A short story of mine

Hey, this is a short story I wrote, tell me what you think:

The world around him was as sick as a smoker's lungs. It was a world where everyone's lungs were part of the same sickness. And one where his greatest connection with nature, and greatest escape from man made entropy, were the weeds blossoming through the cracks in the concrete.
His ideals were in a constant state of flux. That was by far the easiest way to move through this degraded world. He wandered down some sidewalk and came to a crowd, something he typically regards with high curiosity.
It’s unending (he once wrote something to the effect of):
“A tearful theatre trebles and bellows, through a diminished vista of reality, experiencing the locomotion of a train on tracks that lollygag outwards. And then the streets are filled, once their time has been . . . bled to death, and their last/final dreams have been milled.” But it was pure luck that he should stumble upon the bloody aftermath. It was such a remarkably shitty day though. He just kept walking.
He'd say things to him self in a sullen sedated voice like, “Yes, I am a very insignificant creature that doesn't know very much. And I guess that I've accepted that fact whole heartedly now because I've also realized that that is quite possibly the greatest wisdom that I'm ever going to be in touch with.”
He wandered around some corner and ended up next to an apartment complex, glanced up at it, and noticed a line of huge ominous black squares, and if he stared at them for very long he’d be able to render a police officer to his service.
He liked to bring a notebook along with him where ever he went and write his ideas and thoughts and whatever else in it. And he had developed a rather strange habit of either shoving a curse word or a qualifier in a set of parentheses every few words.
For example, an entry reads:

“Perhaps many people when they were (cock sucking) young experienced something that ultimately their whole (mother fucking) (asshole licking(ly)) world view was (really) (just) (ultimately) (god damn(ed)) (mother fucking) constructed around. (Just) what in the hell is yours you bloody (asshole licking(ly)) asshole?”

He really loved the phrase “(asshole licking(ly)).” It’s grotesque.
He then glanced at some lovely pair of boobies before strolling past the front of a minivan, with the determination of a plastic bag stuck in the wind, causing the driver to mutter, “You’re killing me,” to which he replied, “Suck my perverted ballsack.”
But was his nut sack really perverted? Yes, indeed it was. But perhaps all of the nut sacks were perverted. He relished witnessing women abuse men, and in his society misandry was a highly prevelant phenomenon, so there were plenty of fascinating scenes for him to get off to. But it came along with some often times maddening side effects. The thing that he found most disturbing about it was your typical person’s seeming obliviousness to it. Did they really not notice it? Or did they perhaps all have some secret deep-seated love for it the same way he did every time he fell into an abyss of jubilant stroking and feminine enthusiasm?
He once wrote (parenthesized things removed for convenience):

“A decent day; they retched a bit more of my mind out with a typical monotonous misandrous monologue . . . it seems as though they can never take this prejudice far enough to be gratified . . . perhaps the next climax always has to be something bigger. If I have to see another male forced to cross dress I think I might just cut my balls off.”

He began a new walk now, another insipid shade of grey, adjacent to two seemingly endless lines of lampposts, which gave him the idea that some sort of giant mechanical millipede must have been laid on it's back and covered in cement. And the hot cement in turn gave him this steady seething feeling of slowly being baked alive by the sun, it reminded him of the hellish and wasted dried up shriveled up sort of feeling he had when he finished masturbating.
But his most beloved top tier sexual fetish, well beyond misandry, was the ideology of Fascism. The reason why was that the society he lived in had a tendency to put an excessive amount of titillation into their advertisements, and so, as a child, growing up, the most sexually charged images absorbed into his mind came to him in the form of advertising for products that typically had absolutely nothing to do with sex. As a result of this, he began to associate his lustful urges with the concept of being sold something for illogical reasons, or, put more simply, the concept of being taken advantage of. And because he's not completely unaware, he knows that advertising is something that occurs on a massive scale, and so he began to associate sex with the idea of his entire society being taken advantage of. And then he simply pushed it to it’s most extreme position, because it's somewhat sexier that way, and ended up with fascism (a highly decadent, more sexually extroverted form of fascism than what is typically seen (on Earth)).
But when he wasn't feeling horny, he thought that fascism was a bad and scary thing. Indeed, his honest opinion was that there is no other monster that walks among man, in fact, no other conceivable monster that could be more insidious than the ones that await you within the realms of fascism. But that was an easy thing for him to forget about as soon as he began feeling horny.
He had also acquired a severe lust for religion and advertisements in general. Religion had an appeal to him because he viewed it as another corrupt control system. And he loved thinking of how phony and seemingly enslaved by affectation the people at the church he use to attend were, particularly his preacher, whom he adored for his fantastic hand motions.
But he also had a great deal of contempt for these religious figurines, and the way they disturbed the march of science, and seemed to retard civilization in general.
Here’s a fantasy of his (a non-masturbatory one), outlined in his notebook, his Church of Christian Rationalism
as he refers to it. It’s a sort of grand act of intellectual terrorism: He is standing on the stage in some old church dressed like Jesus Christ himself, in between chardonnay curtains along with a band dawning the lipstick red of Cardinal costumes, and in front of them the pews have been pushed up against the walls so that his congregation can indulge themselves in one massive orgy (no pun intended). The band is creating some shockingly perfect music, a rhapsody of sound that seems almost sacred, while a camera stares on in the back of the room, listening very acutely as well, so that the scenes can be captured perfectly for their trip out to the airwaves of public access television. And so he stands before them, with glory as his name, and he preaches along with their glorious music,

"I do believe that any rational individual would view the right to sin as a right obtained at precisely the moment that one is saved. And so come and let us rebel against the nature of our own immortality, with which our pleasure can commence henceforth, simply by giving the devil his due.”
"My mind was trapped in a suspicion of reality that even suspected itself to be false, along with a small number of interactions that seemed true enough to tolerate in exchange for life itself. That's beautiful, but it's bullshit. It's just a stimulating pile of bullshit. It's like a ring of ethereal leaves adorning the decaying cranium of some lost king. It’s like a bildungsroman of a man who spent his first thirty years weeping over To Kill a Mocking Bird. It’s like Macbeth intoning, ‘Out out brief idiot. Nothing is but a walking candle, a poor player that struts and hours his fret upon the stage and is heard no more. It is a tale, told by a shadow, full of sound and fury, signifying life.’ ”
“Countless arrogant fools have wailed nice sounds, but they’ll never allow any real meaning within their chapels. You were lost among these assholes and you were found among these assholes. If they’d told you that the truth is a lie when it comes from the devil’s lips would you have at least thought for a moment that you knew what they meant? We’ll hail these assholes once they’re burning in heavenly flames. Let them witness this scene which their eyes, always eager to devour lies, will never be able to stomach, because one’s truth is never more hideous than when viewed from the sanctuary of one’s lie. And in the beauty that rings with the truth I hear more truth than a man can ever hope to express.”
“You have refused to lead lives as confused saddled infants, and so now you can sin to your heart’s content you petty little children of god. After all, he did give his bastard of a son so that you could walk through those pearly gates regardless of the megalomaniacle extent of your filthy deeds. That spot was earned by someone else, for you, so perhaps you should make that sacrifice count for something. After all, how would you want to be treated?”
“But to you useless pious fucks steeped in effervescing bullshit, I live deep within your heart. Yes, I’m there. Like hell, I’m there. I lay there in the cat’s pajamas. And I sleep there, and I dream there, and I fuck there.”
“I’ve seen through your sequestered souls. I know how your lies constructed. You’re like the venereology of demons exploring the infested underbelly of some fallen angel. You’re inorganic matter cheerleading a tragic parade. But you’ll never have to worry about the wingless bats chewing through your neck, or the anguished cries emancipating your desperate eyes because when you die, and you’re standing before the throne of god, you’ll feel oh so happy and oh so sad watching your life be reduced to a simple rosary, and you can feel completely confident that he loves you, and will save you, no matter what number of pious orgasms you’ve chosen to stack before his stoic eyes. Your god, your infinitely loving and infinitely merciless god, speaks through me, and he tells me the most wondrous things like, ‘Fuck you you smegma licking gooch rag said the festering erectile dysfunction as he licked around the area where the toilet meets the floor. He liked to lick it while he fingered his asshole and had a jagged rolled up Polaroid of his mother shoved up against his bloody gums. The blood made him think of his mother’s period, and he had an incestuous drive to ingest a tall heaping glass of that. But he always couldn’t help but wonder, if he took a straw and shoved into his dick, and shoved the other end into some other guy’s dick, would he perhaps be able to piss it into their dick? He took some of the blood and shoved into his nose. He wanted her to cunt stain his nostrils with just a taint of blood. It was great, but it still wasn’t as exciting as taking a shit inside of his grandmother’s asshole and eating it back out with a spoon made of his own frozen cum. Then he salivated over the idea of masticating inside her cottonmouth. And then he went to go and get some water.’ ”

It made him giddy.
A complete overview of his sexual fantasies includes: his grandmother, stupid people in general, people buying useless things, being forced to cross dress, women beating the shit out of each other, women making love to each other, men beating the shit out of each other, being anally rapped by a man in a prison cell, woman beating the shit out of men, just being controlled and manipulated by women in general, women kissing him on the cheek, women blowing him kisses, women talking to him like he’s a stupid animal. He would joyously imagine himself being sent to war to die for some gorgeous female dictator. He wasn’t much of a sadist, but he did occasionally beat off to the idea of people being hurt and not helping them. (Ideas of extreme selfishness and irresponsibility turned him on quite a bit.) He tried beating off to fucking animals, but he couldn’t really get into it. He’d tried thinking of molesting children, but he couldn’t really get into that either. And every once in awhile he’d actually enjoyed the simple pleasures of beating off to just plain old sex. But all of these things came to him much less often than pure unbridled fascism.

He once wrote (parenthesized stuff excluded for convenience):
“A grotesquely intricate population seemingly made up of 2-D people. They lead lives like niggled little tamagachis. And they all just seem to love it so god damned much. They love themselves to death it seems. Coercive entities seem to have struck gold on all of their minds. And I wonder around them like an infinitesimal chameleon. For the simple reason that I don't want to be spotted by these strange creatures whose behavior disturbs me so completely.”

By the time he had abandoned religion he was about as scared and as vulnerable as your typical person has the capacity for becoming. And, because he had developed a severe hatred for what he viewed as the rash thoughtlessness of the people that surrounded him, his desire became to embrace complete rationality to the totality of his capabilities. He wanted a reason for everything. His unflinching allegiance to this, he thought, could truly save him. But there was a major problem. Instead of being able to come to a conclusion on everything he ended up just being forced through a phase of excruciatingly intense cognitive dissonance because there were certain things that were simply beyond his powers of explanation. After hearing a paradox he would be buried in an unstoppable avalanche of brutally painful thought. The words, "The following statement is true. The previous statement is false,” almost seemed to crack the mortar in his mind. But something else that disturbed him rather intensely was his complete reliance on his memories as a means by which to understand and move through his reality. His arbitrary faith in causality could not be tolerated. His mind turned on himself.
He was trapped in this stupefyingly warped chain reaction where absolutely no emotions could be trusted, where every thought’s goal was to be stridently independent. Each thought was designed with the sole intent of evading the previous thought because there was no clear reason to trust it. He was attempting a rebellion against the tyranny of his own mind. He viewed all of his sensations as nothing more than the threat of becoming stagnated under the helm of some absurd ideology. His concern was more than just the simple possibility that causality could break down at any moment, but perhaps more importantly, that the past he imagined hadn’t actually occurred. It was possible for him to look at a scene and feel that he knew what was happening, but was that feeling that he regarded as understanding perhaps just some arbitrary sense of security?
But eventually his mind came up with a profoundly simple reason to justify his beloved causal beliefs, which brought him a sense of security at least temporarily. His justification for this one belief, a justification he hoped never to use in reference to another matter, was, simply, intuition. It felt intuitively correct to behave as though there was some sort of causal mechanism occurring around him, and governing his universe. And with that as his answer he briefly proceeded on with his state of tense peace.
But his mind’s excessive scratching at the edges of his simple reasoning eventually reduced his mind (once again) to an incapasitating pit. He seemed to have become unshakably lethargic. But he could never quit thinking. The people surrounding him just seemed like (in his own words), “ . . . a bunch of calloused sluts desperately clinging to gapping lies, and hollowed promises, and tiny buttons.” He had traversed a few belief systems in his relatively short time, was it possible that he could just fall in line like one of these other dumb ass cunts?
And so he thought about it obsessively. He wanted to view everything at once, see the universe from one end to the other while still propagating through it. He wanted to become everything from beginning to end and simply enjoy the splendors of moving throughout him self. But it seemed to be essentially impossible to identify a logical starting point. He thought of everything that he felt he had now, felt he knew right now. He filled his nervous system in, like a complex liquid plaster, to the very ends of it’s possibilities.
He once wrote:
“Perhaps I’m (really) (just) (kind of) bound to catterwall infinitely on the edge of some (semi)circle that can/will never (be able to) reveal itself to me. No one can (ever) know (just) how much you’ve forgotten, and yet reality seems (as though) to/(it can) continue on indefinitely in lieu of continually forgotten facts. I lose bits of the past as I gain bits of the future, but the difference between the two is (by now) essentially incognizant to me because in a single moment my faith in the physical laws is based on a faith in some/a sense/feeling of security, not on the entire aggragate of my supposed memories. ( reveal this (asshole licking(ly)) fact to me.) (And perhaps with every opening of my eyes, reality unfolds what would seem to have been an alien landscape to the now oblivious mind that went extinct less than a microsecond ago. Well, that’s not by any means a hell. But it would make me feel (somewhat) silly to be the stalwart of a heaven . . . But then again . . . Mindless Oblivion . . . perhaps you are worth procuring. How I’d love to be your martyr . . . but Zeno’s paradoxes (will) only allow me to touch your untouchable reason. They sift my finger tips directly into your only one. A profound gap seems/appears to be winking at me. (This dimension (really) (just) (kind of) feels (to me) as though it were unfortunately constructed with me in mind (And so I’m forced to feel (like an)/(completely) alien))”
But then one excruciating day something beautiful happened. His mind’s exhausted production process plopped out an image of a giraffe chewing on the leaves in a baobab tree, and he momentarily glimpsed a vista of reality that he felt was surely larger than his single moment. It seemed to him that he could realize, instantaneously, without any previous assumptions whatsoever, that this giraffe was most likely a living thing because of how clearly/blatantly separate from, yet well adapted it seemed to be to it's surroundings, and because of the fact that the way it was reaching out seemed like something that only a conscious entity was likely to do. The image seemed to be so inherently complex, that he felt that he felt he could see/realize it’s origins without the use of his memories, and so he could finally accept just how unlikely it is that he would see such an image unless there had been a well ordered past. And the future as well finally seemed to flow (or perhaps explode is a better word) from his moment, and the universe began to move again, and seemed to become a tangible thing. And briefly he lived more peacefully than he ever had before.
He felt like an irreverent god with no propriety for the march of the future because he could dive so far into the past that he could actually forget that he was bound to arrive there.
He once wrote:
“Well, the future and the past are now flowing again, and the universe once again seems to be a tangible thing. Time can be called to whip past my cheeks like the wings of butterflies. The histories of the nouns that surround me are constantly revealing themselves to me in every single glance . . . and/but what will I find at the bottom of their histories . . . and what will I find in their/it’s future . . . oh sweet lord . . . why should I lie . . . or why should I try to escape that which feels patently correct/true . . . until you know everything you know nothing . . . and my peace (just) fell apart.”
“But then just what exactly are the (real/true) logical implications of an endeavor to become the past and present and play (really) (just) (kind of) the perfect hand at creating the (asshole licking(ly)) (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) future as well?”
He thought that consciousness was nothing more than electricity, nothing more than the electrical signals in his brain. He hypothesized that an electromagnetic attraction was the source of pleasure, an electromagnetic repulsion was the source of pain, and that everything you experience, everything that distinguishes sight from sound and all of your other sensations were simply differences in the nature of the electromagnetic shapes that were interacting with one another (probably to a large extent differences in their electromagnetic wavelengths) because he felt that he could imagine connections between his senses. He could imagine his sense of taste as being a sort of exceptionally more delicate sense of touch, where his tastes buds felt the contours of the individual food molecules. He could as well imagine sound as a highly delicate sense of touch. And he could certainly see a connection between smelling and tasting. But it was hard to connect sight to anything. Connecting it with sound seemed the most immediately logical, but then he realized he was probably just looking at his senses in terms of how useful they were to him. Then it seemed to be the most logical to connect it with taste, but he still had a hard time imagining any steps in between. And so he figured that the electric shapes that his eyes experience must be vastly different from his other senses. And he figured that if all of your emotions were just pleasure or pain being experienced in the form of slightly different shapes than the physiological changes that occur in your body are most likely just being triggered by the nature of those shapes . . . which seemed to him to have significance because he could bend over and a feeling of pressure on his heart could cause him to feel quite nervous just because it felt exactly like one of the physiological sensations/changes that came along with that emotion (at least for him anyway).
He wrote:
“(All of my sensations are just electricity . . . I can place as much importance on them as I desire, but that’s ultimately all that they are. And the objects that surround me will either allow me to move through them, or they will not, and that’s (ultimately) all there is to it. Does the shape of my purely electrical body perhaps resemble a jelly fish? What I wouldn’t give to be able to branch out and force the horrors that surround me to (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) become part of my redundantly static electrical jelly fish being. Oh (my) god . . . my mind’s dillerrium just realized something (perhaps important). The internet itself must (really) (just) (kind of) be a/an living thing. And think of (all of) the tortured magnets being shoved together against (really) (just) (kind of) their (asshole licking(ly)) will. Maybe that’s straight cognitive dissonance for you . . . maybe they’re all like me. But think of all of the magnets (that get to) com(e)/(ing) together in perpetually joyous (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) bondage. I guess that it now (really/actually) seems to me like it would be impossible to see myself completely . . . to examine all of my electromagnetic shape using (really) (just) (kind of) only one of it’s (asshole licking(ly)) parts. I feel like I have existed like a dog (really) (just) (kind of) chasing it’s (asshole licking(ly)) tail. I wanted to feel certain that my reality wasn’t being fed into my nervous system by some coercive entity. I could never be satisfied with simply feeling my body and knowing it was there . . . allowing my various parts to regard themselves. My paranoia had created this desire to always have eyes upon my eyes, and eyes upon those eyes.”
“Your sensations just fade from one to another without any clear point of differentiation between them. (An act of true mental imposition cannot take place.)”
“It is (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) impossible for one to be exclusively interested in sex because there's no system that is pure sex. And there is no system of pure love or (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) romance either because the universe is not made up of these things. But there is still a system pure and whole. The universe is made up of pleasure and pain. Everything it has ever experienced can fit into one of these two categories (I think).”
Perhaps I should just split myself in two and allow each side of me to examine the other's parts.
Everyone is completely introverted. And we will destroy anything that threatens our remarkable sensitivity.
A message to individuals everywhere: Let's not destroy ourselves.
And then a million laughing patterns rang high through the tree tops and low through the grass bed.
Perhaps our minds are being held back by their own banners. Perhaps music is the most intense and vivid way to drive your sphere of thought into someone else after staring them directly in the eyes.
Are there any means by which one can stabilize anything (I have to wonder sometimes)?
You lead lives in a confused aquarium.
All of your most brilliant poetry seems to seek the creation of some hollowed out cavity within your chest, which you can momentarily recede into, but you always seem to pop back out and then you just have to seek another one.
But are you any better than these Buddhist monks? (And then a cavity was briefly hollowed out in my chest, and I felt something somewhat/slightly freeing). I don't really know I guess. But they have taught me this/(the following):
It’s possible for a person to become completely happy without any exterior stimulus whatsoever. In fact, it’s possible for an individual to become happier with no exterior stimulus (at all), than they (probably) could (have) become (while) being dependent on one. The greatest happiness seems to come from within, and is not dependent on anything other than itself. And so what the fuck/hell are we all doing with our lives? Why are we all wasting our time with so much (complete and total/utter) bullshit? Why don’t we all just detach and be(come) completely happy for no (gdmfal) reason at all? It seems to me that the only reason we should ever actually be interested in doing things is (simply) as a matter of (plain/simple) survival, but you people don’t seem to be very interested in that sort of thing at all. (And do you/we really/actually have any (sort of an) idea how to do that?) Maybe you could retain more of an interest in it if you didn’t see things on TV everyday (just) (simply) teaching you to be afraid of the way (that) a (asshole licking(ly)) human (being) naturally is. (Almost all of) Your personalities seem to me as though they were manufactured. Fuck the fascist prowl of your TV sets (it’s something designed to give you the illusion of freedom (I think)). Your weaning can’t become an eternal story (,)/( . . .) no matter how seductive that may sound to you.
(Have I perhaps said too much, have I perhaps said too many things in “()” for your pleasure? Or have you perhaps (really/actually) (just) (kind of) not thought enough for your (own) (asshole licking(ly)) pleasure? Huh? Haahhh? Hmmm? Heeehhh??) ((And) just why in the hell is your pleasure important anyway you (god damn(ed)) (mother fucking) (asshole licking(ly)) asshole? Hmm? Huh? Hmmm? Ahhhhp . . . fuck it(all (to hell and (asshole licking(ly)) back I’d (asshole licking(ly)) say (asshole licking(ly)) anyway . . . . . ahhhh . . . fuck youuuueee: hah (quibbled it (a bit(just on the side there didn’t I (hm?(mf?)) I apologize (profusely) . . . anyway . . . )
Your religious leaders, and your poets/writers, and your advertising executives, and your politicians are all (just) involved in the same (basic) dirty work/business (I think). They just need to temporarily sell you on some idea(s) that will probably do you no good in the long run, and there’s a good possibility may even (ultimately) hurt you.
All art is nothing more than a series of neat little ideas.
They all have the ability to ignite some vague (and) ambiguous fire within your soul, that you (can) temporarily fall in love with, but it (really/just/(kind of)) ultimately (always) seems to be extinguished either by yourself, or simply by the nature of reality outside of your temporary relationship with their words. I think (that) there’s almost nothing (of any beauty) (that) one can say to help people in general, and thereby help themselves (but I think there still might/could be something if you (really /actually) try very/really/extremely hard). A poem isn’t (really/actually) (a) beautiful (thing) until you read it. They may be able to light a fire in your soul, but they (still) can’t turn your soul into water (only you have that ability I suppose).
(Your emotions are (really/actually) (just) (kind of) like a light switch (deep within the caverns of a mine shaft) (they (really/actually) (just) (kind of) go on than off than off than on (never mind it (fouled it up ))))).)
((And) even a letter all alone can be a beautiful thing. Look at this one: g)
But they’re never really/truly conquering your souls no matter (asshole licking(ly)) what they (really/actually) (asshole licking(ly)) do (to you). Don’t buy into the myth of the tyrant, collecting like a flytrap, building itself up from the mewling of it’s own scapegoats. And don’t listen to the myth that it’s possible to conquer in a loving/caring way either. But wouldn’t it be wonderful if something could blossom so (asshole licking(ly)) fully that all else was reduced to (nothing more than) drops of water running down the rivulets of it’s (asshole licking(ly)) petals? Why, by Jove, it’s just about one of the most gorgeous/splendid ideas imaginable, isn’t it? How many people have accomplished something like that? How many people have effected humanity that completely in not even necessarily a positive or negative light? Harold Bloom would probably say Shakespeare. (maybe some folks would say “Socrates”) But trying to answer that question seems like an entirely fruitless activity to me. (Just go ahead and try to hold some mother fucker back, you’ll only make his/her/my act of transcendence seem (really) (just) (kind of) more (asshole licking(ly)) beautiful.)
No you are not drops of water running down the rivulets of someone else’s leaves. You are all a cohesive whole. I’m sorry that I can’t think of a more romantic way to put it. The more you try to conquer things the more that you realize it is always an act of self-deception. The more you try to conquer, the closer you’ll probably come to being relinquished from your desires, and realizing that another/other person/people is/are (really/actually) (just) (kind of) not (asshole licking(ly)) separate from you. And you are not all trickling down the leaves of some god either. And even though you may imagine some god that seems to exist in a distinct and separate state of being that doesn’t mean you have to strive to be like him. That doesn’t mean that the two of you even have to take the time to acknowledge one another. (You don’t have to rise from bed every morning of your hexed life and say, “But could this man, my god, my lover, perhaps spring down along one of his rivulets with one of his delicious poppy seeds for me? Only for a kiss on the cheek he says.”)
And, (just) why does something sacred have to be neat or beautiful? Does it (really/actually) in fact have to be?
(Your mind is a matrix of energy you dipshits, there is not any one (god damn(ed)) (mother fucking) (asshole licking(ly)) bastard piece of energy/shit holding the reigns (I’d (really (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) say.))
Most people’s pleasures are distractions from the truth, and I’d imagine most of their pains are as well. The people whom I know (really) (just) (kind of) (more or less) seem to have a system of thought based simply (and almost strictly) on how they associate their emotions/ideas with things. If the things (that) that you say to them can be attached with something that they consider good and that they have faith in than they’re likely to believe in the things that you’re saying. And if a person’s first happy memories are/were given to them by their mother, than perhaps it’s very common for a person’s beliefs about the things that are good, or that they can have faith in to stem from the thoughts of their (asshole licking(ly)) mother. I think that virtually all of your emotions are linked to a chain of ideas that ultimately leads (straight) back to the feelings that your (asshole licking(ly)) mother gave you, and the things and ideas that you (really/actually) (just) (kind of) associate most closely with her. And if there are more single mothers raising kids these days than perhaps we’re now left with a society of people who are more willing to have faith in statements of bland (and) arbitrary optimism than previous generations were. Well, that (sort of thing) would explain a(n awful) lot to me.
An example of someone accepting something without making any serious attempt at thought, just because it creates a generally good enough feeling to satisfy the needs of them and their group would be, if I said to someone (else), while we were standing in front of a good number of (asshole licking(ly)) people, “You never speak directly to me. You’re always trying to transmit things to other people in every single moment in order to avoid looking stupid. If I’m not speaking on behalf of a thousand desperate voices than what I am?”
And they replied, “You’re your own person.”
And I said, “No. That’s not (really) your voice. That’s not your idea. That is simply what all concerned parties must agree to in order to become unconcerned once again. (In order to move on in the same exact direction, still with absolutely no reason, once again.)” (Even the rewording of one simple sentiment can completely altar their reaction to it.) (And that sentiment locked/caged within the previous set of parentheses (right there) is a sentiment that I’ve heard echoed in many places, but only in the form of less exact sentiments, typically in reference to some general (often times political) matter. And if I go and ask people if they agree with my sentiment (about the wording of sentiments making them easier to believe in) I can probably spend my whole day watching people cock their heads back like roosters and say, “Yes,” because they know immediately that it is a sentiment which/that (does) finally deserve to be (asshole licking(ly)) spoken (I’d say).) (And you can even use the simplest words like “can” to get a sentence to sound more natural to people . . . to act as a simple form of percussive misdirection. Consider the first sentence in the next paragraph.)
And if you can get their minds in/within that highly mobile state that (only) a high stakes situation can (only) provide, you can make their minds rapidly flicker between highs and lows (“off”s and “on”s) . . . even if the stakes are nothing more than the continuation of an intense (asshole licking(ly)) high, or the potential secession of an intense low, once you can get them to view your words as (almost) being more than words, as virtual physical assaults . . . then you can watch how a group of characters have their minds change with each little thing that’s (asshole licking(ly)) said, they can (really/actually) (just) (kind of) go like (asshole licking(ly)),

Character: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15
on-off-on-on-off-off-on-off-off-on-off-off-on-on-off

“ya da ya da ya da,”

Character: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15
off-on-off-on-on-off-off-on-on-off-on-off-on-off-on

You can chatter them away, you can whittle them (all) (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) down until they’re all,

off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off-off

(Have I (really/actually) perhaps (asshole licking(ly)) whittled you (asshole licking(ly)) yet?)

And all of your desires demand certain, “ya da ya da ya da,”s before you can be on. But you don’t really need a great and complex tale of “ya da ya da ya da” leading up to your on. You can (really/actually) simply be on while being independent from all (asshole licking(ly)) things. You can just be on.
Just be on.
Be on.
Off.
(I’m so sorry. I’m so happy, and/but I’m so sorry.)
Watch this (try to notice a/some pattern between what I say and the nature of your emotions):
(On) The man truly loved his baby (Off) and so he massaged it’s genitals whenever it started to cry. (On) And because of that/this the child was able to find true/pure/complete joy/happiness once again (Off) (at least) until he anally raped him until his intestines were coming out of his ass . . . it seems so absurd to me, the things that people let their feelings be predicated on. (And it feels completely absurd to me . . . the things that they begin to consider a worth while endeavor.)
(But, as a matter of fact I’ve (really/actually) (just) (kind of) come to realize something quite interesting. I’ve (really/actually) (just) (kind of) come to (asshole licking(ly)) realize that my emotions are (really/actually) (just) (kind of) much more like a light switch than your typical persons. I mean, your typical person’s emotions may have some (asshole licking(ly)) light switch-esque qualities to them, but in all fairness/honesty, I’m far more of a flickering freak than your typical person because I’ve (really/actually) (just) (kind of) been brought to the (asshole licking(ly)) point where anything that anyone says can rattle my whole world view because anything that they say seems to have much more credence than anything I think because I already know for sure that I have (absolutely) no reasons for the things that I’m doing/thinking. And considering the fact that I really feel as though I should, anything that they say in criticism of me typically seems more reasonable and fitting than anything that I can say in defense of myself and so I’m (really/actually) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) (really) (just) (kind of) terrified/horrified by certain other people because they can (really/actually) (just) (kind of) (more or less) gain complete (asshole licking(ly)) control over my (asshole licking(ly)) emotions if they (really/actually) (just) (kind of) want to.)
(And the more assured of themselves and (generally) angry they seem the harder time I will (really/actually) probably have (asshole licking(ly)) resisting their demands . . . or at least not feeling like I’m keeling over from a feeling/sensation of cognitive dissonance. And these wild and conquering men that I speak of do in fact (really/actually) (just) (kind of) (in fact) (asshole licking(ly)) exist who can probably scare you as well back into your shit holes with something that resembles a (asshole licking(ly)) lion’s roar (I’d (really/actually) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) say). Scaring you back to your mother’s tit. Your TV is your mother’s tit. And your music is your mother’s tit. And your video games are your mother’s tit.

I once wrote:
“I have all of these sinister urges pulsating through my veins in every single moment. One’s always on top, directing my actions, while the other’s are just below the surface, waiting and listening intently for their chance to take over the helm of this mindless failing machine."
"(The simple sight of an attractive woman (really) (just) (kind of) (more or less) seems to be a (really) (just) (kind of) complete and total invasion of my personal space. My will is split in two by these strange outer beings, and eventually conquered it sometimes/typically seems to me. They are my mother’s tit. That is (really) (just) (kind of) rather undoubtedly part of my love for them. But they are also part of me as well. They are my own soul. They are what I once was before testosterone (probably) (really) (just) (kind of) did all of (asshole licking(ly)) this to me. (I wish that I could say something more on/of that matter/manner.))”

(Perhaps there are more men with a desire to conquer things than women because these men felt (more) like their relationship with their mother was/is endangered by their father, and so in order to feel close to their mothering feelings they also need to be able to give themselves a feeling/sensation of being in control because unless they have that as well they will (really/actually) (just) (kind of) (ultimately) be/feel (really) (just) (kind of) too (god damn(ed)) (mother fucking) (asshole licking(ly)) paranoid to (really/actually) be happy/comfortable.
Where as you women seem to be more interested in coveting objects as a means by which to feel power. Perhaps objects similar to the one’s (that) your mother coveted. And then when you touch that coveted object you (really) (just) (kind of) feel surrounded by all of the (asshole licking(ly)) people who/that you know (really) (just) (kind of) love that (asshole licking(ly)) object . . . you seem to me like/(as though) you’re trying to become that (asshole licking(ly)) object.)
But any time that you let something else give you your feelings of mothering you end up becoming a (god damn(ed)) (mother fucking) (asshole licking(ly)) slave to it (I think). This is part of what makes our lives so difficult (I think). We’re all so worried about having others give us mothering feelings, and about how much we owe others in the way of mothering/nurturing feelings, and about how much they owe us, and if we don’t get the right amount then we want to do something about it, but we can’t do too much without risking losing someone else’s mothering/nurturing feelings, and it (really) (just) (kind of) seems to me that it continues on that way indefinitely until you (really/actually) (just) (kind of) meet up with our present ((state of) complete) (god damn(ed)) (mother fucking) (asshole licking(ly)) logistical nightmare.
But it’s actually very interesting because all of mankind’s/humanity’s actions seem to me as though they become instantaneously beautiful as soon as you begin to view them all as something being done in order to reconnect with their mother. We all seem to be fighting for the same goal, one that I am forced to view as being worthwhile, as we fight against one another. It becomes possible to sympathize with (really/actually) (just) (kind of) (about) (asshole licking(ly)) anything. Simply watching how passionate all of them are in their desperate attempts to reconnect with their/our mother is in itself rather inspiring I must (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) say.
And now I think that perhaps I should become my own mother once and for all (I’d (really/actually) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) say).
It can even become inspiring to watch how most people lump one another into simple stupid groups in order to avoid having to fear them. They spend most of their time falling between one cognitive wall and another, between one arbitrary group of support and one arbitrary group of enemies, because they don’t realize that the only true security comes in thinking on your own, and without your emotions.
I really do think that it’s possible to get a cognitive feeling of right and wrong, correct and incorrect, regardless of your emotions. You don’t have to take orders from your emotions and you shouldn’t because that means that all of your pleasures can only exist on some arbitrary value scale . . . instead of the potentially infinite array of an every sided value scale. It’s possible to put out the fires in your mind; make your mind more like water; make all of your neurons readily polarizable.
I think the problem a lot of human beings have is that when they do something they wish that they hadn’t done they recoil in horror instead of (really) (just) (kind of) making a simple (asshole licking(ly)) mental note (of it). As if by recoiling in horror that’s the only way that they can be sure they won’t (really/actually) (just) (kind of) make such a(n) (asshole licking(ly)) (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) mistake again. And the weird/twisted fact is (that) people have a (psychological) need to recoil in horror from certain things because it’s the only way that certain other things can give them a feeling/sense of security . . . the things that horrify them are part of what defines (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) them and without that definition they feel lost . . . no mental support at (asshole licking(ly)) all, and so they feel insecure . . . (without their list of insecurities). (Any time that something outside of you gives you a feeling of security it always creates something else outside of you that can make you feel insecure (I (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) think).
Too defend your horrified state by saying (that) it’s (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) necessary in order to avoid making certain mistakes again is completely silly . . . it makes no sense to label a person or an object with a feeling of horror/terror . . . it’s an abstraction. But (unfortunately) it’s the human mind’s natural tendency. Human beings aren’t really horrified of anything. They’re simply horrified.
(You label something with joy/love/pleasure, and you label something with hate/disgust/contempt, and then you’re simply stuck running between your thesis and your antithesis.) This approach to existence is not the result of any dumb/con-foundingly constructed logic. It’s simply a human beings natural tendency as a means by which to survive that almost no one ever seems to (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) outgrow (I’d (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) say). But we could probably do it (if we tried a (little bit)/somewhat).
(Everything you feel is occurring in an instant. There’s no such thing as an expectation (and that’s just something that I thought after one/(a single/particular (asshole licking(ly))) journey through the catacombs of my (asshole licking(ly)) mind.))
And the/this concept of the truth is (really) (just) (kind of) so (asshole licking(ly)) stupid . . . the truth is just a set of words that leads you down a path where you won’t be surprised. And this is supposedly one of our/(most people’s) (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) virtues. Disinfo can only exist if you (are willing to) take everything at face value. Or, it can only exist in a world where you recoil in horror and where you are ((almost) permanantly) attached to certain nice sounding words as well. This is partially/(part of) why I (just) (really) (kind of) don’t buy into the concept of truth or the concept of lies. Everything is true . . . in the sense that nothing (can) actually represent(s) something unreal (because nothing can represent something other than itself) . . . but the concept of truth is (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) meaningless (I think) in the sense that it needs a lie to compare itself to in order to gain/obtain meaning. I’d say that the word liar could be seen as having meaning if it meant, “if you follow the mental path way created by this man’s words you will end up somewhere different than where you expect.” But to most people it almost always means more than (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) this. The word liar is used to apply a stigma to others and to draw attention to one’s self and acts in most people’s minds (I (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) think) as a reaffirmation that there is actually somewhere to turn to have your truth and your wisdom (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) sold or (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) handed to (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) you. A mans words don’t really mean/represent anything other than a spectrum of possibilities (I (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) think). And so I think that one of the (really) (just) (kind of) main (asshole licking(ly)) reasons why people feel a need to think in words is (really) (just) (kind of) mostly out of (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) paranoia and (really) (Just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) fear . . . (and all of your thoughts are just part of a(n) (asshole licking(ly)) spectrum of possibilities (as well))
((But/)And) your mind ((really) (just) (kind of) (actually)) seems to have been reduced to a pulsating (cunt) mine field latched within/(inside (of)) a maniacally constructed barbed wire fence, which you can only stumble around, desperately hoping that you manage to plop another perversion on to/(top of) your perversions, that you can stimulate your grotesque emotional blob. Stroke it correctly. Simply crest it. Allow it to electrocute your mind once (god damn(ed)) (mother fucking) (asshole licking(ly)) more. Score a whole in one with your black hole. Give it something to keep it struggling a little while longer. (It’s like filling up at a gas station.) Their build up of ideas has become your absolute sustenance; your lifeblood as much as food or water. You will allow them to mutilate and shock and stimulate your blob with anything they can simply because you’d go insane if your hellish ecstasy had to cease for much longer.
(And that’s (partially) why I think I like the effect that these relentlessly parhentisized things have because they completely change the manner in which you understand what’s being written . . . you can no longer hang on to every single word . . . you can simply/only get closer to a (real/actual) (just) (kind of) general feeling of what’s happening . . . you can (really/actually) (just) (kind of) only get closer to the general emotion of the (asshole licking(ly)) writer himself I’d say . . . you don’t (really/(actually)) have to think (too (asshole licking(ly)) much) . . . you don’t have to worry about any (real/actual) meaning . . . you simply roll your mind on top of it and get the nuggety/nougaty goodness of a few (individual) words . . . words like blossom (or “(asshole licking(ly))”). . . yes, someone out there still (really/actually) (just) (kind of) has faith in this word known as blossom . . . they can still see (some) beauty in it and so perhaps you (asshole licking(ly)) should as well (you (really) (just) (kind of) bloody (asshole lickng(ly)) assholes (I’d say) (and god bless you and your (society’s) backwards ass blossom). (And perhaps they are my own personal form of an affectation also, they are something that I (really) (just) (kind of) simply must say in order to feel right . . . no real meaning . . . they’re just something I need to say every once in awhile in order to sort/kind of keep me from going (asshole licking(ly)) insane (or perhaps they (really/actually) (just) (kind of) keep me from becoming (too) (god damn(ed)) (mother fucking) (asshole licking(ly)) sane) (I (really/actually) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) think (the (constant use of) slash marks are/is in the same boat (I’d say).)).
(Is the manner in which I make use of these parhentheses and slash marks perhaps a unique literary invention (particularly in paragraphs “57 “ and “91 “)? (Don’t feel pressured to clarify (exactly/precisely) what/which paragraphs I’m refering to)) Perhaps so, perhaps I could do something truly wonderful with it. But a revelation quivering on the horizon can often times be confused with a faint/distant memory (at first), and I actually think/feel like I’ve now fallen into the remarkably unique position of experiencing both of them at the same time. And from what this faint memory seems to be telling me, this revelation is (probably) not worth walking into, and so I guess that I’ll just/simply sit/be still and close my mind’s eye once and for all. (There’s a world that exists (well) beyond innocuous revelations (There’s (probably(only)) room in your life for (just) (about) (only) one (truly/utterly/completely) noxious revelation.)
The oblong decadence of my own personal emotional blob, I’ve come to believe, has a fairly/very simple and mildly disturbing beginning. It began (I think), with (simply/ just) the (sight and) feeling that I had upon suddenly seeing my mother wearing make-up when I was very young. It represented the death of fun to me. (It reminded me of the way they try to make a corpse look good/nice at a funeral) Imagine this/(the following): There’s now this arbitrary and very blatant affectation standing between you and this other person . . . where you’re not quite sure what effect they’re trying to have on you, and if you ask them they won’t be able to tell you, but for some reason it still must be done . . . almost like there’s some invisible third party in the room, whispering things in their ears . . . (It seems kind of strange to me that they’d do it because they think it looks good, but even if you ask them that’s not what they tell you . . . )you felt like there was a ((very) strong) bond between you and this other person, but you can’t any longer . . . it seems so unnatural . . . just why do they have this one (god damn(ed)) (mother fucking) (asshole licking(ly)) arbitrary obsession that is (completely) impossible for them to explain to you? Could they perhaps not really be the person you thought they were? (Could they perhaps not be trust worthy? Maybe they’re trying to shut themselves off from you . . . either that or maybe it’s (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) the first sign that something is really wrong with a society . . . when people are ((completely)) determined to do things for reasons that they’re (completely) oblivious to and seem to have no interest in figuring out. It’s almost like they’ve had their minds taken from them and they don’t really care about getting them back.
And that feeling that my mother gave me, I believe, was how my fear of doing anything without having an explanation found it’s impetus; that small tear in the fabric of my mind is what ultimately created such a jangled web work that (in order to escape it’s grasp) I was forced to desperately scrap together theories of how my mind and the universe works . . . theories of everything really. My two faced mother split my mind in two, but those minds could only remain separate for (really) (just) (kind of) so (god damn(ed)) (mother fucking) (asshole licking(ly)) long. It wasn’t really much of an issue for me I guess . . . until I started becoming older . . . started (having to) taking/take some (real/actual) responsibility. (Until the people around me started to seem (somewhat) more like they had a need for answers. (And most of the time when I saw a woman wearing make-up, I’d think (asshole licking(ly)) something like, “Could there ever really/actually be anything much (asshole licking(ly)) more disturbing?” Their make-up became the sad (and/or) (disturbing) little leit-motif that (really/actually) (just) (kind of) made up my (god damn(ed)) (mother fucking) (asshole licking(ly)) life (Hyuk, hyuk, hyuk). (And that’s probably part of why I like to beat off to being forced to cross dress . . . I can no longer feel there’s any real gap between us once something like that has (really) (just) (Kind of) been (asshole licking(ly)) done to (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) me.)
Anyway, I don’t buy into the/this idea/concept of genius at all anymore. Every human being (I think) is (really) (just) (kind of) probably just as conceptually flawed as every other human being when you really get up close to them; probably everything in the universe is. I bet that virtually all intelligent life forms would have a hard time quitting masturbating (there’s no such thing as a stroke of genius). And I bet you almost no one in the universe has the ability to stand on their own, and look at it with their own eyes.
In the long run I don’t think there’s any belief system that can save you. There’s no rock (asshole licking(ly)) hard cognitive wall to stand on, no matter how hard they may seem to be some/at times. The only thing that I think that has any likely hood of saving you is (completely/total/absolute) personal responsibility and independence of thought.
Perhaps at this point you’re feeling as though you’ve (really/actually) (just) (kind of) lost all of your beliefs. (Perhaps you’re feeling (very) much more so like you’ve been trapped within an every sided value scale than like you’re living (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) on one.) So, here’s a potential reason to believe in causality that I think (really/actually) might (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) be of assistance: If the universe is not causal, or, if causality could break down at any moment, than the nature of reality is impossible to predict and so there’s no way that one can think that’s more likely to keep themselves alive. But because you can get an equal amount of pleasure thinking either way, you may as well think and behave as though it is causal because in the event that it is, you’re more likely to be able to experience that pleasure for (at least) somewhat longer . . . because a causal universe is much easier to navigate (I’d say). So, I guess it’s not so much a reason why I believe it to be true, as it is a justification of why one should behave as though it’s true.
But that’s all (really/actually) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) bullshit anyway. I mean, I’m not already perfectly (asshole licking(ly)) content. And I suppose that causality wouldn’t (really/actually) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) have to break down in order for the laws of physics to (really/actually) (just) (kind of) suddenly change unexpectedly . . . and my faith in a causal universe that I can navigate is (really/actually) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) most certainly linked to some sort of faith in my understanding of the (asshole licking(ly)) physical laws.
And I mean, really, I have to wonder sometimes, why should there be any definite physical laws at all? Why shouldn't everything be completely random? Why should there be any limitations on what space and time are capable of? I can't think of any good reason!/. And yet, it seems as though (perhaps), through the entire aggregate of every/all potential/possible random particle(s) effecting one another simultaneously, some sort of order could potentially be achieved, doesn't it? And so, reality is the midst of nothingness. It is (simultaneously) complete order, and perfect chaos, like the prime numbers. Perhaps any system that continues on indefinitely must remain (both) bound and unbound from/by a set of rules. An infinitely long continuum of sorts I'd imagine (if I could); with no clear beginning to chaos, and no clear end to order.
And so, really, I (asshole licking(ly)) think all you have is your own emotions and intuition . . . which for most people are highly susceptible to the emotional/intuitional whims of others (I (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly))think.) (You’ve now achieved a state of complete patience for my parenthesized bullshit, haven’t you? Thank (god) (for) you (for that))
But (I (still) think) there are ((some) particularly) insidious things lurking in(side of) all of you . . . I think that you’ve all (probably) developed (your own little) black holes . . . that you all live according to it’s value scale . . . that all others are judged in accordance to it’s desires. Is it perhaps something based/constructed around something that you (could have) perceived as somehow having gotten in the way of your/our mother’s love? (Could it perhaps even be something as simple as (a/some) (set of) (asshole licking(ly)) curse words?) (Fuck you you asshole.))
(Look . . . (I’ll (asshole licking(ly)) level with you))I don’t know how to end a story so why don’t you (all) (really) (just) (kind of) (asshole licking(ly)) fuck off (although I may acquire an irrepressibly small amount of joy if you’d keep these things in mind as you continued on from this point (whatever in the hell/fuck that has to do with anything)).

copyright © 2009 David Ditty

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If you like it, please save a copy on your computer. I don't want it to die. I got it posted on my website: davidditty.com, but I'm not really sure how long the websites going to be there for.

And feel free to post it anywhere else in part or in whole. But give me credit.

(And I'm sorry for the formatting issues(, but it looks better on my website)).