Dostoevsky = boss

"Not all married women are happy," she snapped out in the rude abrupt tone she had used at first.
"Not all, of course, but anyway it is much better than the life here. Infinitely better. BEsides, with love one can live even without happiness. Even in sorrow life is sweet; life is sweet however one lives."

Freestyled a song. Recorded it. Shame ensued.

Freestyle like its 2010 and you just got dumped by Christopher Anodyne

Of all the preposterous assumptions of humanity over humanity, nothing exceeds most of the criticisms made on the habits of the poor by the well-housed, well-warmed, and well-fed.-Herman Melville

He sat up, put his arms about her neck, kissed her, drew back and looked at her, kissed her again, drew back again, and so on, several times. There were tears on her cheeks. She smiled forlornly as he rubbed them away with his forefingers.
‘You know what?’ he said with great earnestness. ‘I think we’re both afraid of the same thing. And for the same reason. We’ve never managed, either one of us, to get all the way into life. We’re hanging on to the outside for all we’re worth, convinced we’re going to fall off at the next bump. Isn’t that true?’
-Paul Bowles

"I loathe MTV. I think that thats systematically destroying music. Its a very sinister force, in music in a way. And I think that more and more the life of the musician is being put into the hands of video makers and video directors and so fort. Which is a frightening situation because they're a universally a horrible kind of people."

"I go through periods of trying to reacquaint myself with the world in a way. ANd it works a little while, but I just lose interest."


- Nick Cave

of course there is only

something wrong with me. she's the one human being god spared when handing out fuck-upability.

Yea yea yea

If I were God, I'd have hope too - I could view every good deed done. We humans don't get a balanced enough perception of things because we can't see enough to truly be aware of all the altruism and kindness available/in existence in the world.

A+

for her lack of effort.

A+ for the presentation being so boorish, insolent, and obvious.

Gareth Liddard of the Drones droppin' some knowledge

I’ve got like a 1 ½ octave range [[meeee tooooo]]

Without the bluster of the Drones behind it, that 1 ½ octave voice has to carry more of the weight on the solo album- so how would Liddiard review his Drones-less work? “I would say that the timings wonky and the vocals are out of tune,” Li...ddiard admits, “but [critics] won’t hone in on that – they’ll say something like ‘teenaged poetry’ or they’ll say ‘claustrophobically depressing’ or ‘self indulgent’… I’m sure they’ll think of shit I couldn’t think of… and I’ll be like whatever ‘fair enough’. It’s a pretty gnarly kinda record so you can’t blame anybody; no one has to like it I don’t care. I like it, that’s the reward for me"


Even a bad review can hold a certain reward for Liddiard, “Anyone that’s been around for a while, once you get over [bad reviews], they’re actually hilarious. When you’re young and you’re doing it, or younger, you get a bad review it hurts, but eventually you just realize it’s a big world, there’s a lot of other shit going on. My mum didn’t like what we did, my dad doesn’t really get it, but I don’t feel bad about that. If someone from Minnesota doesn’t like it – ‘whoopie shit’. It’s fun to read, it’s hilarious.

“If I hear something that’s completely un-harmonic and just doesn’t have any melodic structure I can enjoy I because I can go ‘oh I’ll use _that_’. Someone else will just hear a total mess,” Liddiard explains “You can take anything, wether it’s scales, approaches, ideas, attitudes, fuckin’ atmospheres it’s endless.”


I listen to a lot of Frank Sinatra, a lot of old jazz and you can put it all in. Thelonious Monk – that’s my idea of piano playing that’s how you do it. It’s just weird and kooky and it has punk intonation; there’s four-four and then there’...s living in the moment, of just doing it.”

“You just get shit from everywhere, it’s fun to do… I don’t know it’s weird,” he explains. “It’s gotta be authentic, and then second to authentic it’s gotta be weird coz weird makes shit interesting. My favourite Bob Dylan songs are the weird ones like Dear Landlord or Poor Boy – you’re just like ‘fuck what are you taking about’ they’re intriguing. I’m a fan of weird.”

I’ve had people talk to me like that. It’s weird. Some people are cool and they go ‘I don’t like it’ but they’re still warm and they’re nice and you can hang out and they’re fine. I don’t expect everyone to like it, cause that’d be impossible. Then there are some people that are weird they don’t have any social skills. And they come up and go ‘I don’t like it’ and you thing ‘oh, here we go’ they’re just retarded socially

“We run on deadlines, if you do make a perfect record it’s a fluke. You can’t plan a hit, that’s the whole thing, you’ve just gotta let go at some point. You’ve gotta make a deadline and the deadline’s gotta come and it’s gotta be enforced ...otherwise you just keep working on an album or a song forever. At some point you’ve gotta say ‘alright, next!’ next step – let’s record this song, or release the song, or tour this album whatever the next step is and be done with it. If you do make a masterpiece it’s not ‘Oh I did that’. People say that in hindsight – ‘Oh yeah, I did that deliberately’ – but they forget all these forces of fate which helped put things in place. We don’t plan for that. We just make shit we like, shit we want to hear.”

Sans the comprehensibility

then it is poetry, or called such.

human beings are harmonious only as listeners. as in all other roles, they are dissonant, off beat, improvising motherfuckers playing jazz, runnin their fingers and mouves all along their instruments refusing to even play in the same key.

If not love,

then what the fuck is worth suffering for?

I do not

know how everyone feels, but I feel as if I've felt just about as much as anyone I could meet can feel. And that is an awful lot more than I want to feel. Half the time it would seem that I am forcing myself to feel. I believe allowing would be a better word.

Dream Song 14

by John Berryman

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatingly) ‘Ever to confess you’re bored
means you have no

Inner Resources.’ I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as achilles,

who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.

Her Kind

by Anne Sexton

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

"I don't think that life is short. So I think you should stop saying that. 'Life is short, man.' No it's not! Life is excrusiatingly long. Let me rephrase that. The life you got left is excrusiatingly long. The life behind you, it's done. So yeah, life is short, but only when you turn around and look at it. But if you keep looking forward, you got a lot of yearsto think about. If you don't think life is long, if you life every day like life is short, you know what you become? A fuckin' asshole. You gotta live your life like someday soon you're gonna hit some miserable Tuesday night that's just gonna seem to go on for days and days and days. Waiting for either some phone call to come that doesn't come or some phone call to stop that won't stop. Because as it's laid out infront of you seems to go on forever. But look back to when you were 4 and it seems like last Sunday. So just keep looking forward and keep your good heart on you and keep doing the best you can do and love who you love the best you can love." -John Mayer

You've got to distinguish between the future and now. These moments aren't passing as fast as you think they are.

Getting over

someone is about surviving those moments when the loneliness intensifies and you can only consider going back to them. Desensitization. They lose their weight in time. You find it easier to think of them without feeling like you need them.

Words from a pal.

when i am done writing ... (and it's usually in my phone on the terrace of the building where i live) ... i know that i've said what i had to ... but it's an overwhelming avalanche of splinters that want to be out now ... and it takes a lot to just stand them ... yet i know that that's what it takes to make a warrior out of one ... i feel your presence ... and i don't feel afraid ... i just read what you'd said that day (i put it on my profile) ... and feel empowered again ...

. people ... unfortunately ... are more delusional than we'd like to believe ... (my knowledge is experiential) ... i have a term for it ... "resolution loss" ... if we say something, they automatically assume a more diluted version of it and add whatever ulterior motives they can to it (depending upon their ability to think and twist) ... and i refer to them as "twisters" ... they are defensive and make one defensive ...

. no one wants to do a disc de frag ... (i am assuming you know that process - lemme know if you don't) ... to make sense of life ... we have to actually go back to all of it ... and that's too much ... people believe in doing the minimum they need to do to get by ... they pretend they are looking to optimize ...

. but ... if reprimanded or admonished ... they actually experience righteous indignation ... the only way to bring about change is by inspiring it ... and the only way to inspire is by being consistent with ethics ... while evolving ... thereby ... inspiring through demonstrated excellence ... we have to be and live what we write ...

. plus, they don't have any patience ... and they are quick to write us off ... at the mere appearance of a mistake ... it is too much effort you see ... to evaluate every situation on merit and in an issue - based manner ... and no one wants to work hard ...

. paul said something amazing the other day ... in his characteristic caustic style ... he asked me if i thought the buddha was ambitious ... and that made me ponder ... and i realized ... that buddhism is one of those schools of thought that bogs the universe down ... (at least in the manner in which it is often quoted and projected in contemporary times) ... people would rather give up ... for fear of being hurt again ... than actually be proactive ... face whatever there is to face ... and try and live rather than subsist ... for instance ... if my soul mate is absconding and i can't be with someone else ... i'd rather become an activist for everything that i want transformed in him ... make the issues more important than the person ... but live my life ... with the knowledge that somewhere i transcended something ... than pretend he's not my soul mate ... hook up with someone mildly compatible ... and say this is life ... and then validate mildly compatible for the rest of my life ... i'd rather stand by my exquisite taste in love and "issues" ... pay the price for it ... and be happy that i did something which was truer to who i was ... and how i actually felt ...

. in short, unfortunately we live in a world of impatient cowards who are in denial ... and the only way to change anything is by inspiring it ... saying something to someone usually doesn't work ... that's why poetry is a precious tool ... and is still so under - utilized ... that we ... sensitive people ... can hope to cause at least a stir ... if not bring about global transformation ...

If

similar universes exists, with similar sequences of evolution, and similar social structures and the very same cathartically self-destructive libido, and nearly identical lifespans, an irritable mortality, and a similar search for love akin to our own, then how many men exist who simply wish for a woman to understand the humility of their desperation?

absence is abreast

Looking at people who don't notice me reminds me of time spent with you.
i bet I only cross your mind when you recollect on being bored.

Cross the country to see someone you described as toxic
then disregard me trying to convince you that you're not an idiot.

all fatherless men spend their upbringing learning to love
dysfunctional women, so in a sense I was raised to love you.

we epitomize the very unfairness that we detest.
a loathesome world is made up of many cruel moments just like this

if you cant stand the heat, burn the house down
ashes are like memories, they flake and disintegrate.

she don't believe in healing, either you're perfect or your dying.
with us all at war, there's no point mending wounds in a lions den.

I'm going to fold that blanket we laid in and lie beside it for the rest of my life.
YOu're going to cast your soul's reproach to sea, bit by bit for the rest of yours.


you've got the kind of scalp that 8 year olds cry about
long before you're of age, gray hairs'll sprout

and for the sake of the wind, you'll lose a hundred pounds.
let it carry you wherever it carries ashes of the dead.

and for the sake of the tide, you'll set out to sea in a raft
let it carry you til death as you validate your decision by reading Plath.

fairness is abreast with absence
passion is the discourse of the naive.
decay is the temperament of time
we are the minds that we have lost.

You are so

very difficult to get over, but when I look at someone else, I don't see you. Because you're not them. Just as I am not him. So it is my hope that time will make it easier to care for someone else, although it is still in me to hope you come back before then.

But as I wait:

I want to be Elliot Smith for the Halloween of my life.

Would you

even be if the love that failed later, was given up on before you were born? Unsurprisingly, you'd prefer just that.

The Departure

I ordered my horse to be brought from the stables. The servant did not understand my orders. So I went to the stables myself, saddled my horse, and mounted. In the distance I heard the sound of a trumpet, and I asked the servant what it meant. He knew nothing and had heard nothing. At the gate he stopped me and asked: "Where is the master going?" "I don't know," I said, "just out of here, just out of here. Out of here, nothing else, it's the only way I can reach my goal." "So you know your goal?" he asked. "Yes," I replied, "I've just told you. Out of here--that's my goal."

Though I drove half a tank off in one day for her to enjoy herself, though I made nothing of her asking me to hurry up as I drove just to see a movie she wanted to see, though couldn't find it in me to advise her to not visit her ex, though i even still told her i hope she finds what she's looking for (though I would miss her) when she went to see him suddenly after saying she wouldn't go to see him, though I wept as I drove home after spending half an hour or so letting her sulk in her silence beside me, though we rested in parks and I left one eye open just to watch her look up at the sky (away from me, of course), though tried unrelentingly to keep her from condeming herself for any decision of her own (including going to see her ex, which I blame for her newly discovered hope for an ideal self that is full of indifference and no need for love): she would still not say I am any different from he, who she described as someone trying to convince her - out of his own misery - to try to be with him. Yea, no altruist am i, I'm just like all the rest of them, love. Selfish when honest. Nothing more.

Storage for the stories

No one's gonna read all this shit, but if you do, know this: I'm keeping this shit here to later look upon. I was dropping some knowledge today and in months or years, I'm goonna look back on this and see what parts of me I'm missing.


Having a self-defined good time by taking shit too seriously.


the worst part about everything now becoming meaningless is we're too lazy to redefine them.


Women who enjoy being dominated sexually must be the most uptight amd inhibited. the forcefulness during sex must cause, without disruption, the releases of their inhibitions. i say this as i psychoanalyze sylvia plath after reading that she enjoyed bring dominated sexually. pretty great for someone with as little sexual experience as me.

EVERYBODY'S TALKING BOUT THEIR SHORT LIST

If not lost, who has gound us....ever?

A Friend: Nick C- you hit the nail on the head so to speak.. women afraid to really be in tune with themselves sexually, either conciously or sub, relinquish control of their bodies over to their partner. I am not sure how gratifying that can be...just my thoughts..

Oh god, what a tragedy truly experiencing life intrinsically is. forgo the sanity and be unfettered as the wind or be tame and dissonant within yourself.

Christopher Anodyne Thanls for peering in on my status of consciousness, nick o. im glad a wise one of your glorious kind sees what i meant there. gonna pat myself on the back for getting Nick O's magnificent approval. pat pat

Lynne Hayes I have been on both ends of that spectrum.. neither was satisfying mentally, spiritually or physically.. The middle ground where one is intuned and confident within thier true selves, is where true satisfaction lay.

I agree entirely.

The goooood timesss are killiinngg mdee

Need more sleep than coke or methamphetamines

I would post a modest mouse song on your page Nick O, but im in bed on my phone.

I had a thought walking up my stairs as my ankled writhed below the rest of my weary body: this must be what aging feels like. like this is a moment when the body becomes less of what it was and more of an agonizing vessel filled with wonde...rs and stupid jokes about getting old. the latter only being spoken in conversation with stupid little young idiots who dont even know how good they have shiy. goddamn the brightest of eyes, the shininiest of polished hair, the smoothe baby bottoms acting as faces, the undeniably cute. gah, goddamn the whole lot of them.

A Friend: Oh that's ok.. hit me up tomorrow..K? Rest.. think.. and rest some more..

Sounds like a plan to me. i will most certainly do just that.
Son. of. a. bitch.

A Friend: Nick.. one day lets do a private chat here about these things.. you have an exceptional eye into the world.. ok?

A friend: No, it's sums of bitches..

Lol we'll certainly have to. maybe it should be preceded by us taking prozac to prepare our minds for the blow the talk would take.

A friend: lol.. prozac and a fifth of something over 80 proof.. but hey, if it worked for Buk..

You know ive been thinking about all the beatings he took , the incessant drinking, and the smoking. and i just think that man was as close to jesus as we'll ever get, in terms of invulnerability and immunity to illness. like, if jesus didnt get kidnapped or whatever, he would have STILL been outlived by bukowski.

One day im gonna wake up next to someone i really care about and i'm just gonna be like '' lets be matried. not get married, just marry ourselves and say we're married.''

If not love, then what have i had? oh thats right, ive had these lame ass bed sheets.

The irony of frustration, dissatisfaction, and stress is that all the while you continue living and holding on, one may still find themselves saying it is too much or it is too difficult. i feel the greatest hope lies somewhere in that fact.



Youtube wouldn't publish my latest xtranormal cartoon video, so I sent it these kind words in response to its automated question, "How can we help make this better?" that was meant to console me after having denied the shit out of my video. "By publishing the fucking video. How else? What are you going to do, send me some money to pay my rent? Publish the video and keep youtube from becoming t...he banal load of retarded self-fulfilling entertainment it is."

in a society without sexism, the only thing a man does or should do that a woman doesn't is insert his own penis into his lady's vagina. and only a fool would want to do that all the time.

Another friend: don't kick me when I'm down.
Me: you're kicking yourself on the ground. you look like ian curtis trying to breakdance.


Getting rid of my TV because - I’m tired of being turned on against my will.



fucking hate this generation. let decadence swallow our values whole and turn us into isolated freak...s bewildered by our own reflection and the presence of others.

Small writers of dust.

fine, you'll have
his connoisseur
and united state of
affection.
and then
the tiny space
in your head that
recognizes my face
will be hollowed
like an empty grave.
i will take a solace
in knowing that
worms will eat the
respective space
inside my own skull
(still) enamored with your face
after I have passed.
Even if I should
live 50 more
years,
you will still be there.
occupying a few cells,
waiting to be devoured
by the best friends
i'll never meet.

they'll be worms.
kind consumers of the wasted.
small writers of dust.

say goodnight to every object that will be just as alive and still in the morning as it is now. say goodbye to a person out of earshot. say i miss you to an imaginary phone call. say i love you to an indifferent monument for a useless principle. say hello to the chill that lasts longer than anyone elses permanence in your life. say you'll be alright to yourself. say god might forgive but only because he has no obligation to care to the sunrising christian in you. say nevermind to it's hope. say a few words to the pillow, and pray to yourself that the worries of the morning to follow won't snatch you by the heart from the tranquility of sleep. say goodnight.

Say goodnight, this day was as lost as the thought of anyone, for only their memory has consumed duration.

When You Are Old

by Yeats, a boss for sure.

WHEN you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face among a crowd of stars.

“Boys and girls in America have such a sad time together; sophistication demands that they submit to sex immediately without proper preliminary talk. Not courting talk- real straight talk about souls, for life is holy and every moment is precious.”
— Jack Kerouac

All because we cannot be perfect, we're willing to give up on so many things. If history has told us anything, it is that perfection is such a grandiloquent concept, that it need not even be considered attainable for happiness to be gained.

O tempora! O mores!

by Bukowski

I get these girly magazines in the mail because
I'm writing short stories for them again
and here in these pages are these ladies
exposing their jewel boxes -
it looks more like a gynecologist's
journal -
everything boldly and clinically
exposed
beneath bland and bored physiognomies.
it's a turn-off of gigantic
proportions:
the secret is in the
imagination -
take that away and you have dead
meat.

a century back
a man could be driven mad
by a well-turned
ankle, and
why not?
one could imagine
that the rest
would be
magical
indeed!

now they shove it at us like a
McDonald's hamburger
on a platter.

there is hardly anything as beautiful as
a woman in a long dress

not even the sunrise
not even the geese flying south
in the long V formation
in the bright freshness
of early morning.

Everyone I've kissed has never needed me.

Love itself can be considered the cowardice of two. Why love in the first fucking place, or even seek to love if you think one sex should play the orchestrator of what we’re supposed to experience, develop, and culminate naturally in a fair and mutual manner?

My desperation begets honesty.

So I was freestyling at work and on the way home

and, excuse the self-tooting here, I thought some shit was pretty nice:

I don't purport to have all the answers, but I'm asking all the questions.


I'm a monogamist, not a misogynist, but I do hate women.
Not a humorous, but I am hilarious.

Then on the way home, I turned my Superuknown cd to "Like Suicide" and began spittin some raw shit, knamin?!

Don't wanna take off your bra miss, just want you to take it off then we commence in the same act done for centuries. See (at this point I figured out something) nobody questions this but we have a problem loving more than once.

What struck me during the latter session is how inauthentic we feel all intense experiences after an initial, blissful experience are. People have been fucking for ages, whats so special about your orgasm? The fact that you feel it, and you alone feel it is special. Who remembers the first time they tried their favorite food, or any food that induced a most pleasureful reaction? No fucking one. Not me at least. But I know I still love food, and I still want sex. And if I can still long for such things that are as natural as that, then why should I give up on love only because it hasn't worked out for me a few times?

You're so lovely

I've forgotten about her already. Nevermind she, its your eyes - your eyes - your eyes - your eyes.

I swear I just heard "[Her name] IS GONE" as if something on tv had said it, but the volume is considerably low and wouldn't emit a sound that audible.

FML.

You cannot both abhor and teach to accept.

You cannot teach a need for love, while helping the lonely accept insurmountable conditions.
You cannot tell the young to keep patient about fucking their youth away without making the fucked feel shameful.
You cannot advise an appreciation for education, unless you're willing to make the uneducated feel like idiots.
SO just what the fuck can be changed?

I suppose since I've laid with no one, I've gained a sufficient amount of expertise that will come in handy when I've laid down for good.

the elusive cause for the gut in your gulliver

people
only chase
dreams.
their ideals,
and their
saviors.
you can look ahead,
to a future dimly
lit.
where fog has the
thickness of a cloud.
you can look behind you,
where clarity has became synonymous
with burden, and hope, loss.
You can look to your sides,
where all things becoming, become
undone or run headstrong into
the mist ahead.
Where you'd have to look
to grasp ahold of whatever peace
isn't fleeting or getting married (or
divorced; that which is broken refuses
repair while the harmony it once knew
has been discontinued).

ah, but no one is chasing you.
from your side, from behind,
from ahead,
no one is coming.

You want to be something more, to make yourself impervious to change and inscrutable to yourself. Forgo reality, and just build your own ship to sail across continents a la photographic moments you swear are far greater in beauty than the stillness of a kiss. If I never understand woman, I will profusely deflect blame. I don't see any fault in an honest presentation of my will and intentions. ANd i do not see any fault in wanting love to actually fucking last. It would appear that the minority is always in harms way like they were standing at the epicenter of a quaking intersection. Everything comes crashing in, and crashing, and crashing. Fighting each other with subversion and indignation, but not conscious enough of the hopelessness that should be the very fuel in our lungs that makes a bed a place to rest, not live. No fucking clue what the future holds for any of my friends, or the women I've wanted to be with for a lifetime. And its frightening as fuck. Its terrible to know that I've never been the one making the decision to let go. A million false starts. No apologies sent my way because everyone else knows better. Because apologies only lengthen the misery, by some unknown fucking standard. I call bullshit. If any closure is to be had, it would be as the result of understanding that there is no further potential, or at least no significant amount, worth pursuing. And how the fuck can that point be reached if I'm always kicked away and shoved right back down into this sinkhole of deprivation? But still I must remain nice. If I'm not kind, then what the fuck is the point of living any longer? Its a bigger waste of life than murder to remain bitter and hostile in regards to everyone all the time. One must at least try saying, about someone new or old, this person is less likely to hurt me than whoever first scarred us. We are such fools. Such fucking idiots to make the natural process of aging more difficult than it is.

"You wanna know what ruins us, just take a look at how we love." - some shitty poem of mines.

"Its getting tougher to say the right things." - Unbroken.

“Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that - I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much - so very much to learn.”
—

Sylvia Plath

On weed

If given the right to do that shit, tons of hipsters, pretentious 'free thinkers', and uptight-gone-liberated motherfcukers are going to hop in the weed van and smoke to their idiocy's content. Don't fucking care, don't care, don't care. Weed or alcohol or sex or casual love, people in this country are woeful for very obvious reasons that no one wants to acknowledge. You do as you wish, I'm not doing shit.

Was it entirely paranoid to suspect that all those stoppers, thingamajigs, and substances devised to prevent conception were intended not to liberate womankind from the biological and social penalties imposed on her natural passions but, rather, at the insidious design of capitalistic puritans, were supposed to technologize sex, to dilute its dark juices, to contain its wilder fires, to censor its sweet nastiness, to scrub it clean (clean as a laboratory autoclave, clean as a hospital bed), to order it uniform, to render it safe; to eliminate the risk of uncontrollable feelings, illogical commitments, and deep involvements (substituting for those risks the less mysterious, tamer risks of infection, hemorrhage, cancer, and hormone imbalance); yes, to make sexual love so secure and same and sanitary, so slick and frolicsome, so casual that it is not a manifestation of love at all, but a near anonymous, near autonomous, hedonistic scratching of a bunny itch, an itch far removed from any direct relation to the feverish enigmas of Life and Death, and a scratching programmed so that it would in no way interfere with the real purpose of human beings in a capitalistic, puritanical society, which is to produce goods and consume them?

Things the patriotic and cheerful constituents of this country unite in the name of

Parades (typically celebrating a team's victory or homosexuality)
Voting


uhhhhhh

I need one person: a wife. Beyond that, humanity can go fuck itself.

“We are as forlorn as children lost in the woods. When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs that are in me and what do I know of yours. And if I were to cast myself down before you and weep and tell you, what more would you know about me than you know about Hell when someone tells you it is hot and dreadful? For that reason alone we human beings ought to stand before one another as reverently, as reflectively, as lovingly, as we would before the entrance to Hell”

Cry a little while, but not too long. a little while is good. too long is bad. you should never think of what is finished. Women always think of what is finished instead of what is beginning. It makes you sick.