Flew with Raven

Robotic Souls


Regarding Syria

I was in the Army during the War in Syria, I met with hackers and warfighters, I did joint exercises with IDF, we geared up and taught the Malaysians how to dismantle mines: and I don’t even know what the fuck happened out there. There are so many rabbit holes to go down in this place. 

Above all else: this war was truly online. In every single way, this was as much a foreign digital war in the make-believe world of the internet, as it was a real-life fight on the ground.
Fake people like Digita Shadow were fighting fake people like AliMahmoud69 in the fake world of Twitter, but real world consequences resulted from it. Bombs were dropped on IP addresses.
“So, who are we bombing today?” A kid – a PV1 – asked me, jokingly. His reference was to the myriad of liaisons, relationships, alliances, and enmities that we had formed in Syria.

My response to him, as always; “Probably the people we had coffee with yesterday.”
The Syrian Revolution unfortunately cannot be un-twinned from the War that followed it. Obama cannot be untwined with Trump, Assad cannot be separated from Zarqawi, or Baghdadi who followed him. The Revolution cannot be separated from the gasses that killed them, and the goddamn Assad family cannot be separated from the army of white Toyota Hiluxes with black flags that came to kill them.
Here’s a tip for the future:
Whenever a Muslim wizard meets a drug-dealing pimp in a Jordanian prison run by the Mukhabarat??? Burn the prison down, or some prophecy shit is going to happen. Whatever you do, don’t let these men fight the KGB!
All this shit with the black flags is some prophecy from one of the Suras, I can barely remember. Something about roaming through the desert and conquering under an army of black flags. 
The Red Line became a clusterfuck, and Timber Sycamore had my commanders running around the damn building in circles looking for the fire extinguishers – someone mortared the porta john, and now shit was flying. Netanyahu was up in the UN doing his “father professor” routine, pointing at some Iranian shit on a poster, and pretending that anyone cared.
Fred Kaplan was trying to warn us about Russian viruses, and under no circumstances should we let them in the game in Syria. But Assad 
The war cannot be separated from its refugees. I’ve always thought it the saddest thing that the city that gave birth to Saladin, the greatest of the heroes of Islam, has been home to one of the largest Syrian refugee camps in the world.I was in the Army during the War in Syria, I met with hackers and warfighters, I did joint exercises with IDF, we geared up and taught the Malaysians how to dismantle mines: and I don’t even know what the fuck happened out there. There are so many rabbit holes to go down in this place.

Just some thoughts.

The District 8 Congressional Debate: A review

  From October 28, 2022

a box or crate for packing soap
a crate used as a platform for speech-making

stump speech
a political campaign speech, especially one made on a campaign tour.
It’s hard sometimes to admit to myself that I am a political scientist. In all of my life, among the many things that I’ve ever been thoroughly trained to do, the two most prominent are firstly, killing people, and secondly, involving myself in politics. It’s odd to me that at times I’ve been far more comfortable with the notion of the first than with the second.

Welcome to American Politics. Welcome to a life that once lived is addicting, but completely insane. I don't see another life that I could have ever lived, I don’t have any desire to stray too far from the magnetic ebb of activism, and yet the average citizen wouldn’t understand the source of my librations.
It might be assumed that any political scientist has done the following throughout the course of their career, lest they could be regarded as a hackish poser;

    • Attend a Presidential Campaign Rally
    • Campaign for a candidate
    • Attend a campaign debate of some sort

However, proximity matters. If you’ve spent your whole life geographically on the peripheries of sphere, instead of at its epicenters, it’s a bitch to gain any field experience in politics - especially due to the fact that the standard practice in this field is to not pay any interns anything at all, for anything. I’ve done two of the above activities only once in my life, several years ago.
And today is the 28th of October.
Tomorrow, I get to tell the world that I attended a congressional debate for the first time in my life, knocking off another stitch on the notch list.
What a country.
I AM PISSED OFF. Those motherfuckers at security took made me leave my fucking coffee outside‽ That makes no goddamn sense to me - I was in this room only a month ago chugging a twenty ounce, not to mention the fact that during the normal theatre season we’ve literally got a concessions stand that sells snacks and shit.
They told me it’s ‘for security reasons,’ but it’s not like I’m drinking battery acid or napalm. Fucking pricks. Jason - I didn’t want to start this night upset, it changes my outlook. But… I guess I can brush that shit off. Not the first time it’s happened to me in the game of politics.
This debate is happening in the McConnell Hall theatre, which enthuses me. I belong here. Theatre’s my people, this is my domain, my place, my hizouse. It’s only my minor, sure, but talking with thespians is my jam so much more than is working with wonks. All the world’s a stage, right?
It’s my 30th birthday today, and I wish Trump were never born. This motherfucker right here - Matt Larkin, he hasn’t taken it upon himself to denounce the fucker, and that makes a man as bad as the cunt. In order for evil to triumph, good men must do nothing. And I don’t even know if Larkin was any good to begin with.
Who’s on the docket today? Kim Schrier, the incumbent candidate, a no-shit Medical Doctor - and Matt fucking Larkin, the wannabe cowboy douchebag. I want to scream at this motherfucker that the Stetson wasn’t even invented when the West was really Wild.
But I’ve got an open mind, maybe he has some good ideas?
The new President of the University, Jim Wolphart, has given a speech. But this is my first time seeing him at a podium - and it isn’t what I was expecting at all. Short, stiff, and completely devoid of emotion. It’s almost like he either doesn’t want to be here, or he’s dreading the outcome of this thing.
The Republican is wearing blue - does that make sense? We’re on a college campus, so I guess it does. Within a den of intelligentsia, I wonder if you have to temper your advocation for the existence of the ignorant dipshits at the base of the GOP? Wearing blue for a Republican is a psychological restraint of some sort - like the collar worn by a priest, it is meant to symbolize chains. I like that this man isn’t so red, but I highly doubt that this means he isn’t as insane as his party. After 2016, I don’t see how anyone who chooses the GOP is anything other than insane.
Funny thing though, enough to make me guffaw, that in this country the colors are the opposite of what they are anywhere else in the world. In every other democracy, Red is the color of the far left, being that it was that most favored by the Communists.
The Democrat is wearing purple. It looks sharp, but it’s a little too centrist for my tastes. I used to believe that Centrism was the only valid form of existence, but I have since realized that the more you give, the more the dipshits will take. So, if you give at all on the rights of women, or gay marriage, or the right to vote - the dipshits will take those rights away. The GOP salivates over human rights like Cookie Monster munches down Chips Ahoy.
Perhaps, when Reagan was President, it might have been OK to be a Republican. But today, I just don’t fucking get it.
I’ve just noticed that the banner on the fucking podium is lopsided. Nice job, publicity department. Way to fucking go. No wonder we’re going through a rebranding phase, we can’t even center our logo on a podium drape.
Did I only notice that because they took my camera away?
Gods, what is this awkward silence? Oh, huh, wait - I think they’re waiting for the commercial break to end back at the Affiliate. So Jim only spoke to us? That means he wasn’t even being awkward for the camera, he was just being awkward in general. Ho… boy. No judgements, it’s a tough crowd.
Interesting choice for the cyc lights tonight - looks like a kind of Winter Blue on a black scrim.
They’ve piped in the intro over the local PA system - but ohmygod is this shit terribly compressed or what‽ To anyone who didn’t know better, they might think the cable dogs here were bad at their jobs - but I’ve gotten to know Jason and Tina well enough to know that this isn’t their fault, it’s the Affiliate’s choice of audio compression. Can somebody say compatibility? Either way, it sounds like shit.
And here we are, time for the introductions…
Oh my god.
What the fuck‽
Oh my god… it’s Fox. The person hosting this fucking debate is from A FUCKING FOX NEWS AFFILIATE. I mean, it’s a local channel, but does that absolve any of their sins at all, if the word Fox is followed after every introduction? At least it’s not a 24 hour feed of the insanity of their parent - so the dipshitity is probably lessened by their distal geography. Even on a given Monday, they will only air five hours of so-called “news” content. Because they’re normal, and they know that there’s no such thing as a 24-hour news cycle.
Wait - I’ve missed the rest of the introductions. Who are these people? They’re all facing away from me! Are all four of these people from Fox?
They need windbreakers like federal agencies wear - so I can quickly identify their organizations.

        *Future Edit*
                Looks like there were four news organizations represented onstage tonight, but I was so fucking upset that the GOPropaganda machine was allowed into the room that I didn’t hear any of the other names.

                Those names were:
                    Hannah Kim, Fox 13
                    Maddison Wade, King 5
                    Tracci Dial, KNDU (the Tri Cities have their own TV station?)
                    David Hyde, KUOW

OK, here we go, getting into the meat of it. Time for the opening salvos, and what are they?
Matt Larkin:
    Fear Mongering. It’s us vs. Crime.
Kim Schrier:
    Fear Mongering. It’s us vs Them.

OK, now I’m wondering if, instead of notating the entire debate, because it’s going to be uploaded to fucking YouTube, I should just do my own thing, and keep a running tally of shit I’ve heard before:

Fear Mongering Bullshit (FMB) that’s entirely irrelevant:
            \\\\ \\ = 7 occurrences
“Thoughts and prayers”:
            \ = One occurrence, but not directly stated
Concerning the Presidential election (irrelevant to this debate):
            \\\\ \\\\ \\\\ \ = 16 occurrences
Inflation (Fear mongering by the moderators):
            \\\\ \\\\ \ = 11 occurrences
Candidates quoting their own television ads because they don’t have any original thoughts:
            \\\\ \\\\ \\\\ = 15 occurrences
            Moderators: \\\\ \ = 6 occurrences
            Schrier: \\\ = 3 occurrences
            Larkin: \\\\ \\\\ \\\\ = 15 occurrences
Appeals to emotion:
            \\\\ \\\\ = 10 occurrences
Basically, I get things done:
            \\\\ \\\\ \\\\ \\\\ = 20 occurrences
“Trust me, I’m a Doctor”
            \\\\ \\\\ = 10 occurrences

Where do the Candidates stand on the issues that matter?????

    Climate Change was only addressed by the moderators nearly 45 minutes into this fucking thing, even though it should have been the first question asked. Anyways, unfortunately, what I perceived from BOTH candidates is that the solution is to drill MORE‽ WTF, Kim, I thought you were savvy to this shit!

    Crop Yields were never mentioned. Farming was not mentioned. Ag was not mentioned. Which doesn’t make any fucking sense to me - this is fucking ELLENSBURG!!!! This town, above all else, is a FARMING TOWN! And they don’t even mention it? WTF, moderators, WTF.

    On Abortion, Schrier is probably going to win the election because of her clear and present understanding that Abortion is a human right. Whereas Larkin literally said, at one point, that we have “other things to worry about.” He’s all about whataboutism, isn’t he, the dipshit? Very much the anti-choice candidate here, and saying that it’s a STATES issue? Talk about passing the buck, what a dipshit.

Where do the Candidates stand on irrelevant issues?

     Gun Crimes… what?
     Nancy Pelosi’s attempted assassination… why would ANYONE ask about that? That happened in San Fucking Francisco!!!

SERIOUSLY, these moderators are fear mongering like I’ve never fucking seen before! What do these issues have anything to do with the people of THIS DISTRICT??? These are national issues, and while these Representatives will be working at the national level to address them - they are not the issues that should have taken up ANY time here at this debate!!!

OK, so it does turn out that Matthew Larkin is still a dipshit. Especially when he doesn’t understand that all Americans benefit from a stronger IRS: the IRS keeps inflation DOWN because they punish the cheaters and keep the system fair, keeping American money in America, instead of in a tax haven.

In conclusion - these moderators have a lot to answer for. I want my time back. What a shitshow.


Let's talk about how you're using the word "Abstract" wrong

If you're anything like me, you've probably been operating on the incorrect assumption for a very long time that abstract art means art that doesn't look like anything at all. Unfortunately, this is tragic result of a confluence of events and definitions occurring at the New York school of art in the middle part of the 20th century.


This piece of art, (the big pink one) by Barbara Howell,
which I have hanging on my own wall, is not abstract.


Jackson Pollock is not an Abstract artist. He is an Abstract Expressionist.

First off, let me try to explain what Abstracting actually means.

To abstract something means that you are PULLING AWAY from the image in front of you, to give a more vague interpretation of the thing.













When something becomes Abstracted, it means that it has become simplified in its form. It still presents mostly as the thing that you were originally observing, but the game is to see how far you might be able to abstract a thing before it becomes unrecognizable.

 To create an Abstract work of art - you need it to be something. It does not always have to look like that thing, but it still has to have the original INTENT of being a thing.

If a painting was never made to look like anything at all,
then it is called Nonrepresentational. Salvadore Dali made a lot of these.


Now that we know what "Abstract" actually means - we can delve a little bit deeper into what the fuck "Abstract Expressionism" means, and why you should ALWAYS use the full title when referring to Jackson Pollock.

Here he is, that interesting fellow called Pollock. Very famous picture right here. The art that he is creating is called Abstract Expressionism.

Why can't you call it Abstract?

Because there's nothing in it but feelings. This is not a painting of a chair, or a lamp, or a pear, or a vamp - it is an idea, a feeling, an expression.
Think about this: If I had merely described the images of the Canon Cameras above - you would have known relatively what I was referring to, without having to see the images.

But sometimes we just don't have the words to describe how we feel. And that is what Abstract Expressionism is.

SO. Stop using the word wrong, you fucking assholes.

Names to Never be Used Again

 Nobody will ever name their kid Karen for the next fifty years. Karens have been lost to time, but only for meme culture - which is a fucking shame. That meme culture had to create something terrible - and I'll place a wager that the first Karen wasn't even named Karen.

Not true with Adolf. Adolf was certainly named Adolf - and there are perfectly understandable reasons why nobody will ever be named Adolf again.

HOWEVER, isn't that some bullshit? Why did the actions of one single Adolf have to ruin the name in the heart of time itself?

The NAME didn't do anything bad. It was a person who wore the name.

We wear our names like clothing, suits, jackets, jorts... we don't belong to them any more than we belong to our shoes. We wear shoes. 

OJ Simpson is forever tied to a pair of gloves. But what was the name of that brand of gloves? Have you ever bothered to look up the answer?

It was Isotoner. And in all honesty - nobody gives a shit. The name Isotoner was not famous before or after the OJ trial for any reason whatever, only cared about by rich fucks, and only worn by even richer ones.

I think it's high time we repossess the imagry and the names of things that have stained them with evilness, and turn them back into goodness. If every little boy born in the next century were called Adolf - wouldn't some of them turn out to be good men? Couldn't we change the culture of fear that surrounds it?

We need more women in the world named Karen, and more men named Adolf - lest we let our FEAR dictate our actions, instead of our using our massive human brains to overcome those ridiculous sentiments.

What is a name?

Where do you live? What's it called? Detroit? Seattle? Tampa?

But what was it called before you were born? I don't ask it in this fashion to be solipsistic about it - I ask it to say that before the stars burned, what was it called?

Did you know that the place in which America sits had names before white people got here? Many names - but many today have agreed to call it "Turtle Island."

Turtle Island is the name that the indigenous peoples of North America call their home.

People used to live here. People have lived here for THOUSANDS of years.

10,000 years before the pyramids were built - people lived here.


The island that I was born on, Whidbey, also had a name before white people ever got there;

Tschakolechy - this is the name of my homeland, the place where I was born, but never bothered to learn much about.

I was born in a foreign country called America.

a story told in book titles

 For Art Appreciation class, I was given the assignment to tell a story using book titles.

Here's what I came up with;

learning how to draw

So, I've been learning how to draw.

I've always wanted to know how to express myself in other mediums, and drawing has always been something elusive for me. It seemed unobtainable, but then I took a couple of drawing classes, and I can see the things now. Shadows and shapes and shit like that.

I'm still terrible, but here's some stuff that I've done so far;

i will be 30 soon

I can't help but feel that I've wasted my twenties.

I'm still working on the same Bachelor's degree that I was when I turned 20. I've cycled myself through four prior collegiate institutions by my own failures or the fuckery of circumstance.

However - I got my first 4.0 grades last year, and they keep coming. I think I have finally figured this shit out - but the irony - my Pell Grant runs out a little over a year from now, and I've got more than that to go.

I finished the first draft of my novel - but it's the same damn novel that I started in my early twenties.

If I'd been born rich, if I'd been more successful in my business ventures as a kid - I'd have finished the thing six years ago. I'd be on my eighth novel by now, and I'd have mastered the craft.

I never got to sleep with someone in their twenties while I was still in my twenties, and that's probably my biggest regret. Do not confuse the issue - I've WANTED to get laid the whole time, but that's the problem with being a virgin - you don't have a choice in it. Being a nice guy sometimes means you don't get laid by the girls you want.

There aren't as many one night stand stories about people in their thirties as there are about people in their twenties.

I think I might have to save up for a professional, doesn't seem like much else I can do about this problem right now - if I want to get laid, I probably have to pay for it. I have no problem with that, but there again is the problem with being of lower income - a decent pro will cost me three months salary.

And I'm still fat - but I made a promise to myself - I will not be fat when I get to thirty. NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. And when I get fit again, maybe it will let me feel better about not wanting to sleep with any fat chicks.

I have no problem at all admitting that I'm loathed by fat chicks. Fat people generally, I'm in Bill Maher's camp. It's your own damn fault, just as it's my own damn fault for being fat.

I've wasted half of my twenties being fat. I don't want to be fat anymore.

And most of my teeth are gone now. My enamel is completely gone, and it's only a matter of time until every single original tooth in my mouth is gone, and I'll have to reenlist just to get all the new ones back. Or become a successful Hollywood actor and pay for a new set.


I'm almost thirty. Fuck.

more notes on a fucking napkin


the gods might be dead


Here is my introduction to the world of this new fact of my nature.

I'm an atheist, and I probably have been for a lot longer than I might have even known. I don't believe in God anymore.

It certainly isn't for a lack of morality that I became an atheist, in fact I think of myself as probably more of a moral man now than I was back when I had somebody to blame for all of the ills and problems of the world.

Through my understanding of evolutionary biology to its knowable extent, I've come to this factoid:
    that the fundamental laws of the universe are far more chaotic and weird than can ever have been "created" by a creator.

There is no God. Those are weird words for me to say. Those are weird words for me to write. To admit to myself in this strange fucking cosmos. God is an invention like the steam engine and number two colored pencils.

Or I should say rather that I am just simply not convinced in the story of God that has been handed down to us through the generations, translated and transliterated ill well by fucktards in Tudor robes and pointy hats. Because it's a story. It's just a fucking story.

Like the novels that I write, somebody created a beginning and a middle and an end and the end will never fucking happen like it's written in that fucking story because it is a fucking story. A story. Not even a good one. The morality is all fucked up, the story of the Bible wouldn't even work on a soap opera, all of them fucking people - nomad kings in the fucking desert imagining burning bushes and building giant arcs? Ugh, lame.

Half of the bible stories should begin with the words; "This person consumed vast quantities of psychedelics, and then God spoke to them."

Because the story of the Bible is about as believable as the story of somebody who just got down off of an acid trip. Lizards climbing the walls and donkeys sprouting horns and breathing fire. You don't go to another dimension on Ayahuasca, and an angel did not have sex with a virgin, and there is no such thing as a four-headed lamb.

Have I been PWNED?

 Simple answer: yes.

Longer answer: every couple of weeks my information gets sold on the black market. YES I AM AWARE OF THIS.

What can I do to fight this? I change my passwords periodically and I take my computer into the store to get checked for malware, but that's about it. Java and Python and whatever... I don't know that stuff.

I'm a normal person. I'm a normal person in a normal world - I know I'm being fucked over, but I'm normal, so I don't have the tools to fuck back.

So, this will be my next language - the language of telling black hats to go fuck themselves.

I bought an Ink Quill

 I've been thinking about the Quill game for a long time, so I finally bought one. Here's my first ever quill shiz:

an author's note

Pretend you’re reading a book right now.

If my editors are the crack shots that I have been led to believe they are, and of which I think they think they are, and if my publishers care more about the quality of the content rather than the profitability of an unknown author – they would’ve had the decent sense to put some maps of the world somewhere in the book that you are now holding in your hands.

Hopefully these maps are near the front of the book, or the back of the book.

As long as they’re not in the middle of the book. That just sort of tends to ruin the feel of the book as you rub your fingers along the edge of its pages, or better yet, open it up and flip through it to feel the course of gushing wind upon your face emanating from within the dark world deep inside it covers.

With most books, these simple actions to me are enticingly erotic, make my nipples tingle, my dick get hard, and goosebumps form underneath the jungle of hair on my lower arms.

There is nothing quite like the thrill that comes from taking my thumb, setting it on the upper right-hand corner of a book, and listening to the torrent of pages rub against one another under the strobe lights of the freakish night club that is called Literaria.

Putting inserts in the middle of a book is basically the literary publisher’s version of cockblocking.

I’d be damned surprised if they didn’t realize what they were doing on some sort of subconscious level.

Come to think of it, if my editors and publishers, or agents, or estate managers, or future robot overlords – all hail – have decided to put anything in the middle of this book that does not belong there, I want you to catch them unawares and throw this book at them.

Put a little gash in their forehead.

After this, when you have inflicted a considerable amount of damage to the left hemisphere of their brain – which is responsible for putting inserts in the middle of books – and the suspect in question is hemorrhaging from the gash in his or her forehead, I would like you to shout top of your lungs:

“Take that you miserable git! That’s what you get for putting inserts in the middle of a book, you inconsiderate paper-pushing uber-Christian pathetic waste of precious oxygen! Random House must have doorhandles, yeah? Why don’t you take those random doorhandles in that random house and shove them up your ass‽”

That should put them in their place.

freaking moving


I got jabbed

 Got my first half of the Covid vaccine today.

Hey guess what? I'm not dead.

If someone is foolish enough to believe that bleach will cure covid just because an orange-haired dipshit at a podium said it would - is the fact that they actually drank bleach the Universe's way of indicating that this person shouldn't be around anymore?

If someone is foolish enough to believe that vaccines cause autism even though this has been scientifically disproven, should they let their children die of the measles? Or polio?

If someone is foolish enough to think that the Earth is flat, should we launch them all into the sun and ask them to figure out how to get back on their own?

If someone actually honestly believes Fox News, should they suffer the cures presented by that channel's hosts? Should they be firebombed by Jeannine Pyrno, or locked in a cage by Megan Kelly?  Should Shep Smith be able to take their children away from them? Should Rush Limbaugh or Eric Trump be allowed to funnel exhaust fumes directly into their homes?

There are a lot of silly ideas floating around out there, and it's difficult staying afloat right now with all the fucking morons out there who pretend they know anything.

But I got jabbed today, and I'm not dead.

So for those two million people who are out there protesting for whatever the fuck, go FUCK yourselves.


I've just watched it for the first time since it came out and I was the five year old lying on the floor of my own version of Beigbe's House waiting for the fists to stop hitting the walls.

Trainspotting is supposed to be the seminole film of Scotland.

Apart from the accents, it didn't feel very Scottish to me. Aye, there was this one scene where the gang departs the train in the Highlands and one of the most beautiful summations of a modern Scottish sentiment is unveiled; "The English are just wankers. But we were Colonized by wankers. What does that make us?"

I would rather have seen that movie.

Trainspotting isn't that movie.

I don't know how I feel about it. Other than the terrible memories it dredges up in me.

Looking back at all of the useless cunts in my life, I'm just fucking glad I never ended up as one of the main characters. If my life were a Trainspot, I'd be one of the background characters.

I'm glad I never got trapped into heroin. I can not say that for half of the people I grew up with. I can not say that for my family.

I've had eight bottles of beer on my shelf since March of 2020. There are currently six bottles. In eleven months, I've had two beers. That's my rate of vice consumption.

Not to say that I'm not an addict; I'm addicted to sugar and masturbation. And I know that if ever anything tore a hole in my arm, I'd jump off of a roof to get out, because I know that I'd be an addict.

This is why I've never chanced it. Not with anything. 

I'd be an addict because I'd use my shitty life as an excuse for it. I'd be an addict because everyone else in my life seems to be addicted to something, so why the fuck wouldn't I be? I'd be an addict because of my genetics, the way my little double helixes all float around zipping and unzipping themselves, carrying around the original sin of my blood; 

that I'm an O'Connor, and it was an O'Connor who got Colonized by wankers.

That I could have been a king, but now I watch my family of Irish Romanovs get shitfaced or chainsmoking and crying on the porch or get hammered or thrown against a wall or running from the cops or bashing in the bay windows or sucking dicks for money.

Trainspotting dredges up these memories. Trainspotting does somersaults in my stomach.

Trainspotting is a horror, a fantasy, a reality show, and a bank job, all in one.

It's a great movie, but it made me feel like shit. 

My top 100 reasons for not liking Donald Trump.

Only 100? I know. It's not that many. He's done so much more than just these 100 bad things. But these are the ones on the top of my list.

For most people - I would imagine everyone, but we live in a fucked up simulation, so I'll revise my understanding of the universe we live in to say "Most People" - for most people, Donald Trump is a fucktard.

Most people don't need me to give them evidence, because all they have to do is watch the fucker talk.

However, some people voted for him.


It does not compute in my brain. AT ALL.

But I had this conversation on Facebook today with someone who asked me why I hated him so much. So, here are my top 100 reasons for not following Trump, for believing he's the enemy, for hating him. He's the first person on the planet that I've ever hated. He's probably the last. I don't hate easy.

When good vids get fucked up



Words are the ineffable formations of mind states left behind as an afterthought of stardust collisions and gaseous explosions. Yet they are treated today with so much foley? What happened to the power of words?

Ingrained within the human desire for togetherness might also be a desire for exclusivity - that you are a part of something new, unique, and niche. And in that also comes the bastardization of etymology. Younguns don't give a shit about history, right?

There is no prescident for the vague and shadowy misappropriations of words that have been engrained into our language from the time of Johnson's Oats.

This is not, though, a dig at culture, or indeed its adoption of new words, invented or otherwise.

Inevitability. Causality. Where do I fit? Where do we fit like jigsaw pieces to a giant puzzle of confused disorder? How long do we march to trumpet beats and have our feet get mangled on ground made of cellophane tape, with a crowd of disheveled onlookers and grubby, grimy politicians in pinstripe suits with wide lapels from Hugo Boss?

Mopped up. Chopped up. Done up, forever wasted in a basket by the door. Some words don’t make the cut. Some words are sealed inside plastic bags and sloppily tossed in the fridge as leftovers for weekends and fancy party tricks. Some words we pick up and tip into a large stew to simmer, ready for plucking upon a happenstance; words like jigger.

Cut to black.


They tell me I'm supposed to be unique on here. I'm supposed to have this special voice. A writer's voice. The fuck does that even mean?

I'm not unique. I'm not abnormal. I'm not a fucking abnormality. I'm the average modern millennial fucktard.

I am alone. Self-imposed, self-imprisoned... in my own head. It's fucked up there, in my rat race corn maze.

Last week, I walked into a Lover's for the first time in my life, and I was startled by what I found - it was a department store not dissimilar to an Old Navy, but instead of khaki shorts and polo shirts, there were sex toys and lingerie. The store's employees, to be sure, must have seen plenty of people like me - 26 year old virgins - before. They were almost immune to me.

I bought a fake vagina - and it makes me feel good, but it's only made of rubber. It's just a tube of cyberskin with a fake vagina in it. I know it's rubber, and this fact somehow makes the experience less than entirely satisfying. It's always an empty high, because at the end of it, I have no one to share it with.

With a real human female, the experience would be more time consuming, and I'd have to spend several hours on foreplay before I ever got to the climax, but the climax - I'm assuming, as I've only ever been allowed to do the foreplay bit so far, would be better. So much better - not that I'd last any longer, but It would be a shared experience. Someone else - a real life human female - would be just as sweaty and salty and happy and ashamed as me.

Unfortunately, you can't have sex without emotions. I don't like those emotions.

"You're going to have a family one day," my female coworker, with a family of her own, says to me.

"No," I say.

"Yup. You are," she says, while ripping an old piece of aluminum foil off an hotel pan.

"Not a fucking chance," I say.

"Why?" she asks.

"I'm opposed to it. I'm set against it," I reply, dropping a bag of chicken fritter tenders into a vat of deep frying oil.

She furthered her irritating line of inquiry, and I changed the subject. I didn't give an answer. But you already know the reason, if you happen to be one of the three people in the world who actually read this blog without barfing - not including the IC.

Why? Because I'm immature. Not in the standard interpretation of the word- but in the dangerous definition of it. I make bad decisions, because something in my brain is different than everyone else's. I poorly manage my finances, I usually don't do things that I don't want to do, and I am an exceptionally terribly accountant of my own time management.

These are not the traits of a decent parent. These are not the traits of a decent cohabitant. These are not the traits of the H word.

I shove the drill bit further into my psyche.

The galaxy spins.

The universe unfolds.


A window curtain of compasses, all pointing in different directions. The faded light bleeds through the window, and bathes this restroom in a pale green atmosphere. The light is off - the motion detector has been acting like a complete bitch. So I have to poop in the dark, even at eighty degrees in here, and my shirt is drenched in sweat. Beads roll off my forehead, and the windless heat does not bode well the smell of shit to disappear.

The room is illuminated by the light from my iPhone 5 - portraits of beautiful women on Tinder, many of whom I insert into my fantasies - having nothing better to do as I wait for my toilet logs to plop. I imagine them riding me like cowgirls, and then using my head to steer while I eat their lady sandwiches.

And then my heart palpitates, and I try and try to think about something else - haunted by my insecurities. Dating is so much work, it's too difficult.

I still think love is bullshit, because it involves so much lying. Lying about nearly everything. Pretending to be happy, and that you're just an invincible hunk of a man, and nothing damages you.

I'd really like to just have sex with someone without knowing their name, but that's dangerous. And I'm still fat. I'm still a virgin.


Instead of actually trying to date someone, I just masturbate constantly, hoping that my lack of intimacy won't negatively affect my future. I might just buy a Fleshlight and see if that works.

I've read online that there's this drug called Zoloft that kills the sex drive, and I've thought a lot about that. Back when I was going to to church every week, I often thought about chopping off my penis.

In the meantime, I'll still be watching porn.

But every day I long for something that I don't have.


An Automated Voice

I am speaking to you now with my tongue, but this is not my real voice. And now, I am going to speak, and I am going to use my real voice - so you know the difference.

I lost my ability to speak a few years ago. My tongue was torn out of my skull by a member of a neo-nazi group down south, if only for sleeping with his ex girlfriend. Honestly… I didn’t even know who he was before that.

There have been a lot of assholes on my naughty list. The guy who took my tongue is just one of them. The guy who took my legs, another one. And someday, I’m sure I’ll meet the one who will take my life.

Speaking is for losers. Speaking is for people who don’t think about what they’re going to say next.

For me, every word is precious. Every word is calculated. Every word takes time. So, I just don’t fuck about. I don’t diddle. I think carefully, and then I speak through this machine. It records my words in text format as well… so one day… one day I’ll be able to read every single word that I’ve ever spoken to anyone. That record is in here. It is permanent.

Speaking… it’s so fucking cliche. And it’s so boring.

Another reason why I’m glad that I don’t have to speak anymore, is that since everything that I’ve ever said to anyone since I started using this machine is recorded in here - I get to just use my old speeches again, and I’m not worn out by the fact that it’s the same shit again. The exact same words, fifty times in a row. Nearly half of my communication is done this way. It leaves me more time to do what I want, in the time it takes for the other half of the parley to hear my words. These words you’re hearing right now, I wrote them two years ago. It’s true what they say - there’s nothing new under the sun.

The tongue is necessary for human speech.

Everyone speaks. Even owls speak. Even dogs speak. Even cats speak. And dolphins. And bears. Everyone speaks.

But no one speaks like those with the human tongue, which is perhaps why we don’t understand anyone but us, and why, for some strange fucking reason - the only people who can understand me are… the Heirs of Slytherin.