Realized a lot of things, and forgot them all, and didn’t care, because the last realization was along the lines of “it doesn’t matter what the fuck I think, whatever will happen will happen, whether I am a part of the fruition of any future events or not,” so fuck it. Spent a lot of time looking for Carlin videos on You Tube. I absolutely fucking hated sitting through the first ten minutes of Red Dwarf, and there’s no fucking way I’ll give it another chance. I’m reluctant to research the band Stolen Babies, suggested by Nathan, who’s lent me some comics to read, which I shouold’ve read all day, instead of looking for fucking videos I’d already seen online. Attractive women who’re skilled with guns seem like a turn-on to people through fiction more than reality. There are many possible approaches to the zombie-genre stories, and only a few seem to break the mold, and those few don’t even lend themselves to using “zombies” at all. Why do artists involved in producing adult material exaggerate the female form so often? Can’t I enjoy watching two women beat eachother senseless as cartoons, and appreciate two individual females as seen by the artist, instead of two plastic dolls drawn the same way? Why the fuck am I watching two cartoon women beat eachother fucking senseless, anyway? It’s stupid and it scarcely does what “adult” entertainment’s supposed to do: turn me on. But I’m a teenager! Everything turns me on! Shit, somebody mentions dogs fucking, and I’m trying to hide an erection for five minutes, while I think about how disgusted I am with myself for not being able to control sexual deviations, and knowing that I don’t have to be interested in animals fucking to inspire an erection, since at my age, with as much sexual confusio as I have, anything’ll spout anything, and rejoice in such line of thought distracting me from my blood flow, and want to kill myself for reminding my fucking self about the erection I’m trying to lose and inspire it to return! What the fuck?
“Why would the band kill their fucking audience?”
“Because it’s not a band, Bill, mister dressed-in-black-say-fuck-every-other-word-that-comes-out-of-your-mouth, cynical humanist, you, it’s the devil.”
I really do want to hear the reactions to people who claim belief in the divine war when I ask them, “What defies God’s will?” Since God is the inner power that guides our souls and connects us all as beings, alive or not, through the cosmos, an energy beyond description of divinity and incapable of human flaws, being the most basic form of energy, I doubt anybody can say whether God actually does have a will to oppose in the first place.
Off topic: the thought of immaculate conception puts my head to work, while I shut off connection to my brain. I have a grossly exaggerated image of this miracle in my head, of a woman suspended in air, having a screaming orgasm, an image that was briefly entertained by the introduction of the Invisible Man in The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Why am I in such a “Randy Pan, the Goatboy” mood? I’m always like this, and I’m tired of thinking there’s something wrong with me for wanting the chance to perform oral sex! My face is covered in blistery sores, already, goddamn it!
“Hey, that’s funny, man, touching a side that you try not to show people, it’s interesting, it’s funny.”
Laugh at the huge hard-on I’ve got imagining how fucking awesome it’d be to have you walk in on your mom and I fucking, with your dad videotaping. It’s not the vulgarity that gets me hard, right now, it’s knowing that the image will fuck with your head the same way you see pictures of people dying all over the fucking world and decide you never saw it, to get on with the rest of your safe, protected day, never knowing when the image of a thirteen year-old boy’s brain spilled over a dusty sidewalk will enter your head, and you’ll hate yourself for jerking off to porn you knew this kid never got the right to see. Did he ever get a hard-on? Did he unconditionally love the people of his own family and community, and strive to do good by them, by doing chores voluntarily, and charitably offering services to men of business who never found the time to leave the shop during hours? Did he ever fall in love, and long to be with someone? He’s only human, with the same flaws that we all have, and knew people who loved, had friends and a mother and father, felt emotions like anybody else, and had the same capacity for understanding and ability to learn as you do. Will all of these factors play into your conscience when you’re trying to forget that he ever existed while you’re squeezing out a load to Sasha Grey’s epic ear-crippling videos, ’cause it certainly becomes a hassle for me.
