I had a home once. It was an internet home. It was called /cd/.
Its was horrid. Full of trannier than thou, mean-spirited, angry, self pitying bullshit. But I liked it.
A cesspit but a cesspit I liked, a cesspit where I was liked.
It has now bowed down to Spardot. The tyrannical ruler of the website where /cd/ is. Forced Anon came into play, #cd was removed. All due to a simple insult on the subject field of the board. Perhaps Kirtaner will come back and restore order, maybe he will also be forced to bow to his bought and paid for vagina toy that is Spardot.
I will miss you /cd/
I will miss all of you
Chaotic and LIGHTS. Everyone, even tab (haha not really)
I have left now and may be back but at least I found Flutter. And maybe a few others afterwards. Find a new home. And I hope Flutter that perhaps we can make our own internet home and bring in all our adopted /cd/ folks.
I will miss you /cd/.
Gone but not forgotten
Friday 30 September 2011
Saturday 24 September 2011
Ovaric Son
There are men who’ll crush dead robins under their feet
Till their spindly necks snap
And feel a sense of satisfaction from this task
These men will wake their wives late at night
By pulling their lace and whistling
Pulling a dog by its collar
Slapping it on the head
These men who feel no remorse but their lives
Are what some women see as what men truly are
I have no real malice in me
I get by while getting by
Try not to impede on your life
Try not to tell tales of mine
Unless of humour or conquest
I keep what I feel to myself till I break
Then feel guilt for seeking help
But what kind of man am I?
With no want from love but just of simple comfort
A bus fare easily in my pocket
The sweet flood of toxic sweet smoke
A bed and no ties to this mortal realm
I was carelessly thrown into
No love for my Mother, no sign of my Father
A bastard ovaric son
So should I find my inner sociopath
Be cruel for the sake
Pro-create for the sake
Find a job at a desk for society
Or continue on the path and never know
What type of man I am
Till their spindly necks snap
And feel a sense of satisfaction from this task
These men will wake their wives late at night
By pulling their lace and whistling
Pulling a dog by its collar
Slapping it on the head
These men who feel no remorse but their lives
Are what some women see as what men truly are
I have no real malice in me
I get by while getting by
Try not to impede on your life
Try not to tell tales of mine
Unless of humour or conquest
I keep what I feel to myself till I break
Then feel guilt for seeking help
But what kind of man am I?
With no want from love but just of simple comfort
A bus fare easily in my pocket
The sweet flood of toxic sweet smoke
A bed and no ties to this mortal realm
I was carelessly thrown into
No love for my Mother, no sign of my Father
A bastard ovaric son
So should I find my inner sociopath
Be cruel for the sake
Pro-create for the sake
Find a job at a desk for society
Or continue on the path and never know
What type of man I am
Thursday 15 September 2011
Insomniac
Do you want me to tell you a story? A story about me. I haven’t much reason to live anymore and that’s the truth of it. I once had a conversation with my best friend and he and I came to the conclusion that living and dying are equal in importance. That the people we love would move on, that the people we know will find new people to think about loving. That in fact we are unimportant. That we contribute nothing. I am an artist in my way. A poet and playwright. A guy stuck in my own fetid husk of a body.
My story isn’t that fascinating and believing that anything I say or do has any meaning. Thinking that anything I write is important is a lie. It’ll all be forgotten eventually. Just like me. Just like every person in this world. As my sister said to me Who’s Shakespeare.
I find it so hard lately to find the pieces of me that keep me here. Certainly dying and being nothing at all would be better. The comfort of atheism is that I know that I have nothing to fear. I’m not afraid of being nothing. It would be worse to see my friends and family trying to piece themselves together after. Sit in my chalet in the clouds, surrounded by dogs and cats and parakeets. Watching my Mother pretend she cared, perhaps realise that everything is not my fault. See my Grandmother realise that I needed her and I never felt that I could tell her everything. See Ryan and Allie actually know me and care. Find it is not their fault at all but learn to live again, after a week. A month. A year. Its hard to measure who you are in other peoples eyes. But if connections are all we are in this life then certainly that’s all you can measure things by. If I measure myself in my own eyes I am either the greatest thing that ever existed or the worst thing that was ever put on this earth. Both as egotistical as they are false.
So maybe I should edit my play. Or write a poem about it. Or slit my wrists in the bath and have some type of singular blood orgy. All in all. Less in less.
Things will be better tomorrow.
My story isn’t that fascinating and believing that anything I say or do has any meaning. Thinking that anything I write is important is a lie. It’ll all be forgotten eventually. Just like me. Just like every person in this world. As my sister said to me Who’s Shakespeare.
I find it so hard lately to find the pieces of me that keep me here. Certainly dying and being nothing at all would be better. The comfort of atheism is that I know that I have nothing to fear. I’m not afraid of being nothing. It would be worse to see my friends and family trying to piece themselves together after. Sit in my chalet in the clouds, surrounded by dogs and cats and parakeets. Watching my Mother pretend she cared, perhaps realise that everything is not my fault. See my Grandmother realise that I needed her and I never felt that I could tell her everything. See Ryan and Allie actually know me and care. Find it is not their fault at all but learn to live again, after a week. A month. A year. Its hard to measure who you are in other peoples eyes. But if connections are all we are in this life then certainly that’s all you can measure things by. If I measure myself in my own eyes I am either the greatest thing that ever existed or the worst thing that was ever put on this earth. Both as egotistical as they are false.
So maybe I should edit my play. Or write a poem about it. Or slit my wrists in the bath and have some type of singular blood orgy. All in all. Less in less.
Things will be better tomorrow.
Friday 2 September 2011
Brothers, Sisters, Fathers, Sons
Hiding things has always been difficult for me. Not keeping secrets but personal things. I managed to keep a few things sacred but eventually they all came out. For a period of about a month I had no secrets and now I have developed a new secret and its eating me up. It shouldn’t be, it seems the logical conclusion to the problem, to bury it, to hide it. Not because its nasty or going to crawl out and eat me but because it makes so little sense to me and it’ll make so little sense to anyone I tell it to that I cant possibly expect good advice.
What is advice anyway? Its only someone else’s opinion. Those are not golden and are often marred by experience, Clarity is what we look for with advice. I want to hear one sentence that will turn my world around and make me not feel this way, so that I recognise the reasons behind it and no longer feel the need, to tell someone else to look for the same clarity. It’s a fools journey.
I want to surround myself in material possessions because that is what I’m told happiness is sometimes. But then again “true” love is said to be happiness. But what is love but an instinctual need to reproduce. In those terms what am I looking for at all?
I want comfort. Just constant comfort. Even if life is hard I want to be able to come back to something comforting, that brightens my eyes and lightens up my day. I believe I found a path to that but I’ve done so before. Twice I’ve chased that comfort and twice I’ve ended up dragging myself out of it, finding out that the thing I was chasing could not find comfort in me.
What is advice anyway? Its only someone else’s opinion. Those are not golden and are often marred by experience, Clarity is what we look for with advice. I want to hear one sentence that will turn my world around and make me not feel this way, so that I recognise the reasons behind it and no longer feel the need, to tell someone else to look for the same clarity. It’s a fools journey.
I want to surround myself in material possessions because that is what I’m told happiness is sometimes. But then again “true” love is said to be happiness. But what is love but an instinctual need to reproduce. In those terms what am I looking for at all?
I want comfort. Just constant comfort. Even if life is hard I want to be able to come back to something comforting, that brightens my eyes and lightens up my day. I believe I found a path to that but I’ve done so before. Twice I’ve chased that comfort and twice I’ve ended up dragging myself out of it, finding out that the thing I was chasing could not find comfort in me.
Thursday 1 September 2011
Evil and Others
Ftmark1 on youtube, here’s his video, he asked the questions in http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R8_OAJtSxdA. Check him out seriously he asked a couple of questions in his latest video.
He asked is there ever someone truly evil and what do people think of “othering”?
On evil, Nobody is truly evil in my opinion because everyone in there own heads is doing something they believe to be good. It may not be good to everyone else but to them they see “a greater plan”.
No one wants to do evil for the sake of it unless they’re psychologically disturbed. By that I don’t mean consensual emotional and sexual sadism, I mean sadist at the base of the definition. People who get their kicks out of hurting people and don’t give a shit about the consequences. Human beings are inbuilt to think about the consequences. Whether that’s nature or nurture, I do not know. True comic book evil does not exist because people are individually too unique for a one size fits all statement such as evil.
“Othering” which I think Mark meant as either
1. That only happens to other people (othering)
2. Putting people in boxes so as to identify people easier.
1, As I think most people know, the fallacy that something only happens to people you don’t know is a stupid one. I think everyone is pre built to know that bad things happen to everyone but try and logically figure out a way to get out of being responsible. It saves people putting on their seatbelt and is probably a lot of laziness in a lot of cases but and this is a big but. If you didn’t think this at all would you be paranoid all the time of possible death by accidental purposes. There is a thing of being too vigilant. My sister checks every door in my house before she goes to sleep and locks inner doors as well as outer ones and is still scared of getting murdered in her sleep.
2. My simple explanation is that there are too many grey areas for boxes. Everyone is different (that’s been told to us enough but do we listen?). No one needs a group or a person to accept them so they can be themselves. You have to truly believe in yourself to be free.
I had a really hard time accepting myself initially because I’m a Guy but I’m a femme guy. But I don’t care what people think of that. Because the concept of femme attached to the word guy is just another way for people to fit me in a box. I am a guy like any other. We are all different.
He asked is there ever someone truly evil and what do people think of “othering”?
On evil, Nobody is truly evil in my opinion because everyone in there own heads is doing something they believe to be good. It may not be good to everyone else but to them they see “a greater plan”.
No one wants to do evil for the sake of it unless they’re psychologically disturbed. By that I don’t mean consensual emotional and sexual sadism, I mean sadist at the base of the definition. People who get their kicks out of hurting people and don’t give a shit about the consequences. Human beings are inbuilt to think about the consequences. Whether that’s nature or nurture, I do not know. True comic book evil does not exist because people are individually too unique for a one size fits all statement such as evil.
“Othering” which I think Mark meant as either
1. That only happens to other people (othering)
2. Putting people in boxes so as to identify people easier.
1, As I think most people know, the fallacy that something only happens to people you don’t know is a stupid one. I think everyone is pre built to know that bad things happen to everyone but try and logically figure out a way to get out of being responsible. It saves people putting on their seatbelt and is probably a lot of laziness in a lot of cases but and this is a big but. If you didn’t think this at all would you be paranoid all the time of possible death by accidental purposes. There is a thing of being too vigilant. My sister checks every door in my house before she goes to sleep and locks inner doors as well as outer ones and is still scared of getting murdered in her sleep.
2. My simple explanation is that there are too many grey areas for boxes. Everyone is different (that’s been told to us enough but do we listen?). No one needs a group or a person to accept them so they can be themselves. You have to truly believe in yourself to be free.
I had a really hard time accepting myself initially because I’m a Guy but I’m a femme guy. But I don’t care what people think of that. Because the concept of femme attached to the word guy is just another way for people to fit me in a box. I am a guy like any other. We are all different.
Beauty
If my concept of beauty is completely wrapped up in the medias portrayal of what beauty is, then if I find someone beautiful who everyone thinks is beautiful. Is that just the media? Is it possible to truly get over that version of beauty in your head? Could I one day see personalities as beauty and not care about the physical?
What is It that made the thin blonde big boobed bimbo, the epitome of beauty anyway? Is it that its seen as wealth to be able to take care of yourself to that extent and weight is seen as poverty?
I don’t have the answers anyway.
What is It that made the thin blonde big boobed bimbo, the epitome of beauty anyway? Is it that its seen as wealth to be able to take care of yourself to that extent and weight is seen as poverty?
I don’t have the answers anyway.
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