You can't kill what's already dead

1.  By my estimation, about one out of every three people are assholes. This is good news for the love and peace types, bad news for misanthropes. I just feel like most people are inclined to be understanding in the flesh. Especially in a face to face environment. I haven’t worked at this place for too long yet but we are very busy and the crepes are very expensive. I feel like these two factors make it a good environment for this type of estimation. For $9.50, true colors are more likely to come out when we, of course, stall or I in my beginner phase still, fuck up a crepe entirely and must start over. Most people have behaved as graciously as I would as a customer, joking with me, and even wishing me luck on the way out. We did have one lady who scoffed at the price, and then immediately began starting in on me. “Oh he better do the best job on it, then” repeated. She got as close to my workstation as a customer possibly could and busted balls about every motion I made. A crepe is dough splashed onto a grill and then spread out with a wood rake of sorts. From the first splash, “Oh! I don’t want one that small!”

I spin it….like this…..

“Oh, okay” …. “He better make the best one!” (to me) “You better do the best job!”

I go to reach for a spatula

“Oh! That’s dirty! I don’t want that one! It still has grease!”

My manager steps over

“Yes yes have him do it!”

As if i don’t know how to cleanse the spatula.

“Who owns this place anyway? 9.50? For some flour? 9.50?”

(upper west side manhattan…food with an accent mark in it)

“French? are they french?”

No, they are mexican actually, three mexican brothers.

“Oh the mexicans don’t know how to make crepes!”

Actually it doesn’t matter where you’re from.

“Yeah right! This country is expensive! 9.50!!”

Actually its a free country.  

“Can I have bananas, no extra charge?!”

(the motive becomes visible)

No, bananas cost extra.

“I’ve seen the MEXICAN manager once. I take picture with him. He wear funny hat, I take picture, he even give me free banana.”

probably the only free phallic object you’ve ever gotten cunt

2. I’ve seen many situations where two older people of the opposite sex come in, order, and sit down. Apparently, married couples do not speak to each other. They just sit in silence, read the stock exchange, chomp on shit without commenting on it and sip upper infused leaf beverage. They don’t even make eye contact most of the time. Seriously, 20 year old sluts who come in, eat fruity nutella and play footsie with their baldy man professors seem more in love…maybe because its all entirely fake and self serving…a paying gig of sorts…and in professional life, a paying gig is the most “interesting” one. A cynical view but seriously talk to yo fuckin spouse. Take it up with distribution, human resources department. I wanted to throw a wrench into both situations….

3. I’ve noticed a lot of reptiles who seem to be taking a domineering presence in the education of their child. Working at a place that makes sweet crepes, we get a lot of bribed children. I don’t know if these people are tutors or parents but the pre-school age of the children I’ve observed being spoken to in this particular way to me seems to suggest they are child and parent. Many cult of money parents around here talk to their children in a very aggressive almost brainwashing manner. Work, subservience, success, relentless compliance, and shame for individualism are themes. Full of disturbing strategic repetition, with the sinister sprinkle of bribes and youthful pleasure trigger words, ice cream, success, ice cream, success, sweets, reSponsibility….you can hear the hissing of the snake. Overall, the tone is such that people talk to their children like they are business partners, not family.

My introduction to the greed epidemic in this country came to me in the form of my relatives when I was around age eight. My grandmother had just died and the second she died each one of my mother’s five other siblings came demanding a piece of her Will. All the siblings in my mom’s family at this point either didn’t have any kids, or their kids were all through college or whatever and on their career path. Not only were me and my sister the youngest of all the grandchildren, when i was born most of my cousins were old enough to be my parents. In simpler terms, they wanted the money for themselves and didn’t consider the needs of the family. 

At the time, as an isolated incident I didn’t think much of it. I was young, college seemed so far away I felt like i’d stumble upon enough money on the sidewalk to afford it by then. But it wasn’t as safely quarantined as i thought it was from the rest of what her death triggered. 

HER death, now this is something that shaped my views on death too but its still directly related to a sort of greed for persuasion or power over others. It was her death, her eternal moment of peace and no one would stop making it THEIR LOSS as opposed to her LOSS, or more appropriately….her GAIN in losing all pain…her FREEDOM. They wanted to ASSERT at everyone waking moment that they lost something, everyone in my family…regardless of how they felt about her while she was accessible, and alive. They aggressively asserted to the universe that they were owed something in return, ignoring the fact they had been blessed more than enough to have her in the first place. They were deserving a boo-hoo, but yeah cash would be great too. She died in my house and I shed no tear during the wake. I did however at the funeral because it was so beautiful. The priest and how he sang, as much as I dislike Catholicism it was completely beautiful.

What her death triggered was some really bizarre changes in my life. I don’t think I’ve ever wrote on this with the level of hindsight I have now, which is a good sign maybe i’ve progressed lmao. My parents began a world series of preposterous arguments over what I saw as nothing, I’m not sure I even heard the words. Make a long story short what it amounted to was a battle over finances, property, and totally unnecessary specifics in custody that go until this day. A legal shitstorm, a financial shitstorm, but perceived lastly by many, especially all the cunt lawyers that have been putting their kids through college on the money my parents blew arguing with each other, a lifestyle shitstorm.  

The pertinent thing about all this is that it really started to make me wonder about people’s priorities. This wasn’t my only exposure either, it was these things happening in my life combined with what was being fed to me through the television, what was happening to my friends, how everything so drastically and suddenly reared its ugly face. And how much that face contrasted what was being said to me before. The legal system, a random person, everything and everyone seemed to thrive in a sort of cannibalistic filth that we all also ignored.

I became more and more interested about what this “money” that destroyed my family was really about. I saw green paper. I saw plastic swiping, right away this did not make sense. I looked at my monopoly game board and thought to myself am I seeing a pattern here? 

At first glance it is that ridiculous. And through various rationalizations and greenbacks and goldbacks and gold over here, and banks bailing out this and loans and etc. etc. etc. And still it sounded pretty fucking ridiculous, and i’m not a moron. I feel like we all carry Occam’s razor, and if at first glance it looks like a crock of shit, chances are it is one. I started wondering why the shittiest most soulless people are the ones that everyone is interested in, I started wondering how money is related to power and how power and money is related to fame. I started to try and quantify the end result of our society. I looked at pollution, I looked at hollywood, I looked at the disgustingly homeless, I looked at the disgustingly rich, I looked at history, I saw why other nations are struggling….then it became time to look back in on my situation. 

What became almost instantly sympathetically apparent by all these other realizations was that my situation was not at all unique. It was evidence of a cultural shift. The same gravitational pull that caused bullies on the playground, imperialistic countries going to war, the rape of the planet, also had caused my parents to collapse their functional love because of physical things while they had living breathing children to worry about. All of it, different footsteps of the same monster. 

It is my belief that my insight during this age of formation has scarred me almost irreparably. I’ve suffered with depression my whole life, mainly because of my rebellion against this system whose output disgusts me. Not just what the thoughts take out of me, but mostly because of the fact that I truly want to contribute its just morally damn near impossible for me to with the way things are now. I see the jobs I qualify for and they’re all piss-on-my-grave tier degrading. I am well aware of my mortality and I respect that fact of mother nature far before i bow to any foolish temple of man. I don’t feel like I honor my complete surroundings by going down the street and sucking dick for an application at a worldwide deep fried food franchise. Whose output does nothing but make people mentally sluggish and physically cement, whose output is a mockery of the natural ways of this planet. Can’t work wholeheartedly at the pharmacy because they profit off of putting people into catatonic states because people are so smart and they look around and see how fucked everything is and they figure it must be THEM who need help, and they take the pills like gerbils to sacrifice their equilibrium so they don’t have to feel the way I do and challenge these things. Can’t work at the bank because the money’s only tangible power is from the weasel who has the access card to as much as he wants of it. And if you think its backed in anything, its backed in bullets and its soaked in blood. And frankly, I see college as a way to introduce people into the world of debt. A sort of Ellis Island to your intellectual servitude. I came into this world not owing anything to anyone and that’s how i’m going to leave. Its brought me to moments of intense self destruction not knowing where to go, and not knowing how to do anything I believe in. I look around me most of the time in my city of Brockton, Massachusetts and I just see a bunch of people who have given up. No one wants to talk about anything, they don’t even want to see you half the time.

You can say i’m haunted by the past but I think its enabled me better sight. I have little to no attachment to my past, but of course it has shaped me. I demand a way to live that I can be happy about when it comes time to die, maybe that’s another false promise. Maybe being discontent is the best thing for me. But I said this when i was in 6th grade and i’ll say it again, the systems going to have to meet me half way if they want me on their side.

But this isn’t just political its greed as a way to be. We’re up against rude giants that scoff at any remnant of individualism. They snatch it up and market it before it gets too popular, after putting it through their sanitation process of course. They did it to hip-hop so now you have to dig deep for real shit. Flooding the main port that they just happen to own or have connections to, with garbage, empty six can packs dripping of Self-ist doctrine.

The funny thing is, I don’t know a solution. I feel cornered, and a lot of people I have respect for seem to disagree with me. But I think the problem-solution’ll work itself out if I use my energy the way I’m supposed to. This is the reason why I prefer to stick to things like music. Music heals everyone, and I guess most of the time that’s all it takes. So hopefully some form of implementing healing energy can work out for me or i’ll just be babbling forever. =P

Do events possess intelligence in of themselves? Why does it seem that “fate” is an entity, or a realistic factor in the first place? Is it the mind that chooses comfortably to perceive circumstance and coincidence as design? Miracle, ironic circumstance, why does it seem that events are written? Is time the intelligence of god? Why does it seem that I know what is going to come my way? And that no matter what happens, no matter how fantastical, when it comes it’ll still feel written, predetermined, and comical..

like running into people that you haven’t seen in years in the strangest place. 

watching a face go by on a bus, in a random city…someone you used to love. 

they smile at you, and as they do you get a call from your mom and she brings that person up randomly. Or you just get a text at the moment of eye contact that contains words pertinent. 

its so weird that nothing is weird….

I used to have it out for that bunny. But before that, ironically I was the one who named him, as falls most of the twisted angels of symbology I employ defensively. Of course, only to watch them eventually metamorphisize into enemies. But hopefully back into allies even later, if the worldwide political climate calls for it. I guess that i’m in this meaning-throwing game for the long term. When my mother first installed this general onto the porch, I saw it as a restrictive move. I wanted to change his name to HALT, and print his likeness onto emblems for use on imitation chainmail. I used to love being on my porch. And since the regime change, friends weren’t usually allowed in the house so we’d often have them out here. On a night like this, I may even sit out there, enjoying the rain while writing under an appropriately dim light.  But the appointed ordinator not only made the room smell foul as landmines, but he’d possibly try to chew on me if I could withstand the assault on my mortality. Well, even if i just passed out, then i’d probably wake up with my eyes pecked out by his perpetually gyrating beak. 

Now too, the beloved porch was infected with some indistinguishable plague of apathy for spaces. The same plague that ate my backyard, my basement, any comfortable surface that the untrained dog pissed on, and the same plague that threatened for more than a decade to cut this silly cake house in half.  I couldn’t so much as leave my shoes out there. Actually the night I started to like this rabbit again I had a little gathering at my house. About a good eight people probably showed up. I requested that they all respectfully leave their shoes on the porch because a group of people standing around with shoes on does end up looking like hell. This was during a time where I was trying to give a fuck, but it inevitably failed because as is usual with people…damned if you do, damned if you don’t, in this case in regards to cleaning. Anyway, come the end of the night there was not one single person without a shoe malfunction. Call me evil but I was proud of this party favor. Unintentional the same, by both me and the rabbit, but ultimately hilarious, cutely mischievous, infuriatingly funny, and thus proper in location being in a place I’d like to call home.

He used to have a brown rabbit to accompany him, he could be a female…I’m not one of those people who check. But, some crazy cat lady my mom was rounding up strays for didn’t get the strays she wanted, and we suspect her of setting Thunderstorm free. Yeah I named him too, I thought a pair of caged bunnies named FULLMOON THUNDERSTORM would provoke extremely wild, untame, and powerful images, a humored contrast I thought for what they actually were. But apparently these cat ladies are very serious about their currency, almost analogous to that of the mob. For all I know Thunderstorm could be swimming with the fishes. Rodents swim well, don’t they? So long as they are without concrete pajamas. 

I went downstairs a little while ago to see if my mom picked up some hot sauce like I asked, and lo and behold there is no hot sauce. For the record my mom doesn’t understand hot sauce, in this world there is only salsa. I hate it enough when people refer to salsa as DIP, gives me chewing tobacco flashbacks, or reminds me of some paste-gizz like gelatin that smells like onion and sour cream, which in turn smells too much like what I imagine to be overgrown and unwashed smegma. Maybe my dads affinity for hot sauce has been selectively erased from her non-hot sauce loving memory banks. Regardless of all of this, the absence of hot sauce pisses me off.

While down there I looked out on FULLMOON on a night whose weather accentuates very much my inability to use my porch. Welcome mat is symbolically torn up, astroturf rug symbolically shit upon, he sits on a wicker seat whose legs symbolically can’t balance a human tenant. He’s got a look on his face like “yeah whatever i’m alive who cares.” And its funny because I find this rabbit to be the fucking shit. I don’t know the exact cause but suddenly what he means to me has changed. 

I figure all the fairies that think video games brainwash children into killing people are also the same people that want to surrender the right to bear arms. How statistically true do you think this is? BLUB BLUB BLUB. 

I’m not a huge fan of those shoot ‘em up games but I used to play a good amount of the JAMES BOND ones on N64, and I was pretty sure that what was going on in the television was fiction. 

I’ve also shot a good number of guns in my day, and believe it or not…I didn’t know how to use them already from all the games i’d played. 

“Dad where’s the B button, I gotta reload so I can kill all these genetically modified super solidiers?”

Scapegoatism is a huge problem in our society. We’d rather attack a small portion, something well defined than search for, or have big goals. Instead of teaching tolerance we have to section them off into young adult tolerance, tolerance in the workplace, racial tolerance, gender tolerance, sexual orientation tolerance.  

Why blame people? blame guns! why blame guns, blame something even less tangible…video games are making money, let’s get that! let’s get that slice of pie from the reverse demographic!!!!

I write this basically to thank video games as a safe method of escapism. All the times growing up where I could have went on a rampage, that I just fired up these beautiful lush worlds to delve into. They didn’t require the quiet and focus that literature often demands, arguably a lot of what turned me on to sound’s majesty was how it was crucially applied to these environments. 

I could enter a realm where I was effectual in times I felt powerless, I could if I stayed determined accomplish a task, no matter how imaginary it may seem.

Its evident that video games do in fact impact the psyche, but in terms of influencing exact action, maybe we should first attack the news, the war, and domestic violence that are all propelled by the same major malfunction.

I wish I could see people less hastily surrender their sense of self responsibility. Anything can inspire you to do anything. The Bible is okay, but video games and ROCKNROLL bands are ruining everyone? Suppose the lightbulb broke and reminded me of a skull. I need duplicates, I need everyone to duplicates.

Its also funny how the more ancient aspects of our nature are categorized as modern day issues.  Lessening their credibility, and furthering us from self realization. Not just MODERN day issues either, it seems the trend to blame the new thing. lol and that’s pretty fucking lazy

It would be fun to be in love, whatever that means. I think i’ve felt it before but what was I tripping on? What do I even think it is? My mind logically knows, but then why wouldn’t platonic love satisfy the need? Is it a need or an urge? Where is the line between sexual and spiritual? All these questions come to mind. I guess we must begin with recollection of what I once believed was love.

I remember feeling absolute contentment, absolute safety, fluent connections, atop a grand friendship. What followed those days seem to prove these feelings wrong, which is to say was it all expectation based? Did I say to myself oh wow, this person is THAT…and because I know i love that in a person convince myself? I’d have to say of course, considering my vision of good, saw this person as good, and hence I wanted to include them in that. 

Well how much of it was true then? I can’t say, I simply do not know. All i know is that i don’t think this is all there is to it, because I ended up feeling emotionally isolated anyway. And I don’t think that was solely because of my expectations, I keep a mostly open view of people and don’t mind change. I really feel as if I could love absolutely anyone as long as our communicative and emotional styles are magnetic enough to provide a positive atmosphere. 

Maybe my past contains no adequate example of what my vision is. I figure what I need now is much more potent. I mean, I have had relationships that have bloomed into life long friendships. The person I’m speaking of, also, is probably going to remain one of my greatest friends. I really am grateful that she decided to set me down so easily, she expressed maturity beyond her years in this and the break up did not scar my heart. We express our love in a sibling-like fashion, and it feels right to both of us. 

So what is the difference between this LOVE LOVE, this LIKE LIKE and friends? I have yet to identify it. There certainly IS a difference, because I feel it. But is it at all logical or explainable? I’ve been trying. Is it physiological? Or is it some type of fairy tale scam they sold to us at a very young age? 

Let it be known first that I know its all in my head. If my mother taught me anything its that people don’t MAKE you feel, you MAKE yourself. And to a well defined point I do agree with this cold notion. Although just as someone can put a cigarette out on your arm, someone can harm your well being with words. I know that as well, because its something I feel without any interference. 

But a more accurate way of saying what she was trying to say I think, is everything is in your mind. What your senses intake is processed in the mind entirely otherwise you wouldn’t see it. And you better believe what’s going on past our senses ability to render it is a lot more strange than this. That part doesn’t bother me, I have two words I put together to embody this actuality. 

Never Welcome

I want it tattooed on the back of my head, and unless you can convince me otherwise, its probably going to happen. 

This isn’t to express my frustration with communication, or with love or anything. Its more of an empowerment to say that, I take care of what’s in here. 

So is love expectation based? When i’m going into it, am I holding some vague blueprint, that I look upon with blurry vision the final product? And somehow through tear-clotted eyes, manage to distort it enough to appear as I projected?

I’d honestly like to think I’m more open minded than that. Even if I was like this at a time, I’d like to think I’ve eliminated my expectations of other people by this point. And I do honestly believe I have. I wouldn’t be lying to say that I have learned the hard way, rugburnt on my face….for having expectations. Its safe to say this is why I speak so highly of the moment.

it could be physiological yes, a mechanism in the mind designed to bind us to our mate so that the offspring is successful. But if that were the whole of it, wouldn’t I feel that way with every woman I’ve had sex with? The fact is simple, I don’t. lol. 

it could also be fairy tale madness, with its FOREVERs and its KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMORS, and its PRINCESSES. A lot of expectations probably do truthfully come from this area. I bet a lot of people are on this trip, but I’m really not.

I wonder what others think when they hear the word love. I wonder so much I tend not to use it. I wonder why it can make a person so happy. Is it full acceptance? Ultimate communion? I’m not even sure if someone else can ever fully accept anyone else but paradoxically and maybe egocentrically I do believe I can. Therefore it must be possible. 

I believe love to be a mental process that mimics the cradling spirit of energy for all creation. To me, it is a force that encourages energy transferal, and the fulfillment of living and non-living entities. It is relentless compassionate understanding. A force that shines light, projects energy, produces warmth, without condition, expectation, or fussiness. The most majestic energy one can project. I don’t think it needs words like forever, I don’t think it needs words like relationship. It certainly doesn’t need words like platonic or romantic. I think its very spiritual. Sex, I believe if done properly (properly is to say that its being done at its maximum potential) is a mutual meditation, much like a musical act, the emulation of what you could envision as the original god and goddess intertwining to create any particular universe. Not to say they are two opposing forces at all, but two parts of the same thing. I guess the difference between two friends that love and intense intimate love is just that, the intensity, the level of magnetism…the strength of the hands of the universe smashing you into each other.

I feel like defining love demands a rigorous awareness, appreciation and interest in all things around you, that not enough people in this world decide to have. There are people that believe in bastardizations of it, thoughts that stop a quarter a way along the path but don’t make sense to the rest of the harmonization. I’m not saying I have a full understanding of it either, but I feel like I have a decent grasp of what it is. Put it this way, I know that if I receive energy like I just described that my happiness’ll produce fruit from this world, and perhaps spin a healthy new universe or two in the process.

i don’t know what this is,paranoia, depression, overthought, the crash, or disappointment. But i’m sure its all of those with sections i’ve yet to begin to understand. All feeble attempts at categorization aside, I’m still moderately happy while these feelings are sweeping me. i’ve never been a stranger to ambivalence. He is an old friend, so the summation of my feelings has got to be positive. Long equation? more than likely with me.

The worst part though is I feel like I witnessed a murder and i’m on the run. Who got killed? Someone I love, maybe…something I love…something in me, maybe me entirely? I don’t know, I just know that I didn’t do anything to prevent it. Could have I done anything about it? Or can i? For either i’m dead or I was the assailant. I can’t talk to anyone because they’ll report me to some invisible force that pushes me even further into the woods as I stare wildly, into their eyes that drop the honest glare in glass to stain my path. Am I overly afraid that someone won’t understand me? Am I afraid to hand someone the one dagger that can kill me? Am I afraid of scaring people away? Or am I afraid simply to recount my emotional tendencies because I’m so tired of them? 

I’m not sure, guess its not that important…I’m still alive and relatively happy.

there’s always some cock weasel with a lawn mower or a leaf blower shoveling shit against the tide to try and counterbalance all his couch time and prove to his ugly fat wife that he can still do something physical. All the while still paying tribute to the utmost sacred societal norms of appearance pouring onto even your fucking lawn. That in part because of her participation he surrendered wholeheartedly indebted to. 

this NONSENSE even pollutes my dreams with noise, I stay awake all night to avoid these types and they wake early and do this shit for hours and hours. I know there was a hurricane yesterday, yeah whatever….but shut the fuck up I hate you, there are birds chirping, I hear doves cooing, I hear a beautiful day outside immediately after a hurricane and you’re fucking with it with a futile fucking leaf blower. Why rush the wind you peon? 

Speaking of names. I really like it when places, usually Asian places are named like “Yummy House” or “Yum Yum Noodle.” That way you really know that a place ain’t fucking around. I want to eat at those places. Yum is such a happy word. Not to mention being the manager at yum yum noodle probably has you swimming in bitches.

I want to name a place like….Yummy Little Grills. You see where I’m going with this, don’t you? They could serve food named after kidnapped and murdered rich little girls.

Yes, I’d like the ramsey burger, that’s made with real ramsey, right? 

Let me know if anyone in your party has any food allergies.

Ryan Miller and The Semi-Casual Suicide Attempts

now you go

All authority is unreasonable to some extent or another because it thrives off of the assumption that a man isn’t able to govern his own lifestyle. Authority and the submission that follows is that it demands instead of asks. GETS respect instead of SHARES or EARNS respect. It throws away the idea of equality, spits on freedom, and laughs at compromise. It is to say one party is right and one is wrong, or at least one is substantially superior. I don’t know if there is a litmus test available for this sort of thing, more of an instinct we each individually go on similar to the one in the morning that influences us to either reach for the orange juice, or reach for the milk. I could avoid the fridge, go to the faucet and choose water. I could dehydrate to death if I chose to do so without any noticeable change to anything. This is more of a realization towards team freedom than it is an option. Its not insane, or gratuitously self-justifying to say maybe I don’t have to do a god damned thing but die. In these demanding times where you’re barely allowed to be tired, I need to put the message that blunt. 

The fact is getting other people to bend to our Will is a huge part of our nature as human beings. The fact is I personally place a lot of value on concepts such as personal freedom, individual choice, compassion, open-mindedness, improvisation. This tends to make it hard for me to comply with domineering expectations regardless of what they are. I won’t go so far as to say i’m warring with the concrete, but I would admit to being fluid, as well as admitting to not be interested in submitting.

I also strongly dislike how anyone with even remotely rebellious or truly patriotic thoughts that are interested in legitimate, concise, and perhaps even total cultural freedom are dismissed as just being young. Even so far as to accredit it entirely to hormonal changes instead of the common fucking sense that tells us the world we have created is a longshot from the world we could have. 

Put simply, we glorify and chant ideas we don’t actually put into practice. Freedom is the bastard child of power and deception in most people’s heads. Lightning struck the family tree conveniently, by one of those area 51 weather machines.

All conspiracy jargon aside I know many members of my generation look upon their parents and see people so beaten and abused ideologically that they don’t even fully realize to what level they have been forced to surrender. I don’t want that kind of half life for me, or my children. The fatigue inspired by the onslaught of information, the exhaustion from trying to find a purpose to all these meaningless jobs that somehow provide us with plenty of food but no soul, the regret of not having done what they wanted with their time. This doesn’t even ask for something extravagant on any particular criterion. I feel as if sitting in shade fancied me my entire life, it could be more enjoyable than the life of the most gaudy movie star. Its fun to see what/who our “culture” worships too, its a clear indication of the end result of this madness. 

What am I going to do about it? I’m surrounded, sure. All you can do is put your hands up and listen to the cop tell you that you can’t say what you want. That he’ll put it in the police report that you said you “can say anything you want in this country protected by the first amendment” (truth story! he threatened to tell people that I said that!!). You can even tell him that its impossible to trespass, unless you’re violating another creature’s personal space…they’ll love that too. You can tell the queen you’re sailing across the ocean to god knows where in order to practice the religion you want to, only to see your own people persecute others for their, much more practical, beliefs. Which brings us back to the question…where is the sea i have to sail across? I figure I practice most of my freedom through speaking, making music, and enjoying communion with others. But to be honest I don’t know how exactly I am to exist as a free man. I guess it is impossible to be entirely free, demands absence of all restraint…that even mortality gets in the way. But I would like mortality to be my cage, larger than all the others that are made of plastic. Mortality may be a large enough cage for me to have trouble seeing the other side.

Ultimately I refute every sodomizing inch of this foul domestication. 

everyone loves to tell everyone else when they’re lonely, depressed, horny, and bored. like hey sharks, i’m bleeding. OOPS I FAILED TO MENTION I AM SHARK TOO. idk guess I see it as cannibalism, yeah yeah. anyway…how many of you are CURIOUS? I like that one..

isn’t it amazing, the tension-release that occurs when you think to yourself “someday I’ll do something great”, doubt yourself for a few seconds, and then you remember you’ve already done wonderful things like overcome, learn, and inspire others? now think about that happening just as tension-release is harmonically happening while you reflect to music….this is why i love to be