I feel like any time I try and sit down and do something constructive, that I'll become aware of something extremely annoying, OR something extremely annoying will bother me right when I decide to sit down. Like right now, right on queue my dog decides to whimper behind me. She's walked, and fed, and hasn't made a peep until now. Until right fucking now. If it's not her, it's a family member from hell who decides they want to talk my ear off, or bitch about one another. If my days going good, somebody comes into it to test me, to make me EARN my happiness. Temper tantrums and guilt trips, rude people, aggressive drivers. I feel like I'm in some experiment. The goal? To slowly drive me insane. Or it's something that I would find even more sinister. People see my happiness and want to take it away from me for no fucking reason. My Dads great for that. Any time I talk to him it's a coin toss whether or not I'll come out feeling like shit or not. It's gotten to the point where I intentionally treat him like shit every time I see him so he can't do it to me. He was the type that banged shit around so often in the house, that anytime I hear dishes rattle or a cupboard close a little too loudly, I get a fight or flight response. I legitimately almost had a panic attack on a job where my boss would constantly drop pallets on the floor. Every time he did it I felt my whole body tense up and I would just feel afraid, like he was mad at me. Got in some writing, now I'm done. Lets see what the dog wants.
I woke up early today, and decided to take the dog for a longish walk. I was tired with the same route I always took, so I treated myself with a little bit of exploration. The early morning calm reminded me how lucky I am to live in North America. The winters linger too long, and the cold becomes depressing, but it's all worth it when you're treated with perfect mornings like today's. Not too hot. Not too cold. Blue skies and fresh air. A diverse cast of trees and wildlife were present as usual, unfortunately I came across some roadkill, but I sent my condolences telepathically and journeyed on. By far the best thing about the walk was the isolation. Usually the streets are still busy at 5/6am on weekdays, but luckily people like lazy Saturday mornings. I came across a few asian speed walkers, nodded some greetings, and picked up the dogs poo. That's when I saw the path. I almost thought better of it, but turned around and went in. It was a long paved path, with a sign that read "Poop and scoop zone, Animals must be on leash". It was overgrown on the sides, with a sweet/sour smell that followed me the entire way through. I guess it's from some common plant around here, because I smell it all the time but never inquired about its origin. I emerged into a very affluent neighborhood. Most of the houses had gated driveways that circled into the back of the house, with three door garages visible from the road. The lawns were all so green, and every other house had tulip beds somewhere on their immaculate lawns. Some driveways had four or five cars, shined to a polish, sitting out front. I passed a few of the houses with the driveways that circled around to the back, and saw basketball nets. I thought of the lucky kids who get to grow up in such nice houses. Anyways, after that everything seemed so dull and ugly. I half expect that I wandered into some secret area, and the path I discovered will cease to exist the next time I pass by.
I just had a feeling of de ja vu, along side actual premonition that came true. I knew I was reliving some event that had already occurred. I knew what would happen next, and I didn't feel like I could change it. I watched as it occurred, the exact same way, with the exact same person, saying the exact same thing. It filled me with dread. That experience is enough to drive a person insane, and I feel like it knocked me a little closer to the edge. On a side note, don't you hate being around someone who rages? You play a game, they rage. You take a ride as a passenger in their car, they rage. You go out to eat, they rage. What's the fucking point? Eventually it all gets focused on you if you stay close for to long. It just serves to remind me that I'm better off alone. I know if I even tried to confront this person I would be gaslighted. It's never as easy as anyone says it is. You can't just stop caring what others think. I think sociopaths can do that. And people who feel superior to everyone else. Some people have hold over you, for some reason my monkey brain gives them dominance over me.
I watched as that lone rider came. Trotted right into town with that black stallion. Black hat, dirty black duster, and even dirtier brown boots. The spurs still gleamed through the muck. I remember that. I remember that more then anything. They shouldn't be shining, I thought, why was they shining? Pa came out the store, eyes dead set on the tin can that held the bait worms. I don't think he saw him. I don't think anybody saw him but me. Even when he started shooting. By the time I looked back to the rider, black smoke had already begun floating up from the barrel. I don't remember hearing the revolver go off. I turned back to pa, and he held his chest real tight. Breathing all funny, but I couldn't see where the bullet went in. There wasn't no blood, and nobody seemed to notice. I turned back to the rider again, and this time the shot rang out loud. I ain't ever heard nothing so loud. I saw the flash, I felt the bullet hit. I'm goona die, that's....that's what I kept thinking. I watched as that lone rider came. Trotted right into town with that black stallion...
They killed you. Tried to erase you. Wrote with that black lead right on you. From that land down under. On a journey of discovery, of vicious introspection. Be kind with yourself. The only paper that stays clean is the paper that doesn't get used. Farewell. Maybe they'll erase me too.
They stood outside the grey factory, shutter doors creaking, bending, rattling with the wind. The sky grew dimmer, but remained a purplish hue, with orange and blue intermingled. Leonardo Di Caprio was reminded of his many dreams, where the sky had always mimicked the colors and patterns of eccentric paintings. "You wanted to know, well, here it is." Magus said in a low voice. "This is where you work?" Leo asked. "This is the place, but not my cubicle. The factories a cover Leo." Magus walked towards an elevated loading bay. Hoisting himself up onto the concrete, he put out a hand and waited. Leonardo was unsure if this was a dream, or if he was actually about to enter this strange place with a man he apparently knew nothing about. "Do you trust me?" Magus asked. A thousand warnings screamed at him, but all Leonardo could do was follow his heart. "Y-yes.." Magus grabbed his hand and began to sing.
Magus reached under the queen sized bed, grasping at the large container he had stowed away. He placed it neatly on the bed and unlatched the three locks. Opening it, he let out a sigh. Work had called him in for overtime. He grabbed the glock 17, checked the slide a few times, then inserted the loaded magazine before cocking it and slipping in into its holster. He moved onto the Benelli M4, attaching the sling and hoisting it over his shoulder. Leonardo Di Caprio walked in, dropping his tea in shock. His belly stuck out over his tight red boxers. "What did I tell you!" Magus roared, spittle ejecting from his mouth. " I told you not to bother me...now you've done it. Now you've really done it." "Magus...who are you..?" Leonardo stuttered, his voice quivering in fear.
Leonardo was sweeping the kitchen floor, his body throbbing from the night before. A comforting sunshine cast rays through the kitchen window, giving vision of hundreds of dust motes. He was exhausted, not just from work, but from loving a man who didn't want to be loved. "Is it me?" he wondered aloud, watching the motes of dust enter and leave reality seamlessly. He finished the floor, then moved on to the dishes. His mind was still fixated on Magus. The perfect man had entered his life, and he was so afraid he would lose him. He had met him on the set of his latest movie, 'Once Upon a Time in Hollywood'. Quinton Tarentino brought him in for his expertise in...well in everything. Magus was behind Hollywood's greatest hits, along with the music industries best songs, and Gods know what else. But Magus was a humble man, he wanted not fame nor money. Leonardo Di Caprio didn't know what Magus wanted, but he knew he wanted him, to want him. Magus walked into the kitchen, penetrating the ray of sunlight with his ripped bod. He looked like Thor, a golden outline surrounding his magnificent stature. 6 foot 5, he was a God among men. "Coffees ready.." Leo said tentatively. "Good. But you know I like me some sugar before my morning coffee. Come here." Magus said, his manhood showing through his Calvin Klein underwear. "Oh Magus..." Leonardo blushed.
Magus awoke from the dream, sweat cascading down his bare chest. His sublime pecs gleamed in the moonlight, and as he rose, his 8 pack abs joined the chorus. "What a terrible dream..." he muttered, grabbing a sip of water from the glass on the nightstand. "What was it babe..." Leonardo Dicaprio said, rising slowly, and placing a hand on Magus's shoulder. "Nothing, go back to bed leo..." "Why do you shut me out? I'm here...I'm right here Magus. Talk to me" "Would you be quiet, man!" he yelled, smacking leo across the cheek. His biceps flexed, and bulged outward, threatening to break free of the skin. " Shit...I'm sorry Leo, it's just...I had a dream I was surrounded by people..these orange and red people." "Orange and red people?" Leo stupidly repeated. "That's what I ****ing said you *****d." Leo glanced down at the bed sheets in shame. "They surrounded me, batons griped tight in their hands." Magus closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head like a dog with a rag doll. His nipples glistened. "It's alright, you're here now, with me" Leo whispered, kissing his cheek. They both embraced, Leos Dad bod giving way to Magus's rock hard body. They made love, and as they both lay still in the aftermath, sharing a cigarette, Magus wondered. Will I dream again?
An army of ants have found their way back into my home. As I lay waste to their tiny bodies, I find myself plagued with intense feelings of guilt, and sadness. I watched one lone survivor struggle, as it carried the corpse of one of its own. Shell shocked, it just walked around in a large oval pattern. I left it alone. But now I know it would have been kinder to end it. Look up in awe at a God. Fear my wrath, or rather, fear my fear. I unleashed chemical weapons upon their nest, a mixture of poisons, confined inside a red liquid. I watched as the last of the stuff disappeared down into the dark burrows. How many larvae, how many worker ants have I slaughtered? Millions of years. Billions. The entire frame of time we know of. All of it leading to these insects being here right now, in my yard. A long unbroken string of successful reproductive enterprises have brought our two species to this place, here and now. And just like that, I've destroyed them. I have become death, destroyer of ants.
" A black jedi master? Ha, that will be the day" Master Ayshol said proudly, scoffing at Mace. "Color of a jedi, matters not" Yoda responded. "Silence you little green bastard! You're lucky we allowed you on this here Council in the first place!" Yoda looked around at the room of angry white men. If the jedi were ever to be good, the ratio of white men would have to be cut by at least 90%. "No negro will ever sit on this here council! Do you understand! Never!" Master Cuynt joined in, wiping the perspiration from his upper lip with a white handkerchief. Mace Windu turned and walked out of the council chambers, making himself a silent vow. He would show them all. "And don't you come back, ya hear N*****! You'll never make master!" *Screen fades to black, white text slowly appears with epic music* Mace Windu made the rank of Master.... And would become the first Black Jedi on the Jedi Council... He would later be killed by an evil white man... *Credits*
Is anyone really convinced that these "artists" aren't just exploiting the male libido? In particular horny teenagers? Tits, kissing, mouth sounds. I don't care, if it gets you off it gets you off and it's a lot tamer then what's going on in those other sites, but why are we pretending that these Asmr creators aren't just cam girls? In fact, many of them legit already do that on the side. I heard from a friend of course. I used to listen to it for headaches and to get to bed, but God damn browsing for new videos gets me horny as hell. I don't really have an issue with it, other then it being on Youtube while other channels I enjoy get demonetized for being graphic (RagnarRox)What I have an issue with is the denial around it. People are ashamed to say they get turned on by asmr. They just watch these overly sexualized videos to relax, cmon guys! Stop being perverts! Woops, I dropped my pen! Let me bend over for the camera and pick it up! You looked! Sick! This is pure, innocent, ASMR! Now let me moan into your ear. I am an artist! Ohhhh, yeah.....more....mmmmmmm.... Sex sells I know, but it feels cheap. ASMR has been perverted for me, I no longer enjoy it the way I had before.
When I see a smoker now that I'm not a smoker, I see somebody who wants to punish themselves. There's a lingering hate in them that they may or may not acknowledge. Unless you're delusional, you know that what you're doing will most likely kill you one day. I didn't care about that when I smoked. It was a reason why I did smoke. But after a few to many times waking up after smoking 2 packs the previous day and taking a deep painful breath, I realized there were easier ways to kill myself if I wanted too. Now when I see my former brethren I feel pity, and I feel a closeness to them. I want to go over and have a smoker conversation with them. The type of conversations you can only have with other smokers huddled together in a smoking pit, segregated from all the rest of the world. There was a sense of belonging, a community that the rest world hated. But we didn't care. You need a smoke? Here, take my last one I gotta buy a new pack anyways. Lighter? No problem. What do you do? Nice. Later stranger, we came together to smoke and will never meet again, in an infinite universe it brought these two broken humans together for a few moments. Both determined to kill themselves one smoke at a time.
I went to a mall parking lot on Sunday night to practice parking. Found some cones on site luckily, otherwise I don't think the practice would have amounted to anything. I've always been terrified of parking, I usually just find a spot I can drive straight into or a spot farther away, but it annoys me that I've never been confident enough to attempt to park in a tight spot. It combines two fears. One is my anxiety about driving in general. Two is my social anxiety. So parking not only makes me afraid of hitting another vehicle, but it also makes me embarrassed of being watched and judged. Driving for me is a sign of masculinity and of competence and I treated it the same way I treated math. "I'm no good at this, I'm just not a math guy...I'm just not a driver!" Bullshit. I'm going to commit to practicing whenever I can, I'm sick and tired of telling myself I'm not capable. I remember throwing my first grenade during basic. I was so terrified that I would drop it as I tried to pull the pin. We had some practice with gold painted dummys, but it really only served to make me more scared. It takes a lot of strength to actually pull the damn thing, I had to wiggle it out before I could actually feel confident enough to tug, all the while some sgt I had never met eyed me intently, ready to pull my stupid ass to cover if I messed up. Everything I manage to do is something I shouldn't have been able to do according to my mind. I didn't think I would be able to do it. I waited my turn in fear,on the verge of shitting my pants thinking about any excuse I could use to avoid it. But I didn't bitch out, I joked with the boys and hid my fear. It helps when you're stuck in a situation with people stuck in the same situation. I started to only look at the failures. Then I started discounting all the victories. Somewhere along the way this doubt rooted itself inside my head and spread. I listened to the wrong people who wanted to tell me who I was. I have to remember that it's my mind that causes all this pain. Hate is something the person feeling it suffers with. The person being hated doesn't feel a thing. I know how terrible it is to live with hate, and it did nothing to hurt my enemies. It only served to hurt me. I don't want others to have to feel it because of me. But to bad, it's your choice to hate me. Go fuck yourself. Sorry.
I'm back in the living room, a gust of cool spring air is traveling in from the front screen door. I don't know where my family is, but I know they're around and I know that nobody is fighting. It's a beautiful day and I'm sitting basking in the sunlight flooding in from the massive living room window. My eyes are set on the TV, the glare almost completely obscuring the scene. It doesn't matter, I'm not playing the game so much as listening to it. I'm terrified of leaving the save room. It's the farthest I've ever gotten, and the music is soothing. I'll stay here forever, with the crisp spring air and the sunlight radiating in on me. I return to that place whenever I can, but the scene is faded to nothing but a blinding memory of sun, music, and air. The smell of air through a screen door always brings the feeling back though, weaker with every passing year. My happiest hour, encapsulated in a melody for a horror game. I wish I could stay here forever.
