3/9/26 - They Say It's Spring

I guess there's a certain fashion where I know it's spring, because I feel really depressed now that the sun is out, and I can feel myself being perceived more closely.

I thought maybe I'd start this one with some plain speak before I settle into a more comfortable gait of reflective rumination.

I only have a mind for literary prose, so I'm trying to change that. I can't articulate myself in a language more real, in manners more familiar and colloquial. My brain is poisoned by pontifications and poetry, and as the sickness starts to settle in for another season, I start to feel the claw of fatalism sink it's talons deeper into my brain.

I wish I could think like a real person. I think Tiffany Pollard is the most beautiful woman on Earth. Why can't I be more like her?

I guess I've learned some ugly things about myself through the phyrric blessings of the Lord. God gave me what I thought I wanted, and I realized how little I truly know.

I gave a rousing speech to a congregation of captive comrades and was congratulated, lauded, and admired... and it made me feel sick. I don't know what to feel about it. I think I'm not used to being openly admired and praised by my peers. I'm used to being ignored, so... it felt like a setup. These talented and bright (and let me just say gorgeous) people coming up to me to tell me they think I'm smart and kind and stuff... I've never been socially embraced like this before in my life, and it's making me cry. I never realized how alien I've felt my entire life until I was accepted by others for using my gifts. That has just... never happened to me before.

It was so moving that I became terrified. I was truthful in telling my new friends that I had to go home to do some laundry, but after getting done with taking it out the bags I found myself overwhelmed.

I had to sit down for a bit before I went back into the world... but I hadn't realized how much time had passed. I remember they asked me if I could go to the coffeehouse across the street, and I told them, "I'll see if I can after I'm done with these errands."

Now that wasn't a dishonest answer, but I just feel like... should I have just put my clothes in the car aside for a bit, and seize this chance to fight my fears?

In my mind I thought I might be doing the wrong thing, to put off bringing my twins clothes home so long. I got back to my apartment and I saw they did the dishes I said I'd do but took too long on, and I felt horrible. I called them to apologize and they seemed confused... because I didn't do anything wrong.

I think I've spoken about this before, right, but I've had people tell me they think I have an anxiety disorder or some kind of OCD, but frankly I've not liked to self diagnose or medicalize issues of my personhood that can be changed through communication and a change of circumstances.

This feeling of fear, in being confronted with the unfamiliar scenario of praise, is something I feel sometimes when I hang out with some of my most dear friends every week. 

They invite me to their house, and I get to socialize and unwind, sometimes we watch TV and get food, and I tell them about my day. With them I get to be my full self, right? I can be silly! I show them all my impressions and voices I can do, sometimes I can show them my dance moves, and I can listen to all their jokes and stories. And I never tell them how much it means to me to have friends who will text me first! Do you what that's like? They ask me if I want to hang out, and every time I get that text I feel so overwhelmed that I almost want to throw up because... frankly, I have never had that before. It's very beautiful that an entire household of people love my presence enough to want to have me over often like that, like...

I don't want to be melodramatic, so I'll abridge some details of my childhood. I don't wanna bitch and moan about people who probably don't even think about me anymore. That's disrespectful to them, they moved on, I should too.

I'll just leave it at this reality where I'd gotten used to being nobody's favorite. Nobody thinks about me when I'm not there, y'know?

In the last few years since coming out I've finally become my real self, and it's like suddenly people think I'm special and that I'm a person worth remembering, and like... I've not adjusted to that. I've known that I'm great and I'm talented and brilliant and special for my whole life, but I got used to believing that nobody is ever gonna care about me. So to know that's not true feels like a warm ray of providence from the Lord.

And that golden light in a sea of darkness only draws attention the the void that has surrounded me for so many years. Like suddenly it clicks for me just how lonely and isolated and suicidal I've been for my entire life. When I was a little kid I didn't mask, and I was ostracized for that. When I was a teenager I did mask a fair amount, and while it helped me make a good smattering of casual friendships, I only developed deeper bonds with a very small few people, because frankly? While I was in the closet? I did not trust or feel that I would be safe revealing my most vulnerable self to anybody.

College was especially difficult because the first two years were Covid, so there's was basically nothing for me on campus until I was already a Junior. I was lucky to meet some wonderful characters that I still love today, like Spider-Man and Gel Pen (that's what we're calling her).

As a Junior I started branching out and making some friends in classes here and there, but the only sustained friendships I have from college are mostly from my Public Health classes. That includes pretty much just Molar Matriarch (she does dentistry).

I'm getting tired... this therapy session has been helpful in many ways.

I think... I will try to participate as much as I can as an activist... and I'll be at actions... and if they like me, that's a treat. But the work will come first. I want to help people...  I need to. It's my purpose in life.

3/5/26 - Like A Tattoo

I look out into a far enough distance, and I can feel it.

The blood doesn't pool into my veins the right kinda way. I can feel it.

I would have hoped to feel different about it today, but I don't. I need to pretend. I need to lie.

She hates me... why do people put on these charades? I just wish they liked me enough to end it for good. I wish she respected me enough to give me a reason.

I understood the decision, even if it didn't make any sense. She's a person. Respect even in the face of emptiness.

I drive back to my apartment with the same feeling every night. I'm fighting against God and nature. I do not believe the Earth mother wants a beautiful life for me. I believe I was crafted to toil and languish. And every day I strain against her designs, she lifts the flail for another lash.

Let me say what we already know to be true.

A loveless life is not a life at all.

Like a scar of age

And with my failure I accept that I will never be ready for love. And I will never be healed.

I must choose life anyways. I must choose to defend the promise of love, even if I can never have it. I can never become selfish, I can never become hateful.

My love is all I have. With it I create a pressure for the core of my being. With it I create kindness. And with it I remain precious, even as I chip and scratch away into sediment.

For this promise, I will never come to know the pleasure of a Roman Holiday.

In my days and nights I do nothing but *click*. To the next song, to the next station. To let a feeling linger is like a spiritual crucifixion. I guess I let the final nail be my struggle against Gaea. Figures.

The surfing is another manifestation of the same thesis I made so long ago. The vulture comes home once again, what a blessing. On those waves lies the carrion I desire. I can be only what the child within me would have always wished to become.

What could I possibly be? I could only be a pirate.

When he found that rigour was not expected from his people (for he often practised it to appease them), then he would give strangers to understand that it was pure inclination that induced him to a good treatment of them, and not any love or partiality to their persons; "For", says he, "there is none of you but will hang me, I know, whenever you can clinch me within your power."

While I would like to emulate the example of Samuel Bellamy... I find myself drawn towards the image of Captain Roberts.

For this, in my mind, is the truest path for one who lives without love.

Why be hero?

3/4/26 - Drinking Age

Advisory

This blog entry contains discussion of depression, suicide, and other difficult material. If uninterested, please refrain from reading.

The first word I'll write my diary entry around is "coagulation"

I often write about this concept of vampire billionaires sucking the blood from the world and using it all to make a throne of blood. The idea was that the longer we wait to stop them, the more their throne coagulates and solidifies.

I feel like we missed the first signs of hardening and now we're scrambling to make do with the time we've got. So few mean to actually use any "bleach" to stop them.

You can tell that this isn't how I usually write these. Yeah.

5-6-7-0-9

Back pain is killing me these days... I'll stop whingeing.

I'll tell you what's changed. I don't see a way out of the labors. I'm not really looking to stop the vulture from getting his meal. I'm choosing to be more... easygoing, I guess.

To say less, to be less. Tout dou, tout dou, tout doucement...

The next word to consider is "Jazz."

Blossom Dearie settled my nerves again. And what moves my ruminations more effectively than Dizzie Gillespie? A Night In Tunisia, I could never thank Mr. Burkett enough.

I still believe Jazz is a daunting endeavor. It's a terrifying medium.

I'm getting too esoteric. Jazz music, to me, is a lot more important and significant than the word "Jazz" could mean to encapsulate. Jazz is, in my mind, a kind of psychological state of being. It's like a social expertise of leisure.

I'm sorry... a smart kind of relaxation. I'm not trying to be funny here. I'm trying time teach myself to be less literary, more diaristic.

Again...

Less wordy, more real. I'm not editing or erasing this, you must know. I'm genuinely self editorializing as the words are put on the screen. No AI.

Jazz is too real. Right now I'm listening to Charles Mingus and getting all kinds of depressed.

That's not a joke or anything. What I do is "Jazz." Miles didn't like that word. I'm a lightweight on Jazz. And I want to unlearn my love for it.

You might be asking, why? Why would you ever want that? You said you loved Jazz?

Yes, yes... I can tell you the reason.

I want to understood by other people. I want to be seen. It's just vanity stuff. Very trite and self interested.

I mean, it's really airheaded and pretentious. I guess I just came to realize that the people that catch my eye don't seem to care for what makes me who I am. Two different people I met on the apps seemed not to like me that much. So I need to be less like myself. More like them.

It's the wrong mindset. It is not the correct lesson to learn, and it's not even close to being accurate on what went wrong or what I need to change. But I'm just so tired. I'm so tired.

I'm so tired that I'm basically allowing myself to give in to a mindset and thinking that I know is incorrect and harmful.

It's a kind of tired that makes me feel like I'm already dead.

I think part of the problem is I don't make an effort to mask. My life is really frustrating and difficult, and I'm happy about a lot of things, but I don't feel a need to sugarcoat that fact. I think being raped changed my perspective on reality.

I became a sort of person that doesn't value the necessary faces we should be wearing. I'm learning to put mine back on.

It's not ever going to be chic to be truly vulnerable. 

In my eyes, willingly sharing my music with somebody I trust is meant to be an act of love and respect. But I don't think it carries any weight. I don't sound like love. My music doesn't touch people, not in any meaningful way. So I think I'll stop doing that.

It's just another day of depression. It's nothing new. It's nothing real.

There it is. That felt more personable. I made it stupid, and it worked better.

I don't think I like this. I prefer the esoteric stuff. It feels more honest.

The sky is a blank sheet of grey. The air is cold. And I'm psychologically dying.

I just can't believe I thought I was doing well. I really thought I could have something nice...

Cronkite told me not to take everything personally... yeah, he's right. But it just makes it worse. Because it could mean there was nothing I could do. I was a fluke. It shouldn't have ever happened.

I guess it's entirely possible there's a sort of age regression at play with the depression. But I'd have to accept that this is what every day was for me, when I was younger. I don't remember what it's like to not be depressed.

I would leave me, too.

I know my sister sees me as lesser than. I won't engage with my feelings, not in the apartment. They don't treat me very kindly unless they want something from me. I don't think they're a bad person. I think they're normal. So it's not worth mentioning.

My parents are nicer to me because they miss me.

I used to kindly text my friends and do small talk on the phone when I felt depressed like this. It helped until I started thinking... I don't think they want to hear from me anymore. I'll never know.

I've just been doing normal words, and I'm doing pretty good. This is working, I think.

I'm going to take a nap. And I'll forget all of this when I wake up.

The New Invaders

Everything feels like a product because everything is a product. People are merchandise. Personality is marketing. Nobody is human anymore. You're lucky if you can take advantage of the slavery. Some get lucky to just be an accessory. A Dixie. The Confederate States of America. There are Confederates in every nation in the world. It's got nothing to do with Hitler. Fascism persists because it's fun. People love to kill. People love to see heads explode. It's not chic to be a person. We have to kill you eventually. Maybe it will be fun when it's you.

We'd only be so lucky to have our history. Watergate and Equifax, Panama Papers and Mueller Reports. Epstein files, whatever. It's always been available to us the facts of the matter. What good is information in a society that doesn't read? You start to understand the cynicism, the vulgar conceit of the Leninists. You can't wait for everyone to make it happen. The burden of the community minded, the proletariat, good hearted ones especially, is they will always agonize over it. So much that they might never do it. Millions of youth are rising up, are banding together, are taking arms. But because this is a human struggle, not a mechanistic subroutine, it can't be dictated in a manner suitable to the capitalist interweb.

Millions of leaderless collaborators. How do you write a puff piece on that?

The old world carries a closer memory of change. Cultures persist from regime to regime, century to century. The people of Palestine can envision a world without Israel, because it already once existed. They have existed before Israel, and they can exist after. The imperial courts in the days of old in many nations, like Japan, Iran, or Nigeria have all fallen by the wayside... and yet the people's of these nations still exist.

The United States does not have a touchstone to imagine itself through, as a culture that can endure the fall of one regime. The United States is a colonial project, and the favored classes of this nation have forgotten their place as usurpers. Pretenders, yes.

I remember Foucalt wrote of a similar reality that shook me. We just don't have that psycho. To be able to put everything towards the needs of the cause. That's unfamiliar to us. We kill plenty of people, usually other strugglers. Usually underclass, usually colored people. Every now and again one of our kids loses it, y'know. It becomes too much. The system works again, and they kill each other. True Americans, Red Blooded Confederates, have never killed for the right cause. The founding fathers were confederates. Napoleon was a confederate. I'll choose to be meatheaded with my terminology. Why not? The best gringos, the ones you like. Dr King, John Brown, Malcom. Nikki, James, Angela. Not just political leaders, even our entertainers. I'm a big fan of Jack Kirby, right?

Americans are at their best when they harness a simplicity, a sort of meteoric race. Everybody sit at this counter and don't move. Throw a shield at Hitler's face. Tell the slavers to die. Kill them!

You know, that's why I think it just has to be a collusion of minds. We can all communicate what is important to us. We can't get each other to move at the same time, so maybe let's all start burning and shooting at the same guys, and we'll figure it out later. Lets get hamfisted. I'm endorsing the wrong mindset. That seems more American. I have a conceit that is founded in the same stuff Kant said like a billion years before me. That "a priori."

A certain part of what we know is the same. Maybe tap into that sort of anima, as I would say. Let's just clarify the targets first, and we can all find our own ways to murder. Organize our minds, and take advantage of our strengths as monsters. Gringos! Because we all know the culture war conceits are fake, right? We will not hurt each other. It's money that rules this country, right? Find that first. Substantive harm, not identity. Don't be so colonial.

The Natives already figured it out, and we're just clawing our way back to their aptitude.

Something is always missed. Some of my friends in Gaza appreciate my expedience in communication, my desire to publicize and serve the interests of a million people at once. Others find it concerning. "Take care of yourself, my friend." Believe me, I'm trying. I've a shooting pain in my back. I have to buy new needles today. I have to take out a loan for a new car. I have to save up for some iron. Rent will be coming up, that's more than half the check gone. So how will I find the time for just violence? What would the Qassam Bridgadiers encourage? I wish I could have met them.

How do you mobilize a culture of meatheads? You get louder. Americans like characters, not people. Become the Fishman, pick up a shield, slap on a Domino mask. And just start punching. Be stupid for the right reasons. Organize to make a full brain out of single cells. Let me get this iron and I'll have words with you all.

2/16/26 - I Me Mine

The black ichors of my being trickle through the crags of the summit, dripping into the quarry below. The dark liquid of emotion glazes the rind of an ethereal stone, humming with the sickly melodies of heartbreak.

Doldrums, doldrums, I sit aside the water and see my reflection.

Spongebob... I need you to buy a gun. And I need you to kill me.

I'm getting tired of this. Oh, my days.

But, it's okay. Its okay.

By "this," I mean the ever shifting sands of a talking stage. I'm tired, boss.

The stale air. Mother Gaea's geomancy pulls us closer to the mantle. The sexual austerity of the plains whistles against the tall grasses. A voice heard in the weak winds of winter... Re'em... Re'em

But! Here's the thing. She did not do anything wrong. In fact, I'm certain I'm at fault for misreading messages, right? Right?

Idk man. 

It's like an on-off switch is flipped with this sort of thing. I wish her her well, but like HOWWW did she take the progression with such grace if she had a man the entire time?

Ser Robert would find the proclivities of his merry men to be an annoyance. "Not for a character of deviance," Little John said, "No! Robert knew of their fantasies, aye. One too many whispers of a ruse to the tavern maids. There be a thousand Robin Hoods in this realm, for no one man could carry such a romantic pull towards the hearts of dames so fair... none but him. Ser Locksley is burdened by such an appeal, wouldn't you know?"

"It's only natural, isn't it," the Friar pondered 

"It frustrates him to know that, in his heart, Marian could be the only one. So how could this folly stand afront his truth? A man so possessed with purpose... it sickens him. God smiles too kindly on his heart, and see how it debilitates him. Providence bewared, his sign stretches across all livelihoods, does it not?"

My mindset is, (if she is straight, right?) then it's entirely possible that she did not read my actions as being romantically coded. 

Like, given the possibility she doesn't have a tranny liking bone in her body, it makes it my fault for believing she actually-

Gun.

This happens to other people. This is not supposed to happen to me. I hate you, Chappel Roan. Be less... human, please? Do me the service of being trite, not so timely, not so relatable.

Lady Stardust sang a song of darkness and dismay...

I POLITELY. GRACEFULLY. WILLINGLY. SOUNDLY choose to remove our fair lady from the roster.

Like picking teeth.

May God bless her, AND her man. 

He's not even ugly is the thing, so I can't even do any ad-hominem attacks. That makes it less frustrating on one level, but silencing on another. Like, okay, I get it. No, that's understandable.

"Let me warn you of that which I can't stop, Lieutenant. Off the record, my word."

The lieutenant moved his ear closer to Admiral Bright, heeding a wisdom he then had no reason to doubt.

"You're only lucky that you haven't felt that spark yet. Do you know what I speak of?"

"I'm sure."

"It's one thing to feel it in your instincts towards combat. As a pilot, that's become common these days, as difficult as that might be to stomach...

But I've observed something more terrifying in my years in the federation.

You will find, at some point, a soul within your enemy. That spark, it might compel you to feel deeply for the enemy. This is your conscience, come manifest in this incarnation of our very own human race. This is, in all seriousness, your heart.

I tell you now, not as your commander, but as a human being: you must ignore what your heart tells you, in that moment.

I've seen it too many times. There cannot be co-existence in this veneer.

Let go of this woman. For her sake. For yours."

But you see, class... the thing is, I'm mutuals with him on my main account as well. 

It's interesting. This is what gets me, right? If she really was aware of the vibe of our communications, yknow, my mindset towards her and her whole deal, right? She would have told him. Her boyfriend, right?

"This trans girl from out of state is trying to flirt with me on Instagram and it's weird."

If it was like 2 weeks of development it wouldn't matter... but reader.

Since September last year this has developed. It's February.

Because why am I on *her* close friends too? She let's me follow her spam? I have her number? These are not the permissions one would give a casual Instagram mutual. Like... no, she's smarter than the average bear. So I KNOW that SHE KNOWS that I KNOW she knows. I KNOW she's read this blog! I'm very chalant! I've done all but mention Persephone by her real name, right?

Ugh.

I don't think that smart phones should have been invented.

I really don't care for the things. I don't.

All through the day

I me mine, I me mine, I me mine

All through the night

I me mine, I me mine, I me mine

Now they're frightened of leaving it

Everyone's weaving it

Going on strong all the time

All through the day I me mine

I have to elaborate on an element of this. I have known she has a boyfriend for a few months, right? But it wasn't outright obvious. She bareeeeely posts this guy. I was moving like Motherboard from CyberChase to glean this in the first 3 months.

And now that I have learned what I need to know... I know enough to make a decision.

Persephone is henceforth honorably discharged from Adri's scroll of yearning, with honors.

Because she's cool and and I fw her as a person and shit. You gotta understand, Persephone is still like... yearn-worthy. I just cannot ethically yearn for people already involved fr, you understand.

There's some new figures in our midst as well, you know. I'll see you all soon. Ciao.

Praise Be The Spiders!

I wonder what it will feel like to give into it. To relish it. What'll it take to get that looseness, y'know?

I guess it's like giving up on my character. I don't have the capability to give up, as of this moment. I don't got it in me. What a shame, that I still believe in good. That I see a world, not a country. Not a dollar.

What a faggot!

I guess I don't really know what other people are. I'm finally starting to lose my empathy. I'm finally starting to lose my religion of love. I'm loving it.

You're not supposed to document a character assassination of the self. I think it might be more useful for a kid who doesn't speak English to translate what I'm saying, to know who they've got to kill.

Because those empathetic, those loving enough to murder for the right reasons, are not gonna be in the USA.

God would have to do miracles again. He doesn't seem interested in doing that in any way that matters. A foreign kid better than me will know well enough to know that I'm wrong about everything, and I hope that one day that kid has the balls to take me out.

I'm gonna keep saying "I." I'm gonna be selfish today.

That's the first step. I'm gonna learn to be selfish, I'm gonna learn to be something other than myself.

"I don't care anymore. I don't want anything anymore." That's the character I'm looking to play.

I guess I'm waiting until I'm 30. They're saying that's when it all starts coming together. I'll realize my potential as a nazi.

Everybody becomes a nazi. Hatred is the future, that's what they're saying.

Contrarianism is the white man's favorite game. To be above it all, that's the sexy thing for the young capitalists in our midst. Fascists have got the coolest cliques, they're like a well oiled machine, y'know.

"Cloudbusting," what a track. It seems impossible now. Who could have that kind of focus? You can never be lithe with your sound these days. Everything is like an ankle weight. But no, I don't think I'll engender myself towards Miles Davis. That guy was in a world I won't engage. A world of anima and cortisol. Real stuff, right?

I gotta move towards being stupid. I gotta move towards forgetting how to read. I gotta move towards talking like you. I gotta feel like you do. I'm halfway there already, can you hear how hateful I sound? I'm starting to understand you more and more.

I'm gonna be an American.

I check the headline again. They're making another stupid center. It's gonna make sure the water has got enough stupid in it. And they've got the best weapons, now. You don't gotta clean up the body parts after, right? They just wipe you out. Vaporized. There are thousands of cultures and tribes that used to exist that none of know about anymore. What's a couple more?

Everything... will finally be stone again. Everyone will be a monster. I think ONE might have nailed it. Ooh, enough of the fun. Enough of that.

They wiped away another town in Sudan, because they have to. Need space for the stupid center. Those guys in the UAE didn't get the Vapor Bombs yet. The stupid people, the good people of the Six-Legged Spider, will have to lend then a few.

Your face, y'know... you ever notice how real people look at you? When they can tell you came out wrong?

I see that face every day. Now, with the power of AI, we can scan your fucked up looking face, and we can show you how to fix it.

You know that real people can sense that you're a freak, right? The way your mouth moves, the way your eyes sit on your face... terrible. People are supposed to look only one sort of way. People are supposed to sound one sort of way. You're not one of us, so you have two options.

You should either kill yourself, or make yourself normal. Do the latter so we can take you to the show.

You are not regular enough to sell the idea of being unique, so please, do yourself a favor and follow a little Hitler of your choice.

The banana I ate today was probably harvested by a slave, but who gives a shit. The clothes I made were made by a slave, but who gives a shit. I'm a slave owner. You gotta learn to love being a sort of demon, right? Put it in your nose, huh? Y'know on the 7th, way back then, they were having a rave? How fun! Outside of the concentration camp. They get it! Have fun with the slaughter!

I drove a car and it made a funny smell. I love it! I'm gonna put my mouth up the the exhaust, I just LOVE the smell of it. The world is being killed, and I have the gun!

I have a gun! I ate two burgers yesterday! They have to rape the animals to make the food! All my produce, all my veggies, harvested by slaves! Look at my machine! Look at my machine! Isn't it sexy? Don't you wanna fuck this robot?

The military doesnt gotta tell you about the smog, smart guy! Killing is fun! Put the tar in a cup and drink it! Drink, drink, drink, drink! You're an American! You're English! You're French! You're German! You're Russian! You're Indian! You're Turkish! You're Canadian! You're Emirati! You're a border! You're a demarcation! You're royalty, that fit is so puss!

All those losers over there still give a shit, right? Come ON, guys. It's not like you're gonna kill me, right? You aren't a go getter like me! You're a wage slave, you're worried about your little... oooh, so sad! You little slave, boo hoo! You're scared we're gonna kill you? We're gonna rape you? And you're mommy, and your daddy? And your little Playstation, you're gonna miss that too? Aww... aww... clap if you give a fuck.

Rent paying little slag cunt. Thought I heard something.

I'm coquette. I'm chic. We're indie, we're so obscure. Here's fifty billion dollars. Kill me, now.

I'm standing directly in front of you with a target on my head, and you still care about dudes fucking dudes. Somebody with a penis is wearing a skirt, and now you want to buy a gun and murder people. You're so fun, you're like GI Joe!

You're such a peasant. You think there's a guy up there that's gonna punish you? There is no closure after this. You were like... supposed to do something NOW. Like US, get it?

The Nazis are the ones who have fun.

God is real and he's worth 23.7 trillion dollars. We're gonna buy it, but you gotta let us pump up the numbers first.

So are you gonna actually shoot me, or what? You're just gonna go home and masturbate. Loser.

You know animals do that? But they also do... all the useful stuff, too. You don't! Yeah, some animals are gay, but at least ANIMALS make for good meals. You guys don't even taste good.

Having this much fun only comes from loving all this evil stuff. Every rich person rapes children because they know they're not supposed to. That's the whole point. Everybody knows it's wrong. Everybody. But then again... what are you gonna do about it?

Exactly. So please 🙏 go back online and call Black people subhumans so I can write an article about how fucking my AI girlfriend with a nearfield connected fleshlight is "punk-rock."

Unless... you're gonna shoot me? I'm biting my tongue, slave. Please, please, put the barrel on my forehead. Do it, for me? For me? Just do it.

I like it when you get mad about culture. Do it again. Culture is dead! Why would you want to talk to another person? Love is GAY and STUPID. Like yeah, you can have culture without hating people or excluding people, but like... why would you want that? Half of fun is in killing somebody different. You want to... not do that?

People aren't people. You should want to fuck everybody and never talk to a soul. Oh please, don't ever actually get sensual, that's gay. It's meat slapping. That's it.

And... don't even do that, either. Don't get smart with your feelings, either.

Young man, hear me.

That girl, you either have to love her, or fuck her. And every single girl around you, they are not people. Not like you. You can't be friends, they're fuckmeat. You need them to make another you. Every interaction with a girl should be fixated towards determining whether you can fuck them or not, okay? If they don't want it, ignore them.

Anybody who tells you this is wrong is gay.

Woman. Listen to me.

You are god's favorite little device. You're a Rolex. You're a 2023 Ferrari Roma, with a Rosso Corsa interior. You're a stand mixer. You're a lacquered mahogany table. You're a pair of tailored tartan trousers. You're a silk sock.

Oh please, do choose to destroy yourself. You can choose to not be a machine, that's okay! But, um... I don't know if you know, but... a new iPhone came out. The iPhone 57R! And you're a 6s. So... um. We're gonna be ending support.

Good luck with that.

Oh my god, baby... you bought that Beretta just for me? Are you gonna shoot me? Please?

Please?

Okay, this is exhausting. What is it gonna take? Do I gotta tell you what my son has planned?

I don't wanna! I don't wanna!

Just kill me, fuck! It's drying up, wagie! You sexless fucking chop. Have fun with your morals or whatever. Have fun with your "friends" and your "community" and your "conscience," and all the Mr Rogers Neighborhood bullshit.

Fuck you.

2/3/26 - Throbbing Gristle

Zahr and I had a row about the whereabouts of Manal. She believed that Manal is intentionally avoiding me bc she just wants to use me, and like... maybe? Okay? Remas tells me she's okay and that she just can't get hold of an E-Sim. Which has happened before, a much more sobered explanation.

Manal has not ever demanded money out of me, nor has she ever been cold or angry. Hard to believe she would use some kind of strategem of avoidance to not get her own donation money. That just doesn't really make sense. It's not like I ignored her or said anything weird. I don't think she's actively looking to avoid me as much as it is likely very difficult to live in a tent and provide for 3 kids and retain communication via E-Sim all at the same time.

This wouldn't be the first time Zahr has engaged in catty or vindictive behavior. It's important to remember that most Palestinians are just regular people like the rest of us. They're not all Qassam Brigadier Super Soldiers, that would be too awesome for real life.

This living cycle is atrophying my brain, though. I need a change sooner rather than later. I gotta do laundry later, I believe this might help a tad. I feel that the world is stuck is a sort of fog. It's not easy to see the future. Pray for the superheroes of Minneapolis. I retain faith in a better world, and I believe the tide will turn when we are all ready to fight. I will not be shaken.

Singed by it, pulled around of my blazening

(Pulled round)

Eyes on the usually science of cherry-colored

(Trousers)

Limelight not the music it's plain as as can be so

(Tighter)

All of the time I improvise by making sure

(Tighter)

It's to wait for you

Rounder

Pulled rounder

Pulled rounder

Pulled rounder

It's a lot easier to be a defeatist. Not me.

On the 6th I gotta see about going to the Anti War meeting. Hepburn is about all the way finished. I just need to start on Roman Holiday.

Roman Holiday is a follow up LP meant to be less laser focused in its sound and subject matter. I decided the vocal tracks are better suited to RH than Television Pirate.

The only vocal track I'm adding to Hepburn is The Man.

"Oh yeah that's one of Nirvana's best songs, its called... uhh... yeah."