This is like an online notebook, this stuff is not finished or often even started properly.

That's Buddhism For Ya



When you think about it it’s almost insulting that we try to name it or describe it.

It's insulting that people try to do anything about it and care about it’s outcome in the face of such overwhelming stasis. To call your house, your house or your wife, your wife or even you body, your very cells, yours is a pathetic lie. The only force that has any claim to ownership of anything is time. You’ll spend more time decayed than you will alive and in the grand scheme of things you and all your love ones belong only to time. You don't belong to or with each other; you may be married for fifty years but time knew the particles that made up your love of fifty years before you did and it will observe them long after. Even space must secede to time. Now I know this has been an adolescent sub nietzchean rant but I hope it’s persuaded you that C.V your so in need of off me is a fucking irrelevance as is your entire body, life and thoughts. Your carefully shaved face will end up worm munch whatever you do so why bother? You are a shimmering irrelevance basking in ignorance and I hate you. I don’t mean why move. Infact the opposite, I mean why ever stop moving? Oh I know it’s relative, but I’m thinking relatively. I mean instead of comparing my longevity to a healthy human I’ve chosen cot death as my peer group, I’m a fucking one of a kind, a walking talking 20 year old cot death so fuck off.

TALES OF URBAN PARALYSIS.






He knew the beetle was there, feeding on the roots of the trees and polluting the air through the drains and the open manhole covers. It was the reason his foreskin was so sore and couldn't fuck without pain and blood. He didn't know how to break it to her, he didn't want to upset or scare her. But he'd seen it in his dreams, buried deep beneath the water pipes and electric cables that carried the TV signal. It was all his fault. The summer when he was ten and he'd tortured them with fire and needles. Now it had come for him. Sending it's ungodly spores out into the air, turning everyone against him. Insects despise our individualism, our liberty. Like cockroaches in america, the beetle is waging a principled war.