infront of your kids, but won't smoke weed, because the government tells you to hide that from your children.

if i let my children smoke weed at ten years old, and you feel justified condemning me with your conditioned beliefs, without having any clue of the hypocrisy shitting out of your mouth.

can you admit yet that we're all fucked without an answer?
up shit creek without a paddle?

two thousand years of religion not answering our prayers. and we can't admit it yet. how many more generations?
two hundred years of the american government lying to us, poisoning us, drugging us, destroying us...
bones, blood and tears in that machine we've built...

and then there's the national debt.

anyone wanna take a wild guess as to what i think about that?

when you have a building built, and you have no money and you're starting off with nothing...

you're going to owe some people for it, aren't you?
you're going to have to call in some favours, aren't you?

so you call up jim, bob, and dave, and they come build your house for you.
jim buys all the lumber, dave does most the hammering, and bob wipes your tears while you tell him how hard you've worked.

and the better they're dressed...

and poof, you've got yourself a building.

now, the first thing you do with that building, is kill jim, bob, and dave, and enslave their children for the next thirty years. okay, we'll overlook that. keep going, see how far you get.

two hundred years into the future. you're long dead, but your kids are reaping the benefits.

thrones of gold and velvet.
shoes that levitate off the ground.
and your hair looks fucking inhumanly perfect.

luxury.

vs

poverty.

those above...
and those below.

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

plastic faces, clapping at themselves, the laughter is as fake as the price tags.
i've smelled your life.

but that national debt has crept up. billions. trillions.

i'll just go ahead and enlighten you, incase you got lost somewhere along the way.

that national debt... is the money you owe to the people who helped you get where you are today.

if it's trillions?

that's a lot of blood on your hands.

a lot of bones in your machine.

a lot of shut mouths.
tight lips.
tighter wallets.
tense trigger fingers.
that fear's gotta be stackin' up, too.

but i have my answer.

you can call it a cult...
you can call it a terrorist organization...
you can call it unpatriotic...
you can call it an anarchist attack on the sanctity of the christian family...
you can call it a senseless attack on the security of this nation...

you can call it whatever the fuck you want...

but they can't call it tyranny, until they've been defeated.

and that's a fact i'll stick up against your throat till you bleed the fuckin' truth.

you drank the fifth...
you smoked the eighth...

and you think you have freedoms.
you think it's something to fight for.
you think it's something to die for.

news flash, dipshit...

i have something to live for.

i've been selling you the answer for twenty years now.
when the fuck are you gonna be brave enough to buy it?

keep hiding under the rock that was placed over you buy your leaders in order to comfort you into complacence, incoherence, consumerism, capitalism, and a selfish, fearful life of hatred, degradation, seclusion, segregation...

keep hiding...
keep digging deeper...
keep running from the sun...
keep living in a shell of lies...
a cage of comforts and misinformation...

go ahead.

i'll be that much further ahead of you when it matters most.

if you're not brave enough to take your land back from these murdering, bloodthirsty liars...

then how many generations of your birth defect children do i have to scream through?

i am sending my voice out.
waves through the oceans of incoherent humanity...

because i am talking to each and every one of you.

ignore this as long as you can.
fear this as long as you can.

because i'd pay to stay ahead of you on this road.

they came over, slaughtered the natives, flooded this country with asians and dot indians who think they have the right to hate and harass poor white people in our own country that we were told to be proud of and work for and fight for and die for and stand behind and now we're being harassed by fuckin' ahmed the slurpie pusher.

and i don't want to be a consumer in your society in the first place.

white people, this ain't your fuckin' land either. if you want to talk about fair, you have to die first.

then you have to learn your lesson.

then you owe us an apology. sincere apology. act mature. stand up straight. pronounce correctly. inside voice.

i'm part native.

i'm actually half irish, half native, but enough of either to whoop your ass.

but my native bloods are apache, navajo, and a little cherokee.

do your research on those tribes. their history.

then do your research on crazy horse, and understand that i'm a huge fan of his.
as well as che guevara, and many others you fuckers never acknowledge.

how can you claim to know what you're talking about in this debate, if you're not educated on those topics.

my mama used to say, you cannot make an informed decision unless you are fully informed.

roger that, mama.

don't just be a mature, responsible adult...
be a human, and make your fuckin' decision.

i ain't waitin' much longer.

oh, yeah, and my tribal name i gave myself... blue feather.

sixty trillion dollars to the first person who even guesses close to how many layers of meaning are in that.

sounds simple to you, i'm sure.

that identifies me as unique, and in opposition to you all.

just like the fact that i have an evolutionary doctorate, and you'll never even know what the fuck that is.

go ahead. debate me. i can't wait to put you on fuckin' youtube.

'one who speaks the truth, can make an example out of anyone'...

if confucious didn't say that, then he fuckin' should have. maybe it was yoda, who knows.

study your history, or shut the fuck up.

hey, officer, can you get your diamond cock out of my ass yet?