A weblog with original content that is supposed to be both funny and not funny.
this little dude is awesome ————————-> :)
In order to blend in with society one must copy the dominant characteristics and opinions through mimesis/mimicry.
Once this is accomplished one is granted the posibility/hability of making people do whatever you want.
Think about a spider that disguises like an ant. She is granted access to the ant’s facilities and, once there, she can feast on the eggs and larvae.
Think about yourself like that spider and, trough mimesis/mimicry, try to get access to the upper/inner facilities of society, which can be moral facilities, fashion facilities, etc., whatever facilities you can think of.
Use your new abilities to shape society your way and change the inner core of it. Use your superpowers, not for evil nor for good, but use them in a way that transcends dichotomies.
To do that you must commit the most horrible cruelties in your head. Actively search terrible stories about killings and loathsome lives and behaviors. For example, the story of that guy who cut off his own dick and then he changed his mind but it was too late, his dick was gone forever. Try to walk in his shoes, become him, and sincerely feel what he might feel.
You’ll get a weird feeling of anxiety and then detachment. It’s ok, it means you’re off-blasting like a rocket, out of societies morals/fashion/etc.
Keep doing this until you know you’ve become the shell of an emotional black hole. There is now an infinite void inside of you; you’re only the shape/shadow/representation of that infinite void.
Then, and only then, you can start making changes in society.
I. This weird idea I have: “I wish everyone went insane.” But what does that mean?
Picture this: (i) a kind of insanity which has the shape of a circle, and (ii) another kind of insanity that has the shape of a shredded Gordian Knot. One of them is endlessly reiterative, the other one is simply unpredictable.
II. And there’s this other idea I don’t know where it came from: “I have a doubt: is a ghost insane?”
People think of ghosts as beings that repeat the same thing again and again and again. Are they insane? What are they? Automatic beings?
III. So naive… what did I do to myself?
However, I write. I try to convince my readers of something. I try to speak my mind. Why do we speak our minds?
Do I write to convince you to be like me? Yes. If I could, I’d just turn you into me. I’d write some magic words, some words of power, to replace what you are with what I am and make you become me.
So I can be free.
But honestly, how confusing is it all! XD
Four logo sketches for a secret order of silence.
The second one isn’t a Christian cross crossed, it’s actually a mean to communicate with an old guy I know. Call him and ask him why am I so fucking crazy. The last one is actually a word for silence.
Kill the sound now, there’s no much time left.
When I write, I always locate myself in the map. A map is not the territory.
I see the ramifications of the meaning of a word or sentence, I foresee all the possible responses to an image or gesture. There are layers of connotations, infinite layers of connotations; since I’ve lived a little hell, I see them all.
We all get used to each other, we become friends. But friends… they constrain us, they define us. They think we are “something”, and they won’t let us out from that “something”. Many of us want to leave, but when we act in a way that does not correspond to what (they think) we are, an error occurs, a short circuit. How often have I caused things like that! How often have I deeply hurt others! How long have I lived with the guilt of hurting my friends! Because “corporeal friends are spiritual enemies.” Is it now that I understand.
Blake was insane, but he had a clear vision. Several of the clinically insane I’ve met have not only been right, they have been “conclusively right”, all the time. Why? I do not know.
I have found, thus, two solutions to live in harmony with my disharmony: a) desensitize myself from the “shorts circuits” that others may provoke, and b) seek multiple shelters, one miles away from the other, so I don’t hurt anyone, so I don’t hit their prison bars. That way, I’ll live the lives I want. As for me, I try not to judge, not get startled, not constrain others. He who talks to me, I give him the freedom and confidence to say what they want, and I try not to be a prison myself.
There, I found it. At least one thing I’ve got right in my life, I have not done everything wrong.
We were in a basement, talking about books and other subjects I prefer not to discuss with anyone. And I thought that I somehow despise you, that you are a little bit ridiculous and you have little dignity as well.
—Do you think this girl R. is cute? Do you? —I remember you said to him. You knew well the answer, but somehow you needed the confirmation, you had the urge of making fun of other girls in order to feel better.
—Nope —He said, barely paying attention to you.
Later on I saw a foreigner girl. Or was it you again? it’s hard to say. It was a dark and immense palace, it was difficult to see; smoke and narcotics everywhere. Bear in mind I’ve always been sober. Always. I feel rage right now for not being able to discern between a stranger and a monster like you. Strangers are clean entities: you know nothing about them, therefore you don’t judge them; you barely understand what they’re saying to you, therefore you don’t know if you’re talking to an idiot or a genius.
For instance, I somehow miss those dancing weeaboos. They had something to fight for, they were full of color. But I only saw them dance, if I would have talked to them I would be immediately disappointed. I prefer not to know a person too deeply, I just want to meet a minimal fraction. That’s all I want to see, I don’t want to know anyone furthermore, so I don’t hurt anyone with insensitive remarks.
Who is “you”? The monster or just “you”? You know, as in “you never know”.
That’s the world I come from. Imagine a painting, made by 35 or maybe 70 people. Imagine that those people, including me, are portrayed in the painting. Imagine they don’t know what they’re doing and yet those who paint more get to define the shapes of the others. What do we get? A shitty painting of course, a shitty fucking painting with deformed and horrendous individuals. Despicable creatures. This painting is deceptive, I despise every one of them because of this. I’ve always liked to paint little, to speak little, so I don’t disturb anyone nor anything. But lately I realized this was a mistake, a mistake without resolution, a vicious circle.
And then I see safe for work webcomics going berserk, drawing dicks, depicting fucks of all kinds: “Tell me, do you like to fuck like the dog?”; “I stick my dick in the stink of a smelly fart and then ask women if they want to smell my dick for the fresh farts I just fucked”, etc. Google that last sentence, I’m not even joking.
I’m getting better, I’m starting to feel the murderous comfort of normality. I’m starting to get better thanks to you, my dear teenager old-fuck, my German acclaimed and published author, my friend, mah nigga. Is it now that I’m doped, sedated, that I’m lucid.
vaginalsalsa asked: Thank you.
No problem my friend; we’re human beings and we need each other in this cruel world we’ve been thrown away. We are forsaken and we all need the compassion of each other.
I don’t know what I did
but things changed
I might be doing the right thing
maybe I pronounced a keyword
oh I hope things change
I hope things are changing now
I hope tomorrow will be a happy day