If one had ever noticed, you might think a wedgie is a little joke of just pulling of the underpants of a person.
NO! I SAY!!!
I TOTALLY OBJECT!!!
I had one.
This is not something you ever want to experience; 12 grown boys(at least) metalheads and punks.
Dragging my frail body into a pole while two grown men rip my boxers from my jeans.
I must say, it was exhilarating.
BUT NO!
How could having your most importing piece of clothing ripped from your body in the most unnatural, most unsophisticated, most quixotic, most misogynistic, most infanticidal, filicidal and obviously in most SADOMASOCHISTIC manner be fun?
It's the kind of rape you'd never expect. But whatever, all out of fun, means well.
I did some bullshit too, only just that I was losing my state of alcoholic intoxication.
So I'll update on this post a little later, I want to eat raffles hotel's awesome mooncakes!
Hoping deep inside to have space cakes in Amsterdam... for those of you who know what those are...good for you.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
You Make Me Feel Like A Little Girl!
NEWS FLASH!
I'm sorry to disappoint all you Christians out there, but I believe I have solved the mystery to the Virgin Mary.
I may be wrong but at least I might provide a little explanation as to why she gave birth as a virgin.
The following paragraphs are not meant for entertainment purposes or for the fun of blaspheming against the Christian belief, though I myself am a Nihilist.
The likeness of the characters and the supported data might actually make sense, this is neither a story for the young, as much as I want them to read this, nor is it a bullshit article I have drafted out; I think this might actually be true:
Have you ever heard of the term "Hermaphrodite"?
According to Wikipedia the term is defined by:
A hermaphrodite is an organism having both male and female reproductive organs.[1] In many species, hermaphroditism is a common part of the life-cycle, enabling a form of sexual reproduction in which the two sexes are not separated into distinct male and female types of individual. Hermaphroditism most commonly occurs in invertebrates, although it is also found in some fish, and to a lesser degree in other vertebrates.
Historically, the term hermaphrodite has also been used to describe ambiguous genitalia and gonadal mosaicism in individuals of gonochoristic species, especially human beings. The term comes from the name of the minor Greek god Hermaphroditus, son of Hermes and Aphrodite
Hermaphrodite was used to describe any person incompatible with the biological gender binary, but has recently been replaced by intersexual in medicine. Humans with typical reproductive organs but atypical clitoris/penis are called pseudohermaphrodites in medical literature.
Whether hermaphroditism is a disorder or merely an unusual condition is a matter of opinion. In most societies, the common assumption is that all people are, or at least should be, either male or female.[citation needed] This assumption can make life difficult for hermaphrodites.
People with intersex conditions sometimes choose to live exclusively as one sex or the other, using clothing, social cues, genital surgery, and hormone replacement therapy to blend into the sex they identify with more closely. Some people who are intersexed, such as some of those with Klinefelter's syndrome and androgen insensitivity syndrome, outwardly appear completely female or male already, without realizing they are intersexed. Other kinds of intersex conditions are identified immediately at birth because those with the condition have a sexual organ larger than a clitoris and smaller than a penis. Intersexuality is thought by some to be caused by unusual sex hormones; the unusual hormones may be caused by an atypical set of sex chromosomes.
Sigmund Freud (based on work by his associate Wilhelm Fliess) held fetal hermaphroditism to be a fact of the physiological development of humans. He was so certain of this, in fact, that he based much of his theory of innate sexuality on that assumption. Similarly, in contemporary times, fetuses before sexual differentiation are sometimes described as female by doctors explaining the process.[3] Neither concept is technically true. Before this stage, humans are simply undifferentiated and possess a Müllerian duct, a Wolffian duct, and a genital tubercle.
____________________________________________________________________________________
You can also check the Intersex Society of North America at http://www.isna.org/
_____________________________________________________________________________________
So I was just listening to the radio the other day(don't ask me why) and heard a discussion between two radio hosts about some 'women' having in grown penises, and usually not knowing about it till they're like 40 or something when they start having testicular cancer.
So I believe that the Virgin Mary was a hermaphrodite who had a penis grown in her, then suddenly(since she was going through/passed puberty), somehow ejaculated in herself, and fertilised herself.
I'm not a biology student, but I do know that if there is excess amount of sperm in the testicles, comes the possibility of wet dreams!
So back to Mary...
If she managed to pull that shit off and having fallen under the delusion that "the-man-in-the-sky-who-punishes-you-whenever-you-break-his-rules-and-sends-you-to-burn-and-torture-in-hell-till-the-end-of-time-but-he-'loves'-you"'s blessing; it actually makes her a bloody asexual reproducer.
So there you have it, I believe I have solved the mystery, though I still need to back up on my medical research.
So please, post this everywhere and have every church-going-Christ-fanatic-cultist-tongue-speaking-piece-of-shit burn and torture me, and make the ideology of hell come true.
I'm sure I may be wrong at some, if not many parts; but hey, anybody can be wrong. I may be wrong and at least I question myself, but what if you're wrong?
I'm sorry to disappoint all you Christians out there, but I believe I have solved the mystery to the Virgin Mary.
I may be wrong but at least I might provide a little explanation as to why she gave birth as a virgin.
The following paragraphs are not meant for entertainment purposes or for the fun of blaspheming against the Christian belief, though I myself am a Nihilist.
The likeness of the characters and the supported data might actually make sense, this is neither a story for the young, as much as I want them to read this, nor is it a bullshit article I have drafted out; I think this might actually be true:
Have you ever heard of the term "Hermaphrodite"?
According to Wikipedia the term is defined by:
A hermaphrodite is an organism having both male and female reproductive organs.[1] In many species, hermaphroditism is a common part of the life-cycle, enabling a form of sexual reproduction in which the two sexes are not separated into distinct male and female types of individual. Hermaphroditism most commonly occurs in invertebrates, although it is also found in some fish, and to a lesser degree in other vertebrates.
Historically, the term hermaphrodite has also been used to describe ambiguous genitalia and gonadal mosaicism in individuals of gonochoristic species, especially human beings. The term comes from the name of the minor Greek god Hermaphroditus, son of Hermes and Aphrodite
Hermaphrodite was used to describe any person incompatible with the biological gender binary, but has recently been replaced by intersexual in medicine. Humans with typical reproductive organs but atypical clitoris/penis are called pseudohermaphrodites in medical literature.
Whether hermaphroditism is a disorder or merely an unusual condition is a matter of opinion. In most societies, the common assumption is that all people are, or at least should be, either male or female.[citation needed] This assumption can make life difficult for hermaphrodites.
People with intersex conditions sometimes choose to live exclusively as one sex or the other, using clothing, social cues, genital surgery, and hormone replacement therapy to blend into the sex they identify with more closely. Some people who are intersexed, such as some of those with Klinefelter's syndrome and androgen insensitivity syndrome, outwardly appear completely female or male already, without realizing they are intersexed. Other kinds of intersex conditions are identified immediately at birth because those with the condition have a sexual organ larger than a clitoris and smaller than a penis. Intersexuality is thought by some to be caused by unusual sex hormones; the unusual hormones may be caused by an atypical set of sex chromosomes.
Sigmund Freud (based on work by his associate Wilhelm Fliess) held fetal hermaphroditism to be a fact of the physiological development of humans. He was so certain of this, in fact, that he based much of his theory of innate sexuality on that assumption. Similarly, in contemporary times, fetuses before sexual differentiation are sometimes described as female by doctors explaining the process.[3] Neither concept is technically true. Before this stage, humans are simply undifferentiated and possess a Müllerian duct, a Wolffian duct, and a genital tubercle.
____________________________________________________________________________________
You can also check the Intersex Society of North America at http://www.isna.org/
_____________________________________________________________________________________
So I was just listening to the radio the other day(don't ask me why) and heard a discussion between two radio hosts about some 'women' having in grown penises, and usually not knowing about it till they're like 40 or something when they start having testicular cancer.
So I believe that the Virgin Mary was a hermaphrodite who had a penis grown in her, then suddenly(since she was going through/passed puberty), somehow ejaculated in herself, and fertilised herself.
I'm not a biology student, but I do know that if there is excess amount of sperm in the testicles, comes the possibility of wet dreams!
So back to Mary...
If she managed to pull that shit off and having fallen under the delusion that "the-man-in-the-sky-who-punishes-you-whenever-you-break-his-rules-and-sends-you-to-burn-and-torture-in-hell-till-the-end-of-time-but-he-'loves'-you"'s blessing; it actually makes her a bloody asexual reproducer.
So there you have it, I believe I have solved the mystery, though I still need to back up on my medical research.
So please, post this everywhere and have every church-going-Christ-fanatic-cultist-tongue-speaking-piece-of-shit burn and torture me, and make the ideology of hell come true.
I'm sure I may be wrong at some, if not many parts; but hey, anybody can be wrong. I may be wrong and at least I question myself, but what if you're wrong?
Horrified, Terrified, Stupified....Like You.
Oh guess what? I had this sudden urge yesterday to have beer and pizza at the same time, because why-- A friend of mine sent me a song titled beer and Joy told me she had pizza; and so I was there wanting the best of both worlds.
I got fucking drunk and ate 2 pizzas! How stupid is that?- VERY, I KNOW!
So I was at home, playing my guitar to 'When I see you Smile' by Bad English and my wooden chair broke!
I had a few cuts here and there from the fall and blah blah blah, removed a lot of splinters, blah blah blah, didn't bother to clean wounds, blah blah blah, fell asleep bleeding:D
So there you have it, my stupendous night as a drunkard...
I got fucking drunk and ate 2 pizzas! How stupid is that?- VERY, I KNOW!
So I was at home, playing my guitar to 'When I see you Smile' by Bad English and my wooden chair broke!
I had a few cuts here and there from the fall and blah blah blah, removed a lot of splinters, blah blah blah, didn't bother to clean wounds, blah blah blah, fell asleep bleeding:D
So there you have it, my stupendous night as a drunkard...
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
FELLATIO ON THE ROCKS
I'VE BEEN CONTEMPLATING A HELL FUCKING LOT ABOUT MY FINANCIAL MANAGEMENT.
BAND STUFF AND HAIRSTYLES, I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH TO GET THE FOLLOWING(sorry for the caps, I'm in a very 'grr' 'grr' mood now heh):
THIS IS MY RELAPSE LIST;
Leviathan: Verraher CD; USD$15
A collection of tracks taken from thirteen full-length cassette and CD-R recordings by San Francisco black metal heavyweight Leviathan. Verrater is pure, primitive, cult, home recorded evil. Two discs, twenty-two tracks, one-hundred-forty-three-minutes of buzzing, howling, pummeling, black metal. Limited to 666 copies.
Toxic Holocaust: An Overdose Of Death CD+Tee bundle pack; USD$22
SlimeWave Gore Grind Series CD+Total Fucking Destruction Tee; USD$22
Look at this compilation cd.Slimewave brings together 44 tracks from twelve of the most influential and offensive international gore-grind and grindcore bands. From the high-impact opening assault of Poland’s Antigama, to the closing of shock-grind kings XXX Maniak, Slimewave is a relentless assault on the ears and mind.
The CD version also features unreleased tracks that were not on the original split 7"s from:
Antigama
Cripple Bastards
Machetazo
Sublime Cadaveric Decomposition
Total Fucking Destruction
XXXMANIAK's Harvesting the Cunt Nectar Tee; USD$14
XXXMANIAK: Harvesting the Cunt Nectar CD; USD$10
The most depraved artwork in all of death metal/goregrind.
XXXMANIAK's Harvesting the Cunt Nectar 12" Vinyl LP; USD$12
So wanna put this on my wall...
Misery Index's Traitors CD+Tee bundle; USD$22
Antigama's Resonance Tee; USD$14.
______________________________________________________________________
THIS IS MY CENTURY MEDIA LIST:
Nachtmystium - Assassins: Black Meddle Pt. 1 CD + Shirt; USD$18
pretty self-explanatory...
Aborted - Strychnine.213 CD (Ltd. Ed. Evidence Bag) + Shirt; USD$25.
This exclusive deluxe packaging includes Aborted - Strychnine.213 CD, XL t-shirt and a HUGE folded poster inside a specially marked evidence bag.
Amon Amarth - Twilight Of The Thunder God (CD/DVD Digi);USD$15
PRE-ORDER WILL SHIP STARTING 9/29/08! ANY OTHER ITEMS ORDERED ALONG WITH THIS ITEM WILL BE HELD UNTIL THIS ITEM SHIPS! SORRY, NO OVERNIGHT! OVERNIGHT WILL BE REMOVED FROM ORDER IF SELECTED! Amon Amarth's songs have become more varied than ever, incorporating the roots of death metal, as well as showing openness towards different styles. These new songs are probably the most brutal Amon Amarth tracks of all time. The DVD featues a live set from 2007 and comes in a multi-panel digipak with 24 page full-color booklet. (2008) Track Listing: CD: Twilight Of The Thunder God / Free Will Sacrifice / Guardians Of Asgaard / Where Is Your God? / Varyags Of Miklagaard / Tattered Banners And Bloody Flags / No Fear For The Setting Sun / The Hero / Live For The Kill / Embrace Of The Endless Ocean // DVD: Intro / Valhall Awaits Me / Runes To My Memory / Cry Of The Black Birds / Asator / Pursuit Of Vikings / Fate Of Norns / Without Fear / With Oden On Our Side / Where Silent Gods Stand Guard...
Amon Amarth - Twilight Of The Thunder God (Picture Disc Vinyl) (PRE-ORDER); USD$23.50
PRE-ORDER WILL SHIP STARTING 9/29/08! ANY OTHER ITEMS ORDERED ALONG WITH THIS ITEM WILL BE HELD UNTIL THIS ITEM SHIPS! SORRY, NO OVERNIGHT! OVERNIGHT WILL BE REMOVED FROM ORDER IF SELECTED! The picture disc vinyl version of Amon Amarths newest album. Comes with a full color poster. (2008)
THIS IS GOING ON MY FUCKING WALL!
Equilibrium - Sagas; USD$12
Hailing from Munich, Germany, the melodic Folk Black Metal band Equilibrium have gained a huge fan-base in Europe with their amazing live gigs and debut album Turis Fratyr. On the band's Nuclear Blast debut, Sagas (the first to be released in the States), the songs are all sung in their native German, giving them a true Bavarian feel! Expect the same to be hearing more about Equilibrium. For Fans of Amon Amarth, Finntroll, Wintersun & Ensiferum. (2008) Track Listing: Prolog auf Erden / Wurzelbert / Blut im Auge / Unbesiegt / Verrat / Snuffel / Haimwarts / Heiderauche / Die Weide und def FluB / Des Sangers Fluch / Ruf in den Wind/ Dammerung / Mana
Reading Material - Swedish Death Metal (Book); USD$32
This hefty paperback is an ultimate blow-by-blow account of Sweden's legendary death metal underground, based on exclusive interviews with members of Nihilist/Entombed, In Flames, At the Gates, Dismember, Grave, Hypocrisy, Opeth, Unleashed, Marduk, Morbid, Mob 47, Deranged, Edge of Sanity, Merciless, Therion, Liers in Wait, Carnage, Carcass, Tiamat/Treblinka, Afflicted, Repugnant, and the Haunted. 450 densely illustrated pages. Revised and Expanded 300-page history, plus 150 pages including highly opinionated band encyclopedia, gallery, and fanzine bibliography. Written by Daniel Ekeroth (Insision). Weighs almost 3 pounds. (2008)
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Total for Relapse list(+shipping)= USD$159
Total for Century Media Distro(+shipping)= USD$142.5
Total for both= USD$301.5
When converted to SGD= $430.20(estimated)
Fuck...
Well folks, I'll show you more of my shopping list soon, plus reviews on movies and books. I also want to express a hell fucking load on current events concerning politics and how it deals a hell lot with the future corruption/benefit of the world of intangibles.
BAND STUFF AND HAIRSTYLES, I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH TO GET THE FOLLOWING(sorry for the caps, I'm in a very 'grr' 'grr' mood now heh):
THIS IS MY RELAPSE LIST;
Leviathan: Verraher CD; USD$15
A collection of tracks taken from thirteen full-length cassette and CD-R recordings by San Francisco black metal heavyweight Leviathan. Verrater is pure, primitive, cult, home recorded evil. Two discs, twenty-two tracks, one-hundred-forty-three-minutes of buzzing, howling, pummeling, black metal. Limited to 666 copies.
Toxic Holocaust: An Overdose Of Death CD+Tee bundle pack; USD$22
SlimeWave Gore Grind Series CD+Total Fucking Destruction Tee; USD$22
Look at this compilation cd.Slimewave brings together 44 tracks from twelve of the most influential and offensive international gore-grind and grindcore bands. From the high-impact opening assault of Poland’s Antigama, to the closing of shock-grind kings XXX Maniak, Slimewave is a relentless assault on the ears and mind.
The CD version also features unreleased tracks that were not on the original split 7"s from:
Antigama
Cripple Bastards
Machetazo
Sublime Cadaveric Decomposition
Total Fucking Destruction
XXXMANIAK's Harvesting the Cunt Nectar Tee; USD$14
XXXMANIAK: Harvesting the Cunt Nectar CD; USD$10
The most depraved artwork in all of death metal/goregrind.
XXXMANIAK's Harvesting the Cunt Nectar 12" Vinyl LP; USD$12
So wanna put this on my wall...
Misery Index's Traitors CD+Tee bundle; USD$22
Antigama's Resonance Tee; USD$14.
______________________________________________________________________
THIS IS MY CENTURY MEDIA LIST:
Nachtmystium - Assassins: Black Meddle Pt. 1 CD + Shirt; USD$18
pretty self-explanatory...
Aborted - Strychnine.213 CD (Ltd. Ed. Evidence Bag) + Shirt; USD$25.
This exclusive deluxe packaging includes Aborted - Strychnine.213 CD, XL t-shirt and a HUGE folded poster inside a specially marked evidence bag.
Amon Amarth - Twilight Of The Thunder God (CD/DVD Digi);USD$15
PRE-ORDER WILL SHIP STARTING 9/29/08! ANY OTHER ITEMS ORDERED ALONG WITH THIS ITEM WILL BE HELD UNTIL THIS ITEM SHIPS! SORRY, NO OVERNIGHT! OVERNIGHT WILL BE REMOVED FROM ORDER IF SELECTED! Amon Amarth's songs have become more varied than ever, incorporating the roots of death metal, as well as showing openness towards different styles. These new songs are probably the most brutal Amon Amarth tracks of all time. The DVD featues a live set from 2007 and comes in a multi-panel digipak with 24 page full-color booklet. (2008) Track Listing: CD: Twilight Of The Thunder God / Free Will Sacrifice / Guardians Of Asgaard / Where Is Your God? / Varyags Of Miklagaard / Tattered Banners And Bloody Flags / No Fear For The Setting Sun / The Hero / Live For The Kill / Embrace Of The Endless Ocean // DVD: Intro / Valhall Awaits Me / Runes To My Memory / Cry Of The Black Birds / Asator / Pursuit Of Vikings / Fate Of Norns / Without Fear / With Oden On Our Side / Where Silent Gods Stand Guard...
Amon Amarth - Twilight Of The Thunder God (Picture Disc Vinyl) (PRE-ORDER); USD$23.50
PRE-ORDER WILL SHIP STARTING 9/29/08! ANY OTHER ITEMS ORDERED ALONG WITH THIS ITEM WILL BE HELD UNTIL THIS ITEM SHIPS! SORRY, NO OVERNIGHT! OVERNIGHT WILL BE REMOVED FROM ORDER IF SELECTED! The picture disc vinyl version of Amon Amarths newest album. Comes with a full color poster. (2008)
THIS IS GOING ON MY FUCKING WALL!
Equilibrium - Sagas; USD$12
Hailing from Munich, Germany, the melodic Folk Black Metal band Equilibrium have gained a huge fan-base in Europe with their amazing live gigs and debut album Turis Fratyr. On the band's Nuclear Blast debut, Sagas (the first to be released in the States), the songs are all sung in their native German, giving them a true Bavarian feel! Expect the same to be hearing more about Equilibrium. For Fans of Amon Amarth, Finntroll, Wintersun & Ensiferum. (2008) Track Listing: Prolog auf Erden / Wurzelbert / Blut im Auge / Unbesiegt / Verrat / Snuffel / Haimwarts / Heiderauche / Die Weide und def FluB / Des Sangers Fluch / Ruf in den Wind/ Dammerung / Mana
Reading Material - Swedish Death Metal (Book); USD$32
This hefty paperback is an ultimate blow-by-blow account of Sweden's legendary death metal underground, based on exclusive interviews with members of Nihilist/Entombed, In Flames, At the Gates, Dismember, Grave, Hypocrisy, Opeth, Unleashed, Marduk, Morbid, Mob 47, Deranged, Edge of Sanity, Merciless, Therion, Liers in Wait, Carnage, Carcass, Tiamat/Treblinka, Afflicted, Repugnant, and the Haunted. 450 densely illustrated pages. Revised and Expanded 300-page history, plus 150 pages including highly opinionated band encyclopedia, gallery, and fanzine bibliography. Written by Daniel Ekeroth (Insision). Weighs almost 3 pounds. (2008)
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Total for Relapse list(+shipping)= USD$159
Total for Century Media Distro(+shipping)= USD$142.5
Total for both= USD$301.5
When converted to SGD= $430.20(estimated)
Fuck...
Well folks, I'll show you more of my shopping list soon, plus reviews on movies and books. I also want to express a hell fucking load on current events concerning politics and how it deals a hell lot with the future corruption/benefit of the world of intangibles.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Overdosing on Sugar
I've always had an omnipotence to my presence, how I enjoy to present myself. This however will let people know how much Joy Molina means to me;
This is not just another short or some prose, this story is true, this story, I call 'Accident':
It was in 2005, I had just started my secondary school life and was very rebellious, I had only one friend and his name, I would just say, is Lance.
He was, at that time dating Joy, was the world to her, was everything a little, 14-year-old girl could dream of.
He left her for no solid reason.
I never expected to fall for her, ever! But I don't know, at that time, I was head over heels with this one girl, whom, for over a year, I did everything with(nothing related to sex mind you, she was too Xtian for that)
We spent Thursdays below my block talking LOTR nonsense and also Harry Potter. Bookworms and what nots, but we kinda lost touch with each other, we somehow drifted apart.
So there I was drunk and I'd asked Joy to come drinking with me, I ended up kissing her and blah blah blah, break up, beg for patch, blah blah blah, this and that, blah blah blah and now, we're almost inseparable.
Yeah, she's an accident cause I never expected to fall in love with someone i had so many contradictions with.
But I watch her sleep every time, an think to myself; I want to have children with her, send our kids to school with her, cook dinner at home with her, travel with her and the kids, rush down with her to meet our kids' principals whenever they cause trouble with her, teach our kids with her and i want to grow old with her. I want to watch her fall asleep every night.
It's falling in love all over again each time.
I mean yeah, I'm not a perfect boyfriend, I make mistakes time to time, it's not that I'm not human.
Our love is a paper-thin layer to euphoria.
Who knows where we'll end up?
I love you more than anything, Joy! Even if God forbid.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Anorexic Cynic.
Two people are telling me to write happy stories, Joy and CELESThamphetamINE. Ok I will try to alright?
Charlie Peterson worked day and night for 42 years as a security officer, he made his home in the basement of the building he took care of. Turning 60, he decided to retire.
As you retire, God only knows how dry life can get. It's like getting married all over again; in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, till death do us part, that kind of bull.
But retirement is totally different, you get married to an unhappy life, till death do you part.
Charlie never married, only to his job.
He killed boredom by taking up an origami class and got instantly, crassly addicted to folding bits of paper.
He got very, very hostile whenever somebody touched his paper art, it sort of gave him a telepathic communication with them, almost an alternate reality.
He talked to them, named them, but merely payed attention to all but one.
Meet Cecil, a paper doll with a glued on skirt cut from a red plastic bag, a smiley face drawn in pencil, with freckles and glued on hair from string.
He developed a crass addiction to Cecil, he thought it could talk back to him, she went whereever he did, she became his best friend.
Her beauty was an artform, a handicraft of his desire; a paper mannequin forged to transcend his reality. He believed she was real, just as how you would believe santa was real when you were a kid.
As volumous as how one would fall in love, he crafted her out of multitudes of cigarette paper, out of boredom and unintention.
Those around him woed him about his condition, but soon fell silent, but all he ever wanted was to fall in love, and he finally did.
He spent whereever, whenever with her, all night and all day. He took her to theme parks, parks, restaurants where he sat her at the empty seat and ordered food for her, he sang her songs, bought her flowers and spent nights with her lying down in dark fields watching starless skies hover above them.
All he ever wanted from her was to marry her.
Through her, he found solace, he found balance, everything he sought out in life was accomplished through her, she was his pillar of strength, or so he thought.
He loved her without reason, without cause. He loved her more than what it had already meant, he loved her too much.
He loved her so much to a point of indulgence where nothing else mattered.
All this went on for 5 years.
It's funny really, how when one grows older, they act exactly how they did when they were younger, it's almost as if she was the capital of his reality.
----END OF PART ONE----
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Plastic Nightmare.
Dolly Daffodil loved dolls and daffodils. She loved pink and glitter. Make-up and romance. Shopping and window shopping.
Your average aristocratic, bimbotic, slutty, blond slut. She believed everything people tell her, even if it doesn't make sense; in other words, she was born to look pretty and suck cock.
Her father was a diplomat, her mother was a plastic-chested, botox-loving, liposuction-addict, blond bombshell; MILF Barbie.
Dolly wants to be like her mother.
The End.
Your average aristocratic, bimbotic, slutty, blond slut. She believed everything people tell her, even if it doesn't make sense; in other words, she was born to look pretty and suck cock.
Her father was a diplomat, her mother was a plastic-chested, botox-loving, liposuction-addict, blond bombshell; MILF Barbie.
Dolly wants to be like her mother.
The End.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Crackwhore Barbie. Part II
So this is where I am, confused, scared and scarily confused(I don't know myself what that meant.)
I remember jabbing and twisting my blade in her, while hammering my hips onto hers, penetrating her preteen vagina.
So here I am, be my friend now, I feel lonely, you're the only one I've got. Please stay, please understand.
I can't help but cry, I had to do it, I hate myself.
Am I a beast.
Wait, I am, and I feel great, why should I feel like shit?
She deserved it all, if she wasn't mine, nobody will have her...
She's dead now, but she still looks so beautiful, her innocent eyes closed with my semen over them, just one more round before I dispose of the body.
She's not warm anymore now she's dead. It's not been that long but she's already developing rigor mortis.
Epinephrine.
I sped up, racking her to me as quick as possible, I grew weary almost in an instant but slowed down. Now I'm hacking her, slow and solid, up slowly then slamming down, paused for a moment, then continued.
Her blood was making all kinds of gurgling and splattering sounds each time I went down on her, my pretty doll.
It took me a well, 15 minutes of intense exercise to cum, by then, the cream pie was leaking out with the excess blood from the hymen.
I was exhausted, it's the first time I fucked a dead person, not to mention my first time killing a person, raping a person, defiling the innocence of a little girl; ah the beauties of childhood.
I was hungry, and an idea erected in my head.
Knowing I was both hungry and in wanting to get rid of the corpse, I sliced her open, feeling a little liver tonight, I thought to myself with a devious grin, admiring the mess of myself in the mirror.
Oh I can just ejaculate to the thought!
I cut her up into smaller bits, to save for later, I guess.
So here you have it; everyday I go back home, pretending to be worried sick of a 'missing' student, going to my freezer and stare at her severed head on a plate. Ice crystals formed almost everywhere, face pale purplish blue, dry blond hair and masturbate, reenacting the time I 'did' her.
It makes me have a special place for her in my head.
Preciously delicious.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
GA-REETINGS people!
My spider ate an entire animal last night, I will not elaborate on which type of hamster it ate(hehehe).
I miss Joy Molina, almost 3 years of some sort a kaleidoscopic relationship, I really miss her. I want to go to the beach with her, even though I hate beaches myself. I want to smell the salt on her sun dried, wind-blown hair and caress her towards me. She and her 'DO ME IN THE PARK, MARC' teeshirt. I think I'll get a shirt that says 'MAKE ME FEEL LIKE A "GROWN-UP" BOY, JOY!' hee.
I remember jabbing and twisting my blade in her, while hammering my hips onto hers, penetrating her preteen vagina.
So here I am, be my friend now, I feel lonely, you're the only one I've got. Please stay, please understand.
I can't help but cry, I had to do it, I hate myself.
Am I a beast.
Wait, I am, and I feel great, why should I feel like shit?
She deserved it all, if she wasn't mine, nobody will have her...
She's dead now, but she still looks so beautiful, her innocent eyes closed with my semen over them, just one more round before I dispose of the body.
She's not warm anymore now she's dead. It's not been that long but she's already developing rigor mortis.
Epinephrine.
I sped up, racking her to me as quick as possible, I grew weary almost in an instant but slowed down. Now I'm hacking her, slow and solid, up slowly then slamming down, paused for a moment, then continued.
Her blood was making all kinds of gurgling and splattering sounds each time I went down on her, my pretty doll.
It took me a well, 15 minutes of intense exercise to cum, by then, the cream pie was leaking out with the excess blood from the hymen.
I was exhausted, it's the first time I fucked a dead person, not to mention my first time killing a person, raping a person, defiling the innocence of a little girl; ah the beauties of childhood.
I was hungry, and an idea erected in my head.
Knowing I was both hungry and in wanting to get rid of the corpse, I sliced her open, feeling a little liver tonight, I thought to myself with a devious grin, admiring the mess of myself in the mirror.
Oh I can just ejaculate to the thought!
I cut her up into smaller bits, to save for later, I guess.
So here you have it; everyday I go back home, pretending to be worried sick of a 'missing' student, going to my freezer and stare at her severed head on a plate. Ice crystals formed almost everywhere, face pale purplish blue, dry blond hair and masturbate, reenacting the time I 'did' her.
It makes me have a special place for her in my head.
Preciously delicious.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
GA-REETINGS people!
My spider ate an entire animal last night, I will not elaborate on which type of hamster it ate(hehehe).
I miss Joy Molina, almost 3 years of some sort a kaleidoscopic relationship, I really miss her. I want to go to the beach with her, even though I hate beaches myself. I want to smell the salt on her sun dried, wind-blown hair and caress her towards me. She and her 'DO ME IN THE PARK, MARC' teeshirt. I think I'll get a shirt that says 'MAKE ME FEEL LIKE A "GROWN-UP" BOY, JOY!' hee.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Crackwhore Barbie.
"My first time I jacked off, I thought I'd invented it. I looked down on at my sloppy handful of junk and thought, this is gonna make me rich!" Denny in Palahniuk's Choke.
I lay there, staring into the round light bulb, thinking about what had just happened. My body and bed was covered in my semen and her blood. All across my abdomen were blotches of creamy grey and blood red, all dripping toward my flank.
I lay there groping the edges of my bedsheets in an effort to sanitize my sin. I was completely endeavoured into the idea of what I've just done.
She had to die, if I had let her go, the fucking 9-year-old would go running to mommy about what her teacher, me, had done to her.
While I was making her squeal in horrendous agony with my asset, I stabbed her continually in the chest just to shut her the fuck up.
I taught her English at the primary school, she was so precious, so tempting, so irresistible, I cannot help but fight erection, even in class.
I saw her earlier today after school sitting alone, I approached her to offer her a ride home; she jovially accepted and I still fought erection. I took her to my apartment to give her a sandwich, or perhaps something else, but this feeling, this sense of omnipotence lurking at the darkest corners of my mind drove me to a frenzied hype.
I subdued her and flung her against the wall, dragged her towards the bed and bashed her head with an ashtray.
I stripped us both, mounted on her and penetrated her deeply, I must have broken her hip bone due to the force. She shrieked violently but her failing attempt to break free paralyzed her somehow.
I grabbed her petite figure against me and pounded hard on her bleeding clitoris.
So fucking tight!, I thought to myself. I heaved heavily, panted quickly. She was screaming as though experiencing a pulsating accelerated vision.
She tried to mouth the words 'Please stop, you're hurting me!' as she sighed but I didn't care.
As soon as I realised what I've been doing, I stopped and thought out the consequence.
It occurred to me that this girl has to die, unfortunately.
I got off her for a while, I had already ejaculated. I left her crying self and went to get a kitchen knife, smoked 3 cigarettes and went back to see her bleeding all over my bed.
"You fucking whore!" I roared in a pretentious anger as I jumped on her again, penetrated her bleeding cunt and violently raped her, stabbing her...
To Be Continued... too bad.(writer's block for now)
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Suicid' novel preview.
Suicid’- preview.
So there you lie in your coffin, unaware of the fact that you have been pronounced dead. There you lie all handsomely pale in the shade of purple death.
Don’t you smell the roses around you?
Don’t you feel the tears embedded into those clothes, you useless swine?
Don’t you know that you’re being dragged six feet into mindless oblivion?
Dear infantile boy, engulfing yourself in teenage angst, all your dreams of becoming that amazing poet all flushed along with your once-beating heart, dragged six feet into oblivion? Pathetic.
If you are able, roll that sleeve of yours up, your lavish sleeve, your funeral sleeve; a waste to a perfectly fine shirt, but who gives a damn, you never appreciated it.
Roll that sleeve up and see the word ‘shit’ scarred across that once beautiful skin of yours; skin bleached by Parisian winters.
Your nights spent in self-mutilation and immoralities are over, your ploy has worked itself into completion, into progress, into succession.
All those nights spent smoking, masturbating, drinking and oh, I almost forgot, with razors too. Yes with razors too, you sick fuck, but who gives a flying fuck?
Who gives a damn: that was your motto, your sigil, your stanza.
Your unsung paranoia has led you to the twisted belief that everyone in the world doesn’t give a flying fuck about you.
Oh yes, who gave a damn when your grandmother heart broke when yours stopped beating. Your grandmother, your beloved grandmother, your pitiful grandmother; you remember her don’t you?
If you don’t, then you’re just being the selfish bastard you are.
Whore; that’s what you used to call her; Oh yes, a whore took you in when your parents left you for dead at the orphanage, she took you under her gracious wing in her home, that you call a whore? One who cooks a hot homemade meal peppered with love and seasoned with tender loving care.
Oh such a whore that was. You and your delusional, bigoted, selfish, insolent, dumb self are the ones who should be called whore instead.
Don’t you remember the cocoa and tea leaves she was scented with; just as any common well-mannered, soft-spoken British lady, only anchored with heartache, torment, lament but darling, no regret. Now that you stupid fuck, you derogatory fuck of a corpse, is love.
She gave all her wealth just to fulfill your dreams because she never fulfilled hers. Her mother stopped her from being a singer; oh she ever so wanted to.
Your grandmother gave you so much because she didn’t want you to feel and bottle the same hatred you have for your mother; she gave a life better than any orgasm you had with your hand, but well, who gives a damn.
You never spoke those words as if it was a question, you spat them with your nicotine and alcohol stained breath like an answer.
Useless; that’s what you are.
Now look at that beautiful girlfriend of yours, that beautiful hazel-eyed brunette.
She too gave up and sacrificed so much for you, knowing the countless times you cheated on her with your hand, with other girls, with even her own best friend.
She still loves you, but you victimized her into your own selfish plot, you motherfucker.
She is very hurt you know that, you useless fucking swine, do you feel all this as you’re dragged six feet into insane oblivion?
Do you remember first meeting her on metro? She was sitting along waiting to go back home; you were running away from home; running from your mistakes, your problems, your lies, and most of all, your hopes and dreams: your life!
Do you remember how she fell in love with you? You read her your poems and she fell in love with them, don’t you remember reading to her your most favorite?
Angst once sought me with roses in arms
I fell for its beauty and undying charms
Reading to me Byron as it asked for my hand
Finally married on white Caribbean sand
I now sit on a mountain
Widowed ‘bove the clouds
My tear flow a fountain
My eyes reduced to shrouds
Heart now hooded like a wedding veil
Concealing my misery, a tale too real
This mount, not of stone
But a pile of memories, now that I’m alone
Just like the tale of ‘Beauty and the Beast’
He was her burden, she was his feast
Now Angst is gone, gone so far away
What should I feel for the rest of the day?
Oh you, you never fell in love with her, you just wanted so much to screw her. To you, love is just another word in your bloody vocabulary, just ammunition in poetry, a commodity of your art. All you did was fell in lust.
It was she, scented with fruits of the tropics and sun dried clothes who gave her entire self up to devote to you, but wait, who gives a damn? Obviously not that old whore, or this pathetic slut, but they do, you swine, unconditionally.
So by now, if you have realized, you’re just pathetic.
But despite your audacity, you are very talented, gifted, I should say; oh how God spares a thought even to the shrewd, disappointingly.
You wrote fine poetry of angst, frustration and depression, you caught the entire façade of the morbid truth, though your work was never recognized.
Why, you may wonder?
Because talents like you always turn out to be the most zygotic calamity of a human would ever be. Well it does go to show that great minds are often at most invalid.
Talents like you never enjoy the mundane sobriety of sanity; instead, you divulge and indulge in notoriety.
You were like Byron with angst, a poet with an attitude. You can bring the horrors of Lovecraft to ramshackle.
In the eyes of art, you are considerably a harbinger of beauty. But all that talent devoured by depression? But well, who gives a damn.
Are you satisfied?
I hope not.
You may wonder if your work is safe, oh yes they are, at least they’re not going to be dragged six feet into immoral oblivion.
By the way, your name is Vladimir Olsen, you are of Scandinavian descent and you just turned up dead in your room; you hung yourself in an overdose of anti-depressants while you were drunk; you had too much time playing with razors.
All your life you continuously lead an acute pain to those now bereaving around you, the ones who will one day, gradually, and eventually, forgets to clean your tombstone.
Oh, but who gives a damn.
When we two parted in silence and tears
Half brokenhearted to sever for years
Pale grew thy cheek and cold, colder thy kiss
Surely that hour foretold sorrow to this
The dew of the morning sunk chill on my brow
It felt like the warning of what I feel now
Thy vows have been broken and light is thy fame
I hear thy name spoken, and share in its shame
They name thee before me, a knell to my ear
A shudder comes o’er me, why wert thou so dear
They know not I knew thee, who knew thee too well –
Long, long shall I rue thee, too deeply to tell
In secret we met - in silence I grieve
That thy heart forget, thy spirit deceive
If I should meet thee after long years
How should I greet thee – With silence and tears...
January 15,
Do you remember those words? Let me hint you; opium-filled years consumed in filth and reason. Still confused?
That was Byron’s work entitled ‘When We Two Parted’.
You spent countless hours reading that poem, half obsessed with its mysticism, and half obsessed with its meaning. Every time you read it reminded you of how you want to see your parents: that was the starting of your depression.
Poor infantile boy, you and your wildish fantasies of your bitter childhood, overly obsessed you can rewrite it.
You’re now sitting in a library because you dropped out of theatrical school again, because you cheated on your girlfriend again.
You don’t have any friends to turn to because friends to you are boundaries one creates with separate entities to evoke an idea of happiness and comfort and to cease all emotion of loneliness.
You are an eclipse of what you used to be; now disgraced and fathomed into the nightly winds; disintegrated.
You have turned into something so arbitrary to human, reduced to a nothingness of wrath, misery and contempt. You have always been silent despite the words you spoke, and you have never been complete.
You are brilliance, you are genius, but you are also pain and you are also deceit.
This is how you spend an entire perfect day; waking up in the late afternoons, smoke a few cigarettes; a pack or more; you then down some whiskey, scribble poetry.
Where are your 'loved' ones? One should have never picked you up; the other should have already left you.
But they both still love you, unconditionally, and yet so unfortunately, they do, but who gives a damn.
You sit in that library sipping your whiskey, occasionally going out for a smoke, giving a nonchalant, grotesque, dead glare at passers-by, stop acting so morbid. But you just have to don’t you?
You have fathomed yourself deeply, yet you sadistically savour it.
16 January
A twilight; you are but a twilight, a gloom for your personal egomaniacal, megalomaniacal, nihilistic, self-abundant omnipotence.
You are not half an afternoon shadow of what you were, well, you never were anything, you just anchored through each day; that made you really, as how a sober, mundane, sane and knowing society would call ‘weird’.
This is your ode to misery, a qualm of another tormenting day; you torture yourself, you love to harm your body; a new pain a day keeps sanity away.
Your pain is insignificant, a devouring state of the wretched mess you are, and however you inflict pain on yourself, you can never ease the suffering behind those suffocated eyes of your mutilated person.
Constantly, you dwell in a madness; a requiem; a mosaic; an epilepsy of depravity and depression.
You are the ramshackle of a human, a genius for a mind; the torment of your sanity. This is what life is, a new chapter a day; a rendition of you, this is your book.
This is all you.
No matter how bigoted you feel inside, you’re still the same dying monstrosity that you’re created to be. Face it, suck up to it, kill yourself to it, it doesn’t matter anymore to you...
That was just a preview of my little novel entitled: Suicid’.
Hope to publish it by the end of the year if not by early next year; these are just a few pages of the introduction. Screw you and good bye. Kvnt MarcAshley.
So there you lie in your coffin, unaware of the fact that you have been pronounced dead. There you lie all handsomely pale in the shade of purple death.
Don’t you smell the roses around you?
Don’t you feel the tears embedded into those clothes, you useless swine?
Don’t you know that you’re being dragged six feet into mindless oblivion?
Dear infantile boy, engulfing yourself in teenage angst, all your dreams of becoming that amazing poet all flushed along with your once-beating heart, dragged six feet into oblivion? Pathetic.
If you are able, roll that sleeve of yours up, your lavish sleeve, your funeral sleeve; a waste to a perfectly fine shirt, but who gives a damn, you never appreciated it.
Roll that sleeve up and see the word ‘shit’ scarred across that once beautiful skin of yours; skin bleached by Parisian winters.
Your nights spent in self-mutilation and immoralities are over, your ploy has worked itself into completion, into progress, into succession.
All those nights spent smoking, masturbating, drinking and oh, I almost forgot, with razors too. Yes with razors too, you sick fuck, but who gives a flying fuck?
Who gives a damn: that was your motto, your sigil, your stanza.
Your unsung paranoia has led you to the twisted belief that everyone in the world doesn’t give a flying fuck about you.
Oh yes, who gave a damn when your grandmother heart broke when yours stopped beating. Your grandmother, your beloved grandmother, your pitiful grandmother; you remember her don’t you?
If you don’t, then you’re just being the selfish bastard you are.
Whore; that’s what you used to call her; Oh yes, a whore took you in when your parents left you for dead at the orphanage, she took you under her gracious wing in her home, that you call a whore? One who cooks a hot homemade meal peppered with love and seasoned with tender loving care.
Oh such a whore that was. You and your delusional, bigoted, selfish, insolent, dumb self are the ones who should be called whore instead.
Don’t you remember the cocoa and tea leaves she was scented with; just as any common well-mannered, soft-spoken British lady, only anchored with heartache, torment, lament but darling, no regret. Now that you stupid fuck, you derogatory fuck of a corpse, is love.
She gave all her wealth just to fulfill your dreams because she never fulfilled hers. Her mother stopped her from being a singer; oh she ever so wanted to.
Your grandmother gave you so much because she didn’t want you to feel and bottle the same hatred you have for your mother; she gave a life better than any orgasm you had with your hand, but well, who gives a damn.
You never spoke those words as if it was a question, you spat them with your nicotine and alcohol stained breath like an answer.
Useless; that’s what you are.
Now look at that beautiful girlfriend of yours, that beautiful hazel-eyed brunette.
She too gave up and sacrificed so much for you, knowing the countless times you cheated on her with your hand, with other girls, with even her own best friend.
She still loves you, but you victimized her into your own selfish plot, you motherfucker.
She is very hurt you know that, you useless fucking swine, do you feel all this as you’re dragged six feet into insane oblivion?
Do you remember first meeting her on metro? She was sitting along waiting to go back home; you were running away from home; running from your mistakes, your problems, your lies, and most of all, your hopes and dreams: your life!
Do you remember how she fell in love with you? You read her your poems and she fell in love with them, don’t you remember reading to her your most favorite?
Angst once sought me with roses in arms
I fell for its beauty and undying charms
Reading to me Byron as it asked for my hand
Finally married on white Caribbean sand
I now sit on a mountain
Widowed ‘bove the clouds
My tear flow a fountain
My eyes reduced to shrouds
Heart now hooded like a wedding veil
Concealing my misery, a tale too real
This mount, not of stone
But a pile of memories, now that I’m alone
Just like the tale of ‘Beauty and the Beast’
He was her burden, she was his feast
Now Angst is gone, gone so far away
What should I feel for the rest of the day?
Oh you, you never fell in love with her, you just wanted so much to screw her. To you, love is just another word in your bloody vocabulary, just ammunition in poetry, a commodity of your art. All you did was fell in lust.
It was she, scented with fruits of the tropics and sun dried clothes who gave her entire self up to devote to you, but wait, who gives a damn? Obviously not that old whore, or this pathetic slut, but they do, you swine, unconditionally.
So by now, if you have realized, you’re just pathetic.
But despite your audacity, you are very talented, gifted, I should say; oh how God spares a thought even to the shrewd, disappointingly.
You wrote fine poetry of angst, frustration and depression, you caught the entire façade of the morbid truth, though your work was never recognized.
Why, you may wonder?
Because talents like you always turn out to be the most zygotic calamity of a human would ever be. Well it does go to show that great minds are often at most invalid.
Talents like you never enjoy the mundane sobriety of sanity; instead, you divulge and indulge in notoriety.
You were like Byron with angst, a poet with an attitude. You can bring the horrors of Lovecraft to ramshackle.
In the eyes of art, you are considerably a harbinger of beauty. But all that talent devoured by depression? But well, who gives a damn.
Are you satisfied?
I hope not.
You may wonder if your work is safe, oh yes they are, at least they’re not going to be dragged six feet into immoral oblivion.
By the way, your name is Vladimir Olsen, you are of Scandinavian descent and you just turned up dead in your room; you hung yourself in an overdose of anti-depressants while you were drunk; you had too much time playing with razors.
All your life you continuously lead an acute pain to those now bereaving around you, the ones who will one day, gradually, and eventually, forgets to clean your tombstone.
Oh, but who gives a damn.
When we two parted in silence and tears
Half brokenhearted to sever for years
Pale grew thy cheek and cold, colder thy kiss
Surely that hour foretold sorrow to this
The dew of the morning sunk chill on my brow
It felt like the warning of what I feel now
Thy vows have been broken and light is thy fame
I hear thy name spoken, and share in its shame
They name thee before me, a knell to my ear
A shudder comes o’er me, why wert thou so dear
They know not I knew thee, who knew thee too well –
Long, long shall I rue thee, too deeply to tell
In secret we met - in silence I grieve
That thy heart forget, thy spirit deceive
If I should meet thee after long years
How should I greet thee – With silence and tears...
January 15,
Do you remember those words? Let me hint you; opium-filled years consumed in filth and reason. Still confused?
That was Byron’s work entitled ‘When We Two Parted’.
You spent countless hours reading that poem, half obsessed with its mysticism, and half obsessed with its meaning. Every time you read it reminded you of how you want to see your parents: that was the starting of your depression.
Poor infantile boy, you and your wildish fantasies of your bitter childhood, overly obsessed you can rewrite it.
You’re now sitting in a library because you dropped out of theatrical school again, because you cheated on your girlfriend again.
You don’t have any friends to turn to because friends to you are boundaries one creates with separate entities to evoke an idea of happiness and comfort and to cease all emotion of loneliness.
You are an eclipse of what you used to be; now disgraced and fathomed into the nightly winds; disintegrated.
You have turned into something so arbitrary to human, reduced to a nothingness of wrath, misery and contempt. You have always been silent despite the words you spoke, and you have never been complete.
You are brilliance, you are genius, but you are also pain and you are also deceit.
This is how you spend an entire perfect day; waking up in the late afternoons, smoke a few cigarettes; a pack or more; you then down some whiskey, scribble poetry.
Where are your 'loved' ones? One should have never picked you up; the other should have already left you.
But they both still love you, unconditionally, and yet so unfortunately, they do, but who gives a damn.
You sit in that library sipping your whiskey, occasionally going out for a smoke, giving a nonchalant, grotesque, dead glare at passers-by, stop acting so morbid. But you just have to don’t you?
You have fathomed yourself deeply, yet you sadistically savour it.
16 January
A twilight; you are but a twilight, a gloom for your personal egomaniacal, megalomaniacal, nihilistic, self-abundant omnipotence.
You are not half an afternoon shadow of what you were, well, you never were anything, you just anchored through each day; that made you really, as how a sober, mundane, sane and knowing society would call ‘weird’.
This is your ode to misery, a qualm of another tormenting day; you torture yourself, you love to harm your body; a new pain a day keeps sanity away.
Your pain is insignificant, a devouring state of the wretched mess you are, and however you inflict pain on yourself, you can never ease the suffering behind those suffocated eyes of your mutilated person.
Constantly, you dwell in a madness; a requiem; a mosaic; an epilepsy of depravity and depression.
You are the ramshackle of a human, a genius for a mind; the torment of your sanity. This is what life is, a new chapter a day; a rendition of you, this is your book.
This is all you.
No matter how bigoted you feel inside, you’re still the same dying monstrosity that you’re created to be. Face it, suck up to it, kill yourself to it, it doesn’t matter anymore to you...
That was just a preview of my little novel entitled: Suicid’.
Hope to publish it by the end of the year if not by early next year; these are just a few pages of the introduction. Screw you and good bye. Kvnt MarcAshley.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Almost.
I don't know why I'm like this, mother never drank, father never hit me. They both had the jobs they've always wanted, maybe not so for mom, she was a chamberlain, dad, well he did get his dream job; to stay home all day drunk.
It's true, dad never hit me, he choked, strangled and wrangled my neck. Mom never drank, she injected heroin.
We lived in a mobile home; just like a snail. Breathing in cigarette smoke, car exhaust and yesterday's (or sometimes the day before that) rotting leftovers.
Let us describe us all physically; all 3 of us are scrawny twats; dad had a dead hamster of dirty white and blond dangling from his chin he calls a beard, mom was going from 32-B to 32-LONG; soon she'll be wearing socks instead of bras. And I was a walking lab skeleton wearing a skin jumpsuit.
This was all of us, dad, mom and I.
Inbred monstrosities contaminating with the filth of civilization. The rejects of the underpants of society.
It all begun when I turned 13, by then, mom left the house, dad was doing what he did best, sometimes it feels as if he's already dead. As for me, I had to choose another place to do the same; to follow in my father's footsteps.
I began to plot my death, by the time I reached 14, I had already left home; I became a long elephant searching for his own grave.
So there I was, stranded, strolling across the highway in ragged clothes; cold, hungry, thirsty and hopeless. This is the part I met my first chapter, Trejo.
Trejo was a trucker, and for almost a long while, he was my guardian; he clothed me, fed me, sheltered me, basically provided for me, and raped me.
I didn't care that he made me do weird things, took pictures of me and sodomised me.
Then one day, I couldn't pry open my ass crack, when I did, I saw that my shit had white gooey stuff in it. I went to the hospital and ended up having my intestines pumped from the kilogram of sperm in it.
This is where my second chapter begins; after Trejo was arrested and all, I went there on the high way again. Still cold, hungry, thirsty, hopeless and my ass hurt a lot.
A fucked up life rekindled.
Then came Denny, he was a broker. He was rich, good-looking and perhaps, the most unsuspecting psychopath ever.
He was the hobo killer the papers mentioned every 3 or 4 days. Nobody knows except for me and him.
I promised to serve under him provided he didn't kill me.
So here I am, 19, killing, raping and living life according to Denny's strict rules.
The two of us would go on for lifetimes just slaughtering people, but Denny could never deal with the stress, he never could deal with the killing.
He became impotent, I had to kill him, the legacy must go on; rape and murder.
One night, my bloodthirsty eyes danced across the solemn vicinity, a prey hunting for food. Of all my victims, and I don't know how many, I've only eaten one. But enough of that. I spotted a drunk, yum-yum.
I took my icepick out to bludgeon him with, just to see his brains ooze, just to see blood splattered.
I took my icepick out, awaiting the perfect time, fighting my anxiety, fighting delirium, controlling my breath.
I get sexually aroused whenever I kill a person, sometimes I return to the crime scene to masturbate while envisioning my murders, remembering the taste of blood.
This one motherfucker, however, screwed all that up. My beautiful plans, my work, my art, he was my canvas but he, he, that fucking piece of shit fucked everything up.
Why did he turn around, why the fuck did he turn around???
Why did I panic? If I had not, I could have killed him, but no.
I rushed off and tripped, the icepick got driven right up my left nostril so deep, I suffered severe brain hemorrhage.
So here I am, talking to myself, making friends with the voices in my head. Talking to familiar people I never knew. Trying to kill myself with a plastic spoon.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Planet Kvnt
It had been months since I was watching them. Behind my jealous eyes leered a mind waiting to explode in all of fantasy and sexual reality.
Their bodies converged in a seizure-like intensity; passion with demise; sexual abomination.
I watched as they frolicked and twirled around like drunk ice-skaters; assuming position to position in a memorized sequence.
He hacked himself onto her like a machete onto branches, she moaned, heaved and sighed in every way possible. With every breath she took, a flame within me lick temptingly, waiting to devour my person.
For months i had snuck here by this window just to watch them, and each time, I grow exhausted from the masturbation and my orgasm.
Live porn forever.
Each time when he was done with her, his lean figure slouched in a tired manner, almost as though a Spartan fatigued from battle.
He panted heavily with sweat trickling down his muscular body, his shadow casted on the wall; disgraced and wanting to disintegrate into the nightly winds; frost bitten into disgust.
This was the way with sex, one moment lovers, when that moment's gone, you hate them, but you hate yourself even more.
This had been going on a few months, love then hate. The cycle continues; lust then digust.
Friday night was role-play night, they would pretend to be something they're not for that one night, just to savour the sex, just to savour the moment; just trying not to hate each other.
"Pretend you are a 15-man bukkake mob," she tells him, "cum all over me all night long."
He attempts to go in piece by piece the first 'guy' came in at a little over 2 minutes, then as he grew tired, he grew slower, grew weaker, becoming in all doubt a 9 man bukkake mob instead.
She was dressed in both thick and watery grey, cloudy, sticky fluid, licking and tasting her dressing. Just like mayonase and thousand island sauce on a salad altogether.
This was more intense than I would have ever imagined, I was already ejeculating and i haven't even reached for my member.
I wanted to be mob members 11-15 or maybe more now. My fluid was running down my boxers, swiftly down my leg, the warm sensation glued my pants and boxers to my skin.
This is uncomfortable.
I stuff my left arm down my pants, caressing and comforting and drying my excited member.
The fatigued Spartan sunk into his seat, penis red, and most probably in an intense, acute pain from all that dry masturbation, he seemed pleased with his art.
It is time for me again to take my leave, come back another friday, or perhaps another day. Live porn forever.
Kvnt.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I went out yesterday again with Joy, maybe for once I realised that I need her more than anything. We went to watch the National Day Parade as with almost a thousand tonnes of human waste, fanatics just there for the show; all with the same purpose: to get the best view of the fire works.
We went back to my place, she really needed to go back home, so we gathered her stuff and went to MaccyD's.
Bumped into Michelle and Eric there, waited for Khallis, whom I got along pretty well with.
Dropped by Michelle's place and had a beer and some ciggies then sent Joy home. Almost 3 years and she still kisses me the same, still holds me the same, still says things the same. She's so beautiful wherever I see her.
She does to me what colours do to the eyes, everytime I think of her, it's like playing the same old Air Supply song, it's like writing without words. Sometimes I do wonder if i just say things, make shit up just to feel romantic.
She bites me even more passionate now, actually more roughly, but i enjoy it. my lips are still bleeding, it's swollen, sore and has a larger laceration. I love her too much.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Their bodies converged in a seizure-like intensity; passion with demise; sexual abomination.
I watched as they frolicked and twirled around like drunk ice-skaters; assuming position to position in a memorized sequence.
He hacked himself onto her like a machete onto branches, she moaned, heaved and sighed in every way possible. With every breath she took, a flame within me lick temptingly, waiting to devour my person.
For months i had snuck here by this window just to watch them, and each time, I grow exhausted from the masturbation and my orgasm.
Live porn forever.
Each time when he was done with her, his lean figure slouched in a tired manner, almost as though a Spartan fatigued from battle.
He panted heavily with sweat trickling down his muscular body, his shadow casted on the wall; disgraced and wanting to disintegrate into the nightly winds; frost bitten into disgust.
This was the way with sex, one moment lovers, when that moment's gone, you hate them, but you hate yourself even more.
This had been going on a few months, love then hate. The cycle continues; lust then digust.
Friday night was role-play night, they would pretend to be something they're not for that one night, just to savour the sex, just to savour the moment; just trying not to hate each other.
"Pretend you are a 15-man bukkake mob," she tells him, "cum all over me all night long."
He attempts to go in piece by piece the first 'guy' came in at a little over 2 minutes, then as he grew tired, he grew slower, grew weaker, becoming in all doubt a 9 man bukkake mob instead.
She was dressed in both thick and watery grey, cloudy, sticky fluid, licking and tasting her dressing. Just like mayonase and thousand island sauce on a salad altogether.
This was more intense than I would have ever imagined, I was already ejeculating and i haven't even reached for my member.
I wanted to be mob members 11-15 or maybe more now. My fluid was running down my boxers, swiftly down my leg, the warm sensation glued my pants and boxers to my skin.
This is uncomfortable.
I stuff my left arm down my pants, caressing and comforting and drying my excited member.
The fatigued Spartan sunk into his seat, penis red, and most probably in an intense, acute pain from all that dry masturbation, he seemed pleased with his art.
It is time for me again to take my leave, come back another friday, or perhaps another day. Live porn forever.
Kvnt.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I went out yesterday again with Joy, maybe for once I realised that I need her more than anything. We went to watch the National Day Parade as with almost a thousand tonnes of human waste, fanatics just there for the show; all with the same purpose: to get the best view of the fire works.
We went back to my place, she really needed to go back home, so we gathered her stuff and went to MaccyD's.
Bumped into Michelle and Eric there, waited for Khallis, whom I got along pretty well with.
Dropped by Michelle's place and had a beer and some ciggies then sent Joy home. Almost 3 years and she still kisses me the same, still holds me the same, still says things the same. She's so beautiful wherever I see her.
She does to me what colours do to the eyes, everytime I think of her, it's like playing the same old Air Supply song, it's like writing without words. Sometimes I do wonder if i just say things, make shit up just to feel romantic.
She bites me even more passionate now, actually more roughly, but i enjoy it. my lips are still bleeding, it's swollen, sore and has a larger laceration. I love her too much.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Pandemic of idols.
It had occured to me today that sitting by old people for 2 hours, you learn a lot about old school gossip, two-facing, sex and deciet.
It's stupendous really, but what had occured to me is that, some old people are some tough nut crooks and bastards.
Such as this one chinese guy who pays the Filippino maids to please him; he told me that by rubbing your moustache against a vagina, the girls love the sensation.
I was fucking stupified!
Talking to old people about sex gives you an insight of such twisted Karma Sutra.
Don't get me wrog, this is real.
Sexaholics would think of every bloody way to have sex, no matter how old; you get the guys who like smaller sized or perhaps little girls because they want to make their tiny dicks feel big. Or perhaps they're just fucking pedophiles.
You get the weird old guys who go for young boys to give them a blowjob.
The sick old men who stuff their dicks into any hole they can find, be it dead, living or just your everyday items, like a vaccum cleaner.
Then you have girls; nymphos, sluts, addicts.
Get those girls who can't live without something stuck up their vagina; which probably looks like the most ugly, disgusting monstrosity that Taco Bell ever produced.
All are the same, sexaholics are just the same as any addict. One's cocaine is another's penis. Or maybe one's vagina is another's Meth.
Everyone wants to be that mythological urban legend who did crazy sexual acts or what have you.
Everyone wants to leave their mark on something.
Chuck Palahniuk wrote in 'Choke': Even the worst blowjob is better than watching the fucking sun set.
I couldn't agree more. Face it, we are animals, deep within humanity, sanity, morality, there is a beast in us all. We're all potential psychpopaths, rapists, freaks; we are a disturbed society, some of us may not know it yet.
We're all in this together, planet sin forever.
So the back to the other stories i heard.
This other guy, also a chinese, tried to give me some pills, "these are special," he gleamed, but wait he actually said, "this one is special one! When you fuck ahhh, got power!"
Some of you may not understand what that sentence meant, but i think he was trying to give me viagra, but wait, I don't have erectile dysfunction, nor do I need boosting in my sex life. And I certainly don't want to end up dead while mounting on my partner's body with my dick cumming in a cold, dead, possibly a disgusting, discoloured, watery, even more smelly orgasm.
For a moment I was fascinated by these 'pills', curious as any other 16 year old boy would be, but I've still got a long way to go before my balls hang loose off the gallows.
Wait there's more!
So my whole purpose today was actually to get some food when I just sat there to talk to a nice, yet pathetic, homeless, real-life-version-of-an-Indian-Popeye.
Honestly, his name's Antonio and he looks and speaks exactly like Popeye the sailor man.
We began on a topic on how to get an amazing 'big-bang'. God, I must be having the time of my life talking to old men within 2 hours just about Aphrodite itself.
So well, he told me to get an awesome orgasm, you have to eat right and stay fit.
What, all of a sudden ejeculating semen has become an Olympic event?
Maybe the criteria to earn a gold is given to those with either the fastest, thickest furthest or most-abundant.
Ok Popeye, just protect your wife from Bluto now...and keep on eating spinach!
About the gossip, deciet thing; these old men sit together all day long laughing, drinking, gambling and talking to each other all day long, they don't like the guts out of each other!
That has got to be the most ridiculous thing ever.
Whenever these old men or maybe the seperate group of old ladies gather, the bustling mob becomes parliament!
The way these guys express things are as if they are running for presidential/parliamentry positions.
When talking about the concerns of the nation, these people are number one, when it comes to solving everyday problems, such as whether or not to use the shampoo first then conditioner or the opposite, they can talk for hours and hours and hours.
It's like watching comedy, they are so cute and annoying.
I have so many stories about them, such as this one mute guy who feeds strays and then cages them at night and hides them under blankets... looks like it's time to call in AVA (Agricultural Vetinary Association or something like that) in.
We have, whom I call, the Stupendous-Man, the non-fictional, non-comicbook antihero, who acts as if he's the owner of the estate and is a self-appointed neighbourhood watchmen, Jesus Christ, we already have police cars patrolling the area and you don't have to call the police because a kid was screaming in a game of tag or catching which gave you an 'impression' of a rape. Well at least someone cares.
So this is my estate, perhaps the smallest HDB estate in singapore, Farrer Road, with only 7 HDB blocks and the rest belonging to condos or landed property, next to the city.
This is the end of the post. goodbye reader, Marc Kvnt Ashley.
It's stupendous really, but what had occured to me is that, some old people are some tough nut crooks and bastards.
Such as this one chinese guy who pays the Filippino maids to please him; he told me that by rubbing your moustache against a vagina, the girls love the sensation.
I was fucking stupified!
Talking to old people about sex gives you an insight of such twisted Karma Sutra.
Don't get me wrog, this is real.
Sexaholics would think of every bloody way to have sex, no matter how old; you get the guys who like smaller sized or perhaps little girls because they want to make their tiny dicks feel big. Or perhaps they're just fucking pedophiles.
You get the weird old guys who go for young boys to give them a blowjob.
The sick old men who stuff their dicks into any hole they can find, be it dead, living or just your everyday items, like a vaccum cleaner.
Then you have girls; nymphos, sluts, addicts.
Get those girls who can't live without something stuck up their vagina; which probably looks like the most ugly, disgusting monstrosity that Taco Bell ever produced.
All are the same, sexaholics are just the same as any addict. One's cocaine is another's penis. Or maybe one's vagina is another's Meth.
Everyone wants to be that mythological urban legend who did crazy sexual acts or what have you.
Everyone wants to leave their mark on something.
Chuck Palahniuk wrote in 'Choke': Even the worst blowjob is better than watching the fucking sun set.
I couldn't agree more. Face it, we are animals, deep within humanity, sanity, morality, there is a beast in us all. We're all potential psychpopaths, rapists, freaks; we are a disturbed society, some of us may not know it yet.
We're all in this together, planet sin forever.
So the back to the other stories i heard.
This other guy, also a chinese, tried to give me some pills, "these are special," he gleamed, but wait he actually said, "this one is special one! When you fuck ahhh, got power!"
Some of you may not understand what that sentence meant, but i think he was trying to give me viagra, but wait, I don't have erectile dysfunction, nor do I need boosting in my sex life. And I certainly don't want to end up dead while mounting on my partner's body with my dick cumming in a cold, dead, possibly a disgusting, discoloured, watery, even more smelly orgasm.
For a moment I was fascinated by these 'pills', curious as any other 16 year old boy would be, but I've still got a long way to go before my balls hang loose off the gallows.
Wait there's more!
So my whole purpose today was actually to get some food when I just sat there to talk to a nice, yet pathetic, homeless, real-life-version-of-an-Indian-Popeye.
Honestly, his name's Antonio and he looks and speaks exactly like Popeye the sailor man.
We began on a topic on how to get an amazing 'big-bang'. God, I must be having the time of my life talking to old men within 2 hours just about Aphrodite itself.
So well, he told me to get an awesome orgasm, you have to eat right and stay fit.
What, all of a sudden ejeculating semen has become an Olympic event?
Maybe the criteria to earn a gold is given to those with either the fastest, thickest furthest or most-abundant.
Ok Popeye, just protect your wife from Bluto now...and keep on eating spinach!
About the gossip, deciet thing; these old men sit together all day long laughing, drinking, gambling and talking to each other all day long, they don't like the guts out of each other!
That has got to be the most ridiculous thing ever.
Whenever these old men or maybe the seperate group of old ladies gather, the bustling mob becomes parliament!
The way these guys express things are as if they are running for presidential/parliamentry positions.
When talking about the concerns of the nation, these people are number one, when it comes to solving everyday problems, such as whether or not to use the shampoo first then conditioner or the opposite, they can talk for hours and hours and hours.
It's like watching comedy, they are so cute and annoying.
I have so many stories about them, such as this one mute guy who feeds strays and then cages them at night and hides them under blankets... looks like it's time to call in AVA (Agricultural Vetinary Association or something like that) in.
We have, whom I call, the Stupendous-Man, the non-fictional, non-comicbook antihero, who acts as if he's the owner of the estate and is a self-appointed neighbourhood watchmen, Jesus Christ, we already have police cars patrolling the area and you don't have to call the police because a kid was screaming in a game of tag or catching which gave you an 'impression' of a rape. Well at least someone cares.
So this is my estate, perhaps the smallest HDB estate in singapore, Farrer Road, with only 7 HDB blocks and the rest belonging to condos or landed property, next to the city.
This is the end of the post. goodbye reader, Marc Kvnt Ashley.
Strawberries ist Krieg part II
These are some other shorts of mine
Hooks;
Wretched are the woes of man, bedeviled is the qualm of humanity; existence is only but futile in the palms of man...
‘Eyes are used to see, ears are used to hear and the mouth is used to hold the tongue.’
Before I begin, this is a mere short story, rather of an entire climax. So before you read on further, I must suggest you kiss sanity goodnight and hope it returns as soon as possible.
As I lie on my bed, I began to look back on those who perished on front of my eyes, on one incident;
I used to work at the pig farm my dear uncle owned, there also worked the fat slob who invades the local bar every Friday night, groping his endomorphic, sweaty palms on the waitresses, tipping them ‘big’ to get some quick love, none of the tried methods came through. I would not want to describe the tyranny he caused those around him; it was genocide without corpses.
Then all those who were plagued by this man got their ejaculate revenge; he was doing his meat hooking duty; hooking up the multitudes of pig corpses ready for consumption and then hooking the hooks on the conveyor where they will be then delivered in the cute trucks with the pig on the side. It was duty as usual, in the context of almost every bustling tale, then, ah here comes the climax, you’ll have to start holding your breath from here till the end of this flashback because you don’t want to miss a word of it, and I will describe it in detail with the vast expanse of my vocabulary.
Ready?
Inhale; Exhale; Inhale; Hold.
So let me restart that sentence: it was duties as usual, hooking and hooking, not bothering to say good bye to the precious life stolen for dinner, he rummaged for another meat hook when the entire cupboard of hooks fell on him.
You might think this is very painful but very lenient for a man of this odium but please read on;
He found enough strength to push the cupboard off and reached for a hook- the one hooking his esophagus, so there he was pertinently removing the hook but dramatically got in deeper to the other end, he scurried for help but he couldn’t talk, yet alone shout and yet again, dramatically, he got hooked onto the conveyor, in his rapid attempt for survival.
This is where I go into detail, he grabbed onto anything strong, but the conveyor kept pulling but this then lead to his entire spinal cord being ripped from it place, so he kind of lost his head, and once again, there is more blood to beat any Hollywood gory flick, this is the kind of scene you would never see on reality TV.
It was the kind of scene that any gore freak would pay to watch over and over again as they grab for lumps and lumps of popcorn.
But I’m not just telling this story to amuse you, no, maybe partly because of that but not exactly- it was because this sickening wraith touched my sister.
I so wanted revenge, but sometimes you might just need to wait for retribution, it might just pay you a visit.
I stood laughing within above his grave, my jubilant heart bounced about in this victory.
Exhale.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
And another.
Scars; only the dead see the end of the war…
‘You are a scar, something to remind me the past is real; you are nothing but a memory, a defiled truth from harsh reality.’
I sat there like a holy man waiting for a sign from the Gods, a significance of divinity, a prayer answered, just for something I did not expect but expected, just for something to happen, for a miracle maybe?
I wanted devotion, a tale I can relate to as a turning point in life, some obscurity to lose myself, I look at the mirror and only see an eclipse of what I used to be, I look at my hand.
All I see are scars from the wars I have been in my life, nothing neither civil nor international, but mere personal issues.
Scars, it’s my little reminder of why the past has to exist.
I am just a single representation, sensibly a capriciously malevolent example of how twisted an individual can get.
At least, in my point of view, no it is a fact.
So this story is just what I want people to know, that life is over the top, and only the dead do see the end of the war, but the problem is which war?
Lighting another cigarette after another and so forth, just thinking.
It then occurred to me about a friend of mine:
She was 16 and I was 13, about that era, nu-metal bands came to light, bands which I won’t waste my time listing, bands I did not bother with getting lost into the lyrics with, music I could never find any peace in. But during that time, the neighborhood in which we lived in was relentlessly ravaged by drugs and also the intoxicated whores that infect drunken men in need of satisfaction with aids.
She had every reason to be who she was, her screwed up parents made her a junkie, and the ‘hope-dope’ was paid for by prostitution and all of which made her stay back a couple of years in school.
I was her only friend in class, never got any luck with her, just didn’t want to, but the rest of the guys in class were customers.
One day we were getting stoned on our friend Mary Jane, or ‘marijuana’ in mundane lingo and she told me that she was sick and tired of living.
I, being the good virgin friend said this to her, “So do you plan to kill yourself?”
“Yes, very much in fact.”
She stared at me with a kind of stoned gloom, but I knew she meant it.
I managed to get my hands on some anti-depressants and gave them to her, to cut the long story short-
she took the pills, but after she got drunk, this then lead to her hanging herself while taping a beer bottle up her clit.
Thinking back and looking at some of my friends, I am pretty much a sophisticated example of depravity, but a genuine example of what a twisted, contorted world this is.
Do be reminded that this flashback has not ended, there is more to this tale-
Parents oh, parents; it is never correct for a child to perish before an elder, nor is it correct for one to doubt their existence.
Her parents were not just weeping, but blaming each other for the cause of death, for months and months I observed and overheard countless arguments which lead to an upturned house, even in my current solace, I can still hear the screams, like a reflected memory. I remember glasses breaking and so many things being thrown around, it was nothing short of a nightmare.
It was all mentally mutilating and psychologically decapitating; pure torture.
Then on one occasion, I incidentally strolled past them as they argued, minding my own business, when the man took his gun out- Pointing it first to the now growing, anxious crowd as a sign of warning that mashed bits of burning brain will fly if anyone were to step closer then to his petrified wife.
“It has finally come to a point where you have totally split my mind, you’re just an obscenity to begin with and a curse to live with, and may your peace desert you in your death and never again find happiness!” the psychotic man screamed maniacally in an outburst of omnipotent rage, before he pulled the trigger, he broke into a bedeviled smile, as if possessed.
Bang.
The woman flew with her mangled bits of brain into the harangued audience as the man pulled the trigger upon himself to get away with murder the easiest way.
Bang.
As melodramatic as he fell, his point blank suicide split his face into something like how one would describe a pizza, there was enough blood to beat any Hollywood gore flick.
I stood there dazed, enthralled by the brain that landed on my forearm, my eyes danced in frantic anxiety around the room before passing out, this was definitely not the story you tell anyone to get a good first impression.
That was a demon of my bitter past, but one of many reasons why I chose to do this.
Once again I look at the mirror; and I still see in the reflection, the eclipse of the person I once was, only now, darker.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Hooks;
Wretched are the woes of man, bedeviled is the qualm of humanity; existence is only but futile in the palms of man...
‘Eyes are used to see, ears are used to hear and the mouth is used to hold the tongue.’
Before I begin, this is a mere short story, rather of an entire climax. So before you read on further, I must suggest you kiss sanity goodnight and hope it returns as soon as possible.
As I lie on my bed, I began to look back on those who perished on front of my eyes, on one incident;
I used to work at the pig farm my dear uncle owned, there also worked the fat slob who invades the local bar every Friday night, groping his endomorphic, sweaty palms on the waitresses, tipping them ‘big’ to get some quick love, none of the tried methods came through. I would not want to describe the tyranny he caused those around him; it was genocide without corpses.
Then all those who were plagued by this man got their ejaculate revenge; he was doing his meat hooking duty; hooking up the multitudes of pig corpses ready for consumption and then hooking the hooks on the conveyor where they will be then delivered in the cute trucks with the pig on the side. It was duty as usual, in the context of almost every bustling tale, then, ah here comes the climax, you’ll have to start holding your breath from here till the end of this flashback because you don’t want to miss a word of it, and I will describe it in detail with the vast expanse of my vocabulary.
Ready?
Inhale; Exhale; Inhale; Hold.
So let me restart that sentence: it was duties as usual, hooking and hooking, not bothering to say good bye to the precious life stolen for dinner, he rummaged for another meat hook when the entire cupboard of hooks fell on him.
You might think this is very painful but very lenient for a man of this odium but please read on;
He found enough strength to push the cupboard off and reached for a hook- the one hooking his esophagus, so there he was pertinently removing the hook but dramatically got in deeper to the other end, he scurried for help but he couldn’t talk, yet alone shout and yet again, dramatically, he got hooked onto the conveyor, in his rapid attempt for survival.
This is where I go into detail, he grabbed onto anything strong, but the conveyor kept pulling but this then lead to his entire spinal cord being ripped from it place, so he kind of lost his head, and once again, there is more blood to beat any Hollywood gory flick, this is the kind of scene you would never see on reality TV.
It was the kind of scene that any gore freak would pay to watch over and over again as they grab for lumps and lumps of popcorn.
But I’m not just telling this story to amuse you, no, maybe partly because of that but not exactly- it was because this sickening wraith touched my sister.
I so wanted revenge, but sometimes you might just need to wait for retribution, it might just pay you a visit.
I stood laughing within above his grave, my jubilant heart bounced about in this victory.
Exhale.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
And another.
Scars; only the dead see the end of the war…
‘You are a scar, something to remind me the past is real; you are nothing but a memory, a defiled truth from harsh reality.’
I sat there like a holy man waiting for a sign from the Gods, a significance of divinity, a prayer answered, just for something I did not expect but expected, just for something to happen, for a miracle maybe?
I wanted devotion, a tale I can relate to as a turning point in life, some obscurity to lose myself, I look at the mirror and only see an eclipse of what I used to be, I look at my hand.
All I see are scars from the wars I have been in my life, nothing neither civil nor international, but mere personal issues.
Scars, it’s my little reminder of why the past has to exist.
I am just a single representation, sensibly a capriciously malevolent example of how twisted an individual can get.
At least, in my point of view, no it is a fact.
So this story is just what I want people to know, that life is over the top, and only the dead do see the end of the war, but the problem is which war?
Lighting another cigarette after another and so forth, just thinking.
It then occurred to me about a friend of mine:
She was 16 and I was 13, about that era, nu-metal bands came to light, bands which I won’t waste my time listing, bands I did not bother with getting lost into the lyrics with, music I could never find any peace in. But during that time, the neighborhood in which we lived in was relentlessly ravaged by drugs and also the intoxicated whores that infect drunken men in need of satisfaction with aids.
She had every reason to be who she was, her screwed up parents made her a junkie, and the ‘hope-dope’ was paid for by prostitution and all of which made her stay back a couple of years in school.
I was her only friend in class, never got any luck with her, just didn’t want to, but the rest of the guys in class were customers.
One day we were getting stoned on our friend Mary Jane, or ‘marijuana’ in mundane lingo and she told me that she was sick and tired of living.
I, being the good virgin friend said this to her, “So do you plan to kill yourself?”
“Yes, very much in fact.”
She stared at me with a kind of stoned gloom, but I knew she meant it.
I managed to get my hands on some anti-depressants and gave them to her, to cut the long story short-
she took the pills, but after she got drunk, this then lead to her hanging herself while taping a beer bottle up her clit.
Thinking back and looking at some of my friends, I am pretty much a sophisticated example of depravity, but a genuine example of what a twisted, contorted world this is.
Do be reminded that this flashback has not ended, there is more to this tale-
Parents oh, parents; it is never correct for a child to perish before an elder, nor is it correct for one to doubt their existence.
Her parents were not just weeping, but blaming each other for the cause of death, for months and months I observed and overheard countless arguments which lead to an upturned house, even in my current solace, I can still hear the screams, like a reflected memory. I remember glasses breaking and so many things being thrown around, it was nothing short of a nightmare.
It was all mentally mutilating and psychologically decapitating; pure torture.
Then on one occasion, I incidentally strolled past them as they argued, minding my own business, when the man took his gun out- Pointing it first to the now growing, anxious crowd as a sign of warning that mashed bits of burning brain will fly if anyone were to step closer then to his petrified wife.
“It has finally come to a point where you have totally split my mind, you’re just an obscenity to begin with and a curse to live with, and may your peace desert you in your death and never again find happiness!” the psychotic man screamed maniacally in an outburst of omnipotent rage, before he pulled the trigger, he broke into a bedeviled smile, as if possessed.
Bang.
The woman flew with her mangled bits of brain into the harangued audience as the man pulled the trigger upon himself to get away with murder the easiest way.
Bang.
As melodramatic as he fell, his point blank suicide split his face into something like how one would describe a pizza, there was enough blood to beat any Hollywood gore flick.
I stood there dazed, enthralled by the brain that landed on my forearm, my eyes danced in frantic anxiety around the room before passing out, this was definitely not the story you tell anyone to get a good first impression.
That was a demon of my bitter past, but one of many reasons why I chose to do this.
Once again I look at the mirror; and I still see in the reflection, the eclipse of the person I once was, only now, darker.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Strawberries ist krieg!
For those who know me, well you guys really don't.
ok that was cliche!
My name is Kvnt or Marc or Oi or Eh or Bro or Bruv or whatever nonsensical names you call me.
I made this for one sole purpose only; to let you read my shorts and my reviews and just pen down some bullshit poetry and of course to waste my time.
This is a one of my recent shorts, titled: Doughnuts.
Doughnuts.
Your mind is foggy today; you can almost know what it will be like for the rest of the day:
Your crappy job, your commute back to your shithole apartment, your stale microwave dinner, your useless boring wife and your lazy Yorkshire terrier, Fluffy.
You know this because it happens every day.
It happens so much; it’s like turning back the hands of time whenever you fall asleep. You know this because every day is another longest day, every day is a Monday, every day is the same vision, every day, it’s the same fucking story, and this is a severed state of continuous déjà vu.
You can almost smell doughnuts, no, you do smell doughnuts, and maybe today isn’t so much the same after all.
So here you are in your constant façade thinking about doughnuts.
You glance up to the bunch of guys who were eating and decided to yourself, you won’t eat with them; they’re all what you would call them, infidels.
Simon Duff, secretly masturbates in his work cubicle leaving his cum in his under pants for him to go back home to sniff the dry semen off it.
Daniel Holmes, your manager, mister big boss on this level, suffered from urinary tract infection for trying to stuff his penis into his asshole every time he shat.
And of course we have Tobias Gilmore who stored his semen in a jar and refrigerated it then his wife thought it was condensed milk then suffered from a really bad stomach ache; his son suffered the same fate too, only he thought it was mayonnaise.
You’re an infidel too, only far worse than anyone here; just to ‘spice’ up your ever boring days, you rush to the toilet to masturbate while stuffing a metal rod down your shaft, just to get that ‘requiem’ of an orgasm.
Face it, chump, you’re just as sick as anyone of these bastards.
A new pain a day keeps insanity away.
Maybe you should try sticking your dick into a doughnut covered with a diaphragm, see how that feels like- warm creamy goodness. Oh wait, You already did that when you were a teen.
MarcAshleyAlexanderWahid.
ok that was cliche!
My name is Kvnt or Marc or Oi or Eh or Bro or Bruv or whatever nonsensical names you call me.
I made this for one sole purpose only; to let you read my shorts and my reviews and just pen down some bullshit poetry and of course to waste my time.
This is a one of my recent shorts, titled: Doughnuts.
Doughnuts.
Your mind is foggy today; you can almost know what it will be like for the rest of the day:
Your crappy job, your commute back to your shithole apartment, your stale microwave dinner, your useless boring wife and your lazy Yorkshire terrier, Fluffy.
You know this because it happens every day.
It happens so much; it’s like turning back the hands of time whenever you fall asleep. You know this because every day is another longest day, every day is a Monday, every day is the same vision, every day, it’s the same fucking story, and this is a severed state of continuous déjà vu.
You can almost smell doughnuts, no, you do smell doughnuts, and maybe today isn’t so much the same after all.
So here you are in your constant façade thinking about doughnuts.
You glance up to the bunch of guys who were eating and decided to yourself, you won’t eat with them; they’re all what you would call them, infidels.
Simon Duff, secretly masturbates in his work cubicle leaving his cum in his under pants for him to go back home to sniff the dry semen off it.
Daniel Holmes, your manager, mister big boss on this level, suffered from urinary tract infection for trying to stuff his penis into his asshole every time he shat.
And of course we have Tobias Gilmore who stored his semen in a jar and refrigerated it then his wife thought it was condensed milk then suffered from a really bad stomach ache; his son suffered the same fate too, only he thought it was mayonnaise.
You’re an infidel too, only far worse than anyone here; just to ‘spice’ up your ever boring days, you rush to the toilet to masturbate while stuffing a metal rod down your shaft, just to get that ‘requiem’ of an orgasm.
Face it, chump, you’re just as sick as anyone of these bastards.
A new pain a day keeps insanity away.
Maybe you should try sticking your dick into a doughnut covered with a diaphragm, see how that feels like- warm creamy goodness. Oh wait, You already did that when you were a teen.
MarcAshleyAlexanderWahid.
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