According to my calculations, it's been about two weeks since i've last posted. Time flies etc. etc. It felt like a century, though. I guess this is how prisoners feel. Time drtips by and suddenly a whole year has passed.
My gang went to the beach today but i didn't follow. Too much sun, noise, the sand, Lady Gaga blaring on at the beach bars...EWH!Instead, stayed in da city, where mys sister freaked out and bought some clothes which she threw away half an hour later because she didn't like them (she has a thing called OCD) and then we put on our first laundry and now we're drinking beers and listening to Nine Inch Nails.
Well. Whatever. I hate to put up a show for the girls as my mates do. I can't stand how cocky the boys are and how plain hoes the girls are. And, to know we've exchanged saliva with him, M., only a few nights ago makes him such a big hypocrit when he's rubbing on some girl.
Anyway. School's out. I want to spend it -the summer- in front of my pc screen jerking off to hardcore porn. Is that okay with everyone? Sometimes all i want to do is just fuck it up.
But, to be honest, I can't have sex with a dude cause, I'm sorry, i've nothing against gay people and stuff, but i always had to hide my disputable tastes in literature and genrally art, because they were too "homo" and people tend to criticize this, I don't i mean, but if i were a homosexual my mother would just die.
Sometimes i just ask her half-jokingly what would she do if I were gay and she has answered repeatedly "i'd throw you out of the house" or "don't even joke about such things" which i find insulting and extremely sad and narrowminded, but then, here i am, fretting that i might actually want to get deep down and dirty with another guy.
I just think it's easier with men, and with no strings attached. Plus, girls are weird. Plus, I know nothing concerning their anatomy. Gay sex may be smelly and dirty and whatever, but i think it must be purer, it makes no demands, and it's just body on body, friction, right, plus you know better how to handle a body that's like yours, you know better how to please such a body, and guys have bigger mouths and more accomodating throats and are less sqeamish.
RIGHT?
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
the one about True Blood and Domestic Bliss
Yes, the tv series.
From what I reckon, Sookie's problem was not that she could hear people's thoughts. This was not what made her a freak. Ra-a-aght? Raaaght. Her problem was that she was a virgin who could hear people's thoughts. So, once Vampire Bill pops her cherry, she ain't no freak no more, you see? Even though she now acts more like a crazy bitch, she don't give a fudge about what people think. Now that she has Vampire Bill to get laid with every naght, she actually speaks her mand, so people now know that since she fucked, she no weird or a freak no moah, no sir. She a powered-up, well-fucked-and-bloodsucked gal now, full of confidence and happiness and let's not forget sexual satisfaction.
I used to think Vampire Bill was a true gent, and then he kinda popped out of the mud where he was hiding in the cemetery and fucked Sookie's little brains out, all muddy and primitive and brutal, and then he cleaned up and played house with Sookie while babysitting for a friend's kids. So, Sookie, by the mere force of that thang between her legs,manages to turn this mysterious, dark, brooding vampire into a complete pussey, I mean what's this modern tendency? One one hand we have serial killers who get married and breed for God's sake and live in the house with the white picket fence, and on the other hand we got them vampires going all domestic bliss. Don't even get me started on the Cullens. UGH! Where is this world going to, if even serial killers and freaks of nature want to Adjust, Adapt and Be Part of the Mass.
From what I reckon, Sookie's problem was not that she could hear people's thoughts. This was not what made her a freak. Ra-a-aght? Raaaght. Her problem was that she was a virgin who could hear people's thoughts. So, once Vampire Bill pops her cherry, she ain't no freak no more, you see? Even though she now acts more like a crazy bitch, she don't give a fudge about what people think. Now that she has Vampire Bill to get laid with every naght, she actually speaks her mand, so people now know that since she fucked, she no weird or a freak no moah, no sir. She a powered-up, well-fucked-and-bloodsucked gal now, full of confidence and happiness and let's not forget sexual satisfaction.
I used to think Vampire Bill was a true gent, and then he kinda popped out of the mud where he was hiding in the cemetery and fucked Sookie's little brains out, all muddy and primitive and brutal, and then he cleaned up and played house with Sookie while babysitting for a friend's kids. So, Sookie, by the mere force of that thang between her legs,manages to turn this mysterious, dark, brooding vampire into a complete pussey, I mean what's this modern tendency? One one hand we have serial killers who get married and breed for God's sake and live in the house with the white picket fence, and on the other hand we got them vampires going all domestic bliss. Don't even get me started on the Cullens. UGH! Where is this world going to, if even serial killers and freaks of nature want to Adjust, Adapt and Be Part of the Mass.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
sixteen
I started watching TRue Blood yesterday. I liked it. I'm ashamed to admit. Saw 3 episodes in the row. I don't usually like Anna Paquin but Sukie (sookie?) is a sorta of likeable character, for a female character. And God knows i hate female charcters. Cause i'm a pig, okay? Liked the genral fuckedupness. But it *is* Alan Ball, after all.
Lazarus, dig yourself, ah, poor Larry!(listening to Nick Cave, obviously)
Is Alan Ball pretentious, or exaggerating, or what?
I was very sad to hear about Dennis Hopper's passing. Rest in peace, and all that. I wonder how Viggo Mortensen received the news. It's sad.
But Larry grew increasingly neurotic and obscene
I mean he, he never asked to be raised from the tomb
I mean no one ever actually asked him to forsake his dreams
Anyway to cut a long story short, fate finally found him
Mirrors became his torturers, cameras snapped him at every chance
The women all went back to their homes and their husbands with secret smiles in the corner of their mouthes
He ended up like so many of them do, back on the streets of New York City
In a soup queue, a dope fiend, a slave, then prison, then the madhouse, then the grave
Ah poor Larry.
But what do we really know of the dead And who actually cares?
Lazarus, dig yourself, ah, poor Larry!(listening to Nick Cave, obviously)
Is Alan Ball pretentious, or exaggerating, or what?
I was very sad to hear about Dennis Hopper's passing. Rest in peace, and all that. I wonder how Viggo Mortensen received the news. It's sad.
But Larry grew increasingly neurotic and obscene
I mean he, he never asked to be raised from the tomb
I mean no one ever actually asked him to forsake his dreams
Anyway to cut a long story short, fate finally found him
Mirrors became his torturers, cameras snapped him at every chance
The women all went back to their homes and their husbands with secret smiles in the corner of their mouthes
He ended up like so many of them do, back on the streets of New York City
In a soup queue, a dope fiend, a slave, then prison, then the madhouse, then the grave
Ah poor Larry.
But what do we really know of the dead And who actually cares?
Saturday, May 29, 2010
mental notes: part one
10.22.35: i'm sleepy
10.22.38: took me 3 secs to write that
10.22.58: i'm bored too
10.23.22: looking out the window
10.23.28: bird
10.23.32: birds.plural.
10.23.40: faraway whistle
10.23.42: sky. blue.
10.23.48: um...typical blue?
10.23.50: can't describe
10.23.56: am i dizzy or is the sky moving
10.23.58: no, it's the clouds moving that make the sky look like it's moving
10.24.34: illusion? delusion?
10.24.59: writing his name in my arm
10.25.06: next to where he bit me last nite
10.25.16: i'm sooo gonna blog about last nite
10.25.39: rather confused
10.25.42: o o shit she saw me
10.26 to approx. 10.28 (?)
Her: can i see this piece of paper?
Me: what paper?
her: the page ur writing on.
me: i'm not writing nothing
her: give it to me, mr. taylor
me: no
her: i said -
me: no.
me: (weakly) please don't.
Knock on door. 10.30. Mr. Stewart enters classroom.
Mr Stewart: can i borrow mr Taylor for a few minutes?
her:(eyeballing me) of corse
me: (tearing page off notebook, scrunch it into ball, shove it down pocket) (eyeballing her back) (subtle grin)
Glance at watch. 10.33 approx. Follow mr. stewart down stairs. behind closed door. Abandoned storage room. Smells of mould. being pushed gainst wall. it's wet.
Mr Stewart kneels in front of me. Wrenches at zipper, jeans, underwear. Around my thighs, bundle of fabric cutting in skin. Get instantly hard in his mouth. Can't see the time. deepthroats me. hear him gag. sound of hunger. is this love? he slurps away. fuck his mouth. slobber down dick, balls, thighs. Cum very silently. Throat palpitating, i guess. Gluck-gluck-slurp. I chickle. Beard grazing thighs. can tell now.
Mr stewart's face withdrawing. Shiny with saliva and cum. Comes up. Feeds me my cum. Mouths dirty words in ear. Can't see the time.
I'm being tucked in. Stain of saliva on denim. Hope it's drool. This is crazy.
10.45: because r-r-r-ring.
10.45.13: come up stairs
10.45.23:need to find Julian
10.45.25: get high
10.47.57: this is crazy
10.47.59: this is so crazy
11.05.46: i think i'll skip rest of day
10.22.38: took me 3 secs to write that
10.22.58: i'm bored too
10.23.22: looking out the window
10.23.28: bird
10.23.32: birds.plural.
10.23.40: faraway whistle
10.23.42: sky. blue.
10.23.48: um...typical blue?
10.23.50: can't describe
10.23.56: am i dizzy or is the sky moving
10.23.58: no, it's the clouds moving that make the sky look like it's moving
10.24.34: illusion? delusion?
10.24.59: writing his name in my arm
10.25.06: next to where he bit me last nite
10.25.16: i'm sooo gonna blog about last nite
10.25.39: rather confused
10.25.42: o o shit she saw me
10.26 to approx. 10.28 (?)
Her: can i see this piece of paper?
Me: what paper?
her: the page ur writing on.
me: i'm not writing nothing
her: give it to me, mr. taylor
me: no
her: i said -
me: no.
me: (weakly) please don't.
Knock on door. 10.30. Mr. Stewart enters classroom.
Mr Stewart: can i borrow mr Taylor for a few minutes?
her:(eyeballing me) of corse
me: (tearing page off notebook, scrunch it into ball, shove it down pocket) (eyeballing her back) (subtle grin)
Glance at watch. 10.33 approx. Follow mr. stewart down stairs. behind closed door. Abandoned storage room. Smells of mould. being pushed gainst wall. it's wet.
Mr Stewart kneels in front of me. Wrenches at zipper, jeans, underwear. Around my thighs, bundle of fabric cutting in skin. Get instantly hard in his mouth. Can't see the time. deepthroats me. hear him gag. sound of hunger. is this love? he slurps away. fuck his mouth. slobber down dick, balls, thighs. Cum very silently. Throat palpitating, i guess. Gluck-gluck-slurp. I chickle. Beard grazing thighs. can tell now.
Mr stewart's face withdrawing. Shiny with saliva and cum. Comes up. Feeds me my cum. Mouths dirty words in ear. Can't see the time.
I'm being tucked in. Stain of saliva on denim. Hope it's drool. This is crazy.
10.45: because r-r-r-ring.
10.45.13: come up stairs
10.45.23:need to find Julian
10.45.25: get high
10.47.57: this is crazy
10.47.59: this is so crazy
11.05.46: i think i'll skip rest of day
fifteen
Depressed and hungover. Guess it could be worse. My belly growls like a beast, it wants food and grease thrown into its pit. It wants to consume and be full. Be full and be happy. Impossible things, it asks of.
The world depresses me. I'm like, from Mars. Or a galaxy far faaar away. Nobody gives a shit really. I do give too much of a shit, obviously. I'm standing there with tthat dumb fucking smile on my dumb face, watching in disbelief, wanting to cry out "pick me, pick me instead!" and thinking of ways to destroy my bumb self or find release in something that just won't work anymore.
Fuck post-modernism. It just made our lives more complicated, and we've lost touch with everything anyway. Is...that...cool?
It seems everything revolves around sex, but I'm not gonna have sex, not any time soon, until i become this pathetic, bespectacled, pot-bellied dude, mouth stitched close by invisible powers, maybe i'll pay for sex, maybe i'll rape for sex, right now just the thought of it. Well, it's absurd. An absurd thought. My body's made from white light and dark heat. It cannot be touched, caressed, stroked, kissed, felt, but it can be pushed through walls.
I am the heir of a shyness that is criminally vulgar. My shyness cannot feel, caress, stroke, kiss, touch. it cannot be permeated, penetrated, perpetrated.
You will go to him because there's this chemistry between you. Or maybe it's physics, hahaha. it's something that gives me a hard time understanding. fathoming the extend. absurd. absurd! open your legs. be his woman. take it. take it like a bitch. take it like a man. be his woman. spread yourself wide open. let him slobber all over you. your naked body. your virgin body. eww, yuck, and all that stuff. can't picture it. if i do, and i do, i lose my sex drive. i'll be a monk and watch porn in my super secret notebook pc. sex can't be as good and as smell-less as in porn.
i have a problem connecting. bitches, dogs. men, women. sometimes i think i feel a distant fragile tentative connection and i dream up the rest. end up gasping in the middle of the night, with a knife stabbed between my shoulderblades. it hurts where my wings should be. fuck this. if i knew something, anything, it would make things better and endurable. now i'm speechless. mouthless. just a fucking stupid grin, where i need a snarl and teeth to cut through their fucking throats.
people suck. as a vague concept, people are nice. I can't relate to their personal shit, though. It's like, whoa! really? huh. i see. boring!
i don't want any of that conventional, virginal, tender sex stuff. the relationshipy sex. let's get to know each other first. how do u get to know someone who's constantly lying? all a fucking pretext, cut to the chase, man, you wanna fuck. you wanna spread the thighs and shove it right in. let's make babies. let's reproduce and reinvent ourselves. let's fuck and make the world a better place. we'll afterwards sit by the fire and sip tea and like, bond. that will make the grunting fucking sweating smelly shoving awkkward pushing grinding yelling moaning rolling OK. that will consecrate the animal urge, the act of desecration. we'll be together for three years and then get bored of each other and find someone else through whom to find ourselves. what a load of crap.
human nature, man. kill it. stab it. run into the wild. be a god, not somebody's bitch.what am i talking about? he teetered and he fell, blood gushing from his forehead, vomit gushing from his mouth into the stars. I want to be cleansed. in a dark room. never wash up ever again. lie ethere and stare at the ceiling which i cannot see. let the others have their stupid lives and dances and fucks and families and jobs. i will just stay here and wait. i'll feed myself with obscure incomprehensible art. i'll study Lynch. i'll become post-post-modern. i wil become nothing. people don't even look at me.
this is my secret diary. in reality, i may be someone else. someone you already know. this is where i heave my poison. my poison is fuuny, is ridiculous, is powerless. i'm litle twisting writhing maggot. i want to scream with insanity. i want to carve a hole in my face. i want the red water to come out. i want to break every finger. i want pain to erase me.
fuck it. it's over.
The world depresses me. I'm like, from Mars. Or a galaxy far faaar away. Nobody gives a shit really. I do give too much of a shit, obviously. I'm standing there with tthat dumb fucking smile on my dumb face, watching in disbelief, wanting to cry out "pick me, pick me instead!" and thinking of ways to destroy my bumb self or find release in something that just won't work anymore.
Fuck post-modernism. It just made our lives more complicated, and we've lost touch with everything anyway. Is...that...cool?
It seems everything revolves around sex, but I'm not gonna have sex, not any time soon, until i become this pathetic, bespectacled, pot-bellied dude, mouth stitched close by invisible powers, maybe i'll pay for sex, maybe i'll rape for sex, right now just the thought of it. Well, it's absurd. An absurd thought. My body's made from white light and dark heat. It cannot be touched, caressed, stroked, kissed, felt, but it can be pushed through walls.
I am the heir of a shyness that is criminally vulgar. My shyness cannot feel, caress, stroke, kiss, touch. it cannot be permeated, penetrated, perpetrated.
You will go to him because there's this chemistry between you. Or maybe it's physics, hahaha. it's something that gives me a hard time understanding. fathoming the extend. absurd. absurd! open your legs. be his woman. take it. take it like a bitch. take it like a man. be his woman. spread yourself wide open. let him slobber all over you. your naked body. your virgin body. eww, yuck, and all that stuff. can't picture it. if i do, and i do, i lose my sex drive. i'll be a monk and watch porn in my super secret notebook pc. sex can't be as good and as smell-less as in porn.
i have a problem connecting. bitches, dogs. men, women. sometimes i think i feel a distant fragile tentative connection and i dream up the rest. end up gasping in the middle of the night, with a knife stabbed between my shoulderblades. it hurts where my wings should be. fuck this. if i knew something, anything, it would make things better and endurable. now i'm speechless. mouthless. just a fucking stupid grin, where i need a snarl and teeth to cut through their fucking throats.
people suck. as a vague concept, people are nice. I can't relate to their personal shit, though. It's like, whoa! really? huh. i see. boring!
i don't want any of that conventional, virginal, tender sex stuff. the relationshipy sex. let's get to know each other first. how do u get to know someone who's constantly lying? all a fucking pretext, cut to the chase, man, you wanna fuck. you wanna spread the thighs and shove it right in. let's make babies. let's reproduce and reinvent ourselves. let's fuck and make the world a better place. we'll afterwards sit by the fire and sip tea and like, bond. that will make the grunting fucking sweating smelly shoving awkkward pushing grinding yelling moaning rolling OK. that will consecrate the animal urge, the act of desecration. we'll be together for three years and then get bored of each other and find someone else through whom to find ourselves. what a load of crap.
human nature, man. kill it. stab it. run into the wild. be a god, not somebody's bitch.what am i talking about? he teetered and he fell, blood gushing from his forehead, vomit gushing from his mouth into the stars. I want to be cleansed. in a dark room. never wash up ever again. lie ethere and stare at the ceiling which i cannot see. let the others have their stupid lives and dances and fucks and families and jobs. i will just stay here and wait. i'll feed myself with obscure incomprehensible art. i'll study Lynch. i'll become post-post-modern. i wil become nothing. people don't even look at me.
this is my secret diary. in reality, i may be someone else. someone you already know. this is where i heave my poison. my poison is fuuny, is ridiculous, is powerless. i'm litle twisting writhing maggot. i want to scream with insanity. i want to carve a hole in my face. i want the red water to come out. i want to break every finger. i want pain to erase me.
fuck it. it's over.
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