Le Quack says Le Duck.

I was simply not wired for the nitty grittyness of society. It was simple with drinking, I drank and them and their weird tendencies slowly faded. I burned bridges like crazy. I was effectively, a serial bridge burner. An arsonist of the social variety. I think it is alright though, these were class C people anyway, perhaps this was good stomping grounds to gather preparedness for the class A people of a further down the line life. Alls I know is that new age-dy girls from commonwealth states were not exactly lining up to get to know me.

Not her though. She with her name, which for some reason had the same letter repeated twice in the beginning. She was a class A individual for sure. Witty and pretty. Jealous, but I will forever find that sort of thing awkwardly irresistible. In that, society deems it a total taboo that I should get all aroused over someone being so protective of my like, but I am whos I be am.

There was a time, and then you know, there was a time. Now was not that time. Frankly, then was not that time either but you force what pieces you can into the slots forced on you.

Social surgery of the variety that says, time to take a knife to certain people in your life, because qualities of theirs disgust you. There was one nice scorpio girl I would definitely show up to the birthday of. But it was two weeks away, and before that I would morph into a repulsive reclusive and finish with my various government ordered responsibilities.

There’s a guy I know named Frank, Fuck him. Fuck Frank, figuratively speaking of course. For I would not Fuck Frank if I were a female even. Females don’t Fuck Frank by the Seashore.

Hey little water droplet, why aren’t you dropping. Forming micro-cultures and shet? Yes sir, tiny worlds of culture, where a different form of art will be formed and things will be forever wet.

Java’s a Spy

Imagine sitting down in a nice miniature black metallic table, must be from IKEA.

Looking down at your coffee (take the lid off, seriously it’s coffee, they shouldn’t be hiding its appearance from you, it has an appreciable look to it.)

So anyway, upon removing this corporate imposition of a lid on top of your Starbucks cup;

Made for the man on the go, fuck that guy;

You should sit down and enjoy your coffee, it’s a duty of yours.

You have to enjoy the little points of relaxation like that. Don’t ever let anyone take them away from you. Don’t approach it from the standpoint that you deserve it. Who’s to say if you do or don’t, that’s an endless argument you could have with them and yourself, and who has time for any MORE arguments with themselves I say.

I approach it from the angle of it being the humane thing to do.

We often talk about being humane towards animals. We forget, that the word humane stems from the word human.

Sometimes I think someone wants us to forget that we should be humane towards our human selves.

The same way you lay out food for your pooch or cat in the morning and watch as they enjoy it at whatever pace they please and with pure uninterrupted happiness, so should you find time for your own small joys.

After all, first and foremost, you are the owner of yourself before being the owner of any other creature and I think we can all agree that watching our pet friends always-perfect joy at meal time gives us some small morning happiness. A hard thing to find in the morning. A smile on our hearts.

Imagine how it could if be we allowed ourselves the simple joys of that sort more often.

Don’t take the time to find the time, chillaxify brethren.

They want you to think that we’re all just one big crowd. Or two parties, or the two sexes, or one of these “ethnicities” they’ve layed out and you can bubble in, but we’re all interesting separate existing entities , with unique thoughts and connections between our feelings and those thoughts.

So remember the humane thing to do.

Don’t let them convince you that you’re part of the 23-32 blue white collar this-color that-sex demographic.

Imagine looking down after the lid has been taken off and seeing a tiny person in there. A spook in a light brown suit.

I got a shill in my Java.

Shine on You Crazy Diamond

Does anybody else get the distinct impression from Java that if there was one technology that really put you in the driver seat that it’s Java. It can really pull some stuff off on a guests computer.
 
I just repaired the disk permissions on my Mac. You know that shit where it goes around looking for files that are out of wack on who is AND isn’t allowed to open them.
It went down the list, Java everywhere. Someones in my Java, the humanity.

3 And a Cacti is a Crowd.

3 Me(s) in a white space.

Two that see each other, converse with each other about various things and topics, whether or not to do something.

3rd, has no mouth, empty space of skin where his mouth should be. Invisible to other two, can listen in right next to each, has blank cold double lazy eyed expression on face. Subconcious Nicholai. Ends up sometimes doing things despite the other two agreeing it’s best not to do them.

They are unaware, why these things happen, and only sometimes think that it’s interesting that they happened despite their agreement that it should not.

Think about it, if everybody wants what they cant have, then a cactus must long for touch.

Admiring Beings Modeling Inc.

I used to think that you found a person, perhaps a fictional TV character and tried to emulate their better qualities if you enjoyed watching them.

A sort of introverted way of living life attempting to act out qualities you admire and expecting similar results.

The truth is the results are about 75 percent of the time similar when taking similar actions. it’s a remarkably interested feeling that gives you an odd smoothie of a pit in your stomach that says this whole thing I’m in is scripted, but also 25 percent improvisation.

also the pit feeling is purely ironic as it makes out life to be, at least 75 percent of the time, the predictable thing that we say TV shows are.

For example I had Hank Moody, way before the world got onto Californication.
But also a couple of characters before him.

This was a guy I enjoyed the situations of. He would say something that had wit, humor and was just that slice of raunchy I enjoy. Sometimes dark, eerily funny, always edgy.

But then I realized something one day. And this I say to you.

Don’t model after people, their so-so on the chain of perfect and they flinch too much.

Create a humble being to model yourself after. Especially if you need a God to worship. Just make one up that’s a being you could see yourself admiring the qualities of.

Mine’s MoreSO: The Magical Aurora MOREalis. A color-changing cartoon cloud God-like figure without any characteristics and a calm philosophical voice to him.

He’s a treat of a being. All-knowing but humble, conversational.
Not all-knowing in that he knows what you’ll say or are thinking, but in that he can predict any chain of events and it’s catalysts. And afterwards calmly explain the sometimes funny nature behind the answer to the WHY.

You shouldn’t really model yourself after humans, we’re all basically the same sack of cool organ components wrapped up in achievements and positions on different categorically artificial and abstract ladders.

“If you combined all the different corporate and company ladders people try to climb into one, everyone would be back to where they started before they had the jobs or the ladders.” -MoreSO: Aurora MOREalis

That’s the kinda shit MoreSO says.

The System and It’s Sheep. The Inner Mindset of Shit Security.

I hung the rip-out juror badge they sent me as part of the jury duty letter with some scotch on the dick of my

jeans and went in.

He scanned me and said in a far-too-humanely voice for security at a courthouse

Security: “Good place to put it.”

I gathered by his tone that something was off, and then I heard the echoing UnDeRtone.
All words grouping together in a slimey way. Anyone knowing he wanted to say it louder but
didn’t. Seemingly already knowing the almost-definite likeliness of a sweeping retort.
Scared and way to used to being fucked in the ass by what one says. It’s a killer, and the
reason you’re life is a turd son.

Me: “The time you guys made me get up, it’s the only place to stick it.”

I intercepted and caught a quick defensive glance and everything returned to normal on his part.
The Inner Shit Security Mindset: “Fuck, you’re right, I am a piece of shit, I’ll back off now”

I imagined behing said by that primitive instinct in his head. The one that somehow got him to consider, with full seriousness, a career in Courthouse security.

Some people say you’re a sheep and other say that the system is constantly fucking you in the ass.
I like to think that people like Him are sheeps getting fucked in the ass. A sad combination of both.

Just enough gullibility (sheeps) to let them fuck you in the ass on an oh so consistent basis.

It was an even jollier time from that point on.

Art, Me and Acura SUV’s

What if I told you there was a work of art that dealt with life, God, death, perception of reality, the beginning, the end and the highest turning point possible for a human and that it would undoubtedly shake your very understanding of these things?

Thank goodness it’s a movie, I’ve always been one to believe the longer you are able to spend with a work of art the more it has to teach you. This is why I prefer literature and cinematography over painting and sculpting. Architecture can go play with itself because at the moment I can’t think where to classify it in my simplistic rhetorique of how long an art form has with you.

Enough suspense already, It is called “The Truman Show”, and it’s a satirical psychological drama starring Jim Carrey quite a while before everyone began huffing their lungs out about how good Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind is.

I feel a little like I’m in that movie sometimes, when I predict the actions and fluid motions of a person I don’t know to the grainy final detail. That day I was sitting in one of those lines of cars that aren’t moving despite a green light because there isn’t anywhere to go. A tiny girl was behind me in an Acura SUV. She had light brownish hair, perfectly round big eyes, and a gorgeously minimal curve on her perfect model of a nose. She was messing with something in her lap and I had an arm of length between me and the car in front of me so I let go of the break slightly while looking in the rear-view mirror. I knew she would look up. I got straight contact with those eyes for something like half a second. Focusing back on the road, I smirked. I just like messing with you beautiful, I said under my breath.

This sums me up in an instance. Not; that I like messing with people, but that society’s patterns and the definitive predictable actions of individuals fascinate me.

Most of the Nice ones are Gone.

My childhood years I had a number of people enter my life. Most were too old to survive to this day it appears.
I had my Mom, who was around for my childhood between the ages of 40 and 50.
The lady that babysat me who was like 75.
And my Piano Teacher, he was also fairly old. Grouchiness was how you could tell, that and the almost-white grey colored hair.

They were the best people I knew. Nice, sophisticated, polite, never out of turn, never out of order.

Slowly over the years they’ve died, and I mean the years between 10 and 20.

I’m 20, and some of the nicest people I’ve met between the ages of 10 and now are dead.

I’m left in a world where I have to pick my friends and decide how good they are as people and friends. Whether I’m right later on is to be seen.

Shit it was easier when the people you wanted in your life sifted right in and
the garbage filtered out.

Now I get a heaping helping of both, the choice is mine.

I haven’t the slightest clue if I’m choosing right. Ever.

Most of them are gone, few are left,
and the rest, a somewhat poorly chosen selection so far, is up to me.