Also, i've got news for you. There are no 80-year-old women who are down to fuck and calling up some agency. Ain't nobody paying for your ass except dudes.
seekingarrangement.com
some shit is in the works as we speak. NOTHING GAY
stop being absolutely horrible long enough to string together at least a dozen non-WOATastic posts I will probably forget all this nonsense and treat you with respect and all that good stuff.
You're not going to Win Friends & Influence People with this sort of nonsense. Only those who do not understand how "respect" works would ever attempt to barter it, or leverage theirs or threaten to withhold theirs.
You're not going to Win Friends & Influence People by trying to win friends and influence people, either. But that's Catholic Realities of Shrewd Manipulation 103. It's advanced coursework. No one can even comprehend it when I write about it.
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We seem to disagree on capacity to judge "worst idea ever heard" I mean, to me an adventure in bangkok with the sun on my shoulders and no strings holding me back sounds risque and exciting, it might work out it might blow up in my face.
There are a few strings, though; and they seem frightfully long. At first blush, perhaps even as long as a piece of string?
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I FUCKING RUN TO THAILAND
HELL I WOULD FUCKING HITCHIKE IF I HAD TO
See now this is one of those strings. What makes you think this is a world where you could hitchhike on charity, as a last resort? Some Christian predators have long since removed hitch-hiking from the considerations of those who are sane.
Meaning, if you can't spot the predator, uh oh. But oh, I would look over at the person pretending to be insane enough to pick up a muscle-clad, broke male hitchhiker. Clearly they're insane and insanity is always dangerous at the wheel of a motor vehicle no sovereign nation-state has considered limiting the capacity of the technology to accelerate to BREAK.NECK. speeds in mere seconds. But that would be a merciful way to go, one imagines; because anyone picking up a male hitchhiker is going to be someone who is insane in the way that one imagines wouldn't live long if their motives for picking you up were altruistic (no such thing) but of course I mean if they were the 'good' - exploitable - kind of Compassionate Christian.
It brings its own lotion. [x]
It curries favour by showing initiative as it puts lotion on its skin. [x]
It does not die as hard. [x]
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planet earth
I believe the question from BD was valid. I believe the above answer is correct but knowing you live on Earth and talking about travelling in the greed-infected 21st century without cash smacks of delusion or ignorance which might as well be delusional.
I believe you should work on experiencing more intersections between your understanding that you live on the planet Earth and your understanding of the reality presently believed to be Reality by most of the tortured 341st generation slaves bred to be afraid and suspicious of anyone they don't understand who doesn't look like one of them. You could be in for the kind of shock that will be very peaceful, after the initial shock.
Setting out on a global adventure will do little more than alert you to the fact that I am not waxing lyrical about the exploitation of Westphalia. Not being able to communicate will get you killed all over this world of shoot first, make sense of later, and never stop being terrified of everything except fear. Not having at least a moderate reserve of cash to generate good will and cheer in tense spots will get you in all kinds of awkwardly uncomfortable and potentially fatal spots all over this domestically terrorised world.
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When did I ever sound out of touch with reality? What evidence do you have for making this decision? I have openly talked about my problems and worked my butt off to understand who I am, where I am, how I got where I am, and how might I be as sure as can be I do not repeat these mistakes, and all the while, I have never sought sympathy for my decisions and I never (or almost never) bitch about my place in life WHY????
BECAUSE I AM NOT A VICTIM AND I REFUSE TO MAKE MYSELF INTO ONE. I made a lof of bad choices in life and truth be told I never would have made any of them if I had proper perspective for what I was dealing with. I mean, if I could really see what my actions would do to my life later down the road, my GOD I would have chosen differently.
All the above is good and well but what you're failing to realise is that you're fairly lamenting the absence of what you're unfairly lamenting being given presently.
You're being given perspective. If you landed in Thailand on a Kipling-like idiotic "all or nothing" gamble, you would not be a man. You would be a victim of creeps like Rudyard Kipling, who wasn't nearly as imbecilic as his seditious and infectious insanity would lead you to believe.
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If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;
If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son!
Filthy vile poisonous shit.
______
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Also, again, I HAVE NO CAR, NO INCOME, NO DRIVERS LICENSE (notice when I talked about some old old fines I am trying to take care of? I need close to 3k to get my license back. before someone chimes in over why didn't I take care of them sooner, three of the four fines were tickets for a car I had which was totaled in a wreck in my front yard. Farmers bought the car off me, I needed to show proof of correction to DMV, farmers said they'd help, then shunned me like bob has been. You try taking 20 units in college without a car and see how prompt you are with everything in life, I couldn't get farmers to fucking move and do anything and my fines went from like 20$ each to over $800 (misplaced tabs is what the ticket says they were expired registration. which requires proof of correction to the dmv. which I could not get.)
At 14, I was not insane enough to believe that anyone would ever give a fuck about my excuses. They were kinda bonafide? It's just...what purpose could they serve? The very idea that I could dabble in the insanity of excuse-making was an impossibility to my potentially - and hilariously ironically - purely sane mind.
~~~ Intermission: Three years of Society's Corruption ~~~
At 17, there were some points in ADFA first year where I was wrecked. Just emotionally drained and disillusioned and disgusted by almost everyone and everything. A large element of this was illusionary and the fault of my moronic succumbing to the brainwashing of the Australian State School vassal-manufacturing process; but I have only myself - and Amanda Reynierse (sigh) - to 'blame'.
At 14, I was too sane to dabble in the insanity of Catholic Excuses. You bet your ass they are Catholic. I don't have time to show my working now but when you're making excuses for your failure and for your unhappiness, who are you making them to? YourSelf? Why would your Self give a fuck?
At 17, I was making excuses for everything. All day, every day. My excuses were the best. None better. Even my DO (a terrifying Army Captain - Infantry) told me that my excuses were better than any he'd ever heard anyone make. I was so proud to hear him say that.
I think it was the way he said it, with the hint of spit and restrained nausea that made me think my life might have been in danger in another place at another time. It made me feel really good about myself which is important for correctional behaviour when you're being insane and want to screw up basic Pavlovian Theory. He also made me beam when he told me the sky was the limit for my excuse-making potential. I was just getting better and better. I was beaming with pride in myself and my division and my country.
I didn't want to get too much better because I the distinct impression one more "better" might be curtains. He was a very scary man. He'd almost certainly killed people, but then he was on my side. A Catholic Toddler wouldn't have realised that. You know, with all the MEAN yelling and failing to appreciate that I was doing my best under the challenging circumstances and - *sob* - why did he have to be so MEAN!?
He yelled, my ears rang, my life would have flashed before my eyes but I was too frightened to look or close them or open them. I had no idea what was going on. Death loomed meanacingly. I saw no reason not to listen as I waited for the blow that would kill me.
Well, he was very angry. That means he's going to get violent in a Catholic setting. Raise your voice in Manila and watch everyone cringe waiting for you to start throwing dangerous objects at them. I'm not joking. It's fucking ridiculous. This happens even when you're happy and exuberant. Heaven knows why you would be either of those things in Manila, but I have got to get on top of this Positive Thinking or it is going to kill me.
When Capt. Bonavita was yelling at me, sick to death of my excuses or pretending to be so angry I believed I could die for being so brilliantly Catholic in my manufacturing of them, I was not thinking Positively about myself. I believe this may have been his intention or even - who knows - an appropriate reaction to Catholic self-defeating insanity?
He told me my excuses were improving every time. I didn't get the impression it was a compliment or a character-building positive thought warming up to gentle constructional criticism Management 101 for Toddler Behaviour Correctional Technique. Hah. The entire speech was conducted at a remarkably high, almost scientifically-curious level of decibles but maybe this is what was needed to reformat my insane excuse-making attitude?
He yelled so loud my ears rang with the wisdom of the point he was making to me for years. The point that opened with SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH the instant I walked in with totally brilliant excuses ready to tender as an excuse for why I'd fucked up something or another which was in my best interests not to fuck up. It would seem I had become predictable.
For 4-5 minutes he shouted, I listened. The speech ended with GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKING OFFICE. I did not tarry. At no stage did I get a word in. All my brilliant excuses I had worked on were for nought. Their value had not changed.
It was one of the finer speeches I've ever heard. I wish I could reproduce it for you because you need it. I learned a lesson that day about making excuses and about the value of excuses that I shouldn't really have needed to re-learn. When you are sane, excuses are not tendered because excuses have no value except to Catholics who try their darndest not to rape but you know those pesky human urges!
"Father, I cannot help my human weakness. I keep raping the children. Tell me Father, how many Hail Mary's this time - don't hold back Father, show no mercy - I am a wretched human sinner saved only by the grace of Jesus Christ who died so that I could rape, routinely."
You control your Self. Circumstances ebb and flow. They matter nought. You get things done or you don't, depending on how important they are to you. If it's vitally important to you, you die getting it done. If it's not important enough to die for, you do what is required to get it done. At some point, if it's important to you, you get it done.
Making excuses for why you can't get something done is Catholic Insanity. Do you want to do it or not? If you do, get it done. If you don't, stop horrifying yourSelf with excuses. We are not exploited emotional women who wait for a special day to make New Year's Resolutions. We are soldiers of fortune. Captains of Industry. We are men with Proud Toddler Heritages and Respected Toddler Family Names to Honor. When we want to do something, we will not wait for a calendar to turn over. We just go and get it done. If we don't want to, we do not whine like exploited women about "doing our best and it would be nice if others appreciated the effort" we are putting into our failing to get it done.
"Would it kill everyone to just be polite? Does everyone have to be so MEAN!? Your mother is doing her best, under very challenging circumstances, okay Honey? Can you help me out on this one and not be difficult today?"
Excuses.
Have value. [ ]
Are worse than worthless. [x]
Are sane. [ ]
Are Catholic Toddler Insanity intended to aid us to accept our habitual fucking up. [x]
Assist in our getting it done. [ ]
Prevent our getting it done. [x]
Are we clear?
I SAID, ARE WE CLEAR?
Splendid. [x]
____________________________
Click Show for a dumb story about rape, murder and coverups to protect presently serving ranking rapists holding command positions in the Australian Defence Force.
After 20 years, I can now speak out and describe the physical, sexual and psychological abuse I was subjected to, and the inappropriate culture that existed, and still lingers, in the ADF.
My experiences are something I do not readily discuss. How do you describe to friends and family what it feels like to have a gang of people break into your room at night, hold you down, beat you and anally rape you? The anger and humiliation are something you just try to live with.
Shortly after I was attacked, the same gang attacked and gang-raped a female cadet in my division. No one was charged and nothing was done about it. One of the perpetrators said openly that "she was a drunk slut, she had it coming". That person is now a senior officer in the ADF.
Six weeks into ADFA induction I was wrecked - everyone was wrecked by the insane redundancy (which is the 'point' of insane military redundancy during Basic; but it's not supposed to be the point of officer training) - I'm not talking about the sleep deprivation or the physical training which was fairly designed to make us all a lot fitter and some of you Toddlers and your Dreams. You'll pay for those cupcakes you know.
300 lbs without medication. Wouldn't Gary's arms love to believe that. I have discipline. Also, food (much like sex) has literally been done to death.
What was driving me insane during Basic was the fucking imbecilic lying. They would contrive these moronic, completely-not-crafty spots to just fuck with everyone. They wouldn't fuck with me because lie to me once and shame on your insanity. Lie to me twice and I'm not going to get sucked in over and over unless you're a very pretty girl. These moronic PTIs and their contrived insulting sessions designed to dangle the prospect of food needed by growing children being pushed to their physical and mental limits...I understood what their insanity was about but the rest of my Division seemed to keep getting confused about what their 'game' was all about. The fucking Toddlers just didn't get it.
I got it. Not sure what 'benefit' it gave me but I got it and they didn't. It wasn't going to matter how insanely well we performed, or how close to our limits we strained past vomit and shitting your pants (this is physical training not for the faint-hearted or dignified - you stop to clean yourself, I will keep running BUDDY - let me know how your dignity pans out for you); these fucking Toddlers were just liars so why would anyone keep on believing them when they say "If you all complete this 4.8 km run in under 20 minutes you will have an hour for lunch."
The fucking morons in my division would almost kill themselves, perfectly understandably if those making the terms were sane. But they were not. So I had to almost kill myself for redundancy's sake alone.
We would deliver sometimes, and Surprise Surprise! The destroyed Toddlers of my division would all groan or stare dumbfounded and shellshocked at the snickering PTI Toddlers who thought it was high comedy to pretend to have made a mistake which they'd then apply retroactively to ensure we just missed out. Shucks. Hah. So hilarious. They 'got' me once. They fooled the other Toddlers 20, 50, 100? times. It was horrifying but there was a much darker side to it all than mere Toddler games.
The entire point of these exercises were designed to instil rage and fury in those who were at the right end of the failboat; i.e. everything was designed to get the strong to cull the weak, using techniques which weren't allowed in a 21st century Politically-Correct world of Lies but what happens when the guards give you privacy in the state's prisons and haven't installed CCTV cameras there out of respect for your personal dignity? What happens in the showers of this horrifying Society's prisons stays in the subconscious repressed memories of denial. It's called "rehabilitation". Maybe "deterrence". Maybe it's just "LOL"? I don't know these things but I know all of you Toddlers deserve to die.
Getting the future officers of the nation's military to cull their own weak using methods technically prohibited but in reality, would be frowned upon which means they'd encourage it and then frown upon it if the shit hit the proverbial and someone died or something. Yeah that shit happens hey. It's called "team-building". Yeah.
Do you think the weak were carried through by those who "never leave a man behind"? This wasn't Remember the Titans insulting bullshit. This was reality. I assure you the weak would wake up to their team members making it very clear they were not part of the team anymore and would they kindly fuck off or die. There is a sound that is made by socks viciously swung in hatred and rage by Toddlers who are very fit and very hungry and very angry and very irrational. Inside the socks there is a very hard bar of soap. Where the socks connect is wherever the flabby soft tissue is at it's most excessive. I watched this ordeal occur once and I disposed of my sock and soap and chose to spectate. I heard the sound of rock hard soap bars and flabby soft tissue clash together more times than could ever really be argued to be...productive.
I don't know how to describe the sound. It's silent but then not really. I guess it sounds a bit like whimpering. I don't really know. But there was a lecture the next day. I cannot remember what I said. Either there were no more sock attacks or I wasn't invited to any more "team-building" exercises at midnight.
The funny thing is all of the above was the new, hippie, Tai Chi, progressive, multicultural, diverse ADFA. The prior year, insanity that had been allowed to fester unchecked by incompetence too Catholic Toddler-ish to be attributed to any toddler, came to an abrupt end. It was a miracle for me in ways I couldn't have imagined until 3rd year when my obsession with merit would have killed me. Maybe. Who knows with "If" games. I would have been ranked so highly, it would have been very dangerous because there would be furious subordinates with no option but to comply and there would be a backlash or backlashes from furious bloodthirsty subordinates who had been shamed in front of their victims and forced to stand down but once word got around that the stood-down Toddlers had the power to mutiny, or act without consequence, there would have been payback that surely would have been curtains I suspect.
I don't think I'm being melodramatic. The insanity of what was happening in the private halls and rooms of ADFA prior to 1998 was so horrifying, a commission was tasked with reviewing the horror because it had spun so out of control not even the military with all its centuries of tricks could keep a lid on the reality which was - fucking - unthinkable.
Rape was out of control. A lot of people were getting raped. No one talks about it, of course. Do you understand how much rape needs to happen before the victims start talking about it? Lots. There was lots of rapes. Rape was generic, routine, fun & games really.
Vicious beatings. Hospitalisations. It's tragic, really; so many of these kids would have been drilled with Mike's Society-instilled poisonous malfunction. "Stand up to bullies." Do you know what happened to people who stood up to bullies who had ALL the power? You'd get raped. Put in hospital with facial injuries. If you were 'lucky', though it would depend on which way you looked at things.
Suicides. Lots. They weren't really suicides so much as coerced murders, but who cares about technicalities.
Murders. ROFL. You can't make this shit up. Technically "sucides", of course but then the day you decide to jump to your death from your 2nd floor window (a height I have jumped from whilst drunk trying to escape my friend's fury because I was a mischeiveous menace who flirted with life & death on occasion - I sprained my ankle so that occasion doesn't really count but I understood, some people think it's a good idea to kill yourself from that height). This was so obviously a murder it was horrifying. The cadet who 'committed suicide' landed on his leg and his shoulder almost as if he was doing a dive with a high degree of technical difficulty onto cement (which is never advisable, for diving onto). The cadet didn't die because you know the problem with 2nd floor windows. They're just not high enough! I mean, he must have been really depressed because he could have walked up to the roof which would be like the 4th or 5th storey? Guess when you gotta kill yourself, you just gotta make that happen without thinking. Out the 2nd storey window he went.
And then he had a lot of time to think, about his mistake. He didn't die, but then I meant he didn't die instantly. What happened was that he died very hard, over a period of many hours where I never really got a scientific answer for why he didn't die from the close to freezing temperature of a Canberra winter night? There would assumedly be huge blood loss? I had lots of questions but you can't ask questions about these sorts of suicides because they'll get the wrong idea and think you're not letting sleeping dogs lie.
But I understood very little of the story. What I did understand was that he took a long time to die hard. Throughout the night he fought over many hours and this kid (never met him, no idea what he looked like, can't even remember his name) was some kind of a hero or maybe he just changed his mind about the suicide. Also possible, is that he was murdered and had no desire to die. But I tell you what, for a 'suicidal' kid, he sure fought to live. They found his body the next day, after he'd failed to commit suicide successfully but then showed a great second effort to kick the bucket over the next however many hours of crawling.
During the process of trying to kill himself, he had crawled inch by inch dragging his torso and his shattered leg and broken collarbone for hundreds of metres. I asked the direction. I was asked why I wanted to know. I had a reason (I was wondering if he was crawling somewhere specific, like CAMU-D) but I think it's rude to respond to my questions with questions so I shrugged it off and said "just morbidly curious, I guess". This pacified the extraordinarily defensive fourth year cadet telling us the story, and he pointed in the direction the kid had crawled for hours before coming to a stop, where he died. Maybe coincidence, but it seemed a very strange one. He was making a beeline for CAMU-D (medical hospital). He got about 2/3rds of the way there, by my estimate. Strange way to commit suicide. That's all we were really told and I'm not an insane vassal. When the police agree it was suicide, and the coroner agrees it was suicide, and the parents agree it was suicide and everyone agrees it was suicide who am I to point out the obvious. Obviously, it was suicide. I let it go.
Which means I had nightmares about it for months. My damn imagination. I was there on the ground with him, in the light snow. Crawling. Inch. By inch. By inch. Trying to live. Maybe because waiting to die was untenable? I don't know how the horror of being a victim of this Catholic world works, at the end. He almost got there, it was so sick. CAMU-D might even have been in sight, by my reckoning. But in the end, he just ran out of fingernails.
They found a trail of fingernails, like bread crumbs in a nightmarish fairy tail; a trail of fingernails from where he tried to kill himself to where he died fighting to stay alive. Ten fingernails, ripped out of his fingers by his desperation to drag his mangled body to the base hospital after he was thrown - who are we kidding? This kid was an Academy Cadet. We know how to commit suicides at ADFA, thank you.
Personally I found the implied suggestion that he didn't know how to kill himself to be a sleight on the entire Corps. Killing yourself is easy. It's staying alive that can be a little tricky in this Toddler world of vapid horror and smirking glee and snivelling triumphant snickering and everyone's wading through ankle deep urine. Breeding like the world's going to end in 2012.
As if the breeding could ever be affected by anything. Please. You're funny!
In Moscow, with the sombre menace of a Russian winter approaching (just like the one that comes every year like clockwork to clean the homeless filth off the streets - chill out Taxi Driver - winter is coming to make everything pure and clean and spotless again - circle of death); I literally saw gorgeous little families of toddlers and adolescents playing and skipping and all looked over tenderly by their pregnant homeless Toddler mothers.
Did you catch that? They were pregnant. I thought that was pretty cool. They weren't letting reality get in the way of their breeding. It was kind of like ambition or something.
Or the power of Positive Thinking.
The reason it's funny is because all those children are going to die. Hahah. I love Moscow in winter.
Click Show for a dumb story about the Law, and Vassal Fealty
I consciously signed over my allegiance and fealty from one John Vincent to a little girl who I basically never spoke to in three years but who had such an profound affect on my life it's horrifying in every possible way. She was not manipulative or anything (though I couldn't honestly know, because I refused to be goaded by her into staying something stupid so I kept my mouth shut in order to be thought to be a fool rather than open my mouth and risk proving the embarrassing truth), but she was the Law.
It's possible I was so stupid I needed a lawyer because I didn't read for a decade primarily because one day she surprised me at the bus stop (must have been an amazing book because I never made mistakes and that was a clear mistake - had I not been engrossed, I'd have made myself scarce before she could ever associate my actions with her impending arrival and associated terror one feels when one comes face to face with one's GOD) and as I cursed myself with every slur I could imagine she casually took a seat and said something like "Hi".
I responded with a nod. I wasn't playing it cool. I do not believe I had the motor function required to speak, but of course the human mind is an amazing thing. She said something intended to get me to engage her but I brushed it aside, a derisive comment about a teacher that everyone hated so it was tantamount to small talk. Exasperated by my shrewd terror, she asked me what book I was reading. I suspect, mildly fascinated by the prospect that a book could be more intriguing for a boy than she was. I don't mean to be snide in any way, you cannot imagine the lives of pretty girls in this world of sleaze. My insanity would have been a fascinating and disturbing thing for a pretty girl to clash with (the brighter of them just auto-assumed I was gay).
Unable to tell her the title, I held up the book for her to see the cover. She screwed up her nose and what happened next was so insane. For 15 years, I remembered what happened after that point perfectly. She was the Law. I understood Reading to have been Prohibited.
But I was 29 when the thought struck me - for the first time - that she might not have been declaring Reading to be Prohibited but perhaps she was just disapproving of the picture on the cover? The title of the novel? The author whose name she might not have recognised or didn't care for? Christ who the fuck knows with a 14 year old girl and a screwed up nose that lasted maybe half a second. Maybe she just didn't like the book because it was distracting her only company and forcing her to sit there feeling foolish because she didn't have a book?
Fuck my vassal life.
None of this entered my mind for 15 years. No one ever talks about these things, of course. I've noticed that peculiarity. How all of you prefer to talk about sex and shit. Not how you're going to get any but about all the sex you've already had. I've always been very impressed. I had no possible capacity to contribute. But I hoped to one day be able to at least be able to know what was bullshit and what wasn't. I suspected a great deal of bullshit.
Surprise surprise. You motherfucking Toddlers with your lies, you are unfuckingbelievable.
I was never going to sleep with Amanda. But one way to ensure zero POSSIBLE chance of impressing a girl is to say nothing, do nothing, be nothing. Which is what is OPTIMAL strategy for not offending the sensibilities of the insane. If we ignore the fact that girls are all as insane as yall are, the dilemma appears to be non-existent. Open your fucking mouths. No one cares about your dumb reservations but you.
Amanda didn't fucking care about the celebrity status her aesthetics afforded her. I know that for a fact but the reasons are a little creepy but not really. I'm just more amazing than you, and I learned (though it took me four months of intense concentration) to zone everything out but the whispering stream of feverish intensity coming from the rear of every classroom. Politics. Brilliant politics.
Here's the thing about politics, even when it's brilliant. You can lose and lose badly.
No one can win.
Truth.
True but stupidly so, Amanda was my Law and I registered the Law as declaring READING IS PROHIBITED. I was not aware of that law. I registered it, and then I didn't like reading anymore. It was that clean a transition. Simple, really. She didn't like reading. Therefore neither did I. It was a very emotionless transition from reading almost nonstop (literally loved it more than you've ever loved anything) to reading nothing but the absolute bare minimum required at school / uni / work for nearly a decade.
Actually, whilst the above is true - there was one incident that should have reversed or at least clarified my legal predicament. Two years later, nearing graduation, I noticed Amanda sitting by herself, casually reading a book as if it were the most legal activity in the world. I gasped in disapproval. Clearly, I was retaking my mind back but the problem with giving your mind away is that you stop thinking and when you stop thinking, you're not going to process anything all that intelligently. I gasped and tsk'd.
"So unfair. Double standards."
I bristled because I hated injustice. But I could not stay angry at my GOD.
We were still in high school. She was still the Law.
I believed I had interpreted the Law perfectly, and compliance was instantaneous. She wrinkled her nose. I was embarrassed or annoyed at having been caught on account of my reading distracting me from avoiding the Law. That was all she wrote.
She wasn't merely the Law, of course. She was my Law.
I think I needed a lawyer?
Pretty sure I needed something. I didn't really learn a damn thing or get much brighter really outside uni contact hours until I next read a book at 23. You don't want to leave your education up to the State. You will be dumber than if you never went to state school at all. i genuinely believe this. Of course, there would be social implications but who are we kidding. Come on.
Come on.
Buddy. Come on.
Click Show for a dumb story about how I got trapped into doing a George Costanza waiting by the bedside of a pretty 16 year old girl who had dumped me and who I'd tried to kill earlier but alls well that ends awkwardly.
When you're suicidal you only fuck it up if you're a victim of a very horrifying mother who needed you to be addicted to her creepy emotional crack; and then when you weren't little and cute anymore, she stopped giving you the drug of dependancy. Enter ledges. Emotional phone calls to friends. The high drama. The tragic insanity of a Catholic World of Toddlers who breed children because who wouldn't want a little mini-version of themselves who loved them and spent all their time being adorable to please them.
When you're not little, you're not going to be very cute. A toddler who wants a puppy doesn't want a dog. Taking care of it will be a chore. A toddler who wants a toddler doesn't want a pathetic emotional-basketcase sullen teenager who isn't fun anymore and talks back when told to do their chores, and embarrasses the guys she wants to impress into fucking her by saying to them "FUCK OFF DON'T TELL ME HOW TO SPEAK TO MY MOTHER. YOU'RE NOT MY FATHER." *sob*
I had to watch these scenes. Well, no one had a gun to my head but if I wanted to sleep with the no-longer-loved toddler teenager, I had to watch these scenes or listen to them.
This girl was so in love with her father. It was really sweet. She'd never met the guy. He bailed (according to her mother, who might literally have been a whore - I was never sure) when she was a baby. It's probably true. Her mother was kinda horrid. But still, chances are he wasn't going to be a good father. You know?
She didn't.
What happened to him? Really? You're emotional about that guy huh. Fair enough. I guess you really miss the memory you've imagined of him. Well you've never really met him. You only know what your mom has disclosed; which may or may not but probably is not true because she lies about everything. So you're in love with an illusion of a man who kicked along and deserted you and doesn't care if you're alive or dead or does he not know how to pick up a phone? Or do you prefer to imagine he's spent 16 years waiting for the day you're going to walk in and recommence your non-existent relationship?
Apparently, yes. And I was dumped a couple minutes after that. A couple hours after that, I was called by her mother to the hospital. She was in a coma. Her mother shared her grief with me. I was pretty sure I'd killed her, because I was a demented vassal who didn't realise I was hugging her murderer. The emotional trauma of hugging the mother of the girl you believe you killed with Truth she couldn't handle...was very nearly as bad as when she woke up.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
Her mother looked at me, confused. I think I did some hand-waving motion that I think was supposed to communicate how she'd clearly been through a lot and had suffered some brain injury and didn't recognise her own boyfriend. But this was not communicated effectively to the sudden-fiercely protective mother who was confused; understandably.
"He's been here all night."
Oh no. I didn't like hearing that. Neither did she. There was some yelling. I guess we were broken up for good, so I left. She seemed back to normal though. Hah. I remember clear as day being horrified at the Toddler Doctor who I didn't realise was a Toddler at the time, unfortunately; but he said with a big cheery smile after she'd woken groggily and then passed out again that she was only sleeping and would wake properly any moment. He told her mother (who embraced me again, such was our shared joy of our shared property being returned to our shared possession) that her daughter was "going to be as good as new".
Really?
I didn't ask the question but almost as if I had, he repeated himself and then added, "Within a few weeks, back at school. Back to normal."
Hah. He contradicted himself. I guess he meant her vital signs. Emotional insanity in this world is never noticed by anyone who is curiously oblivious to the subtle signs that something is wrong. Isn't it strange? I suppose they are very subtle signs, like trying to take your own life. Stuff like that.
You know how girls are though. It wasn't, actually; but it was probably that time of the month. That would explain it, if you were looking for an explanation. The other - more correct - explanation is that her mother was a murderer but it's not murder until there's a body.
She's probably a murderer now. This girl was as insane as she was cute. You reckon things would have been back to normal? Yeah I think the doc was only a pretend Toddler, too. The way he corrected himself to "back to normal" after saying "good as new" twice. It struck me as strange, is all.
I was getting tired of fucking her anyway.
I'm not trying to sound badass. She was 16, I was 20. She wasn't even in Year 12. I was doing a lot of amphetamines. I think my 'bad-ass' is assured but then I'd had sex with maybe like four girls? She'd had sex with maybe 400 guys? So I never felt like I was taking advantage of her, I guess I wasn't the daddy he was looking for. Here's to hoping she found him on # 402.
But I point out that I was about to dump her, obviously. That should be obvious. Why else would I have told her Truth? Clearly, she meant nothing to me. That's what I do for worthless people.
You confuse my motives here, let me try and elucidate something...
Last friday my step-father receives a call that his closest co-worker for the last 5 years was found dead at work, sitting on the toilet. At work. This man was not overweight and barely 62 years old. Dead.
See our time is so short Scute, it's hard to really grasp that when one has only lived 1/4th of their life span or so, but you and I have lived 1/3rd now, don't you feel the pressure? The pressure of not having enough time alive, time to live, time to do fun shit. I don't know about you, but I am dying to take some fucking chances here. i have lived a safe life for far too long, it's time to take some fucking chances and I relish the idea of putting myself in such a position success seems unlikely. and when I pull off the impossible, people will be all the more amazed by it.
You have NO idea what I am truly capable of, we ADHD kids are known for various things, do you know what my specialty is?
Problem solving.
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This is not a world where you can put the bit between the teeth, sign up for the French Foreign Legion or whatever, and return from some bloody campaign as a soldier of fortune after bringing the Christian Light to some nigger vassals hyped up on nationalism and dreams of having their pick of their own women children.
Well it might be but you'll have to look into the French Foreign Legion enlistment procedures. I daresay I've heard they'll take anyone, so long as they're batshit crazy and desperate.
what
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Where have you been coming into contact with these gorgeous women? They're not really Thai if they're not in Thailand. You'd understand these sorts of things in your first decade of delicately weaving your way through the layers upon layers of intricately woven fabric that is, for better or for worse, Thai Society.
I've said it a few times but if you think I'm joking about the reason I live here, no. Hah. I'm not normal. I live here because Thai girls are elitist and they aren't impressed with my dumb shit. I love it.
Yeah I kind of go by the porn I see and small sample size in person here and there. Let me tell you something- thai girls, when they get dressed up-are KNOCKOUTS. I dig it.
Snobs all around, but knockouts.
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I look hot here. 100% of a sample size of 3 people concur. Irregularities were discovered in the majority of the sampling, forcing their exclusion.
Hot meaning sickly thin and trendy with all-too common black hair? you sure do bud!
[quote]And yet I do very poorly. I live in Bangkok for this reason. Thai girls literally couldn't give a shit. Can I speak Thai? No. After approaching me or having one of their peasant friends approach me, they try and pass me off onto their peasant friends. I love it. But I more or less sleep alone.
If you come here for the girls (though I'm 98% certain you wouldn't really know what Thai girls look like, you're likely confusing them with Isaan girls), I cannot imagine you'll be living as large as your Oprah Dreams have led you to believe.[/quote'
I want to be someplace with potential to make some fucking money, I was born a spider and not a fly, it just took me a bit too long to realize as such. Having a mother who cut off three legs and a father who broke the rest with an aluminum bat, I haven't been a strong enough spider to catch my own meals, and I have existed on everyone's leftovers for far too long.
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Why don't I return to a country where the girls speak English? Name one, and I'll consider it. I've never come across such a thing, myself.
United States or Canada. Get the fuck over here post haste.
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Yes this is a world with rules created by those with money. The rules - would you believe? - are not written to favour those without any.
As hard as that would be to believe.
stfu mister "so yeah then I wrote this story, which was sort of about me, but without being about me mostly, so anyway in this story I (but not me) spend my life looking for x, because x+y=happiness, and then I got rich and was horrified that I did not become instantly happy. because money does not = happiness" um yeah so you are coming across to me much like a christian unwilling to forsake all that he hath here. sorry....I really dislike money, it has never made me happy and I now just want to have lots of it so that I don't have to worry about not having any of it.
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You don't speak Thai. If I didn't know better, I'd assume you'd never traversed this globe of Westphalia exploitation before.
Right on all counts. I have been in a few states (only california new mexico and arizona) to date, what was that I was saying about dying inside for a little adventure? Hmm.
Look, I realized a few things recently, and I came to the conclusion that if I went to thailand under present conditions, the only logical outcome would be massive failure. Parents throw their children into the street to force them to make it on their own because otherwise they are fucked for life. Oh yeah, that would be ME would't it? A lot of the bad choices I have made in life came as a result of me knowing subconsciously mom would take care of me no matter what I did.
And so you (correctly) know if i head out there with nothing, I will essentially still be that baby bird flopping around on the ground who never learned to fly.
I will fly, mark my words. If/when I make it out there, you won't know about it, at least for a while. And I do think we'd make great friends, under the right conditions.
Mike i really dont care if your treat me with respect or not.
The point i was making is that in order to move to Thailand you need money. You have made it very clear you dont have any therefore even considering moving over there is a waste of time. Until you have the funds to make this a reality its nothing more than a daydream.
I was in Bangkok just a few weeks ago. Its not as cheap as you would imagine and as scooter has already said the chances of you getting a job over there are very slim. Even if you did the pay would be shit. Whatever i dont know why i am even bothering to talk with you about Thailand you clearly arent going any time soon you dont even have a passport ffs.
Mike hope for your sake you can find a way to sort your life out but moving to Bangkok is not a realistic option for you for many, many reasons.
Like you said Thailand is a dream resort but its just that, a dream.
I have been meaning to respond to this post. Apologies, no disrespect intended.
The fire inside me is burning out, at this point I have so little left in the tank that yes I would fcking go for it in some other country and hope for the best.
That said, your opinion is sound and solid, and bespeaks of a bit more human compassion than I feel I deserve. let's be real, i'm a piece a shit. If this were not true I would be in a much better place in teh world because society as a whole tends to reward and take care of it's major contributors. Since getting hooked on dope in 2004, I have been a very selfish worthless bastard and I do not blame fate for sweeping me out into the street. it's where I belong.
It's probably seemed to you like I have been daydreaming here, wasting time and such, and it's hard to repudiate the idea, but in my heart, trust me none of this has been a waste of time. I appreciate your thoughts and in particular, your experiences.
It seems thailand is a bit off the map, but if I could I would make it happen, today. TOmorrow around noon I will know officially if the military is moving forward with me or not, bit tense you know. We will see. If that doesn't pan out I will be very devastated and when I say time is short, I really mean it. No cell anymore as of 2pm today, house phone lines cut, these are my rewards for moving 110 bales of hay and alfalfa over the weekend, to the point I spent sunday lying on my side in pain. Thanks J! Here, let me cut off your cell phone unexpectedly!!! Doesn't that make you full of JOY???
Ya, tight life indeed. You think I'm heading into catastrophe going to a third world country, you ain't seen shit bud. Pike was right, with a headcam showing my real day to day people would be up in arms watching all the time. I go through so much unbelievable shit, just stupid you know? My life is impossible, it can't be real.
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