Prosthetic Phallus

You know what scares me?

-- Realisation, wisdom, knowledge and philosophy.

This I quote from Palahniuk: The future we have tomorrow is different from the future we had yesterday.

I was at the library, as usual, with a pile of books on the table; revision notes(which I try not to pretend to touch), books from the psychology section, philosophy section, literature, arachnids, blah blah and more blah.

I read a lot, but as you know, it's not much you really absorb. I like real things, logical things, things that make me think, things that have nothing to do with idle thoughts.

Which comes to another depressing quote from Palahniuk: The unreal is more powerful than the real. Because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it. Because it's only intangibles, ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. Stone crumbles. Wood rots. People, well, they die.

You see what I mean? It's all too demoralising(figuratively);ignominious.

But he's right. Everything real is truly inferior to fantasy, imagination and religion; all these are truly indestructible.

You see how scary all these are? - You can never have too much of a good thing, I'm afraid.

You see, I'm obsessed because, and I again quote from Palahniuk,"Here in your mind you have complete privacy. Here there's no difference between what is and what could be."

And another: It's pathetic how we can't live with the things we can't understand. How we need everything labeled and explained and deconstructed.

And another:We can spend our lives letting the world tell us who we are...Or we can decide for ourselves.

You see, words are an addiction, just as drugs are an addiction, just as sex is an addiction; anything that can help us evade the idea of post-misery, unhappiness, sadness, anger, fear, worry, despair, and depression; well, let's just say addiction is medicine to any mental suffering.

I'm addicted to smoking, but hey, a psychologist once said that a cigarette is just a cigarette.

Wanna know what he means?

-- A cigarette can unconsciously evoke the requiem of the happiest moments of babyhood: breastfeeding. This is what I would call oral fixation. Just the action of the cigarette bud touching your lips creates a nostalgia within the system that can bring happiness to one. All others are, well, may just be an illusion.

I may be too young to smoke, but hey, you know, I don't think we're too young for anything but 3 things: knowledge, wisdom and philosophy.

-- Only few people in the world are ready for it; Nietzsche, the Greeks, the fundamentalists of beliefs such as Nihilism, Existentialism and Atheism.

So you see what I mean? we're too young, too foolish for all of that, people say we learn from our mistakes; so you know what I say?

--The greater the mistake, the greater the lesson; we have to make the biggest mistake ever to make the most of our life.

With that being said, I'll leave you with one last quote from Palahniuk: We live and die and anything else is just delusion.

Kvnt.

QUIXOTICALITY

So here I am bloody shivering in this stupid room; air conditioner blowing directly at me, Beherit hood on, wearing black boxers, losing the nimbleness in my typing; it's so hard to do anything when you're cold, you lose your flexibility, your thinking goes whack, now i remember why I was such a dumb kid whenever it came to winters and/or snow.

So I wrote a poem about being high on weed, at the same time holding a jealousy of the guy in front of me who has a bigger joint/blunt/whatever size it may be and its street lingo coded term.

so here goes nothing/everything/something. I hate that line.

'Behold a foe;
A fool two inches greater.
I am 5 hours ahead of my own time;
recessing from this vortex of morality.
A congregation for my stupidity;
The parliament in my head;
Jesters argue, cheer and jeer;
I do not catch a word;
A blender of emotions;
A mosaic of words;
Marred in requiem.
Monochromatic a rainbow eaten by the shadows of the sky;
Breathing out clouds of refracted vomit.
Colours seek within me an atomic state of diabolism;
A painted canvas of debauchery.
A faceless mask pinned onto me to "injustify" my masquerade.
Far flung loops of animosity;
An ulcer in the sun.
Thus this enemy greater now by an inch;
Sickly this monolith besieging my intensity;
GET ME AWAY FROM THIS "QUIXOTICALITY"

Nihil

So folks, I hope you're all recovering from my previous post, but here I am again to give another piece of information about myself.

You all may know that I am Nihilistic so here I am to give the wikipedia explanation of the belief:

Nihilism (from the Latin nihil, nothing) is a philosophical position which argues that existence is without objective meaning, purpose, or intrinsic value. Nihilists generally assert some or all of the following:

* Objective morality does not exist.
* No action is logically preferable to any other in regard to the moral value of one action over another.
* In the absence of objective morality, existence has no intrinsic higher meaning or goal.
* There is no reasonable proof or argument for the existence of a higher ruler or creator.
* Even if a higher ruler or creator exists, humanity has no moral obligation to worship them.

The term nihilism is sometimes used synonymously with anomie to denote a general mood of despair at the pointlessness of existence.[1]

Movements such as Dada, Futurism,[2] and deconstructionism,[3] among others, have been identified by commentators as "nihilistic" at various times in various contexts. Often this means or is meant to imply that the beliefs of the accuser are more substantial or truthful, whereas the beliefs of the accused are nihilistic, and thereby comparatively amount to nothing (or are simply claimed to be destructively amoralistic).

Nihilism is also a characteristic that has been ascribed to time periods: for example, Jean Baudrillard and others have called postmodernity a nihilistic epoch,[4] and some Christian theologians and figures of religious authority have asserted that postmodernity[5] and many aspects of modernity[3] represent the rejection of God, and therefore are nihilistic.

But of course there are more to it that this little expression. You guys shoud read books by Nietzsche and Palahniuk, it's all too philosophical, too transgression-al, too factual. But there, I wanted to post something but I was too lazy so I just copied and pasted.

So was that the first time you fucked a dead girl?

Check this out folks.... I found a fucking wheelchair!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ok so I'm replacing it with the chair that cut me up that night.

I also bought Joy some guppies; she'll take them once she shifts to her new place.

So anyway, I was discussing to myself on my new wheelchair that if I were to create a job for myself, I'd be a vocabularian! A person who comes up with words, just to get paid to make shit up. Then create words like misogynistisim;one who dwells in the ideal of misogyny. Or abominative; equal to the meaning of destructive.

But fuck all that, I'm not in a very good mood now; my parents fucked me up since last night and oh the beauty! I never did anything wrong this time, really. I was forced to suck up to them this entire saturday; apologies friends. But yeah, I'm not gonna express all my angst here. It'll just waste your time and my effort.

So I'm going to improvise on a story, remember that other time I wrote about voyeurism? This is another friday for that guy...
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I'm standing here in front of this window again, hand stuffed crassly down my pants, waiting for my show to start.

There, my spartan and his masochistic princess frolic on the satin linen, petting and groping each sensitive spot.

Flabbergasted you say I am?-- Very.

But it's alright to forget how to breathe once in a while like this, it chokes the insanity exploding in the multitudes within your knotted brain.

My penis is like an anxious horse, waiting to charge into the horizons of sexual immorality.

But fuck that! I believe nothing in this world should ever be immoral. Honestly, think about it, we weren't evolved into a civilised world. All this bullshit of technology, industrialization, urbanization, culture and what have you. All this 'morality', 'sanity'; all these are just vortexes in which we create to displace the idea of fear, work; we just want to make this life seem safer, seem easier, seem more fluid, more 'professional'.

I tell you, if not for the Brits, we would have still been chopping heads in jungles, if not for scientists, our only source of entertainment would be 2 baboons slapping their red asses at our faces, if not for the civilization, this entire planet, would be perfectly insane.

In which I would prefer...but then again, I wouldn't be standing here, you wouldn't know what a game console is, and we would definitely be plucking ticks out of each others' hair.

Someone once said, "Culture is to make a drinking bowl out of your enemy's skull, civilization is to go to prison for doing that."

The writings of Nietzsche inspire me in me in multiple ways, but I'm not here to give you a review on 'Beyond Good and Evil' or debate the philosophy in 'The Antichrist'. I'm here to tell you all what I'm jacking off to.

As you already know, the last time I was here, the 'Spartan' tried to become a solo '15-man-bukkake-mob'. Today is rather different.

"It's my turn to choose, darling," I heard him say as he pulled his lips from her nipples, "the last time you took my cum, this time, I'll shit, pee and spit on you altogether..."

"That's fucking absurd, Andre! Do you think I'm a fucking toilet?! But it does sound fun..."

People, read no farther, this is going to turn out worse than '2 Girls 1 Cup'.

But if you've watched Japanese kinky videos, they go far worse than your imagination.

She began licking at his asshole as he forced out a wet discharge of brown, vile substance...

*writer's note: As I'm writing this, I'm imagining your wicked reactions and enacting them out as I go on, please that this 'recess' to grab a bucket, my imagination does stretch quite a bit...*

He moaned in relieved ecstasy, then grunting again as he squeezed his guts for a second discharge, this one going all over her face, browning her beauty.

He did this multiple times before urinating all over the lavish carpet.

He turned around looking at his work of art, then he spat on her.

Slut.

Whore.

Bitch.

Beautiful.

He began licking her clitoris, banging on her vandalized body, licking off the shit on her. He began to vomit inside her.

I turned away, I'm too disgusted for this, this is too immoral to even be savage.

I'll come back another friday.

Helter Skelter

I fell in love.

But hey, you can only fall in love 5 times in your life, so make use of it.

I fell in love with a girl, a genre of music, a set of idols, writing.

And now, I fell in love with another person.

I'm so sorry to break it to you but I've fallen in love with the lyrics and music of Don Mclean.

He sang and wrote songs like 'Vincent', 'American Pie' and 'Castles in the Air'.

I'm addicted to playing his stuff on my guitar, and singing his songs.

You know, I really broke into tears when I heard him sing 'Vincent' live; he can bring out the torment Van Gogh faced as an artist.

You see,being an artist in any form is not easy. Inspiration trapped in a head can cause misery. Believe me when I say Artists are Invalids.

Take a look around you, pick up a history book, look wikipedia up; pick your artist, pick your inspiration, select your history.

A long, long time ago...
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And, maybe, they’d be happy for a while.

But february made me shiver
With every paper I’d deliver.
Bad news on the doorstep;
I couldn’t take one more step.

I can’t remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride,
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.

So bye-bye, miss american pie.
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."

Did you write the book of love,
And do you have faith in God above,
If the Bible tells you so?
Do you believe in rock ’n roll,
Can music save your mortal soul,
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?

Well, I know that you’re in love with him
`cause I saw you dancin’ in the gym.
You both kicked off your shoes.
Man, I dig those rhythm and blues.

I was a lonely teenage broncin’ buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck,
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the music died.

I started singin’,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."

Now for ten years we’ve been on our own
And moss grows fat on a rollin’ stone,
But that’s not how it used to be.
When the jester sang for the king and queen,
In a coat he borrowed from james dean
And a voice that came from you and me,

Oh, and while the king was looking down,
The jester stole his thorny crown.
The courtroom was adjourned;
No verdict was returned.
And while lennon read a book of marx,
The quartet practiced in the park,
And we sang dirges in the dark
The day the music died.

We were singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."

Helter skelter in a summer swelter.
The birds flew off with a fallout shelter,
Eight miles high and falling fast.
It landed foul on the grass.
The players tried for a forward pass,
With the jester on the sidelines in a cast.

Now the half-time air was sweet perfume
While the sergeants played a marching tune.
We all got up to dance,
Oh, but we never got the chance!
`cause the players tried to take the field;
The marching band refused to yield.
Do you recall what was revealed
The day the music died?

We started singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."

Oh, and there we were all in one place,
A generation lost in space
With no time left to start again.
So come on: jack be nimble, jack be quick!
Jack flash sat on a candlestick
Cause fire is the devil’s only friend.

Oh, and as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage.
No angel born in hell
Could break that satan’s spell.
And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite,
I saw satan laughing with delight
The day the music died

He was singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."

I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news,
But she just smiled and turned away.
I went down to the sacred store
Where I’d heard the music years before,
But the man there said the music wouldn’t play.

And in the streets: the children screamed,
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.
But not a word was spoken;
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most:
The father, son, and the holy ghost,
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died.

And they were singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."

They were singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die."

Those were the lyrics to American Pie.

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.
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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.
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