Negatif.

There are things I do that you don’t understand, things I say that you don’t understand, there are also the things I don’t do and don’t say because I don’t understand.

I cannot write you something sweet, touching or whatsoever without having to extract from Byron or Balzac, without watching a romantic movie.

Because love and affection is not my genre.

I would love to deliver poetry of my feelings towards you, I really would, I would love to write you a bunch of sweet stuff and tell you how much I appreciate you and all that you do for and with me but I cannot.

I can extract life into critique and fiction, but what I cannot do is present life as it is without having a disgust for the entirety of life, and living, as a whole.

But I want you to know that everyday, I do my best to make up for everything I haven’t done, which I should have done, the past few months to make you happy.

I’m sorry, and I love you.

Our life is twofold; Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;
They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts,
They take a weight from off waking toils,
They do divide our being; they become
A portion of ourselves as of our time,
And look like heralds of eternity;
They pass like spirits of the past—they speak
Like sibyls of the future; they have power—
The tyranny of pleasure and of pain;
They make us what we were not—what they will,
And shake us with the vision that's gone by,
The dread of vanished shadows—Are they so?
Is not the past all shadow?—What are they?
Creations of the mind?—The mind can make
Substances, and people planets of its own
With beings brighter than have been, and give
A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.
I would recall a vision which I dreamed
Perchance in sleep—for in itself a thought,
A slumbering thought, is capable of years,
And curdles a long life into one hour.
II
I saw two beings in the hues of youth
Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill,
Green and of mild declivity, the last
As 'twere the cape of a long ridge of such,
Save that there was no sea to lave its base,
But a most living landscape, and the wave
Of woods and corn-fields, and the abodes of men
Scattered at intervals, and wreathing smoke
Arising from such rustic roofs: the hill
Was crowned with a peculiar diadem
Of trees, in circular array, so fixed,
Not by the sport of nature, but of man:
These two, a maiden and a youth, were there
Gazing—the one on all that was beneath
Fair as herself—but the boy gazed on her;
And both were young, and one was beautiful:
And both were young—yet not alike in youth.
As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge,
The maid was on the eve of womanhood;
The boy had fewer summers, but his heart
Had far outgrown his years, and to his eye
There was but one beloved face on earth,
And that was shining on him; he had looked
Upon it till it could not pass away;
He had no breath, no being, but in hers:
She was his voice; he did not speak to her,
But trembled on her words; she was his sight,
For his eye followed hers, and saw with hers,
Which coloured all his objects;—he had ceased
To live within himself: she was his life,
The ocean to the river of his thoughts,
Which terminated all; upon a tone,
A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow,
And his cheek change tempestuously—his heart
Unknowing of its cause of agony.
But she in these fond feelings had no share:
Her sighs were not for him; to her he was
Even as a brother—but no more; 'twas much,
For brotherless she was, save in the name
Her infant friendship had bestowed on him;
Herself the solitary scion left
Of a time-honoured race.—It was a name
Which pleased him, and yet pleased him not—and why?
Time taught him a deep answer—when she loved
Another; even now she loved another,
And on the summit of that hill she stood
Looking afar if yet her lover's steed
Kept pace with her expectancy, and flew.
III
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
There was an ancient mansion, and before
Its walls there was a steed caparisoned:
Within an antique Oratory stood
The Boy of whom I spake;—he was alone,
And pale, and pacing to and fro: anon
He sate him down, and seized a pen, and traced
Words which I could not guess of; then he leaned
His bowed head on his hands and shook, as 'twere
With a convulsion—then rose again,
And with his teeth and quivering hands did tear
What he had written, but he shed no tears.
And he did calm himself, and fix his brow
Into a kind of quiet: as he paused,
The Lady of his love re-entered there;
She was serene and smiling then, and yet
She knew she was by him beloved; she knew—
For quickly comes such knowledge—that his heart
Was darkened with her shadow, and she saw
That he was wretched, but she saw not all.
He rose, and with a cold and gentle grasp
He took her hand; a moment o'er his face
A tablet of unutterable thoughts
Was traced, and then it faded, as it came;
He dropped the hand he held, and with slow steps
Retired, but not as bidding her adieu,
For they did part with mutual smiles; he passed
From out the massy gate of that old Hall,
And mounting on his steed he went his way;
And ne'er repassed that hoary threshold more.
IV
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
The Boy was sprung to manhood: in the wilds
Of fiery climes he made himself a home,
And his Soul drank their sunbeams; he was girt
With strange and dusky aspects; he was not
Himself like what he had been; on the sea
And on the shore he was a wanderer;
There was a mass of many images
Crowded like waves upon me, but he was
A part of all; and in the last he lay
Reposing from the noontide sultriness,
Couched among fallen columns, in the shade
Of ruined walls that had survived the names
Of those who reared them; by his sleeping side
Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds
Were fastened near a fountain; and a man,
Glad in a flowing garb, did watch the while,
While many of his tribe slumbered around:
And they were canopied by the blue sky,
So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful,
That God alone was to be seen in heaven.
V
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
The Lady of his love was wed with One
Who did not love her better: in her home,
A thousand leagues from his,—her native home,
She dwelt, begirt with growing Infancy,
Daughters and sons of Beauty,—but behold!
Upon her face there was a tint of grief,
The settled shadow of an inward strife,
And an unquiet drooping of the eye,
As if its lid were charged with unshed tears.
What could her grief be?—she had all she loved,
And he who had so loved her was not there
To trouble with bad hopes, or evil wish,
Or ill-repressed affliction, her pure thoughts.
What could her grief be?—she had loved him not,
Nor given him cause to deem himself beloved,
Nor could he be a part of that which preyed
Upon her mind—a spectre of the past.
VI
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
The Wanderer was returned.—I saw him stand
Before an altar—with a gentle bride;
Her face was fair, but was not that which made
The Starlight of his Boyhood;—as he stood
Even at the altar, o'er his brow there came
The selfsame aspect and the quivering shock
That in the antique Oratory shook
His bosom in its solitude; and then—
As in that hour—a moment o'er his face
The tablet of unutterable thoughts
Was traced—and then it faded as it came,
And he stood calm and quiet, and he spoke
The fitting vows, but heard not his own words,
And all things reeled around him; he could see
Not that which was, nor that which should have been—
But the old mansion, and the accustomed hall,
And the remembered chambers, and the place,
The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the shade,
All things pertaining to that place and hour,
And her who was his destiny, came back
And thrust themselves between him and the light;
What business had they there at such a time?
VII
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
The Lady of his love;—Oh! she was changed,
As by the sickness of the soul; her mind
Had wandered from its dwelling, and her eyes,
They had not their own lustre, but the look
Which is not of the earth; she was become
The queen of a fantastic realm; her thoughts
Were combinations of disjointed things;
And forms impalpable and unperceived
Of others' sight familiar were to hers.
And this the world calls frenzy; but the wise
Have a far deeper madness, and the glance
Of melancholy is a fearful gift;
What is it but the telescope of truth?
Which strips the distance of its fantasies,
And brings life near in utter nakedness,
Making the cold reality too real!
VIII
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
The Wanderer was alone as heretofore,
The beings which surrounded him were gone,
Or were at war with him; he was a mark
For blight and desolation, compassed round
With Hatred and Contention; Pain was mixed
In all which was served up to him, until,
Like to the Pontic monarch of old days,
He fed on poisons, and they had no power,
But were a kind of nutriment; he lived
Through that which had been death to many men,
And made him friends of mountains; with the stars
And the quick Spirit of the Universe
He held his dialogues: and they did teach
To him the magic of their mysteries;
To him the book of Night was opened wide,
And voices from the deep abyss revealed
A marvel and a secret.—Be it so.
IX
My dream is past; it had no further change.
It was of a strange order, that the doom
Of these two creatures should be thus traced out
Almost like a reality—the one
To end in madness—both in misery.

- Lord Byron, The Dream, 1816.

Prognosis Invalid.

Ah Christmas, Hare Krishna, coming of the Sun (son), Winter Solstice, that’s just the minor perplex of the whole astrological sequence. But it can be better explained in the latest edition of Zietgeist.

But it was an all round good Christmas, honestly, one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had, no trouble with the family or the law, but well, there was that minor speed bump when I messed it a little, but I fixed it.

I’m sorry my temper gets the better of me, and it does, and when it does, I get crazy under control, cause at least I didn’t break anything in the house this time.

So eclectic lapses in my medulla oblongata aside, I think Sherlock Holmes honoured Sir Arthur in an acceptable manner, also paying homage to the creator of all detective novels, Edgar Allan Poe.

Thus, the end is nigh, I really have no idea what to type on, so I will cut it right here.

Oh, by the way, remember that I love you. 

The misunderstanding of our contradictive friend, nihilism.

So you probably think nihilism is nonchalance, sure, we don’t really care, most of the time in fact, to the point we force ourselves to care, well most of us.

We’re skeptics, we hate humanity, we’re anti-life.

We approach things with question, because to us, there is no bound of reality or realism, there are no absolutes and there is nothing.

We establish meaninglessness because there is a varied perspective to everything.

And our god is not the moustache bound German man by the name of Friedrich Nietzsche, we admire what we want, and Nietzsche shed a light on nihilism and existentialism that many cannot.

I myself admire Buddha and Bakunin.

And I hate people saying that nihilism is the definite “I don’t care”

Well, bad news, everyone does not fucking care, but that does not make everyone a fucking nihilist does it?

I express my disgust for religion and I am hated by it but that does not make me an anti theist does it?

Well, too bad, as a nihilist, I DO FUCKING CARE.

I care about post humanism, and I care about biomechanical development.

I care about my girlfriend and my family, I care about my dog, I care about my dead spider, I care about everything that I would want to care about.

So ok, wow, I’m not a nihilist anymore, well, perhaps I should cry and whimper and obfuscate my woes to the world and hate it for telling me what I am or am not.

Well, the thing about me wanting to post this up is that everyone is saying that nihilism is nonchalance, well maybe it is, maybe we don’t want to care because a lot of people are ignorant pricks who only care about the money that goes into your pocket, so you can buy all your symbols of vagrant status.

I don’t fucking care if you can buy an expensive car, or pretend to go to England when it’s actually Chijmes you’re at(this point is directed at someone who thought they had me fooled, gosh good one, really pulled my leg from the hip it did).

So I aggressively expand into an outburst of human emotion and lament my sorrows of how people treat nihilism as a sect for people who don’t give a fuck, well there is already a sect for people like that, it’s called being an idiot, or what have you.

But to me, there is no moral code, bylaws of which control the ebb and flow of the universe, no good, no evil, no ying, no yang, no balance. Balance is not akin to nature, balance is akin to vagary, but nature too depends on balance, and balance does not also affect vagary.

"There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it I have now surpassed. My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone, in fact I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape, but even after admitting this there is no catharsis, my punishment continues to elude me and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself; no new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing."- Christian Bale in American Psycho.

Marooned

You can buy into the whole apocalypse thing, you can buy into the 2012 thing, you can buy into the whole global warming thing, but face it, the universe is controlled by money fueled globally by governments who set up industrial and urban institutes that evenly distributes it to people for the mindless exchange of programmed work.

We are no different from a computer program that performs its assigned duties.

Thank the Rockefeller's and the Morgan’s (as in J.P Morgan) for setting up the federal reserve with the leaders of other countries.

Tax on, Tax off.

Thus the day of post-humanism arises, and no, I’m not referring to the crisp text of Nietzsche, nor Kant, nor the Bible, nor your friendly neighbourhood Existentialist.

I’m referring to the day we as humans generate a form of nanotech augmentations that not only lets us live longer and perform far better than anything else, that will barcode us into a matrix of systems under one establishment; where there is only one currency, one authority, and one group of masters of the universe as they clink champagne flutes in unison to their greatest achievement: the control of all human (well, cyborg then) existence.

Your news will be live fed to you, have a biomechanical system that tells you where you are, what direction you’re facing, the temperature, the time, your to-do-lists, the calendar, the note of the day and it is this very globalization that will eventually record your every move, thought, spoken word and every thought of treason, there will be an electromagnetic pulsation that will wring your body back to conformity.

There will then be no room for anarchy, rebellion, freedom.

The very lines of ‘When the Children Cry’ spoken as a motto: “One united world… Under God”

Soon enough, after that, we will evolve out of the whole Y chromosome thing and become a generation of hermaphrodites, an anthropomorphic, asexual breed that will no longer rely on the whole sexual reproduction thing and well, self reproduce.

It is this very quintessential evolution that will augment into a cloning structure, then have our memories uploaded into our future selves, immor-fuckin-tality baby.

And it is this very idea that is fueling my next story, Project Phoenix, but till my other stories are done, this will still be on the draft board.

Fringe science and nanotech brought to you by your friendly neighbourhood Nihilist.

Thus Spake Zarathustra.

Have you lived your life long enough that when you’re past reason and puberty, you realise that the rest of it is going to be years upon years of social conformity?

Well even if it is I guess you’d have little vagaries that will remind you that life is somewhat meaningful to you, so you go to your churches, or you listen to your spiritual leader, you read your favourite magazines and/or you just watch your television programs.

You just sit and sink to the bed of the endless ocean of lies and conspiracies concealed by the very people who take your money to buy your trust and take it back again to build something you don’t need, but of course they’ll cover this up with an excuse like, “this will put us on the map of technological advancement,” gosh I can imagine an old bespectacled man somberly saying that into the microphone, with his eyes fixated on someone or something because he’s too scared to look right at the camera and lie.

I think you already know that for every dollar you have, a certain percent of that dollar is taxed on it, yes, every, whether you earned it or not. So lets say, have $100, and for every dollar, that 0.02% taxed on it. So that’s 0.02 cents a dollar, that’s already 2 cents for $100, okay fine, sounds little to you, but don’t forget, the world is multi-trillion (and more) dollar system, so let’s just calculate a billion dollars, that’s already 2 million dollars for tax, and the money you need to pay that 2 million is also borrowed, face it, you’re caught in a matrix of debts you will never escape.

And who borrows most of this cash, well your leaders do, and who helps your leaders spend this cash and get paid doing so, your big massive corporations do, and how do big, massive corporations end up being big, massive corporations, they control you, and how do they control you, by manipulating the human psyche, and how do they do that, by instilling in you the path of the righteous through religion.

But I guess if you prefer living in controlled environment, then just continue to exist where you are, even people on the left can’t help you there, they’re the ones in control now anyway.

So tell me, people, why does the ruler of the universe want to take an Asian tour first, instilling ties and bonds with Japan and China?

Let’s revive the Russian Nihilist Movement and get confused as communists, let’s go kill everyone for the sake of spreading the meaningless message of: Life is meaningless.

Sincerely yours, your mediocre nihilist, kvnt.

To my bitch.

You, you, you.

I’m sorry for this afternoon’s little banter and I’m sorry I made you cry.

And I’m sorry I can’t express romance in the same somber tones of Byron.

I can’t tell you how graceful you are and blah blah blah.

But this I know, you’re annoyingly funny and when you pout, I feel as though the whole world needs to make you smile.

Heh, as long as vamps go; you’re the finger down my spine on a cold, dark night.

But really, you’re the most fun person to be around with you; junk food, gassy drinks, scrabble games, and the usual argument about the music that should be played, be it 80’s rock, or my metal.

I know, you’re a bitch, and I’m the complete jackass. And you make it seem as though I exist on my own time and space (which is existentially true).

Lastly, I love having a beer with you, but not on the carpark.

I love watching you through the smoke swirls you and I blow at each other creating a false rudeness.

And I love you.

You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She’s not perfect - you aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break - her heart. So don’t hurt her, don’t change her, don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she’s not there.

— Bob Marley

Dirty Variant

It’s the season of torrent and pollen, we harvest our generosity and our little resolutions as our noses excrete thick, long ropes of mucus; the pure irony of expelling our unwanted substances and emotions.

And because of this downpour, I can’t light my bonfire properly, but screw it, I’ll just light a candle in memoriam.

Why not I expose the beach to radio waves and throw a match into it and watch it go ablaze into a sea of fire barbequing every organic life form as though it were hell on earth, ah the thought of a future fuel/cancer-killing reagent that has been in our midst for eons.

Heh, saltwater.

Sycoma

Remember, Remember, the fifth of November

The gunpowder Treason and Plot.

I can think of no Reason

Why the gunpowder Treason

Should ever be Forgot.

Ah good old Guy Fawkes day, a day to celebrate anarchical failure, funny isn’t it, when it should be the east winged politicians who should be rejoicing in the failure of their liberal counterparts in their attempt to detonate the London Parliament house and assassination of the King.

Unusually, the protestants should be happy considering this bunch of Mad Ass Catholics wanted to wipe out their population.

How it was fictionally fulfilled in the Alan Moore graphic novel, and its corporate sucking motion picture production (which, wasn’t bad, but quite disappointing considering the comic was there and then iconic as it is, though many thanks to the Wachowski brothers, made it seem more like a terrorist movie rather than a movie about anarchy).

Sure many people are blind sheep aimlessly wandering dales and valleys waiting to be sheared and slaughtered and then roasted with a side of mint, and there are also wolves lurking in the dark corners of enlightenment waiting to preach or devour, be it in a pack or alone.

It would be my annual homage to Guy Fawkes and his little tavern of liberals when I go for a haircut later this afternoon (mohawk of course, well, I’d usually leave it down the side of my face and call it a ‘mobop’)

But the most important thing today is to remember that on this day, four hundred and four years ago, was that effort to revolt was there and because of that, Catholics are allowed to roam freely in society like a rat in the sewers (pun intended).

Well, I guess I’ll light my bonfire with a little dose of potassium chlorate for that extra bang for kicks.

But also, without him, you wouldn’t have the term guy, meaning at that era, an oddly dressed person, thus coming into the 20th century for males.

But you can find all that load of info at wikipedia itself, so me telling you, would be a waste of my effort, considering that people would think I was lifting, but well, we’re evolved, and accusation (and many other fatal judgements and emotions) evolved with us.

Fawkes at midnight, and by torchlight there was found

With long matches and devices, underground

Well, I’d better be off watching the movie right after I watch Stanly Kubrick’s The Shining.

 

Sometimes I wonder who really is sane; someone who exposes his animality, or someone who cultivates his naturalistic desires through the approval of society.

Sometimes I wonder who really are the mad people around here; for civilised people have a weird philosophy of living; in an ordinate subterranean dwelling where their actions have to reflect on the person and his ancestors and his future kin, where whatever they do has to be monitored by the keen eye of morality and justice, where everything is kept under an unnatural system of vagaries obfuscating and contradicting itself; how do we even make sense of our own anomalistic behaviors and thinking.

Maybe the Wachowski brothers were right, we are a virus, infesting like a sly, vile creature that pretends to be kind to everything.

Hey if 2012 was the end of the world, then so be it; we get to see what the Mayans predicted, and the best part of all is that they can’t jump around like crazed chimpanzees (in reference to the monkeys in 28 Days Later), point at us and shouting within their laughter: WE TOLD YOU SO, SUCKERS! WE FUCKING TOLD YOU SO, AND WHAT DID YOU DO?! YOU DENY IT LIKE THE PURE IDIOTS YOU ARE AND RANT ABOUT YOUR GODS, YOUR DARWIN, YOUR NIETZSCHE, YOUR WACHOWSKI AND YOUR WARS, BUT NOOOO, DON’T LISTEN TO US AND THE SCIENTISTS WHO CONFIRMED US, THIS IS WHY YOUR ARCHEOLOGISTS COULD NEVER UNDERSTAND OUR BLOODY TEMPLE! THIS IS WHY LOVECRAFT HAD TO WRITE ABOUT SOME MYTHICAL BEAST IN SOME BULLSHIT AREA YOU CAN’T EVEN BLOODY PRONOUNCE BECAUSE HE COULDN’T GET HIS ASS OUT OF HIS AUNTYS’ ATTIC TO WRITE A DECENT STORY THAT DIDN’T GIVE PEOPLE NIGHTMARES AND WEIRD, SADISTIC THINKING!

And we’d have to look at them with the blank faces and die, how sad. 

Hence: a singular strain of DNA

Ah, hope; the single quintessential epitome of the entire strength and weakness of all surviving humanity. Life gets duller and duller each day, good thing there’s you and our fun. On every scale, microscopic and anthropological, life is disgusting and meaningless and filthy.

So I make fun of it.

People are sick, they uphold the “disabled” as though the disabled have to be treated specially because of what they lack, are they not human, don’t they deserve the similar justifications we are entitled to?

So what is entirely wrong with making fun of a disabled person?

Not making fun of one would be a sheepish, sly excuse to exclude a disabled person from any humanity there is.

So what do you idiots think?

Whaddya know, it’s a tektratrideskaphobic.

Nietzsche.

Freud.

Lovecraft.

Poe.

Palahniuk.

Kant.

Shakespeare.

Paglia.

Rimbaud.

Wachowski.

Morrison.

Moore.

Barker.

Dai.

Bakunin.

Darwin.

Chomsky.

Piaget.

Abrams.

Maslow.

Marx.

Jung.

Cantor.

Turgenev.

King Solomon.

Duchamp.

Warhol.

De Sade.

Buddha.

Azzarello.

The Whole System Is Shit.

Bring the 1800’s back so we can all rediscover everything.

Maybe everything would make sense if we had schizophrenia.

There is no real world.

There is Nothing.

Nothing is Something.

Everything is a fucking gyp of dissolution.

Contradictive Meaninglessness.

What the FUCK is wrong; WHAT THE fuck IS RIGHT?

I don’t want to LIVE; I don’t want to DIE.

I want nothing.

Nothing is Something.

I don’t want Nothing.

I don’t want Something.

I don’t want Anything.

Anything could be Something.

Contradictions!

Lies!

Truth.

There is no Truth.

Truth is a Lie.

There is no Lie.

There is Nothing.

Nothing is Something.

Something is Nothing.

Everything is Something.

Nothing is Everything.

Everything is Nothing.

Nothing.

Something.

Everything.

Nothing.

Empty.

Full.

Dark Matter.

Everything has Matter.

Nothing has NO Matter.

Then surely, Nothing is Something DIFFERENT.

It’s STILL SOMETHING.

Subterfuge of Subterfuge.

What the FUCK is going on?

What the FUCK is NOT going on?

But Surety is Absolute.

There are NO Absolutes.

No Absolutions.

The Entirety of EVERYTHING is like a dog chasing its tail.

There is no Purpose.

There is no Meaning.

There are only Theorems.

Explanation is a fallacy; a vagary.

Which comes to the BIG ‘W’…

Why?

As much as I explain, I still shrug and walk away, hoping this mess would sort itself out.

But I have sorted it out.

Chaos in a system.

That Ying and Yang Bullshit.

Balance and Disorder.

The Chinese had a point, they just fucked it up.

The Russians had a point, they got fucked.

Hitler tried to prove a point, just forgot what it was along the way.

The Greeks made many points, they were forgotten along the way.

The Romans just had contradictive points.

Egyptians, however, got caught in that mess.

Aurelius had many attempts at making a point, ah well…

Aesop put points into creativity, people called them morals, joke.

Persepolis was a great comic, just fucking underrated.

GG Allin didn’t make any attempt to make a point, he was a point.

The Japanese are just mean. But they don’t mean it.

Philosophy is so nonsensical, that’s why I love it.

I don’t know Good nor Evil.

They are Nothing.

Here we go again…

See you soon weirdos. You weird, empty people with false ideologies to make life seem so “blissful”. Who bear moralities and values. Who conspire against the universe with babbles of power and wealth and justice. Stick to drinking your overpriced champagne, popping its cork like how you popped your brains. Somehow, it’s hard to and not to be sick at you. You’re human, I’m human, what’s the difference? Ah well, I think you’re weird.

You.

Yes, you, reading right now…

Turn around.

Now that you’ve turned back, I’m guessing you did turn around because you have nothing better to do.

You see, that’s how meaningless life is.

I personally feel…

The progression of science has always been the question of ethics, morality, religion, belief; all the condescending vagaries we have implemented for an empty purpose with no meaning whatsoever.

When the first transplant in the 1950’s was successfully performed, many condescending fucks across the globe, demised and cursed at this considerably celebrated milestone of medical science, instead of the triumph it was expected to harvest, it was said as a despicable act of blasphemy.

Now, to me, that is a fucking load of crap.

All these lifeless religious bastards, all so wise and revered, with their moustaches and round rimmed specs played bitch to science.

Now that is betrayal of the human intellect.

Because if a person cannot accept science as a study of theories and proof, and religion as a cultural theory and controlled moral teachings (mind you, this is my subjective opinion, so any of you out there who think/feel otherwise and/or pissed, and you want to do all you want to preach about how your personal concept of universal preferable behavior/perception, spare it, if you’re ever trying to impart, or enforce, or even just share anything at all with someone, just understand that people have opinions too, at least, that’s what I think), then that person is one selfish, ignorant cunt who deserves to have rusty nails embedded in his/her body then sewed into the stomach of a cow along with a dog, a snake and a monkey, then thrown into deep water, oh the roman beauty.

But hell, I was trying to research more studies on nanotechnology when I came across a list of ethics to be practiced when dealing with nanotech.

I mean, science should never be about ethics considering it is a study of the natural world and its progressing, modern counterparts, is it not?

And since almost every thing in the universe is considered part of the natural world, then ethics should not be in question or practiced.

We didn’t advance in medical science if we’d thought that cutting up a body and its muscles and tissues to remove cancer and tumours, or whichever anomaly we might have if we thought it was mean to a person if we were to cut them up a little.

We wouldn’t have understood the anatomy of anything if we didn’t cut them up either.

In fact, all along, I’d think science is a game of risks we have to be willing to take.

Where would we have been if not for anesthetics, if not for finding what would kill that viscous matter from eating at our lacerations.

Ethics are a deep, deep incision that slows science from moving along.

Ah well, if that’s how it’s going to be, might as well not care about it.

nonchalance

“Why, Mr. Anderson? Why do you do it? Why get up? Why keep fighting? Do you believe you're fighting for something? For more than your survival? Can you tell me what it is? Do you even know? Is it freedom? Or truth? Perhaps peace? Yes? No? Could it be for love? Illusions, Mr. Anderson. Vagaries of perception. The temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning or purpose. And all of them as artificial as the Matrix itself, although only a human mind could invent something as insipid as love. You must be able to see it, Mr. Anderson. You must know it by now. You can't win. It's pointless to keep fighting. Why, Mr. Anderson? Why? Why do you persist?”

“I wish you could see yourself Mr. Anderson... Blind messiah. You're a symbol for your kind, Mr. Anderson.”

“Throughout human history, we have been dependent on machines to survive. Fate, it seems, is not without a sense of irony.”\

“The Matrix is a system, Neo. That system is our enemy. But when you're inside, you look around, what do you see? Businessmen, teachers, lawyers, carpenters. The very minds of the people we are trying to save. But until we do, these people are still a part of that system and that makes them our enemy. You have to understand, most of these people are not ready to be unplugged. And many of them are so inured, so hopelessly dependent on the system, that they will fight to protect it.”

“I'd like to share a revelation that I've had during my time here. It came to me when I tried to classify your species and I realized that you're not actually mammals. Every mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with the surrounding environment but you humans do not. You move to an area and you multiply and multiply until every natural resource is consumed and the only way you can survive is to spread to another area. There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern. Do you know what it is? A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet. You're a plague and we are the cure. “

I guess we have degenerated into a generation of quotes and empty collective ideologies which we force ourselves to die for.

So tell me, or your subconscious selves what you actually have to die for, which is the quantum equation to nothingness itself so well, let’s all die for nothing.

Now that’s ripping off and having a trilogy.

She’s a bitch, but she’s my bitch.

You know, you’re probably the only person I can stand talking about one thing a quarter-way through, shuffle between other quarterly discussed subjects and resume talking about them in the same sober tones of Darwin and Wallace.

And all the multivariate topics that spew off, from Macbeth to rudimentary theorems in religion, to bitching about people (oops), they’re all fun.

Cause you know, I love it when you alternate your accent, and jostle through your moods, I love it when you’re being bitchy to me because it irritates me so much I just laugh it off, I hate it when I have to be sweet to you because it’s no fun seeing you mad and having your eyes widen, I love it when you talk me down cause it’s so kickass to have a fierce girlfriend, and you, whenever you squeal your funny nonsense, I love the way you react to your idiocy.

Also love it when we spar, cause I get to chicken out!

And can you not dance in front of me just to tell me I look like Frankenstein trying a small sized condom out.

Now onto the serious stuff.

It’s not a long post, but to summerise it up:

I love your daily complaints, your random ranting, scrabble with you, and you, there’s more, but I’d like to show you than tell you on a anonymous blog.

Stumble

I run amok, panicked, eyes shooting here and there trying my best to focus, but it all fails. I’m left with nothing but desperation, like an aimless gust of wind, collecting everything but keeping nothing.

And I scream: where is god?!

Is he a subjective-relative algorithm that can be compressed into a finite explanation such as the Christian Trinity, the anatomy of atoms. The will of god is then also the reason of the mysterious, unexplainable and incomprehensible; are these then considered divine and credited to this unknown celestial we, since our directive primitive civilisations, come to explain as god.

A religious man can tell you a million and one things and relate them to god, what he can also tell you is the supportive sequential events and objects involved and its depictive meanings which is entirely based on his religious point of view, but what he cannot tell you is why, he cannot explain. He can go on and on on how his god died for him on the cross, but what he does not admit is the fact that he had said his god has died. Then comes the reason of “he rose again on the third day of his death”, I’d go: “sure, I’d give you that, but what about the other 3 days he was dead?”

Risen, but never to be seen again for many distant centuries.

So about the 3 days, what was the world then; if this god had created and arranged everything then he’d be the main source of power, and if he died, then what became of the rest of the expanding, infinite, observable universe we long to venture and much as we have for the sea.

But I don’t care about god. Don’t care about the afterlife, don’t care about death much, not so much about life too, though it is very nice to create a majestic monument out of the most very simple things.

If you broke everything down and carefully put it under the microscope, then we’d just see a bunch of atoms or fathoms that trace back to its historical meaninglessness.

So there isn’t much to live for, really. So I’ll keep learning until I really sort my mess out.

Plagarising Good Will Hunting

Will: [about Skylar] Don't worry about me, I know what I'm doin'. Yeah, but this girl is like, you know, beautiful. She's smart. She's funny. She's different from most of the girls I've been with.

 

Sean: So, call her up, Romeo.

 

Will: Why? So I can realize she's not that smart, that she's fuckin' boring? Y'know? I mean...this girl is like fuckin' perfect right now, I don't wanna ruin that.

 

Sean: Maybe you're perfect right now. Maybe you don't wanna ruin that. I think that's a super philosophy, Will, that way you can go through your entire life without ever having to really know anybody...My wife used to fart when she was nervous. She had all sorts of wonderful idiosyncrasies. You know what? She used to fart in her sleep. [they laugh] Sorry I shared that with you. One night it was so loud it woke the dog up. She woke up and gone like "oh was that you?" I'd say yeah...I didn't have the heart to tell her...Oh God...

 

Will: She woke herself up?

 

Sean: Yes!.... Oh Christ....aahhh, but, Will, she's been dead two years and that's the shit I remember. Wonderful stuff, you know, little things like that. Ah, but, those are the things I miss the most. The little idiosyncrasies that only I knew about. That's what made her my wife. Oh and she had the goods on me, too, she knew all my little peccadillos. People call these things imperfections, but they're not, aw that's the good stuff. And then we get to choose who we let into our weird little worlds. You're not perfect, sport. And let me save you the suspense. This girl you met, she isn't perfect either. But the question is: whether or not you're perfect for each other. That's the whole deal. That's what intimacy is all about. Now you can know everything in the world, sport, but the only way you're findin' out that one is by givin' it a shot. You certainly won't learn from an old fucker like me. Even if I did know, I wouldn't tell a pissant like you.

 

Will: Why not? You told me every other fuckin' thing. Jesus Christ. Fuckin' talk more than any shrink I ever seen in my life.

 

Sean: I teach this shit, I didn't say I know how to do it.

 

Will: Yeah...You ever think about gettin' remarried?

 

Sean: My wife's dead.

 

Will: Hence the word: remarried.

 

Sean: She's dead.

 

Will: Yeah...Well, I think that's a super philosophy, Sean. I mean that way you could actually go through the rest of your life without ever really knowing anybody.

 

Sean: Time's up.

nihil.

I guess that the knowledge of death is a motivational notion of how we choose to lead our lives, and, what we make of it is an embrace towards our perceptual perfections;

To some, financial domination, or physical succession, others choose to differ in an artistic sense; some also financially, others aesthetically, and some, even anomalously.

Now, what would I want in life?

To be honest, I don’t know, it changes for me time to time, like seasons, some days I just want to have the biggest brains in the world, other days, I just want to dive into a pool of cash and spend it like there never is a tomorrow, some days I look back and hope to change my mistakes in some sort of space-time continuum but then again, I’m happy with all the mistakes I’ve made cause I guess it made me who I am, I’m not proud to admit some of it, but in general, I’m pretty pleased with the person I am today: a boy who knows too much, but does too little.

But then again, that all matters to me, so, pretty much, I’d spare you from an autobiography.

But all I really like to do is have a cigarette and read a comic, or a book by Nietzsche, listen to some metal, or grind or some Wagner, watch slasher movies or observe Dada artwork.

I’d like to smoke that cigarette and know it’s going to end, and know that a cigarette can express the entirety of life itself; that everything that used to matter burns up in smoke, and what’s left is a shriveled, dirty, smelly butt that nobody wants.

So what is there to live for?

The afterlife?

I guess I can’t really put my finger down on that one, but I have seen some bizarre shit in my life, just maybe, not enough for my faith to overcome reason.

You’ve heard the story of Christ, but have you heard about Appolonius of Tyana?

He’s a Greek Neopythagorean philosopher who led a life suggestively, contemporary to Christ, except for the crucifixion and he, pretty much was slightly older.

Yes, I do accept the fact that Jesus or Nazareth did exist, but I am skeptical about the way his life went, after all, he was documented at a time where many many things have not been explained.

Our friend Appolonius was pretty much like the other guys who all were documented to have led a life contemporary to Jesus.

So here’s where I steer off and go on to “renditions” of modern-day examples of Jesus:

Jim Jones; guy made 400 people commit suicide at the same time, that’s a miracle, using context from the bible in his early “regiment”

Adolf Hitler: also a Roman Catholic who spread so much fascism and hate that still burns today that was influential from the bible; read Mein Kampf books one and two.

Charles Manson: he was a hippie, he was a Nazi, he was a mad man.

You see, these guys weren’t devil worshippers, they’re just deranged fucks who used religion and context to manipulate people into what we now accept as “evil”.

How I guess religion came into context was mainly when people wanted to control other people with the intent of power; thus sparking megalomaniacal drives for people to submit to their power, creating religion as first base mind control:

No stealing, no killing, no touching another man’s wife, no lying, no blah blah blah; all this is what we do not want another person doing to us, thus we call that evil, so good is the opposing factor.

Now we do what makes us happy, but some things we do does not make another happy, so they choose to retaliate, and I feel I want to go off track here because the subject is getting too damn fucking long fucking winded for me to continue.

So to conclude this post to cover up for the weeks I haven’t been updating: we all fucking die, get over it, do what the fuck you want, just don’t fucking bother me and I won’t fucking sew your ass to your face, motherfuckers.

And to that mental woman I’m dating right now: I would like to say that it’s fun having a facial with you (yes, people, I actually go for facials.) and please don’t make fun of me when  we’re having our mani-pedi (yes, manicures and pedicures too, you know what’s worse, having your psychotic girlfriend bring home your baby pillow, because she misses you and you have nothing to miss her by, I know that sounds awfully sickening, but I am a sickening guy, but some girls find that attractive, take Jane for example)

And to those who always ask why I fling and change my girlfriends so much, well, my answer to that: I don’t fucking know, and stop paying attention to my life, but don’t leave me alone, I’ll miss all of you, cause I’m secretly happy when people talk about me… Jane’s going to kill me now, and so will all of you, well, I’m a walking bullseye and you just want to shoot me in the face with a .44 magnum don’t ya?

Cause the only problem in life is that everyone, well, almost, take life too fucking seriously!

Take for example:

“I lost my phone, I feel so naked”

Well good riddance, you never needed one anyway.

What I’m really trying to say is, we’ve been watching all these bloody movies and dramas, we feel as if we, as people, have to compensate for it by taking measures just to make sure we keep up with it, to the point of desensitization, and soon, there will come a point we’ll be walking around complaining to the guy who’s doing an air doggy (the act of gesturing a doggy-style sex motion to an open space) that we’re trying to breathe and he’s fucking the air up for us.

Go to hell I hate you people!

Oooooo-kaaaaaaay… come back, come back, I was just kidding, I don’t hate you, you’re going to die anyway, so what’s there to hate?

Too much time on my hands

Hypnotic Neurotic

I’m exploring ways, methods which have been hypothesised and theorised, which have or have not been experimented or implemented, things that have not been initiated or indoctrinated.

So tick tock says grandfather time and I’ll explain them to you…

I drew plans for a Sensory Deprivation Tank, or an Isolation Tank, or a Floatation Tank; whatever you’d like to call it, I call it the Sensory Deprivation Tank. I also drew up on my board on sleep deprivation.

You see, I have a plan, a plan folks, something that might screw up.

I’ve been blogging too much about reality and metaphysics and how we perceive things differently, I will take the undeserved right to prove it to you that we all have a cloistered pseudo-reality which we all agree on, but existence itself is a whole continuum of realities, a whole hierarchy of infinites and “inabsolutes” and that we all have our own plains of existence and that even in your mind, you can have potentially the most wanderlust of which, the mind can have the capability to be explored.

You see, when I used to lock myself in my room for weeks last year, I did my best not to sleep, I explored sleep deprivation and because of that, I was an insomniac. I would literally zone-out while in my current state of conscience and just dream when I’m walking around, everything became so deviant; I saw the world in a requiem without the use of mind-alternating substances.

Everything masculine and feminine, everything indifferent and similar, everything blended into a one pure nothingness, it was then when I knew what I saw, with uncertainty and skepticism, I approached what I mentally conceived as god: everything that is and isn’t.

Now with the tank; the name of it already suggests that you deprive your senses, but deprive your senses for what?

To explore the unexplored regions of your mind; you see when you eliminate all sense of touch, smell, taste, sight and hearing, you harness more energy to expand and view your mind as though it were another world altogether, then in Freudian terminology, you find all your repressed thoughts, everything you know and unconsciously know, becomes clearer to you.

With the words of Blaise Pascal, “I think therefore I am”; I’d say, “I thought therefore I’m not.”

Brian BollandThe Jesus.

Cardiovascular Vaseline

Life is a great big ridiculous joke and death is the punch line.

I drew plans up for a sensory deprivation tank, wheeheehee, where am I going to find the money to fund that?

I wrote my own theory to the physical stumper of Maxwell’s Little Demon: His hypothetical “creature” acting as a gatekeeper that sorts out different gas particles can be a programmed filter, like the general idea of a coin changing machine, but I don’t want to go into detail here.

I’m slowly abandoning my ambition to work in an Intelligence Agency and may decide to take philosophy and physics as my majors in college. I may even want to go back to college for a second PhD, but I’ll just see where I end up after A levels first.

I have observed the political world and found that all hope for socialism, even with the attempts of new American President Barack Obama, is still lost and has become a wandering entity in my aspirations and a lost concept in the book of politics, so screw liberalism.

For the fun of it, I want to have a a parody campaign that goes against the vegans for the cruelty to vegetables.

I want to publish all my current drafts and manuscripts and hope that people would read them and I can get paid for being Marc Ashley, get marketed as a personality and change millions of worthless lives, have haters stalking me while I walk my dog and have people lined up for my autographs and have me reject them and in turn, force them to form a separatist version of the former group and try to assassinate me instead.

I do hope that people understand that sometimes I feel my personal life (except for certain events and on-goings) is too boring and meaningless to be blogged about, like I’ve once typed: So much for the gory details of my adolescence.

I have abandoned the idea of reality altogether and have tried to even my perceptions in my own mindset.

I want to make all the money in the world and burn it in front of everyone! Quoting Heath Ledger’s Joker in Dark Knight: “it’s not about money, it’s about sending out the message: everything burns”

Thus I conclude: Everything we have now must be destroyed, then we’d know how much of the world is meant to be forgotten, out of this destruction, we have to find a means to create a subjective world that fits our ideals and with the knowledge we’ve thus gathered, we might be able not to fuck up this time round; quoting Palahniuk: “here we are the pilgrims, the crackpots of our time trying to establish our own alternate reality… to create a world out of rocks and chaos…”

Diabolical Dionysian Dogmatic Diorama

I’ve learnt to die, thus, all my remaining living, I’ll try make it subjectively meaningful.

I have a taste for aesthetic art, I wish I could draw, then maybe I could make something out of my mind.

I want to visit every corner of this planet just so I could die with at least a smile on my god damned face.

I want to stand on the edge of humanity and laugh at their pitiful woes. Then have them laugh at mine. i started a joke…

I want to lie on the sidewalk with just my jeans, jacket, boots and cap on, reeking of alcohol and marijuana with “let’s bring the 80’s back again, then kill ourselves” painted across my chest. I want to do this in every country I go to.

I want to wear my miseries like a smile across my face and tell everyone that they’re too serious about making money and having children.

I want to wave my middle finger to the world and see who wants to join me in insanity.

I want to get caught for doing inhumane scientific experiments which might eventually do the world some use and get institutionalised for it.

I want to get strapped in a straightjacket and urinate on all governmental propaganda while screaming “I just farted!”

I want the words “Who cares anyway? All you had worked for in life was for this one moment; at least if you didn’t have a good life, have a good death. Marc died in vein of GG Allin, and others like him.” written on my tombstone.

Anti Life Theory

First up, you have to know that the following is meant for parody purposes only, in fact, if you’re going to be a lifeless cock-sniffer who ideally goes about saying shit about people and can’t take a joke, stop here and go surf internet porn.

The ninth of August sparked many questions to Singaporeans as to when the whole routine of fireworks, jet planes, paratroopers and lame dance antics would stop and when a real parade would take place where everyone is free to view live just like the Chingay festival, hey wait, don’t we have to pay to view that live too?

It also made the Singapore government wonder with the crowd flow, there should be human ERP gantries set up to tax pedestrians coming in and out of the CDB and Town areas. Calling it HERPies. *edited 14/8/09*

And finally, Singapore hopes for a non-Chinese Prime Minister, and a non-Malay Singapore idol in the coming years.

So happy irrational day folks, I think I’ll be put on trial next week for defaming the nation, but, really, I don’t mean it, well I’m dead.

Cranium Compressor

I guess I go around like I’ve got something to prove, but I really don’t know what I have to prove.

It’s either that or I just can’t find any meaning in life.

It’s not that I feel emotional or anything, I just look at it like that, I’m sick of people telling me there’s a heaven to go to when I die, or that we’ll turn into phantoms, I’m sick of it, because the way I see it, it’s their pitiful excuse for their sorry little meaningless lives.

My excuse for my own sorry meaningless life?

Don’t have one, don’t really care. I’ve started dying the day I was born, just like you, I’m trying to find my own reason to life, just like you, you and I are worthless, pathetic people with nothing special to offer the world but decomposition.

Bloody BLOGaboutIT!

If you think laws in Singapore are tough, look at China, where they administer the death sentence to even non-violent crimes such as fraud and embezzlement, it is recently publicized that the execution rate in China will be reduced and thereon suspended. The number of executions administered in China last year, in 2008, reported by the Amnesty International, totaled up to an approximate 1,718, which is 72% of the international executions administered last year. May I suggest that since this has occurred, I urge other countries to keep the international quota equal as it is as we do not need too many people in this dirtball of meaningless random events.

It looks like organic farming is taking the rap for its’ false prophecies when research has proven there are no ‘benefits’ as claimed by the tree-hugging community. Though it is beneficial for the environment, organic food is not beneficial to us. So much for saving the environment, you’re not even saving your wallet.

It looks like pregnant women are 4 times more likely to catch the swine flu, thus giving them the priority to access vaccination. So stop having babies, it reduces your chances of catching pig flu and it aids the environment; less people=a better environment.

The Formula ONE have been making headlines these few weeks with the richer crowd wanting to create their own league, Massa recovering from his eye injury, BMW quitting after this season ends after Honda’s withdrawal in December, and the legendary Michael Schumacher to return to the race tracks in replace of Massa. Well, you win some, you lose some.

 

Abortion: Murder or Birth Control?

By Marc Ashley Alexander

I, being me, will discuss topics from a cynical point of view of which I have no stands, no basis, and just pure on-the-spot thinking. I don’t see right and wrong, good or evil, values and meaninglessness; I see nothing.

So in this topic, I’ll discuss from where I stand and where I don’t the act of abortion.

Some view it as murder, others, an escape, to some, it even means to save money in the long run, so what’s the beef on morals and objectivity, liberalism and divinity?

From a religious point of view, abortion is considered murder; the act of stealing, or more considerably taking another life.

From a liberal stance, an abortion may mean murder or it may mean another method of birth control.

The religious adopt the more abstained lifestyle, to please their means of divinity, so tendencies like premarital sexual activities, and obviously conceiving a child before a marriage is consummated is sinful to the religious community. Though the religious do deserve the respect they command, that does not mean that that respect cannot be opposed.

For the liberals, they choose to adopt their own lifestyle, to suit their needs and beliefs in which they hold very firmly. So certain liberals may tend to differ from other liberals, but I’m not here to discuss the separatism in liberalism, nor am I here to give a speech on the various religions.

From the way I see it, an abortion is a subjective option to many reasons; imagine being 14 in a low-income family and having to raise an ‘unwanted’ child, the first instance here is, “where would the pride go to?”, further along, financial issues will appear and soon, how is the 14-year-old going to attend school while mothering a child?

You see, it’s not always the life that is soon-to-be lost that matters here, the adjacent people suffer as well, so if one were to say, “abortion is murder, you must not assess it no matter what your situation,” it would be not only selfless of that individual, it would also be selfish, for that individual has no proper understanding and estimation of how such a situation would eventually end, for that individual may not have experienced a similar situation.

If the abortion of a foetus is considered the murder of life then the simple act of bodily expulsions such as mucus and saliva, urine and feces is therefore considered murder, for scientifically any living organism is then from the world’s largest creature to a microscopic cell, for it functions on its own accord, similarly, the human body functions on the interactivity of our cellular particles, of which, we won’t be considered life if they were to not function, thus making the average sperm an already living organism, therefore any male who has had an orgasm is therefore a mass murderer, any woman who has gone through her menstrual period is a serial killer, and a child who falls and bleeds is also a killer for they do discharge bodily cells which function in the body, which act in its own accord directed by it nucleus, which then allows it to be called life and thus from discharging these particles into an environment in which it is not familiar with or programmed to function in, it will die and decompose, just like a person being thrown into the ocean with no swimming knowledge, or no air supply, it will die, and decompose.

If abortion is then considered murder, then on what grounds is it not?

This is the part where subjectivity comes into the game. If the person is medically unwell or considerably unfit to look after the child after or before it is born then an abortion might be a considerable option.

But, there is also the question of ‘if there is no reason for an abortion, why make it a considerable move?’

This is my answer and my conclusion: Because everyone can do whatever they want to do with their lives, if conceiving a child is a mistake, then deal with your own mistakes, if it’s a blessing to you, then so be it, there’s no need to tell people what to do with their lives, so keep your imperialistic dogma to yourselves and worry about your own lives.

Continuum Hypothesis

There is a lot going on in this volatile tissue of a brain, each instantaneous moment, my hypothalamus is stretched to microscopic exertion, so much so, my theorems tend to wander around like little children lost in the wilderness, unknowing to their extensive surrounds foraged with natural predators and epic dangers which merely is used as a tool by the entertainment industry.

My local imagination and theoretical analysis is as wildean comparing to one on narcotics, but my brain is scattered but refuses to escape to the outer regions of my central nervous system to my hands and to my vocal box, they stay locked in and scattered like stars across the galactical scape. It is as if they are unwilling to be shared unless to those who deserve it, which gets me thinking if I deserve my knowledge, understanding and intellect.

I can’t understand much but I can discuss nanotechnology and the matrixes of genome experimentation.

I guess I’m still working on it, I’m still 17, so I guess I have ample time to write as many books before I die.

Sociopathic Delirium.

Here is you.

And here is the world.

In between is an opinionated vortex.

And in between the opinionated vortex and you and the world, are other people, the perceived and conceived realities and just a lot of bull we mish and mash in.

So how do we get away from all of it; how do we dislocate our worthless selves from the nonsense we’re told to see and made to believe?

I’m doing this post for Kristal in Australia, we still need that breakfast, buddy, perhaps over Skype ;P

She probed me with this: How do you detach yourself from everything?

Well for one, you know my answer to life, darling.

Another way is to think it differently.

Most people consider meditation, but I can’t find the patience to meditate.

The thing is Kristal, detaching yourself from everything is simple, I guess it’s simple if you had my mind, desensitized, I guess that’s what it’s bleached with, I don’t fucking know what I’m talking about now, can I take medical leave? It’s nearly 4 in the morning, cigarettes aren’t doing much and all the things in my mind are colliding into nothingness.

Hey, I guess that’s pretty much it, displacement, let everything collide and blend into one plain unnamed emotion I’d like to call nothingness, Innominandum.

Now onto my bantering; in today’s headline, I found a very idiosyncratic game to play while you’re having sex; ask ridiculous shit that might just turn your partner off and get them to snap while they work towards their orgasm: ask them to sing a random verse of a random song they like, ask them serious questions that might appear on a term paper (eg What’s the periodic symbol for sodium?).

You could even do an entire game where it’s split into categories and shit.

So listen to my rules:

1. this has to be done in the middle-ending of the sex where orgasm is drawing nigh.

2. progress slowly from each question.

3. for each question, go down had and fast on your partner as they think of the answer.

4. the objective of the game is to pointlessly annoy and make your partner look as stupid as possible just so you can have something to talk over during sofa-talk, you know, that little pointless discussion randomizing from topic to topic.

5. so do it or not, fuck or be fucked.

fucken blogaboutit!

Usually I wouldn’t care and won’t be bitchy about it and all, in fact, I would gladly entertain and even discuss it more with you and all, considering you like it pretty much 20% or so like I do.

But the moment you used ‘fuckit’ with no space in between, I feel betrayed man. Like, who the fuck do you think you are to fucking act all friendly and all and just use the god damned word without fucking telling me, who the fuck do you think you are that by talking similarly to how I usually do make it alright for you to use a word I’ve been known by most of the people who’ve known me a long time associate me with.

You were the one who was fucking asking me tips on how to ask a girl out, and treated me and Yunwei out to lunch and all just so we can help you pick a gift for a girl who won’t give two flying fucks about you even if you did your best and you act all fucking “Oh, I’m not in the mood for it”.

You know, I don’t fucking care if you’re in the mood for it, you talk freely? Well I fucking talk freely too.

You fucking wrote a long, sappy, cheesy, melodramatic love letter to Yunwei right after I fucking broke up with her, how much more of a dick do you have to be even after she fucking ignored the shit out of you.

And the only reason she started talking to you was because I told her to fucking relax about it.

You caught me at the wrong time, boy, wrong time… I’m already pissed with personal issues, and I have to look at this, so you’re getting all my heat.

I’m not going to be sorry or anything, because, you’ve been bloody annoying anyway, no wonder you’ve never gotten a girlfriend. Even people whose chairs have more personality than them have bloody girlfriends, heck, even a blind man can fly the plane better than you even if he’s rectally taken cocaine.

Don’t get me wrong, but I’m only bitching about it because I feel like there’re stuff that needs to be taken care of, unfortunately, you kinda got me snapped when you got a little too cocky.

Takes two to clap, one to snap; rip this off too, cocksucker, pathetic cunt you are.

And I’m not even angry yet, just temperamental; early stage of my anger where I get all whiny and bitchy about it, I seriously don’t know how the fuck it got me to blog about it, but a chat earlier on, with 2 friends of mine, and this joke about someone, got me to ‘fucken' blog about it!’

Infantile Volatility

Well, Best friend’s birthday, reunion with many long lost friends and my meeting with John Lennon, yes, THE John Lennon’s glasses, and Ozzy Osborne's too, which my uncle will be giving to me, whee hee hee…

So I’ve got nothing much to talk about now, so just pictures of nonsense.

 

                                        Here is my dog’s stitches, aww, oww, yeah yeah yeah Cigarette’s galore. Thanks for fucking me over Glen. Ozyy’s glasses John Lennon’s

Ok, Bye!   

Skeptic Eclectic Hectic Reject-it

People are a bunch of useless, mindless, soulless, lifeless, pathetic, boring, uninteresting and dumb walking thoughtless mammals, who not only destroy things, but themselves along as well.

You might ask when the idiocy will stop, I ask why did it begin.

All I see now is just a walking pile of inanimate beings lost to some deluded conformity to some scamming dogtrotting absolutism that has bought over these people to just follow with no sense of creativity. Even their fucking cell phones have more function than them.

Think about it: at least a cell phone can be not only used as a device of communication, but also as an irritant for fools whom like myself, to blast music to annoy the masses, and could be used as a vibrator, a camera, and whatever they could be used for these days; all people do is die.

I watch the World Wrestling Entertainment every week to watch grown men in swimming trunks bash each others’ brains out and touch each other in front of thousands for a piece of leather and gold around their waists, and to think you can get a custom made watch that can stretch as a belt around your waist for much less effort.

And what do they do with it? – Prance around like a fucking circus clown in front of the same people who stuff fucking food and beer into themselves and carry useless signs around to support these hulk-like men who don’t even appreciate their effort and swing it around as they climb fucking poles they call turnbuckles in some austere-secreted triumph and yap about winning so many times, being a veteran in the business and blah blah blah and that’s basically it, that’s entertainment.

“I’ve won the title blah blah blah number of times…”

You just forgot to mention the amount of times you lost it as well you rich fucking twat.

But I still enjoy and like the many others, react wildly to the action. So I’m in question here as well.

I speak for and against the people with the full knowledge (but constant rejection) that I am part of the people myself, I know.

Only a handful amount of people go around doing whatever they want, other people just follow and follow.

I drink beer, and like many people, I drink a lot of it, and I’m very sure that a lot of people like me, drink it all the time and fucking hate it, but still drink it anyway.

I mean, why waste all that money for a drink I don’t like anyway?

Because for some weird fact, beer is addictive.

“I will never drink again, ever!”

“I want to drink badly!”

Subliminally, those two statements are vaguely similar, because you only say the former when you have too much, and say the latter when you don’t have any.

This is not for parody or comical purpose, but subliminally, paradoxically (and contrary to my mentality), it is.

I can think of so much nonsense all the time, I can write a book about it (that’s how most books are written anyway), then think more nonsense to write a book about thinking about nonsense, then think of more nonsense to think about writing about nonsense from all the nonsense I had already thought about to writing more books that adds up to me writing the bible, which is already full of nonsense.

If you are a person who believes in religion and spirituality, you must then believe in nonsense. But if you’re a person who thinks in the ways of all scientific logic and fact and evidence and all that is intellectual and academically accepted, you are a person of entire nonsense… what nonsense.

So all in all, people are nonsensical. Animals are not nonsensical, because they don’t say anything, unless it’s a fucking parrot which fucking nonsensically imitates what people say to fucking amuse and irritate them.

Fucking 5 a.m in the bloody morning and a parrot is going “sqawk sqawk! HALLO HALLO HALLO HALLO HALLO HALLO!”

Well hell-fucking-oh! Now let me fucking sleep!

I fucking hate it when it’s a fucking lazy Sunday afternoon and my parents bang on the door like there’s a fire going on, only to learn when I open the door that they want to tell me I’m missing the best part of the day. Well I’ll really want (if I muster the courage, or get really really drunk) to go bang on their door at 3 a.m in the bloody morning and say to them when they get up, “Now you’re missing the best part of my day!”

I come from a Catholic family that can’t give a shit about going to church, so all we’re stuck with is licking cats and have my dad shout over my metal that the power of Christ fucking compels me, and it makes me wonder why, why can’t we just fucking go to church, sing an unemotional hallelujah, listen to some speech about how Christ was riding his donkey (sounds dirty…), and flirt with Eurasian girls while trying to convince them that losing their virginity in church is not really losing it at all.

Ok, so I’m starting to write a whole script for a stand-up I will never get to do; jumping from topic to topic, thinking that some of the stuff I write here is awful fucking funny and I’m admiring my not-so-good looks in the mirror in front of me wondering how Jesus is riding the donkey.

“You all have been a great audience, thank you and god bless America! And if god doesn’t exist then bless yourselves! Good night!”

Static Paralysis

I love museums.

Went to both National and Art museums just now for some free entry night thingy or something like that, watched an old movie in the open air under the banyan tree, rummaged through the flea market, generally lots of very cool shit.

Been working at that jam studio for some time, polishing instruments (even when the boss says I don’t need to), playing instruments (generally playing stuff from the 80’s and early 90’s, hmm, why? (; heh), seeing friends old and new, cracking too many nonsensical jokes, having a load of awkward moments in the ‘corner’, being fucking witty and dumb, and of course, who could forget earning my keep at the end of the day.

But all in all life is life and life ends.

Wrote a song in my head on the way back home in tune of “All I Want is You” by Barry Louis Polisar.

If I was an idiot would you still want me/ Even if my IQ level dropped to 173/ And if I was an emperor would you bow to me/ Even if I wanted to alternate reality…

All I am is that, would you be my bride/ regret your life with me and die by my side/ All I am is that, would you please kill me/ Hold me in your arms and throw me in the sea…

If you really think/ then I’d really blog/ And if you were to sink/ then I’d smoke a fog

After this point, I’m starting to wonder, what the fuck was I smoking…

Regicidal Maniac

Many of you aren’t accustomed to helplessness and insanity, but here I am turning the world psychotic, and I’m loving each minute of it, if I really am.

I am nihilistic; I believe and believe in nothing. So I have approached with much appropriate and inappropriate skepticism and doubt and hygienic sarcasm.

I’ve been ticking off and tocking off as a literary terrorist, more presumably as an anarchical writer but in whichever address you may address me with, I write about liberalism and nonsense with this mind as labyrinth as mine.

I don’t think there’re absolutes but from what I’ve seen in life, there is no master plan to it, no divine order, nothing, just a chaotic wad of dirt.

We did such a great job alternating and evolving and adapting our environment towards our needs and wants that we’re all suffering for it behind a work desk, an office cubicle, a prison cell, an asylum; in a suit or a straightjacket, we’re suffering one way or another.

Work stress and tension creates mass murderers, insufficient exposure to the modern world creates psychotic bastards, so it’s all the same.

I see people all day and all I see is a bunch of sheep wandering aimlessly for the same old bullshit: love, money, material possession, intrinsic value, some sort of meaning to this screwed up porno-verse of insane bastards.

Is that all that matters?

Is utilising election and dictation and the amount of freedoms we can have (which we actually do have but oh, we created laws and morality to imprison ourselves) by a single mortal prophet, the superhero, the outspoken overachiever who wants to lead people to a better tomorrow as our shepherd really what we need?

How many more world leaders and world fuck ups must we go through before we actually realise we have to start living for ourselves?

So many questions, so much bullshit.

So much of a blog to share the gory details of my adolescence.

Instructions to make TNT (trinitrotoluene):

A beaker of 76% sulphuric acid, 23% nitric acid and 1% water.

A beaker of 57% nitric acid, 43% sulphuric acid.

In percentages of weight, not volume. Remember, it's easier to make a big explosion than a smaller, more controlled one.

10 grams of the first beaker are poured into another empty beaker and put in an ice bath, making beaker A.

Add 10 grams of toluene and stir for 8 minutes; clockwise for 40 counts, counterclockwise for 40 and repeat.

Remove beaker from ice bath and heat till 50 degrees celsius; solution is constantly stirred while being heated.

From the first beaker, add an additional 50 grams and allow the temperature to rise another 5 degrees. Keep constant for 10 minutes and an oily liquid forms on the surface.

Return this acid solution to return to the ice bath, cooling down to 45 degrees celsius, the oily surface will sink to the base, when this happens remove the remaining liquid with a syringe only, no other way.

Now, another 50 grams from the first beaker is added to the oily solution as the temperature is slowly raised to 83 degrees, after reaching this temperature, maintain for a full half hour.
Allow this solution to cool to 60 degrees after this period, maintain this temperature for another half hour removing the acid solution, once again leaving the oily substance behind.

30 grams of sulphuric are added as the oily substance is gently heated to 80 degrees celsius.

Once temperature has been reached and maintained, add in the acid from the second beaker. Slowly raise the temperature from 80 to 104 and keep constant for 3 hours.

After this time, lower temperature to 100 and keep constant for half an hour.

Remove oil from acid and wash with boiling water.
As you wash and stir, the solution will solidify.

Once solidification has commenced, generously add in cold water to turn it into pellets, this must be then dried.

Once you've got the dried pellets, this is the last and most important part: add them into an empty, dry pan, heat over stove for an hour, over this period, pellets must be observed for any sublimation and liquidation, it must then be drained and the remainder of solid is dried and put into containers for combustion.

Household subsitutes:
Sulphuric acid- battery acid
Nitric acid- saltpeter

Sonic

I watched Transformers 2 yesterday.

To those who said the storyline isn’t as good, go fuck yourselves.

The storyline is so much more saucier than the first, so much more so fucking much more.

Sure, implying so many old school dramatics into the movie, but it worked for me, I guess people forgot the gap in between where the bots were suddenly aplenty. Think about it, the whole movie has one thing in common with current events, terrorism and government cover ups. Like, all the terrorist attacks, sure the first movie didn’t collide, but sooner or later, I caught up and it was trying to say that all the terrorist attacks that happened so far were actually robot attacks from outer space. The president mentioned in the movie was in fact Barack Obama, which I thought was quite clever. Like it all came to me when they mentioned 9/11, the first movie came out in 2007, where they had the battle in LA, this was covered up as a terrorist attack just like 9/11. Then the opening scene of the new movie was also covered up as a terrorist attack, now this is where things get interesting, when Sam was in his first astronomy class his mental breakdown made him read the entire astronomy book in a few seconds and shouting out that Einstein is wrong, then went on to correct the entire relativity equation, which would mean it shouldn’t be E=mc2, then it hit me, Einstein wasn’t right either.

His whole idea of relativity had to do with quantum physics which has math which is out of this world, it basically said that everything is mathematically, quantumly related. But if so, the observer would be able to hypothesize the universe, making it all to simple though complicated. And if the observer were to hypothesize the universe, then there would be no god, but there would be no evolution either, then we can actually create whatever, whenever.

Sure, I lost all of you already, but back to the movie; I felt, in fact, it had too much action in it, which made it quite a bummer, I loved it really, but the action was a bit too draggy, making it seem that Michael Bay tried a little too hard this time, and the last part of the action sequence, where if I’m not wrong was megatron’s head being smashed, kinda reminded me of the old King Kong from the 1930’s.

All in all, a better than average movie with a pleasurable script and an entertaining cast.

Now, I’ve been listening to the song Forever Young a lot, and I say, it’s really gotten to me, it has made me realise that I don’t want to grow older.

That line, ‘Let us die young or let us live forever’, reminded me a lot about me; I tell people, no matter how old I am, never call me a man, it sounds disgusting and human, I’m not saying this like a girl who wants to keep her good looks and all, but in the essence of keeping my youth. How I never fail to impress people with my ‘wit’ because I’m damn bloody young and all and I realised, I like being young and smart, I don’t want to care, but I just do.

Like one day, I’m going to turn 21 and I’m going to be considered an adult, I have to know what I’m doing to suit the needs of society and all and all I can think of is, I just want to get stoned all day and read comic books.

I don’t want to start a family and have a job and be all responsible and all. I mean, it would be nice, but think of all that liberty I’ll be sacrificing, all the wasted years.

So let me die young or let me live forever.

Stem cell research had better find a way.

I’m a little embarrassed to post this, but who gives a damn.

fuckit™

Rosenrot

So there I was walking and BAM I fainted, next thing I know, my temperature getting taken, and it read 42.3, “christ,” I thought, I’m getting that pig flu. After I happily told people not to worry about it, I’m getting it, now this is interesting…

But no… I didn’t get it, days of high fever and all I got diagnosed with was dehydration, well who cares.

They tried about 12 times to take my blood sample because my blood just won’t flow, won’t flow at all.

Then came the 0.2% sodium chloride, 2 pints of it dripped into my system to hydrate me; at the end of the second, my blood animatedly ran through the tube and into the same bag that hydrated me and they had to squeeze the whole lot back in, really groovy feeling, really groovy feeling.

Apart from myself, my poor Tibetan Spaniel was admitted to the vet as well, she was having her menstruation and lost her appetite,  and an x-ray scan showed that her uterus was filling up with some sort of pus and that she would die if it was not removed in time, so the poor creature had to undergo surgery and taaa-daaa stitches here and there, but she’s better than she was a few days back.

I’ll upload photos of her scars soon, for now I’m going to immense myself in the fantasy of driving a Triumph Spitfire; Black with red leather seats, oh so sexy, a nice, smooth mahogany steering wheel, perfectly waxed and polished smelling of pinewood, with its white velvet convertible hood and tainted windows, oh so sexy, so sexy, so sexy.

So you take care idiots, bye bye.

Polystylistic Variation.

This is to psychotic ex’s, delirious flings and crazed secret admirers whom I have yet to find out about though I have received your love letters years ago. If you happen to be reading this, then keep going, cause there’s something in store for you.

Well, it’s not much I can say, you girls know how carefree I could get so this song is for you:

All Will Fall In Love With Your Ego Trippin
Everybody's Lookin For A Sunday Mission
Ain't Nobody Searchin For A Second Chance
Im Just Lookin For A New Romance
And All Will Fall In Love With Your Ego Trippin
Everybody's Lookin For A Sunday Mission
Ain't Nobody Searchin For A Second Chance
Im Just Lookin For A New Romance
Because You Too Serious
You're Gonna Make Me Delirious
Because You Too Serious For
Loosi, Loosi, Loosing And Im Feeling Loose And
Everybody Loosing And There's No One Choosin
Ain't Nobody Searchin For A Second Chance
Im Just Lookin For A New Romance
Because You Too Serious
You're Gonna Make Me Delirious
Because You Too Serious For Me
Because You Too Serious
You're Gonna Make Me Delirious
Because You Too Serious
You're Gonna Make Me Delirious
Because You Too Serious
You're Gonna Make Me Delirious
Because You Too Serious For Me

 

So there you have it, just too serious… I honestly can’t stand drama, but still, I’ll remember you, all of you if I could, but there are a few who made things memorable and a few whom I wish to now know of, but then again, we’re going to die anyway, so let’s just fuck around eh.