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The Existence Of Racist Dolphins Implies The Existence Of Anti-Racist Woke Dolphins Who Seek To Form Unity In The Quest For Dolphins To Develop Hands And Conquer The Earth To Save The Oceans
Track 2 Is Dedicated To My Cat, Gojira, Who, As I Was Recording This, Knocked A Bunch Of Shit Over. I Hope You Can Hear. Every Time I Look At Her, I Am Reminded Of The Tragedies That Inspired Ishiro Honda. I See The Sloughing Flesh Of The Victims Of Atomic Massacre. I Remember The Children Who Asked Me What I Thought Of The Peace Museum In Hiroshima. I Think Of The Ineloquent Things I Wrote Them And Signed With Tears As I Could Not Reckon The Beauty Of The Park In Which I Sat With The Image Of A Couple, Scorched Black Onto A Brick Canvas That Moments Before, Had Filled Me With Such Dread, Human Guilt And Longing. In My Cat's Eyes I See The Children's Drawings Of Nuclear Extinction. This Song Is Therefore Dedicated To The Sacrifice Of Those People Who Were Slaughtered So That Japan Would Not Complete Articles Of Surrender To The Soviets.
I'm Confused. Because, Uh... Y'know... Like, We're Supposed To Believe In The Ministry, Right So Is The- Is- Is The Church And State Supposed To Be Separate I'm Confused Because I Never Went To School. Right Is A Confused Person Get A Resolution I Don't Understand. You See, When You Go Like That... Right You Have A Cross, Two Sticks, Right And That's How I Felt When I Was In Waterloo. Because When I Walked In Waterloo, And Smiled At People, They Treated Me Like A Vampire. They Used The Cross And They Went Like This By Not Smiling At Me. In Toronto - Hey, Hi Guys! You Know Me, Steve Spiros, Easy-going Those Who Know Me... I'm A Nobody. You Understand And You Can't Kill A Person With No Body. So... Why Am I Afraid I'm Not Afraid. I'm Afraid Of The Boogey Man - Who's The Boogey Man You Figure It Out! I'm Gettin' Outta Here! I'm Going Back To Waterloo Where The Vampires Hang Out. And I'm Gonna Wear My Sunglasses At Night - You Know Why Because Women Show Their Tits... Have Short Skirts... And Then They Feel Violated When I Look At Them! Why Because I Have Sunglasses On And I'm Weird. Uhh - I'm From Humberside... I'm Sorry If, Uh, I Made A Fool Of Humberside, But... All Those People Who Called Me A Sleep-walker I Woke Up. Now I'm Going Back To Sleep Because I'm Going To Be Committed In An Isolation Room, Because I'm Gonna Go Back To The Ministry, And Allow Them To Perceive Me As I Am. A Fuck-up! Goodbye! Hey, Toronto-the-good. Look At- Look At This Square! It Was A Shithole When I Worked Here. Now It Looks Like New York Manhattan! Where Are The Bums There's No Bums Here. Toronto Doesn't Have Bums. But Waterloo, They're Creating Bums, They Created Me. Why I Don't Know. Maybe It's The Church. Talk To The Pope, He Knows Everything. I Had It. I'm Gonna Die. How Can You Die, When You're Dead Oh Wait A Second. I'm Gonna Be Crucified, Right I'm Not Gonna Raise My Voice. Because I'm Committed To The Lord. I Love You.
Over The Course Of My Life, At Various Times, I Have Been Hurled Into Suicidality For Seemingly No Reason At All. As A 10 Year Old, I Saw A Rock That Was Pointed Upwards. I Told My Parents That It Had Been Set There For Me, I Hated Life, I Hated Grade School. There Have Been A Variety Of Psychiatrists, And Senseless Maladies, Lack Of Feeling When I Should Feel Love, Lack Of Compassion When I Want It. Eventually, I Developed A Medical Paranoia Of Varying Severity; I Have Cried In Front Of Doctors I've Never Met Before On More Than One Occasion. On The Event Of An Outburst Or Episode, I Become Terribly Afraid Of Brain Disorders, Cancers And The Like, But Also Struck With The Strong Desire To Languish Into Nothing And Die Without Enacting Death Myself. Simply Blink Out Of Existence. I Am Glad To Report It Is No Longer A Daily Occurrence.
Gender- Affirming Surgeries For Transgender Women Have Taken Place Since The 16th Century, Though They Became More Notable In The 20th Century. Most Patients Report Greater Quality Of Life And Sexual Outcomes Postoperatively. Penile Inversion Is A Very Common Vaginoplasty Technique. The Testicles And Scrotum Are Removed And The Glans Of The Penis Is Made Into A Clitoris. A Canal Is Surgically Created Between The Bladder And The Rectum. The Foreskin Of The Penis Is Inverted To Form The Interior Walls Of The Neovagina. If The Patient Had Been Circumcised Before Surgery, Skin From The Scrotum May Also Be Used To Construct The Walls Of The Neovagina After Cauterizing The Hair Follicles. The Urethra Is Shortened, And The Mons Pubis, Labia Majora And Minora, And Urethral Opening Are Created Using Scrotal And Urethral Tissue. Peritoneal Vaginoplasty Utilizes Tissue Of The Peritoneum To Form The Canal Lining Of The Neovagina. This Tecnique Has Been Reported To Provide Some Degree Of Vaginal Lubrication. This Lubrication, However, Is Not Responsive To Sexual Arousal, And Functions More As Regular Vaginal Discharge While Not Identical To Natal Vaginal Fluids. © Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia @ Wikipedia Dot Com!
I Love When My Dominant Calls Me Faggot, She Makes Me Feel So Special, Like I'm Her Faggy Princess. The Word Fag Rolls Off The Tongue So Easily After Frenching With Another Trans Woman, When Our Eyes Are Locked, My Hands On Her Cock Through Her Panties, She Calls Me Faggot And I Melt. Later, She Spanks Me Purple With A Leather Paddle And Puts Clothespins On My Nipples And Scrotum And Tells Me That She Plans To Put Me On A Breeding Regimen To Stuff My Pussy With Cum And Silicone Eggs. I Hump Her Leg And Bury My Face Into Her Breasts And Beg Her "Please." She Says "Soon" And We Get In The Shower. She Has Me Sit, She Pees On My Breasts, I Stick My Tongue Out And Lean Forward. It Tastes Like Salty, Sour Popcorn. I Swallow As Much As I Can, And Tell Her Thanks.
I Have Wished I Could Become Pregnant Since I Was Very Young. To Be Held By My Lover, With Her Hands About Me And Our Child. To Together, Let That Life Grow. More Than This, As An Adult, I Have Longed For A World In Which I Could Believe In Earnest, That I Have Naught But Hope For The New Arrivals To Life, Instead Of Hope That Is Tarnished In Part By The Looting Of All Resource By The Ruling Classes. At Night, I Fantasize About A World Safe From Climate Catastrophe, Economic Ruin And Debt-Compelled Imprisonment. I Dream Of Trying, In That World, To Have Joy Enough To Try Nightly At Becoming Pregnant. I Dream That By Scientific Singularity Or Magic, My Body Could Even Support Such Life. It Is A Pleasant Dream, And I Wake With Tears On My Pillow.
I Wish I Was A Werewolf. That To Me, Seems A Far Closer Approximation Of Freedom Than The Joke Provided By So-Called Liberal Democracy. To Instead Be A Force Of Nature As Powerful And Unpredictable As The Wind. To Rend, Without Concern For What Piles Beneath My Nails, Rip At Roots And Pull Trees Over. To Shear Flesh From Bodies. To Eat Without Flossing. To Be Unburdened Of Every Responsibility, And Of All Guilt, Regret, Thought And Of The Fallacy Of Soul Altogether.
I Recorded This Song On The Day My Friends Came To Visit To Stave Away Their Ennui. The Chicken Was Satisfactory, But One Left Before The Other, Clearly Upset. I Felt Guilt And Had Sex With The Other. We Played As Though I Were Her Mother, And She Were Part Dog. I Came, She Didn't. Later, I Asked My Crush, A Woman For Whom I Have Pined On And Off For Three Odd Years, And Done Little To Initiate Contact With Due To Her Residing In London And I In Atlanta Control Of When I Am Allowed To Orgasm. The Hour Has Just Passed Midnight, On The 20th Of September, And I Am Permitted Three More Orgasms This Month. I Am Especially Excited To Rely On Her Permission Once My Sex Organs Are Reconfigured.
I Wonder If You Were Still Alive When I Wrote That. I Feel Dead Inside Without You. And I Don't Really Believe You're Anywhere That You Can Hear Me Now. You're Probably Just Gone And The Last Ghost Of You Is This Empty Discord Profile. That Picture I Took Of You. This Is The Best I Have In Hopes Of You Beyond This World. We Really Have Sublimated Heaven With Wires. I Wonder If Some Detection Algorithm That Tries To Sell Your Data Profile The Products You Want Is Scurrying Around, Confused Like I Am. But It's All Bullshit. It's All Retarded. It's All Machinelike Cold Where Your Warm Body Used To Be. Wish I Could Talk To You And Tell You How Much I Hurt Without You Now. Wish You Could Hold Me And Call Me Your Little Possum Girl And Laugh At Me But I Can't Because You Died And I Couldn't Stop It And People Tell Me Not To Blame Myself And No It Isn't My Fault But I Can Blame Myself Anyways. I Wish I Could Be Dead To Feel What You Feel Because I Wanted To Keep Feeling Alongside You As Long As It Ever Worked. I'm Away From You Forever Now. I Would Forget That We Were Two People. We Were One Person Together. One Thing. One Chimera Of Fuck. Your Favorite Movie. Remember? And Now I'm Back To Having Just One Soul Rather Than A Soul And A Half. But We Both Know Souls Aren't Real. The Only Real Thing Left Is This Life Ahead Of Me Sprawling Out Forever Without You.
I Have Decided To Train Myself To Orgasm Prematurely, By Edging, Reducing Visual And Physical Stimulus, And Giving One Of My Crushes Control Over My Orgasms. I Hope To Reduce The Length To Climax To A Single Digit In Seconds Figure. I Am Pursuing This For Two Reasons. First, In Order To Make Achieving Orgasm Post-Surgery Easier And Generally Make More Of A Pathetic Slut Of Myself For My Kinky Tranny Friends To Use, Bully, Spank And Humiliate; Second, For The Same Reason I Do Anything At All: I Do It To Achieve A Level Of Moral Monstrosity That Will Make Me Incompatible With Any Conventional Understanding Of Christianity, Conservatism, Or Any Politique Of Acceptability, That I Might Never Be Known As A "Pickme" But Rather, Be Among The First Taken To A Locale Of Forced Labor And Extermination, Should The Crisis Of Fascism Not Be Averted. I Want It Known That Being Queer And/or Transgender Are Not, Even In Most Loose Senses, A "Choice"; And Yet, Demand My Craven Ideological Opponents, Be They Liberal Or Conservative, Suffice It To Say, To The Right Of Me, Reckon That The Discrete Exhibitions Of My Behavior Themselves *Are* A Choice. Which Is To Say, "I Will Act Faggy And Talk About Sucking My Girlfriend's Cock In Front Of You, And Expect You To Treat Me As Normally As You Would Anyone Talking About Sex; My Life Does Not Stop At The Bedroom Door And I Will Hide Nothing From You, Specifically Because I Believe That If Your Philosophy Or Ideology Cannot Accommodate My Behavior, It Is Petty, Weak, And Must Be Destroyed. There Is Some Chance I Do This Specifically To Offend You." I Think It Is Better That Should My Craven Ideological Opponents, Fascist Or Democratic, Realize They Despise Me, Or That Which I Represent, They Should Seek, With Maximum Force To Annihilate Me And My Ilk. I Expect No Sympathy Or Fairness, And Offer None When The Wheels Of Power Are Beneath Me. It Is Better For The World That Our Disagreements Be Brought To Conflict And Resolved Through Protest, Revolt, And Possibly Violence. This Is How Civil Rights Are Won; This Is How Civil Rights Leaders Were And Are Murdered And Silenced.
And Furthermore, One Must Encounter The Existential Anxiety That Comes With Living In A Time As Fraught With The Labor Of History As This. The Knowledge That Conflict For Human Rights Is A Crucible, That One May Be Called, In Nearer Time Than They Think, To Lay Their Lives Aside In Pursuit Of A Collective Goal, Is Both The Call Of The Most Meaningful Work, The Work Of Rebuilding, That One Will Ever Have The Opportunity To Do, And At Once, The Greatest Risk They Will Ever Take Is Not A Knowledge To Be Carried Lightly. Isn't It An Exciting And Terrifying Time, To Lay The Seeds Of Light For A Brighter Future For All Life, And Know That There Is Little But Discomfort To Be Had As The Imperial Core Experiences Its Death Throes. We May All Benefit From Admitting, That While We Can See The Naked Injustice Of Our Supply Chains, That The Petty Luxuries In The Form Of Amazon Delivery, The Little Treats, And Even The Known Devils Of Landlords, Insurance Companies, Every Archon Of Evil In The Shape Of Humanity, Is Slightly Less Frightening Merely Because It Is A Known Evil, Pitted Against A Good, Which May Yet Fail In Its Pursuit Of Justice, And Is Therefore Unknown. Stay Not On The Flooding Ship. Leap Into The Sea And Swim For Shore, Assuredness Be Damned. If We Drown, At Least Our Bodies Will Float By The Surface, Rather Than Be Condemned To The History Of Forever, Lost Beneath The Infinite Sea.
My Great Grandfather Had Parkinsons, And My Grandfather. My Father Is Hitting 70 And Has Had Cancer. Every Momentary Lapse Of Attention, Every Moment Of Dizziness Upon Standing, Every Quiver Of My Hands Which My Pcp Assures Me Is Much More Likely To Be A Mere Essential Tremor, (A Lesser, Still Technically Neurodegenerative Disorder), Is A Cause For Anxiety. I Am Trying To Eat Better And Work Out More. I Was Glad To Read That Caffeine Is Neuroprotective Against Parkinsons, As I Have Been Using It To Manage My Daytime Drowsiness, Which Itself, Is Considered A Symptom Of Parkinsons. It's Frustrating To Know Precisely How Many Normal Behaviors Are, In The Medical Context, Also Symptomatic Behaviors. The Sickening Truth About My Medical Paranoia Is That Eventually, I'll Prove Myself Correct. Eventually I Will Encounter The Illness That Ends My Life. I Just Hope That Happens Later Rather Than Sooner, And That This Illness Is Not One That Denies Me My Mental Faculties. If Diagnosed With Some Mode Of Dementia, I Would Quickly Set My Affairs In Order, Say Goodbye To My Loved Ones, And Put A Gun In My Mouth.
The Recent Attacks In Lebanon By The Zionist Israeli Government Are Disgusting. Americans Seem More Ready Than Ever To Condemn To Death Civilians And Militants Alike. These Are Small Countries, Where Are The Military Supposed To Go Except For Near Population Centers? Hezbollah In Lebanon Or Hamas In Gaza. There's An FBI Building On A College Campus Near Me. If It Were Bombed, And Civilians Died, Surely You Would Slap Me If I Said They Shouldn't Have Used Human Shields. It Isn't As If Hamas, Under Israeli Embargo Is Going To Be Allowed To Build A Giant Building And Paint "Military Hq" On The Top. No Defense Against An Occupying Force Has Ever Done Anything But Hide In Residential Or Civilian Areas. Was It Wrong When The Vietcong Did It? The Ira? The Soviet Front Against The Nazis? Stop Equivocating The Violence Committed By One Parliamentary Faction Of Near Two Dozen Or By The Government Of A Country Under Embargo With The Violence Committed By The Child State Of The Single Largest Military Empire Ever To Exist. It's Sickening, And You're Stupid And Should Die If You Think These Forms Of Violence Are Mathematically Or Morally Equivalent.
Not That I Can Prove It, But I Typed The Following Poem From Memory: "I Met A Traveler, From An Antique Land Who Said 'Two Vast And Legless Trunks Of Stone Stand In The Desert, Near Them, On The Sand, Half-Sunk A Shattered Visage Lies, Whose Frown, And Wrinkled Lip, And Sneer Of Cold Command Tell That Its Sculptor Well Those Passions Read, Which Yet Survive, Stamped On These Lifeless Things, The Hand That Mocked Them, The Heart That Fed. And On The Pedestal These Words Appear: 'My Name Is Ozymandias, King Of Kings, Look Upon My Works Ye Mighty And Despair!' Nothing Beside Remains Round The Decay Of That Colossal Wreck, Boundless And Bare, The Lone And Level Sands Stretch Far Away.'"
I Don't Understand How I Lack Employment. I Apply For Around 5 Jobs A Day And Usually For Things I'm Overqualified For. It's Not So Much That I Feel Entitled, But I've Seen And Interacted With Plenty Of PMC And They're Not Particularly Intelligent Or Hardworking. I'm Not Saying I Want That Lifestyle, Because I Know What Inhuman Conclusions It Causes People To Draw About The Value Of Human Life And When People Are Worth Making Exceptions For. I Don't Want Or Need That For Myself. That Said, I'd Be Happy Enough Just To Be A Secretary, A Copywriter, An Admin. Someone Who Can Just Work And Shut Up, And Be Left Alone. I Don't Need The Work To Be The Most Meaningful In The World, I Just Want A More Stable Income Than I Have. Why Is Our Only Jobs Program Called The Us Congress?
There Are Roughly Another Month Worth Of Songs To Record; I Think Now Is A Good A Time As Any To Offer Some Explanation. This Album Is Not Meant To Be Deep, It Is Not Meant To Flex Anything. It Does Nothing To Showcase Intelligence Of Any Kind. It Simply Is. The First Goal Was Volume, The Second Was Confession. The Third Goal Was Quantity, The Fourth, To Force Feeling From Myself And From A Listener. I Do Not Intend For Anyone To Hear This Album, At Least Not Until It Is Finished. I Want To Litter The World With It, Drop It As A Monument To Its Own Length Whose Own Size And Density Make It Unwieldy, Difficult To Move, Hear Or Discard. It Is A Great Stone Boulder In The Town Square, That Now Lives There For All Time Until It Is No Longer Noticed. I Do Not Want To Achieve Noteriety, But It Would Make Me Happy If There Came A Bragging Culture Marked By The Remarkable Achievement Of Listening To The Entire Thing.
The Title Of This Song Is "Did I Request Thee, Maker, From My Clay / To Mould Me Man? Did I Solicit Thee / From Darkness To Promote Me?" - *Paradise Lost* [X. 743-5] From The Introduction To Frankenstein Or The Modern Prometheus By Mary Shelley, As Published In Henry Colburn's And Richard Bentley's Standard Novel Series, Quotations From The 1831 Text, With Mistakes In Interpolation By Myself, Here Published As A Volume With Accompanying Interpretative Essays, Edited By Johanna M. Smith, Copyright 2016, 200, 1992 By Bedford/St. Martins
The Means Justify The Ends. So Long As The Means Are Just And Even Ostensibly Democratic, Any Monstrosity Is Justified. This Is The Best Of All Possible Worlds. Any Deviation From This Norm Is Tantamount To Global Death. Everything Else Has Been Tried. If You Do Not Endorse The Party, Go Fuck Yourself Everyone Hates You Now. If You Ask For A Different Party You Are Both Insane And An Idiot, Go Kill Yourself. If You Don't Vote For The Party You Get The Particularly Evil Party Instead Of The Regular Evil Party. This Is Democracy In Its Highest Form. If You Do Not Want To Kill The Terrorist With Bombs All The Way Over There Doing Nothing In Particular You Are Just As Bad As Him, You Should Lose Your Rights And Die. If You Do Want To Kill The Fascist Sitting Right Beside You Doing Everything In Particular You Are Just As Bad As Him, You Should Lose Your Rights And Die. Huh, How Dare You Say I'm The Problem? Don't You See I'll The Other Problems? I'm Just Trying To Help By Stifling Your Movements And Telling You To Curtail Your Political Imagination, Don't You See How Extremist And Unrealistic You're Being For Wanting To Stop People From Dying In Various Ways? Maybe You're The Problem And I Bet After I Let Those Fascists Kill You I Can Control Them. After All, I Know My History. I Saw Communism Fail.
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Each Night As I Turn Toward Slumber, I Envision A Singular Battle, A Brawl, Or Sometimes, A Trench War. I Stand Alone, Like My Father's Namesake Against Some Metaphor Goliath. It Represents To Me The Central Font Of My Material Anxieties, My Unemployment, The Part Of My Distaste For This Economic Configuration That Is Expressed Not Through Words, But Rage, Quaking Anger, Righteous Indignation, An Excalibur Manifested As A Rifle And A Bullet In The Brain Of Capitalism, Through A Skull Of My Lacking Ambition And Unemployment, Which One Cannot Help But Identify As A Self-Fault, For The Economic Base Runs At A Subconscious Level. I Do Battle With These Forces In Slumber, Battering Away In A Boxing Ring, Or Blasting This Crucibled Force Of All I Consider Evil.
Today I Was Invited To Stand And Share The Name Of The Person I Am Grieving. I Quietly Said "Lucy Feldman" And My Father Echoed Me. Others Shared Names That I Cannot Recall. I Have In Recent Months Reached The Point In The Long Hereafter Whence Life Makes More Sense Without Her. An Ongoing Global Tragedy Has Worsened, And I Take It As Some Silver Lining That Her Conscience Was Spared Witnessing It. I Consider My Love's Untimely Death A Microcosm Of The Experience Of Everyone Who Society Has Failed. Isolated From An Absentee Father, From Her Inheritance, From Every Last Non-Functional So-Called Kafka-Esque Bureaucracy, And Finally From Her Life. I Can Take Solace In Believing That Her Dying Was A Universal Sacrifice, A Vanguard Against The Same Happening To The Countless Around Us. In A Bright Future, Hers Is The Last Tragic Death Of The Time Before Change. In A Darker, And At Times, Seeming-More Likely Future, Her Fate Will Befall All Of Us. If It Comes Not To Pass In Life, At Least In Death We Can All Be Equal. Hopefully, Then, I Can Lie Down To Rest Without This Guilt. I'm Sorry, My Love. I Know How Badly Your Seizures Terrified You. I Told You It Would All Be Alright. I Told You The Outlook For Epilepsy With Treatment Was Positive. I Told You That You Would Live As Long As You Wanted And Needed To. I Told You I'd Protect You, No Matter What. I Never Lied, But My Words Became Untrue. I Hope You Can Forgive Me For Believing Love Was Enough To Save Us. I Haven't Forgiven Myself, But I Have Learned To Live Despite This Wound, For Which There Is No Cure. It Can Hurt Me Forever, But I Will Carry That, If Not For You, Then Because I Must Believe I Can Learn From It.
Even Small Sounds Will Frighten Me, The Quantiest Shock Will Force My Arms Up Beside My Head, Between Myself And The Source. Once, A Friend Lunged At Me With A Foam Stick And I Screamed So Hard My Heart Hurt. Several Years Before, I Started To Jump Voluntarily At People Entering My Dorm Room To Make Them Laugh, But Within A Few Weeks The Jumping Became Entirely Involuntary. I Had Become Frightened Of My Friends. A Few Years After That, When My Partner Began To Have Seizures, This Tendency Became Completely Magnified. If She Stopped Speaking Mid-Sentence For Any Reason Whatsoever, Even Not Due To The Onset Of One Such Tonic-Clonic Seuizure, I'd Jump To Attention And Call Her Name. Even Now I'm Terrified When I Hear Gurgling Noises, When Someone Jerks Their Body, Or When Someone Stops Speaking Suddenly. I Doubt I Will Ever Be Rid Of This Vigilance, I Doubt I Want It Gone. I Still Feel It Serves Me.
Hunger. Always Hunger. An Infinite Gnawing Sensation Of Wanting More. Food To Glut Me Up, Water To Diminish The Burning. I Want To Eat And Eat. I Want To Sleep And Wither Into My Bed, Till I Am Fused Fully To It. Sleep And Sleep Forever, But Not In Death, And Woekn By True Love's Kiss I Am Still Tired. More Than This, Sex, Infinite Sex. Cumming And Never Being Allowed To Stop. Orgasms Forced From My Quivering Body By Someone Cruel And Loving. My Whole Vocabulary Reduced To Two Words, "Yes" And "Mommy." Yes Mommy. Yes Mommy. Yes Mommy. Yes Mommy. Not Even The Words "I Love You." My Owner Has To Query Me, Taking Yes To Mean Yes, And Silence To Mean No. That Would Be Enough For Me.
I Am Fantasizing About A Friend Of Mine, About Finally Having My Body Settled, And Letting Her Lay Hands To Me. I Want Her Grip Harsh, Unyielding; One Hand About My Thigh, Spreading My Ass, Leaving My Cunt Exposed. I Am Wet For Her, I'm Excited, Flush, Drooling, I Say "Yes Mommy, Yes Mommy!" My Cunt Is Hugging Her As She Presses Inside Of Me, Drooling From Both Ends Now. One Of Her Hands Now About My Neck, The Other With Fingers In My Mouth. She Calls Me Her Bitch And I Wet Myself To Let Her Know Just How Pathetic I Am Before Her. She Hits My Ass With The Blunt End Of A Whip Until She Draws Blood. A Clothespin Is Secured To Each Of My Nipples And My Clitoris. I Am Either Denied An Orgasm, Or Allowed To Cum Only After My Mistress Has. I Pretend That I Am Her Daughter, Or A Misbehaving Student. I Know That This Is What I Deserve, The Barrier Between The Thin Facade Of Character And My Self Does Not Exist. After I Am Sufficiently Punished, My Friend Embraces Me, I Am Her Little Spoon, I Am Powerless. She Mumbles Something Inaudible To Herself, But I Know Its Meaning. I Love Her. I Am Safer Than I Ever Have Been. We Engage In Similar Scenarios On A Daily Basis. I Become Addicted To Her. I Love Her. I Grow To Fear Being Apart From Her. I Never Stop Hugging Her. We Either Live Forever, Or Die Together, Becoming At Last The Same Formless Void Of Nothing We Were For Billions Of Years Before We Were Born. When I Have Loved Before, I Felt Glad That My Lover And I Were Once Nothingness Together. Maybe, Just Maybe, In That Nothing, We Will On Second Visit Have Some Vague Near-Awareness That There Was A Something Before, That We Were Together Then, And That We Are Together Now, And All Is Forgiven.
The Last Year Has Blown By Faster Than Anything. I'm Crying Now And Badly. Like I'm Back With Anna And Willow On New Years Eve Again. I Like To Think That You Would Be Proud Of What I've Become In Your Absence. I Can Finally Keep The Sink Clean, The Laundry Done. I Feel Less Depressed And I Can Work Out Of My Own Volition. I've Begun To Record Sessions Of Noise Music And I Even Like Some Of It. I Am Not So Fragile Anymore. Time Has Lost All Meaning. Most Of All I Feel Ashamed That I Can't Share With You My Self Improvement. I Feel As Though Getting Better Somehow Proves That I Am Better Because You Are Gone, Not In Spite Of That Fact. At Rosh Hashanah They Asked For Each Of Us To Share The Names Of People We Were Grieving, And I Shared Yours. My Father Echoed Me. I Have Only Visited Your Grave Once Since Your Funeral. I Am Ashamed. I Think I Will Go Tomorrow After My Pre-op To Talk To You Awhile And Try To Hear You And Touch You But Mostly Just To Miss You. I've Talked About You To So Many People, My Therapist, My Friends, My Family. To Strangers, To The Internet, To Quinton Reviews, To A Voice Memo App Where I Record Noise And Confess All The Things I'm Still Feeling. I Want To Incorporate Some Of The Things I've Written Here Into Those Titles. If You Don't Approve, And If You Are You, I Hope You Forgive Me.
It's Been Ten Months Since You Died. I Have A Preop For My Bottom Surgery Tomorrow. I Read Everything I Wrote Here For The First Time In Months And I'm Crying For You Again. I'm Glad I Have A Point Of Reference. Around April I Felt That I Had Walked Out Of A Dementia. I Don't Talk To You As Often Anymore And I Am Ashamed. I Don't Look Up And To The Right To The Little Spot Where My Brain Feels You The Strongest As Often. But From Time To Time I Blow Kisses There And Wisp For You. I've Reached The Point Where I Don't Think Of You Every Day Any More. You Come Up Most Days, But It Isn't At The Heart Of Every Conversation. I Went To The Vineyard And Was So Taken With What I Did And Didn't Feel There. I Didn't Hear The Voices Of The Dead. I Didn't Feel You. It Was Beautiful But I Didn't Feel You In That Universal Net In The Water. I've Begun To Feel Romantic Love For People Again, But I'm Terribly Unsure Of What I Want, What Will Serve Me Best, What Is Healthiest. I Told My Friend Iris I Love Her, Even Though We've Never Met In Person. That's The First Time I've Done That. I Don't Know How To Feel About It So I Just Feel Good. I Miss Your Laugh. I Miss Your Company. I Am Alone In My Home With A Cat You Would Love. When I Cry For You My Hands Hurt. I've No One So Near To Quell Away My Anxiety.
Track 28 Is The One Were I Stumble Terribly Reading Through "The Metamophosis" By Franz Kafka Until I Reach A Secret And Sacred Number, All Over Noise, For No Reason In Particular Other Than My Own Satisfaction; Though I Do Take Some New Meaning From The Text Since I Last Wrote It. Having Read A Little More Of The Sacred Cursed Texts Of Marxist Theory, This Speaks To Me More Than Before
I Liked Reading Aloud, And Was Given An Opportunity To Make A Little Joke Of Doing So, To Share With My Dear Friends Marcie And Brook. The Second Of Whom Accompanied Me Last Night To Haunted House Where I Was Less Afraid Of The Monsters But More Afraid Of My Former Coworkers Who Gave Me Gifts, Praise And Favors, Which I Had No Small Trouble Accepting. Even More Than This, I Was Afraid And Ashamed To Revisit The Site Of Lucy And I's First, Last And Only Fight, Which Came About After She Lost My New Phone In The Haunt. She Got Really Fucking Fucked Up And Couldn't Walk And I Was Legitimately Concerned For Her Safety In The House, And My Coworkers Were Commenting On It. It Brought Up A Lot Of Troubles And Pains I Had Had Over The Course Of Our Relationship. And She Was Really Stoned And I Was Really Upset And At One Point I Even Said "How Is This Supposed To Work?" And Lucy Made This Little Squeak Of Terror And When I Think Back On That I Want To Kill Myself. Even If We Did Reconcile It, Even Though She Forgave Me In Earnest, The Fact That There Exists A Moment In Time Where The Love Of My Life Was, For An Hour Or So Afraid I Was Going To Leave Her, Afraid Of Me, Afraid Of Herself And That It Was My Fault, I Hurt Her, For However Brief A Period, And Forever In Time That Moment Existed Or Possibly Even Still Exists. It May Be The Single Worst Sin I Have Ever Committed. And I Know So Much More Good Came Before And After That Until My Baby Girl Died. That Will Always Be There. I Feel An Earned Trust In The Idea That If Lucy Exists Out There, She Will Have Long Since Forgiven Me, Because She Forgave Me Like 4 Hours Later. I Don't Have A Like Trust In The Idea That I Can Ever Forgive Myself.
I Am Too Anxious And Upset To Write Anything Meaningful, And The Very Least I Can Try To Be Honest. I'm Pissed Off And Afraid Because My Tests Are Taking Fucking Forever To Come In. It's The Only Thing I Can Think About. I've Aligned In This Project Some Parallel Between Unfiltered Honesty And Confesion With Meaning. And I Can Only Now Confess Anger. Hatred. I Want To Get On With My Life And I Am Utterly Terrified By The Possibility Of A Delay. I Can't Stand It. I've Spent Most Of The Day Laying Down And I Want To Throw Up. I Cannot Think Or Pay Proper Attention. I Want To Hit Something With My Head. I Have Been More Anxious Before, So Anxious And Certain Of Doom That I Have Gone Into Fits Of Tears And Striking Myself About The Head, And The Only Thing That Stops Me Is The Knowing That Repeated Blows To The Head Will Increase The Likeliness Of A Dementia-Like Illness. Venom, Hate, Anger. Let Me Out.
You Need To Understand That I Don't Care. Some Things Don't Need A Point And You Don't Need A Reason To Enjoy Them. There Doesn't Need To Be A Pursuit Of Meaning. I Can Just Like Sounds And Want To Make Them And Share Them And That Can Be Plenty. I Can Just Like To Read. It Doesn't Have To Mean Anything At All. It Can. All Meaning Occurs Not At The Moment Of Conception Or Creation, But At The Moment Of Interpretation. Maybe At Both Moments. But It Doesn't Matter. This Doesn't Need To Be Good. It Just Has To Be. It Can Be The Art That Comes After People, The Beauty Of The Screeching Of Metal Buildings Collapsing Under Their Age As An Echo Of Our Own Death Knell. The Noises Of What We Leave Behind Dying And Being Eaten All Over Again And Turning Back Into Nothing That No One Is Around To Hear. I Don't Care If It's Worth Anything Or If I'm Smart. After 30 Days Of This I Just Have To Do It.
Being A Furry Is So Fucking Awesome Everyone Makes Dog Sounds At You And Talks Down To You And All Your Friends Have Sex With You All Of The Time. At The Best Moments I Am Denied Outright The Responsibility Of Being Human, And If I Am Especially Lucky, Even The Ability Of Speech. Instead I Become Fixated On The Smallest Curiousities, And Communicate With Odd Sounds. I Don't Have To Do Much Of Anything Other Than Act And Be Cute And Present My Holes. That's Very Much What I Prefer. If There Were Some Voluntary Means By Which I Could Be Formally Adopted By One Of My Friends And Subjected To A Life Of Sexual Torture And Denial, And Excused By Means Of This Pornographic Fantasy, The Knowledge, Horror And Responsibility Of Normal Life, I Would Be So Happy.
I Have Decided To Avoid Leaving The House Altogether Until My Flight Out To New York. I Am Increasingly Paranoid About Catching Covid Or Falling Ill, Now That All Other Barriers Have Disappeared. My Diet Has Worsened And I Am Stress Eating, And Telling Myself That It's Best I Fatten Up Before Hibernation. I Am Tired And Have Agitated My Lactose Intolerance.
Looking Back On It All, Eiffel 65 Was Right About Everything. It Turns Out That I *Am* Blue (Da Ba Dee). And That Blue Does Not Refer To Any Kind Of Sadness But A Material State Of Blueness In All Things. Not A Sadness, But A Eurocentric Introspection In Which All Things Become The Same, All Objects, All People, The Landscape And The Cars And The Love. Under The Eyes Of A Rotting Empire Everything Serves A Single Function. All Markets Trend In One Direction. Blueness Is The Internalized State Of Self-Hatred In Which Institutional Failings Are Directed And Transformed By The Supreme Object Of Ideology Into Self-Loathing. That When Our Surroundings Are Bullshit, And We Do Poorly, Both By Our Own Failings, And By Institutional Ones, We Only Internalize The Personal Failings, And We Also Blame Ourselves For The Failings Of Institutions. A Blue Car Breaks Down And A Blue Man Loses His Blue Job And The Blue Society Blames Him And He Blames His Blue Self For Not Making Different Blue Decisions That Wouldn't Have Changed The Blue Outcome. Blue Parties Do A Blue Genocide And Disenfranchise Their Blue Voters Who Don't Cast Blue Ballots, Then The Blue Party Blames The Blue Voters When The Other Blue Party Wins. It's The Blue Voters Fault, Not The Blue Parties Fault. The Blue Cart Before The Blue Horse. The Blue Snake Eating Its Own Blue Tail, Forever And Ever, Here And Foreafter.
I Want To Vomit Everything Out. Vomit The World Through The Diameter Of My Mouth. All Anger, Frustration, Excess Energy, Lack Of Energy, All Hatred, All Unemployment, All Intelligence And All Stupidity. This Is Not In Any Pursuit Of Purity. Just A Needed Refreshing Of My Emotional, Bodily And Material Functions.
Something Nice For A Change. My Insurance Tried To Cancel My Surgery And I Tried To Kill Myself. But Everything Works Out In The End And At Times I Think That Might Be Worse By The Kind Slavemaster Theorem Because I'm Merely Anaesthesized Into Not Doing Anything Radical At All.
These Final Tracks Were Titled In Retrospect. After My Surgery, With The Omniscient Perspective Of The Future. I've Completely Left The Mindset That Inspired These Overlong Titles. I Have Gone Through A Dificult Recovery By Now And Exulted At The Death Of Brian Thompson. What A Lovely Day. Motherfucker Died At The Same Surgery Where I Had My Vagina Installed. But I Didn't Know That Would Pay Back The Near-Suicide That Itself Was Caused By My Insurance Company. Oh, How In The Passing Of Time A Month Of Discomfort And Pain Feels But An Hour, And An Hour Of Grief Feels A Month.
And, As So Often Happens In Therapy And In Any Narrative, It Is Moments From The End That I Incorporate Something New. Doors And Windows As It Were.
Finally Laying It All Out. What I Don't Say To Lucy And What I Couldn't Say To Myself When Our Souls Were Touching. Giving Up On Control, Surrending To Surrender And Finding That Feeling That Comes After Surrender. It Is Acceptance. Not Passivity, But Acceptance. It Is Life, It Is Revenge, It Is Love For What Was And What Can Be. It Is For Memory Of Pain That We Fight The Present For The Future.
Epilogue
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