1. Coming to America
2. Trading Places Like Sqatar said, it is obviously a very close second. In fact, for me, if not for the Sexual Chocolate scene, it would be enough for Trading Places to edge out the top spot.
3. Harlem Nights
__________________
Quote:
Originally Posted by gay sex
LISTEN while youre busy driving your cocaine submarine, i was out here defending the idea that all star survivor is better against scooter who thinks its a bad idea, JESUS CHRIST YOUR JIMMERY KNOWS NO BOUNDS
Quote:
Originally Posted by neverstop in a PM
. . .
But whatever, yes I can be a huge canadian faggot and you can be terrible yourself but theres no reason we shouldnt be able to co-exist at the very least, ya feelz me??
OH WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS.. TRADING PLACES WAS YOUR NUMBER TOO, BUT NOW YOU'RE TOO HIP FOR IT... YOU FUCKING FRAUD.
When I was 14 and they - FORCED - us to read Gatsby and 1984, I was so bored I very nearly gave up on literature. Hah. But seriously, how could anyone imagine children could be interested in either. If you were a child who loved either, you wouldn't be normal. You'd be a freak.
God but I'm adorable. That was a little trap I just set there for a non-existent person. There's no need for it. Because no child could ever identify with Gatsby. I refuse to accept such a laughable assertion.
--------------------
Here is a normal story which has almost nothing to do with Gatsby, Eddie Murphy or Trading Places. Or anything really. Well, it's got a little bit to do with Love. And also, the End of the World.
And in the End, There was Love.
You know when your Mother told you to be brave? Oh come on, you remember. Every mother tells their son they need to be brave.
So?
What do you mean so? That's my punchline, right there...boy. Oh boy.
Look my brave little Sailor Man, you're going to need to be extra brave now, and make your Mommy proud of you. It's what she wanted when she made you afraid. Why, what did she think she was doing when she told you to be brave? Jesus christ. You really thought she was being motherly? You should stick with me, Little Sailor Man. You'll get a lot sharper than you managed with her.
What do you mean, why?
Well, I suppose that's a fair question. Let me see...
BECAUSE I'M NOT IN LOVE WITH YOU, YOU DULLARD.
That's why. Your mother loved you, and so she clipped those baby wings. Awwh. Be brave Princess. It's what the filthiest creeps in the world tell their children on the most terrifying day of their lives. The creeps' lives. No their children aren't frightened, a chance to get away from that smothering five-year lack of choice? A chance to play with kids their own age? What kid wouldn't want that? They'll catch up with Mom later. Whenever. What do they care, she's not going anywhere. You see?
Do you understand why the creeps are more culpable than humanity would like to believe? They're terrified. And yet, they're not as horrible as it seems, at first furious blush. They can hardly be blamed. I watched their faces without even fucking realising or having a clue I was going to see what I was going to see; I was just bored. Then I was horrified. Just like that.
I was watching as mothers dropped their children off at school. A very special day. An especially important day, for the filthy creeps.
I wasn't remotely interested but I had nothing to read. I just didn't want to be a father, so I came along. It was that or stay in their home alone and somehow when she asked me if I'd be okay whilst she dropped her daughter off at school, suddenly I wasn't okay with minding their home. "When you leave, I leave"; was the gist of it. She understood, I think.
But then she had more important things to do. She was two hours late to wake up for a pretty important day. I know this because the alarm that woke me up was meant for her. I turned it off. And then spent the next 90 minutes talking to a pretty cool kid who was telling me some pretty scandalous things about her mother, and I had this stinking feeling I knew who was - really - to blame.
The kid had nailed it. Her mother was dropping the ball.
Why the fuck would it be my problem? I knew what I needed to do. I needed to get the fuck out of the equation, cause we were fucking up this kid and I literally didn't know she even had a daughter. We'd only been sleeping together for months. At her place. She never hid anything from me. I live in my own little bubble world. Until, pop.
This little kid was pretty fucking cool, I only met her once though. And she was indignant, but confused. And so I never saw her mother again, after that day. But not because I didn't want to, something...more like the opposite. It makes sense. I probably just can't write. But anyway, all that there is just my explanation to the non-existent police officer who didn't ask me why I was sitting alone in a car looking at 5 year old children being dropped off on their first day of school. The answer to the question is, because I didn't want to be a father. You happy now? Don't even want to tell you this story anymore. May I continue, Officer?
As I was saying...I was sitting in the car, bored out of my mind; unsure of how long this process of tears and everything was supposed to take. I was vaguely aware this was all very standard but I hadn't ever really given a fucking thought to it, cause - I don't have kids. And I was kind of day-dreaming, bored out of my mind having already made up my mind whilst talking to her daughter that they wouldn't need to mind me, I'd be out of their lives for good very shortly. So I had nothing pressing to think about. Restless, I started watching the rather extraordinary proceedings.
So much emotion. The air was drenched in it. I didn't understand. I thought this should be a day of celebration. Mothers were going about this all wrong, I decided. The way a moron thinks governments are going about the educational system wrong. Oh it's wrong. But then 'wrong' and 'right' are rules for you. Not them. They're not forming think-tanks and action committees and focus groups to address issues like "How can we improve the 7th year curriculum" or anything like that. They might have those groups working on the exact opposite, in all reality. If you are confused, you no longer have an excuse.
I was confused watching this mother cry as she dropped her son off, but she wouldn't let go. It was tragic. Also, it was strange. Her son kind of seemed totally fine. But her? It was embarrassing. She was bawling like a toddler. She was out of control. What a mess. I laughed. It was funny.
I was laughing. She kept telling him how brave she wanted him to be and he was like "yeah okay" and itching to go and play but she couldn't let him go. I thought, "he should be telling her to be brave, this is farcical" when my sneer was ripped off my face and I saw something horrifying and I wanted to scream but I didn't know - what - I was watching. I knew it was Evil, but it just kind of happened quick as a flash.
I must of looked like a crackpot, I was looking around frantically, finding no one, looking for someone else to confirm they saw it too. I knew what I saw. I saw something very very Evil. And I couldn't possibly mistake it. This woman had played a very twisted trick on her kid. How was I going to tell the police? Who would I tell, if I don't? Do I tell nobody, just pretend I didn't see it. This is what I wanted to do. But someone needs to be told. The kid's father? Ugh. Scratched that one even whilst I was thinking it.
But I was so horrified, my mind was spinning. She was telling him to be brave over and over, and sobbing and he was kind of - he didn't really know what was going on but he was fine. A-OK. I'd swear to it, but not on a Bible. Because I knew what I saw. I don't need the Bible clouding shit up. This mother wouldn't let up. She just kept on and on and it was ridiculous. But she knew something no one else knew. I certainly didn't see it coming. She knew her son, or she knew some dark motherly secrets maybe they exchange in whatever coven they meet to plot the misery of their children's entire lives. Or maybe it's far more innocuous, and they're all just filthy creeps who need their children more than their children need them. I don't know these things. But they knew something I wasn't capable of imagining on my own. This was a dark, dark trick she played. I didn't dare scream. Somehow, I don't know how but she just knew...it was only a matter of time before he cracked.
And in front of my eyes, this kid cracked. He started getting terrified. His eyes started darting around and his lip started quivering and just when it looked like he might burst into tears, his mother shot up to her feet and just walked away. The timing was unmistakable. I watched a five year old child get played, brilliantly. Oh she could have left him at any time in the last 5-10 minutes and he'd have been fine but no! Oh my god. I was horrified. I knew I was watching something very Evil and I had no idea what to do.
So I just watched and stared at this tiny kid, who was now all alone and not remotely okay anymore. The transformation was...magical. He was so terrified he thought he was going to DIE. He was screaming in terror, looking around just wanted to go home but his mother knew better and - just when she finally got him worried - crack! She brutally smashed him into the ground, shattering him. Then she was off, without looking back, heading for her car to leave. It was all so simple. I couldn't speak, my head was just swiveling side to side as if I was watching a creepy tennis match. Which had just turned on a dime.
I didn't think it could get any more horrifying and then my world went white, with rage. Another mother and this mother - I have no idea if they knew each other - locked eyes for a brief moment as they got into their respective cars. Only for a moment, before both mothers' eyes shot to the ground and my hands shot to my mouth to stifle a scream. The mother of the little boy, who she never - once - dared look back at, spun out and past me and I turned to face her in horror / bravery and get a load of Evil, post Evil. I was trying to be brave, I don't mind saying. Only half-succeeding. She wasn't looking at parked vehicles. She wasn't crying. She was looking at her fucking Blackberry, with a smile on her filthy fucking dial and suddenly I'm trying to punch her through the window which won't open, trying to get my seatbelt off and it's stuck and the door is locked and I'm banging on the window yelling out swear words and threats as she accelerated rapidly into the distance oblivious to her son, standing there, screaming. And the mother I was sleeping with is like "whoa. What the fuck" and I spin around and I'm like "omg this happened and this happened and then this happened and that happened and..." And then I was done.
I was hyperventilating.
And she just shook her head, and slowly got back into the car without saying anything. She was very calm. I was staring at her, stupidly. She realised this, and looked at me, and said "So?" And then she turned the ignition, and reversed out onto the street.
So? So...the world had gone mad. "So..." I thought to myself, never once imagining I could - or would - end up reacting in the way I did. This is the reaction, fast-forward four years. "So..." I yelled, suddenly certain that what I had seen had, in fact, been a horrible crime. "So where is the police station? Someone needs to be told about this. That was a crime. It has to be. It's child abuse!"
She looked at me as if I was technically right but completely missing the forest for the trees. Actually, my inability to realise I was in a forest of horror allowed me to see the tree that was indicative of the forest which has already started to burn. But I didn't realise every mother needed to die until very recently. Back then, I just needed to save that little kid from what I was powerless to see coming, and felt somehow responsible for because what had been done to him was done literally in front of my eyes whilst I smirked at his pathetic mother - who wasn't as 'pathetic', as I had assumed. Or maybe more pathetic. So hard to know, these days.
It had all happened RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY EYES. In mere moments, that kid's life was ruined. And she fucking - knew - it. That was pure Evil, right there. I knew I'd never see something that was as clinically Evil as what I'd just seen when the mother I was sleeping with said, "You really want me to take you to the police? What are you going to tell them?" I wasn't sure, exactly. What I'd seen, I guess. I said nothing.
She continued, holding her hand up to punch out the headline blocks, "You think tomorrow's papers are going to read, Breaking News, Mother loves Son?"
And I looked at her in horror, she was an imbecile! Maybe I explained it badly. She just didn't understand. I was about to snarl something about THAT not being Love when I stopped. And thought, actually...! THAT is - exactly - what Love is. Suddenly, what I had seen wasn't so Evil. Well, it was. But it was Evil that had to be done for Love. I understood. I know Love. At least, I am vaguely familiar with it. At the time, I was in Love with another girl who I knew I'd never see or speak with again. And the things I was prepared to do, rolling back through time...to roll back the clocks on reality; well, they were simply horrifying. But you know, Love. It's insane.
Suddenly everything made a kind of twisted, horrible sense. I groaned. "She loves him!" I explained to the mother, who'd just explained it to me. She looked at me with a kind of expression that was like "What did you think? That she was just having fun fucking with him?" - she didn't say it so much as flashed it, in disbelief. And I said "Yes." And she looked at me, with maybe the only appropriately patronising look of my life.
That's literally what I had assumed. But this new version made a lot more 'sense'.
And so, I never told anyone. I sat sullen, staring out the window liking this girl a lot more than when I asked to be dropped at a police station, but a lot less than the moments before I met her kid early that morning. I only met the kid once. Top kid. I'd been ruining her life for months without even realising she existed. Her mother had never mentioned her. Somewhat uncomfortably, I wondered whether I could have been interested at all if she had. Probably not. It's never going to be a great opener, "Hi. I'm a single mother."
It's not going to be a plus, not in Birdies where I met her. There's a lot of pretty children there. Which is why I was there. And I'd gone home with the mother of one of the coolest kids alive, but then had I known she was home alone...did I want to go home to your missing puzzle, where I am confusingly shaped like the missing piece? Hmm...
It's not going to be a plus. So was it ethical for her simply to never mention it? Who gives a fuck. It was understandable, and wrong. So yes and no. I had to move on. If telling the truth to me is not going to be a plus, my rudimentary understanding of mathematics seemed to suggest that I was a big fat minus. But I already knew that. So I can understand why she didn't. Still...I had no interest in ruining the lives of 5 year olds.
I didn't like her mother - that - much. You know?
And that's when it all became very clear to me, and I got slightly angry but there was no point in getting angry. At her or me. We were ruining a child's life, and how could I be so blind? Her mother hid nothing from me, and I saw nothing. How peculiar. It's unlike me to miss everything. I think I understood what that meant. I was getting sick of that kind of shit, which had been happening a lot around that time. 1.5 adults ruining the life of a tiny child, for what...? Late night phone calls. We weren't even fucking together. She was my "Sunday Girl" available 24/7 and I fucking knew - I knew - it was too perfect an 'arrangement' to even make sense. But I don't recall trying to make sense of it. Until it all made sense.
As she dropped me off, I turned and somewhat casually confirmed she was on the same page. I don't do bullshit like "let them down gently", fucking intentional awkwardness to signal incoming 'bad' news, I'm not going to delicately phrase and eww. It's fucking insulting and impossibly creepy.
"You know I'm not going to call you again, right?"
She nodded curtly. She knew.
Simple. I turned around, then realised something and quickly turned back.
"Look you know it wasn't the kid. She was fucking cool. You know you got a cool kid, right?"
She nodded, more slowly this time; but she wouldn't turn to look at me. She knew.
Who hides that kid, was what I was thinking, kinda furious but I wasn't sure at who, or what, exactly. I turned to go, then quickly turned back, just...frustrated, more than anything.
"Her mother though. And me though. That kid I met deserves better than us. And from what little I know about what you know a lot about, I know that kid must of had better than us until...until...whenever it was, you need to make it all go back to the way it was. You need to turn the clocks back."
I was desperate. I almost said "please". It seemed incredibly important to me that she reverse time. She turned to look at me and she was crying. I was about to cry so I turned away for good. I heard her start to say something but she didn't. At the door, I had a moment of genius and spun around to warn her, "If I ever call you, or text you like I have been, I'm not going to tell you what to do but if you don't immediately hang up the phone, I'll never forgive you."
She nodded. I was relieved. Kinda chuffed with myself, for taking out insurance. I hate the alternative. I'm familiar with the alternative. I had no intention of calling her but I knew me. At some point, sooner or later, tomorrow or in a year, when I couldn't bear to look forward I knew I would be looking back.
"What did you tell your daughter as you dropped her off?"
Her face lit up as she called out, "Be a good girl and maybe I'll come pick you up, if you're lucky. Then I kicked her in her bee-hind and she ran off with a laugh." Her face was glowing. She knew she was a fucking brilliant Mother. I suddenly wanted to run back and jump into the car and say absolutely nothing and she would just drive us home. But I'd never forgive myself, so I didn't. I was pretty fucked up, at the time. Which was, roughly, any time under the age of 29 when things were explained to me, for the first time.
I don't know who explained things to her, but she knew what she was doing. And I knew I needed to get the fuck out of their equation. She hadn't been a mother since she met me. I understood. Her kid told me, in desperation and confusion, "Mommy is always asleep!"
I bit my lip. Not always kid. But kids are so 'selfish' like that.
I almost called her so many times. But I had zero intention of being insane. I didn't think she'd actually do what I told her to do. That was mostly just pathetic insurance for me. Offloading responsibility. It's the next best thing to being responsible.
And sure enough, months down the line, I was destroyed and maybe dying at the end of a 14 hr acid trip, and with a grimace in response to my own accusing accusations like "Keeping that dignity?"...I scrolled to her name and I wasn't sure what I wanted her to do or say but I knew I was going to hate myself no matter what. I knew that.
Acid is really fucked up like that, at the end - in any case. I wouldn't care, if the gamble was lose lose. I was probably kind of attracted to that sort of gamble in that sort of position. Acid is just...too much. Of everything. Way way way too much. Also possible, is that I was over-dosing. But blaming the government for your problems is passe.
I was - feeling - way too much, and I was suffering. I wanted her to bring me back to neutral. It made perfect sense, in my mind. The only stumbling-block appeared to be my dignity. Undeterred, I vaulted the lowered bar without even feeling a pang of deterrence. Uh oh. I'd been in that position before.
She picked up, and I gathered she was asleep. She said something unintelligible that might have been "hey" or "hello", through a doona or pillow. I wouldn't have known what the time was. I wouldn't have cared. I wanted her, and I'd deal with disappointing her daughter and her...in the future. I.e. not now. I swallowed and with difficultly, said "Hey."
Long pause, and then a soft click.
Sanity. I closed my eyes, and felt sleep drag me down.
Though I'm not entirely sure why, I was smiling. And for at least a few moments, I didn't hate myself at all.
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So as I was saying, love isn't going to save the world. It's killed the world. We're just marking out idiotic time. Also, I used to like Trading Places but then I saw it again and thought it was more slapstick than I remembered. A girl can change her mind, no?
I reverse the right to change my mind again, of course. I do not wish to alarm you. There is nothing to worry about. If it happens, it happens. It won't be the end of the world. So there's no need to be brave, my Little Sailor Boy. Can you do that for Mommy? Can you not be afraid? It's what she actually wanted to say.
But I imagine no one explains anything to her. They probably just agree with everything she says.
Quote:
Originally Posted by blake
scooter really likes eddie murphy
You have no idea how much I could. Neither do I, but I wish I did. And that's really kind of tragic, isn't it?
I don't blame Eddie, though! I know exactly who is to blame.
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Here is where I tell Blake how to raise his daughter, it's unsolicited but then the rules don't apply to me:
The other day, the realisation dawned on me that I knew Spam's dirty little 'genius' strategy. It's not the cost of doing marketing business, it's the Secret to the entire circus economy.
I know you think you have choices. Let's revisit when you - choose - not to imprint your daughter with the instinctual need to breed.
Don't give her dolls to "play Mommy" with. See whether Mattel has anything to say about that. I'll put $1000 on you cracking as soon as Mattel looks up at you, confused, and says "But Daddy, all the other girls..."
I would kill anyone who hurt my daughter purely to sell a product. But how else do you sell a product the consumer doesn't - really - need? You have to inflict pain. You have to reach out and put a sharp jab into their kidneys. Otherwise what will motivate them to buy? And yet, omg. I've never heard marketing explained in such a perfectly and provably accurate manner. The implications of this realisation are....why aren't all these creeps rotting in prisons from when they first started getting creepy with inflicting pain to sell products, back whenever this shit started? I would kill them, if it was my daughter. Probably just as well I don't have one.
The other alternative is that Mattel aren't doing that, which would mean I'm just crazy! And Mattel would be creating happiness, magically, out of nothing. So...give her nothing and make that argument again to me?
Mattel are either creating happiness?
Or are they creating misery, and handing you the key to pain 'relief'. If you can afford it.
You're going to need to make more money. You'll never be able to make enough. Not once she starts - wanting - things. I'm sure you have all this figured out, but then if you have, why aren't you telling other people?
Spam has advanced. They're not sponsoring the shows on your TV. They own the station. They own the production teams. They own your TV. And they own you. But they will target her. No. It's not convenient at all. I can't imagine why anyone would think so.
If you give Mattel what your daughter will think she wants, now that they've reached out and whipped her down from neutral; Mattel won't care, they'll just move aside in the rotation. And a new team will be focused on smashing her back into negative emotional territory because - that's - the Secret of Marketing I don't believe I've ever heard until I was pontificating the other day. And this girl wasn't getting it. So I was drawing graphs. She didn't get it. Maybe because I'm not good at diagrams, but what I'm trying to show here with all the dots in the negative is where humanity is forced to reside non-stop. It's where we've been smashed by Spam. We're all living non-stop in negative emotional territory. Trying to get back to neutral.
(1) Inflict pain.
(2) Buy our product.
(3) Back to neutral.
That's not happiness. It's shitty pain 'relief'. And it's so fucking creepy and vile, this world is way too stupid for me. How am I thinking these things, and not reading them a decade ago? And 1000 times since then. How do you all allow Spam to reach out and whip innocent children into misery, from neutral innocence? This world is moronic.
I don't have any answers, mind. I don't see a way out. Everyone knows they - need - what they want. Until they get it. But how will they know they don't want it when they've been made to want it, until...they get it? You'll have to negotiate with the terrorists, no one negotiates with hostage-takers until the terrorists are holding up their kid, in pain. You'll have to pay them because I don't know how you teach this kind of stuff to kids. I didn't learn it until I was 29, and pretty much over...everything. I figure this would have to be too late to be considered optimal.
Don't! ...let her meet Aun. Just say No. And run. She won't chase you. Fingers crossed. It's a very tiny % chance, but you cannot be too cautious on that count I figure.
If you don't have a plan for the Terrorists of Spam, whatever you do, don't give your daughter everything she thinks she wants, of course! You don't want a creepy kid like the kid I was happening along, capable of running rings around damaged girls who have always gotten what they want and only want what they cannot have. That creep will just wrap her around his finger by pretending the Obvious. And then he'll beat her at the game of chicken, before handing over the illusion of control to let her choose. Between the one option.
Don't give her illusions of control unless you're going to make her incredibly stable or bright. If she thinks she can wrap the world around her finger just like she wrapped Daddy (and all the subsequent "awwh" types), she's going to wrap her legs around a guy who might want to be, he might even think he could be, but he will never - ever - be the One and the only Rocco Sifridi.
It would be a very cruel trick to play on a daughter, to allow her to think she can buy FREEDOM and INDEPENDENCE with sex. This sounds a lot like sucking eggs, and yet - so many tiny girls buy their 'freedom' from creeps with cars, and they're off. Away from the tyrant who put his foot down and said "You're too young to have fun." She's not old enough. She will know she's old enough because you know girls...girls just wanna have fun.
And creeps will tell her that she's old enough. You can say she's not, but you will lose that tug-of-war. You don't want to play that game with creeps. The creepy game so many girls are playing, taught to them by their mothers and older sisters who are giving them a head-start at using those not-yet-existent feminine wiles on men to get what they want out of life. Im-be-ciles. It starts with Mattel, involves Whore Paint at some point, padded bras and sashaying non-existent hips, pouting lips, puckering (no idea what that is, but I know it's relevant), fluttering eyelashes, ditsy confused and coy and well...you know. All the stuff that nine year olds shouldn't do but it's perfectly horrifying so no one ever talks about it. How convenient.
All the trouble starts with people (Daddy) convincing her that she can manipulate them with a curious brand of currency: cute. And it ends with her trying to convince people that she's good enough to be fucked, if only because they don't seem to think so. They're pretending. It's ridiculous that any girl could be confused. But if you are confused, you need to think about her position. I don't know how to do it, I just know it is madness if you cannot convince her that she isn't to use her powers this creepy world has largely manufactured for her, in order to exploit the 'fairer' sex. I think 'fairer' is also spelled 'weaker' but I'm not sure really cause this world and women - if you're crawling back through even relatively recent history - everything gets so creepy, it almost doesn't bear to dwell on.
Don't call her Princess. That's a really creepy hangover from some really creepy courts. The sorts of places where girls were sent by parents - fine parents - grand parents - who all needed to die. I don't think a Princess has ever won in history. I think that's the point in convincing girls that they are Princesses, in fairy tales. When a) they're not and b) they couldn't possibly even want to be. And c) the reality we live in where reality destroys them.
I'm completely serious when I say, game-theory wise, I don't know how anyone can reasonably expect to win the first battle v Mattel. Seriously, how? I see LLLLLLLL at every line. How do you say no to a girl who thinks she wants Barbies? I think the answer is something like The World is Going to Burn. (I understand there's a lot of connecting dots between Mattel and donkdown, but that's where it all starts falling the wrong way).
If it happens, or when it happens, you can blame Mattel. Even if she didn't want Barbies just go ahead and blame those creeps. You might as well. Compared to the damage they've done to this world, hurting little girls in order to sell - a creepy doll - they just get off blame-free. It's amazing. This whole world plays the Blame Game, idiotically.
And that's the uncomfortable Truth.
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caveat: I have no daughters and only the vaguest of interests in sleeping with the daughters of others. Nothing I say could or should be taken seriously, in this world where advice-giving can open you up to litigation; but corporations are invented to limit liability. Hahh. Everything I say is genius. Ignore it at your peril.
But seriously I'm just killing time on redundancy because I don't really know what else to do. I'm waiting for something, which isn't going to materialise. But that's a damn shame cause I 'solved' my computer problems literally the first day someone (me) told me what my problem was. DoS. I vaguely understood that to be something involving hackers but no. Hah. DoS is most effectively denied by those who are widely known to provide it.
With my hard drives filling up with 20 million files and crashing within hours of buying them, the thought occurred to me that I might be getting flooded, or something. That led to DoS which led to lots of reading, all of which more or less boils down to this.
And so we ramble on, boats against the redundancy, borne back ceaselessly into the present.
When I was 14 and they - FORCED - us to read Gatsby and 1984, I was so bored I very nearly gave up on literature. Hah. But seriously, how could anyone imagine children could be interested in either. If you were a child who loved either, you wouldn't be normal. You'd be a freak.
God but I'm adorable. That was a little trap I just set there for a non-existent person. There's no need for it. Because no child could ever identify with Gatsby. I refuse to accept such a laughable assertion.
--------------------
Here is a normal story which has almost nothing to do with Gatsby, Eddie Murphy or Trading Places. Or anything really. Well, it's got a little bit to do with Love. And also, the End of the World.
And in the End, There was Love.
You know when your Mother told you to be brave? Oh come on, you remember. Every mother tells their son they need to be brave.
So?
What do you mean so? That's my punchline, right there...boy. Oh boy.
Look my brave little Sailor Man, you're going to need to be extra brave now, and make your Mommy proud of you. It's what she wanted when she made you afraid. Why, what did she think she was doing when she told you to be brave? Jesus christ. You really thought she was being motherly? You should stick with me, Little Sailor Man. You'll get a lot sharper than you managed with her.
What do you mean, why?
Well, I suppose that's a fair question. Let me see...
BECAUSE I'M NOT IN LOVE WITH YOU, YOU DULLARD.
That's why. Your mother loved you, and so she clipped those baby wings. Awwh. Be brave Princess. It's what the filthiest creeps in the world tell their children on the most terrifying day of their lives. The creeps' lives. No their children aren't frightened, a chance to get away from that smothering five-year lack of choice? A chance to play with kids their own age? What kid wouldn't want that? They'll catch up with Mom later. Whenever. What do they care, she's not going anywhere. You see?
Do you understand why the creeps are more culpable than humanity would like to believe? They're terrified. And yet, they're not as horrible as it seems, at first furious blush. They can hardly be blamed. I watched their faces without even fucking realising or having a clue I was going to see what I was going to see; I was just bored. Then I was horrified. Just like that.
I was watching as mothers dropped their children off at school. A very special day. An especially important day, for the filthy creeps.
I wasn't remotely interested but I had nothing to read. I just didn't want to be a father, so I came along. It was that or stay in their home alone and somehow when she asked me if I'd be okay whilst she dropped her daughter off at school, suddenly I wasn't okay with minding their home. "When you leave, I leave"; was the gist of it. She understood, I think.
But then she had more important things to do. She was two hours late to wake up for a pretty important day. I know this because the alarm that woke me up was meant for her. I turned it off. And then spent the next 90 minutes talking to a pretty cool kid who was telling me some pretty scandalous things about her mother, and I had this stinking feeling I knew who was - really - to blame.
The kid had nailed it. Her mother was dropping the ball.
Why the fuck would it be my problem? I knew what I needed to do. I needed to get the fuck out of the equation, cause we were fucking up this kid and I literally didn't know she even had a daughter. We'd only been sleeping together for months. At her place. She never hid anything from me. I live in my own little bubble world. Until, pop.
This little kid was pretty fucking cool, I only met her once though. And she was indignant, but confused. And so I never saw her mother again, after that day. But not because I didn't want to, something...more like the opposite. It makes sense. I probably just can't write. But anyway, all that there is just my explanation to the non-existent police officer who didn't ask me why I was sitting alone in a car looking at 5 year old children being dropped off on their first day of school. The answer to the question is, because I didn't want to be a father. You happy now? Don't even want to tell you this story anymore. May I continue, Officer?
As I was saying...I was sitting in the car, bored out of my mind; unsure of how long this process of tears and everything was supposed to take. I was vaguely aware this was all very standard but I hadn't ever really given a fucking thought to it, cause - I don't have kids. And I was kind of day-dreaming, bored out of my mind having already made up my mind whilst talking to her daughter that they wouldn't need to mind me, I'd be out of their lives for good very shortly. So I had nothing pressing to think about. Restless, I started watching the rather extraordinary proceedings.
So much emotion. The air was drenched in it. I didn't understand. I thought this should be a day of celebration. Mothers were going about this all wrong, I decided. The way a moron thinks governments are going about the educational system wrong. Oh it's wrong. But then 'wrong' and 'right' are rules for you. Not them. They're not forming think-tanks and action committees and focus groups to address issues like "How can we improve the 7th year curriculum" or anything like that. They might have those groups working on the exact opposite, in all reality. If you are confused, you no longer have an excuse.
I was confused watching this mother cry as she dropped her son off, but she wouldn't let go. It was tragic. Also, it was strange. Her son kind of seemed totally fine. But her? It was embarrassing. She was bawling like a toddler. She was out of control. What a mess. I laughed. It was funny.
I was laughing. She kept telling him how brave she wanted him to be and he was like "yeah okay" and itching to go and play but she couldn't let him go. I thought, "he should be telling her to be brave, this is farcical" when my sneer was ripped off my face and I saw something horrifying and I wanted to scream but I didn't know - what - I was watching. I knew it was Evil, but it just kind of happened quick as a flash.
I must of looked like a crackpot, I was looking around frantically, finding no one, looking for someone else to confirm they saw it too. I knew what I saw. I saw something very very Evil. And I couldn't possibly mistake it. This woman had played a very twisted trick on her kid. How was I going to tell the police? Who would I tell, if I don't? Do I tell nobody, just pretend I didn't see it. This is what I wanted to do. But someone needs to be told. The kid's father? Ugh. Scratched that one even whilst I was thinking it.
But I was so horrified, my mind was spinning. She was telling him to be brave over and over, and sobbing and he was kind of - he didn't really know what was going on but he was fine. A-OK. I'd swear to it, but not on a Bible. Because I knew what I saw. I don't need the Bible clouding shit up. This mother wouldn't let up. She just kept on and on and it was ridiculous. But she knew something no one else knew. I certainly didn't see it coming. She knew her son, or she knew some dark motherly secrets maybe they exchange in whatever coven they meet to plot the misery of their children's entire lives. Or maybe it's far more innocuous, and they're all just filthy creeps who need their children more than their children need them. I don't know these things. But they knew something I wasn't capable of imagining on my own. This was a dark, dark trick she played. I didn't dare scream. Somehow, I don't know how but she just knew...it was only a matter of time before he cracked.
And in front of my eyes, this kid cracked. He started getting terrified. His eyes started darting around and his lip started quivering and just when it looked like he might burst into tears, his mother shot up to her feet and just walked away. The timing was unmistakable. I watched a five year old child get played, brilliantly. Oh she could have left him at any time in the last 5-10 minutes and he'd have been fine but no! Oh my god. I was horrified. I knew I was watching something very Evil and I had no idea what to do.
So I just watched and stared at this tiny kid, who was now all alone and not remotely okay anymore. The transformation was...magical. He was so terrified he thought he was going to DIE. He was screaming in terror, looking around just wanted to go home but his mother knew better and - just when she finally got him worried - crack! She brutally smashed him into the ground, shattering him. Then she was off, without looking back, heading for her car to leave. It was all so simple. I couldn't speak, my head was just swiveling side to side as if I was watching a creepy tennis match. Which had just turned on a dime.
I didn't think it could get any more horrifying and then my world went white, with rage. Another mother and this mother - I have no idea if they knew each other - locked eyes for a brief moment as they got into their respective cars. Only for a moment, before both mothers' eyes shot to the ground and my hands shot to my mouth to stifle a scream. The mother of the little boy, who she never - once - dared look back at, spun out and past me and I turned to face her in horror / bravery and get a load of Evil, post Evil. I was trying to be brave, I don't mind saying. Only half-succeeding. She wasn't looking at parked vehicles. She wasn't crying. She was looking at her fucking Blackberry, with a smile on her filthy fucking dial and suddenly I'm trying to punch her through the window which won't open, trying to get my seatbelt off and it's stuck and the door is locked and I'm banging on the window yelling out swear words and threats as she accelerated rapidly into the distance oblivious to her son, standing there, screaming. And the mother I was sleeping with is like "whoa. What the fuck" and I spin around and I'm like "omg this happened and this happened and then this happened and that happened and..." And then I was done.
I was hyperventilating.
And she just shook her head, and slowly got back into the car without saying anything. She was very calm. I was staring at her, stupidly. She realised this, and looked at me, and said "So?" And then she turned the ignition, and reversed out onto the street.
So? So...the world had gone mad. "So..." I thought to myself, never once imagining I could - or would - end up reacting in the way I did. This is the reaction, fast-forward four years. "So..." I yelled, suddenly certain that what I had seen had, in fact, been a horrible crime. "So where is the police station? Someone needs to be told about this. That was a crime. It has to be. It's child abuse!"
She looked at me as if I was technically right but completely missing the forest for the trees. Actually, my inability to realise I was in a forest of horror allowed me to see the tree that was indicative of the forest which has already started to burn. But I didn't realise every mother needed to die until very recently. Back then, I just needed to save that little kid from what I was powerless to see coming, and felt somehow responsible for because what had been done to him was done literally in front of my eyes whilst I smirked at his pathetic mother - who wasn't as 'pathetic', as I had assumed. Or maybe more pathetic. So hard to know, these days.
It had all happened RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY EYES. In mere moments, that kid's life was ruined. And she fucking - knew - it. That was pure Evil, right there. I knew I'd never see something that was as clinically Evil as what I'd just seen when the mother I was sleeping with said, "You really want me to take you to the police? What are you going to tell them?" I wasn't sure, exactly. What I'd seen, I guess. I said nothing.
She continued, holding her hand up to punch out the headline blocks, "You think tomorrow's papers are going to read, Breaking News, Mother loves Son?"
And I looked at her in horror, she was an imbecile! Maybe I explained it badly. She just didn't understand. I was about to snarl something about THAT not being Love when I stopped. And thought, actually...! THAT is - exactly - what Love is. Suddenly, what I had seen wasn't so Evil. Well, it was. But it was Evil that had to be done for Love. I understood. I know Love. At least, I am vaguely familiar with it. At the time, I was in Love with another girl who I knew I'd never see or speak with again. And the things I was prepared to do, rolling back through time...to roll back the clocks on reality; well, they were simply horrifying. But you know, Love. It's insane.
Suddenly everything made a kind of twisted, horrible sense. I groaned. "She loves him!" I explained to the mother, who'd just explained it to me. She looked at me with a kind of expression that was like "What did you think? That she was just having fun fucking with him?" - she didn't say it so much as flashed it, in disbelief. And I said "Yes." And she looked at me, with maybe the only appropriately patronising look of my life.
That's literally what I had assumed. But this new version made a lot more 'sense'.
And so, I never told anyone. I sat sullen, staring out the window liking this girl a lot more than when I asked to be dropped at a police station, but a lot less than the moments before I met her kid early that morning. I only met the kid once. Top kid. I'd been ruining her life for months without even realising she existed. Her mother had never mentioned her. Somewhat uncomfortably, I wondered whether I could have been interested at all if she had. Probably not. It's never going to be a great opener, "Hi. I'm a single mother."
It's not going to be a plus, not in Birdies where I met her. There's a lot of pretty children there. Which is why I was there. And I'd gone home with the mother of one of the coolest kids alive, but then had I known she was home alone...did I want to go home to your missing puzzle, where I am confusingly shaped like the missing piece? Hmm...
It's not going to be a plus. So was it ethical for her simply to never mention it? Who gives a fuck. It was understandable, and wrong. So yes and no. I had to move on. If telling the truth to me is not going to be a plus, my rudimentary understanding of mathematics seemed to suggest that I was a big fat minus. But I already knew that. So I can understand why she didn't. Still...I had no interest in ruining the lives of 5 year olds.
I didn't like her mother - that - much. You know?
And that's when it all became very clear to me, and I got slightly angry but there was no point in getting angry. At her or me. We were ruining a child's life, and how could I be so blind? Her mother hid nothing from me, and I saw nothing. How peculiar. It's unlike me to miss everything. I think I understood what that meant. I was getting sick of that kind of shit, which had been happening a lot around that time. 1.5 adults ruining the life of a tiny child, for what...? Late night phone calls. We weren't even fucking together. She was my "Sunday Girl" available 24/7 and I fucking knew - I knew - it was too perfect an 'arrangement' to even make sense. But I don't recall trying to make sense of it. Until it all made sense.
As she dropped me off, I turned and somewhat casually confirmed she was on the same page. I don't do bullshit like "let them down gently", fucking intentional awkwardness to signal incoming 'bad' news, I'm not going to delicately phrase and eww. It's fucking insulting and impossibly creepy.
"You know I'm not going to call you again, right?"
She nodded curtly. She knew.
Simple. I turned around, then realised something and quickly turned back.
"Look you know it wasn't the kid. She was fucking cool. You know you got a cool kid, right?"
She nodded, more slowly this time; but she wouldn't turn to look at me. She knew.
Who hides that kid, was what I was thinking, kinda furious but I wasn't sure at who, or what, exactly. I turned to go, then quickly turned back, just...frustrated, more than anything.
"Her mother though. And me though. That kid I met deserves better than us. And from what little I know about what you know a lot about, I know that kid must of had better than us until...until...whenever it was, you need to make it all go back to the way it was. You need to turn the clocks back."
I was desperate. I almost said "please". It seemed incredibly important to me that she reverse time. She turned to look at me and she was crying. I was about to cry so I turned away for good. I heard her start to say something but she didn't. At the door, I had a moment of genius and spun around to warn her, "If I ever call you, or text you like I have been, I'm not going to tell you what to do but if you don't immediately hang up the phone, I'll never forgive you."
She nodded. I was relieved. Kinda chuffed with myself, for taking out insurance. I hate the alternative. I'm familiar with the alternative. I had no intention of calling her but I knew me. At some point, sooner or later, tomorrow or in a year, when I couldn't bear to look forward I knew I would be looking back.
"What did you tell your daughter as you dropped her off?"
Her face lit up as she called out, "Be a good girl and maybe I'll come pick you up, if you're lucky. Then I kicked her in her bee-hind and she ran off with a laugh." Her face was glowing. She knew she was a fucking brilliant Mother. I suddenly wanted to run back and jump into the car and say absolutely nothing and she would just drive us home. But I'd never forgive myself, so I didn't. I was pretty fucked up, at the time. Which was, roughly, any time under the age of 29 when things were explained to me, for the first time.
I don't know who explained things to her, but she knew what she was doing. And I knew I needed to get the fuck out of their equation. She hadn't been a mother since she met me. I understood. Her kid told me, in desperation and confusion, "Mommy is always asleep!"
I bit my lip. Not always kid. But kids are so 'selfish' like that.
I almost called her so many times. But I had zero intention of being insane. I didn't think she'd actually do what I told her to do. That was mostly just pathetic insurance for me. Offloading responsibility. It's the next best thing to being responsible.
And sure enough, months down the line, I was destroyed and maybe dying at the end of a 14 hr acid trip, and with a grimace in response to my own accusing accusations like "Keeping that dignity?"...I scrolled to her name and I wasn't sure what I wanted her to do or say but I knew I was going to hate myself no matter what. I knew that.
Acid is really fucked up like that, at the end - in any case. I wouldn't care, if the gamble was lose lose. I was probably kind of attracted to that sort of gamble in that sort of position. Acid is just...too much. Of everything. Way way way too much. Also possible, is that I was over-dosing. But blaming the government for your problems is passe.
I was - feeling - way too much, and I was suffering. I wanted her to bring me back to neutral. It made perfect sense, in my mind. The only stumbling-block appeared to be my dignity. Undeterred, I vaulted the lowered bar without even feeling a pang of deterrence. Uh oh. I'd been in that position before.
She picked up, and I gathered she was asleep. She said something unintelligible that might have been "hey" or "hello", through a doona or pillow. I wouldn't have known what the time was. I wouldn't have cared. I wanted her, and I'd deal with disappointing her daughter and her...in the future. I.e. not now. I swallowed and with difficultly, said "Hey."
Long pause, and then a soft click.
Sanity. I closed my eyes, and felt sleep drag me down.
Though I'm not entirely sure why, I was smiling. And for at least a few moments, I didn't hate myself at all.
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So as I was saying, love isn't going to save the world. It's killed the world. We're just marking out idiotic time. Also, I used to like Trading Places but then I saw it again and thought it was more slapstick than I remembered. A girl can change her mind, no?
I reverse the right to change my mind again, of course. I do not wish to alarm you. There is nothing to worry about. If it happens, it happens. It won't be the end of the world. So there's no need to be brave, my Little Sailor Boy. Can you do that for Mommy? Can you not be afraid? It's what she actually wanted to say.
But I imagine no one explains anything to her. They probably just agree with everything she says.
You have no idea how much I could. Neither do I, but I wish I did. And that's really kind of tragic, isn't it?
I don't blame Eddie, though! I know exactly who is to blame.
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Here is where I tell Blake how to raise his daughter, it's unsolicited but then the rules don't apply to me:
The other day, the realisation dawned on me that I knew Spam's dirty little 'genius' strategy. It's not the cost of doing marketing business, it's the Secret to the entire circus economy.
I know you think you have choices. Let's revisit when you - choose - not to imprint your daughter with the instinctual need to breed. Don't give her dolls to "play Mommy" with. See whether Mattel has anything to say about that. I'll put $1000 on you cracking as soon as Mattel looks up at you, confused, and says "But Daddy, all the other girls..."
I would kill anyone who hurt my daughter purely to sell a product. But how else do you sell a product the consumer doesn't - really - need? You have to inflict pain. You have to reach out and put a sharp jab into their kidneys. Otherwise what will motivate them to buy? And yet, omg. I've never heard marketing explained in such a perfectly and provably accurate manner. The implications of this realisation are....why aren't all these creeps rotting in prisons from when they first started getting creepy with inflicting pain to sell products, back whenever this shit started? I would kill them, if it was my daughter. Probably just as well I don't have one.
The other alternative is that Mattel aren't doing that, which would mean I'm just crazy! And Mattel would be creating happiness, magically, out of nothing. So...give her nothing and make that argument again to me?
Mattel are either creating happiness?
Or are they creating misery, and handing you the key to pain 'relief'. If you can afford it.
You're going to need to make more money. You'll never be able to make enough. Not once she starts - wanting - things. I'm sure you have all this figured out, but then if you have, why aren't you telling other people?
Spam has advanced. They're not sponsoring the shows on your TV. They own the station. They own the production teams. They own your TV. And they own you. But they will target her. No. It's not convenient at all. I can't imagine why anyone would think so.
If you give Mattel what your daughter will think she wants, now that they've reached out and whipped her down from neutral; Mattel won't care, they'll just move aside in the rotation. And a new team will be focused on smashing her back into negative emotional territory because - that's - the Secret of Marketing I don't believe I've ever heard until I was pontificating the other day. And this girl wasn't getting it. So I was drawing graphs. She didn't get it. Maybe because I'm not good at diagrams, but what I'm trying to show here with all the dots in the negative is where humanity is forced to reside non-stop. It's where we've been smashed by Spam. We're all living non-stop in negative emotional territory. Trying to get back to neutral.
(1) Inflict pain.
(2) Buy our product.
(3) Back to neutral.
That's not happiness. It's shitty pain 'relief'. And it's so fucking creepy and vile, this world is way too stupid for me. How am I thinking these things, and not reading them a decade ago? And 1000 times since then. How do you all allow Spam to reach out and whip innocent children into misery, from neutral innocence? This world is moronic.
I don't have any answers, mind. I don't see a way out. Everyone knows they - need - what they want. Until they get it. But how will they know they don't want it when they've been made to want it, until...they get it? You'll have to negotiate with the terrorists, no one negotiates with hostage-takers until the terrorists are holding up their kid, in pain. You'll have to pay them because I don't know how you teach this kind of stuff to kids. I didn't learn it until I was 29, and pretty much over...everything. I figure this would have to be too late to be considered optimal.
Don't! ...let her meet Aun. Just say No. And run. She won't chase you. Fingers crossed. It's a very tiny % chance, but you cannot be too cautious on that count I figure.
If you don't have a plan for the Terrorists of Spam, whatever you do, don't give your daughter everything she thinks she wants, of course! You don't want a creepy kid like the kid I was happening along, capable of running rings around damaged girls who have always gotten what they want and only want what they cannot have. That creep will just wrap her around his finger by pretending the Obvious. And then he'll beat her at the game of chicken, before handing over the illusion of control to let her choose. Between the one option.
Don't give her illusions of control unless you're going to make her incredibly stable or bright. If she thinks she can wrap the world around her finger just like she wrapped Daddy (and all the subsequent "awwh" types), she's going to wrap her legs around a guy who might want to be, he might even think he could be, but he will never - ever - be the One and the only Rocco Sifridi.
It would be a very cruel trick to play on a daughter, to allow her to think she can buy FREEDOM and INDEPENDENCE with sex. This sounds a lot like sucking eggs, and yet - so many tiny girls buy their 'freedom' from creeps with cars, and they're off. Away from the tyrant who put his foot down and said "You're too young to have fun." She's not old enough. She will know she's old enough because you know girls...girls just wanna have fun.
And creeps will tell her that she's old enough. You can say she's not, but you will lose that tug-of-war. You don't want to play that game with creeps. The creepy game so many girls are playing, taught to them by their mothers and older sisters who are giving them a head-start at using those not-yet-existent feminine wiles on men to get what they want out of life. Im-be-ciles. It starts with Mattel, involves Whore Paint at some point, padded bras and sashaying non-existent hips, pouting lips, puckering (no idea what that is, but I know it's relevant), fluttering eyelashes, ditsy confused and coy and well...you know. All the stuff that nine year olds shouldn't do but it's perfectly horrifying so no one ever talks about it. How convenient.
All the trouble starts with people (Daddy) convincing her that she can manipulate them with a curious brand of currency: cute. And it ends with her trying to convince people that she's good enough to be fucked, if only because they don't seem to think so. They're pretending. It's ridiculous that any girl could be confused. But if you are confused, you need to think about her position. I don't know how to do it, I just know it is madness if you cannot convince her that she isn't to use her powers this creepy world has largely manufactured for her, in order to exploit the 'fairer' sex. I think 'fairer' is also spelled 'weaker' but I'm not sure really cause this world and women - if you're crawling back through even relatively recent history - everything gets so creepy, it almost doesn't bear to dwell on.
Don't call her Princess. That's a really creepy hangover from some really creepy courts. The sorts of places where girls were sent by parents - fine parents - grand parents - who all needed to die. I don't think a Princess has ever won in history. I think that's the point in convincing girls that they are Princesses, in fairy tales. When a) they're not and b) they couldn't possibly even want to be. And c) the reality we live in where reality destroys them.
I'm completely serious when I say, game-theory wise, I don't know how anyone can reasonably expect to win the first battle v Mattel. Seriously, how? I see LLLLLLLL at every line. How do you say no to a girl who thinks she wants Barbies? I think the answer is something like The World is Going to Burn. (I understand there's a lot of connecting dots between Mattel and donkdown, but that's where it all starts falling the wrong way).
If it happens, or when it happens, you can blame Mattel. Even if she didn't want Barbies just go ahead and blame those creeps. You might as well. Compared to the damage they've done to this world, hurting little girls in order to sell - a creepy doll - they just get off blame-free. It's amazing. This whole world plays the Blame Game, idiotically.
And that's the uncomfortable Truth.
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caveat: I have no daughters and only the vaguest of interests in sleeping with the daughters of others. Nothing I say could or should be taken seriously, in this world where advice-giving can open you up to litigation; but corporations are invented to limit liability. Hahh. Everything I say is genius. Ignore it at your peril.
But seriously I'm just killing time on redundancy because I don't really know what else to do. I'm waiting for something, which isn't going to materialise. But that's a damn shame cause I 'solved' my computer problems literally the first day someone (me) told me what my problem was. DoS. I vaguely understood that to be something involving hackers but no. Hah. DoS is most effectively denied by those who are widely known to provide it.
With my hard drives filling up with 20 million files and crashing within hours of buying them, the thought occurred to me that I might be getting flooded, or something. That led to DoS which led to lots of reading, all of which more or less boils down to this.
And so we ramble on, boats against the redundancy, borne back ceaselessly into the present.
But, of course it's quite cute how this world measures "winning" in terms of "number of victims you have made to suffer". Aun has killed hundreds or I am a monkey's neice's uncle's lover; but she has not killed them for fun. She gets no benefit from those she kills with her apathy, and those who she has killed for their stupidity weren't the threat to her that would warrant such an absolute reaction. But then, it's entirely possible that she has assessed "risk" better than I can; because she will have you killed if she decides it's in her interests that you stop breathing / bothering her, and she will not second-guess her decision - but her arrogant eyes burn with a terrifying, excited glow at the mere prospect of danger (at least, danger which she did not expressly cause; when she causes ugliness, she has a tell I once 'used' to find a body I didn't really need to find*) and bothering her is no problem (or she would have one HELL of a problem with living in this pathetic world of unsolicited morons who grab out at what they want irrespective of considerations and other useless trivialities that are literally valueless if you have no problem with Spamming the world with YOU. If you have been given to Disney dreaming, it won't matter if there isn't even a one in a million chance of your advances being welcomed. You'll just plow on forward cause, you have a chance right?
Comedies, even stupid ones, are often vehicles for genius 'fools'.
If Aun had a problem with imbecilic fools who - *cough* - hang on because they're emotionally invested and they cannot let go of the past, she would have one hell of a time living. Unlike God who enjoys killing - children, in particular; but the Bible proves God will never be particular about killing - Aun doesn't actually work in 'mysterious' ways. Don't give her motive to kill you and she won't. Children give no one motive to kill them, which is why they die in their millions; endless killing, raping and horror that chokes the will to live out of saner people than you.
But if you want to believe in something, then Aun will 'oblige' you. Like God, Aun will fucking make you go insane if you try and work out how and why she ticks. Unlike the way God 'ticks', there is a kind of genius sense to Aun's ticking; but you'll have to be way past Faith to make sense of anything. Much like God, Aun explains absolutely NOTHING about her actions. She has the right to remain silent and if you push her, she has the right to fucking get the fuck away from you. Aun will never tell you anything, intentionally.
I'm not sure anyone taught me more about Life, Death, Love and Insanity.
I learned only because I was willing to accept that I was a fool. But until it's explained, I will be certain that you are a fool. Aun was fooled by my certainty which she couldn't afford to 'lose'. In that sense, she fooled herself but then you'll learn nothing from anyone when you're desperately trying to fool them. I was trying to convince Aun that she was fooling herself; and that she was wrong and I was right; and when she had been made to be uncertain by my certainty, she would ask questions that were so stupid - I just couldn't answer them, that's how stupid they were! - and this would frustrate the crap out of me because she would get 'stuck' on that until....
...Until I realised her questions were the answers that I didn't know, and that I didn't really know anything and that I had no answers really; merely an ability to make her less certain about knowing what she knew. She knew a lot. I'm not sure I actually taught her a thing. She's slightly more powerful as a result of being made to stretch for the first time (second time, but imprinting children isn't a stretch). So thanks to me, she could kill you more clinically. And that's really genuinely a good thing.
* The body. I once found a body purely as a result of that tell. I was trying to get her to laugh at a moronic drunk buffoon sleeping it off in an alley behind the club we were leaving. Aun's attention didn't flicker from her phone and I thought "pfft...! fine! I'll entertain myself" and then I was like "I'm not in the mood, so I'll just sulk" and then I realised I had just seen a tell I was almost certain I'd seen before. I proceeded to tentatively nudge away what had been rather considerately placed expressly to protect someone like me from seeing what no one really needs to see; reality.
And what I saw was a face that would never make a girl uncomfortable again.
I recognised that face, he had been nauseatingly drunk and having a fabulous time. He wasn't causing others to have much fun, of course; but I'm sure when you're drunk, you're different. I had no problems with him, but he seemed to think Aun and he were together in another life or maybe this one but I'm not altogether certain he had much of a clue about anything because he couldn't even stand up, hardly. And he was calling her a name which wouldn't normally mean anything, one way or another with Aun (I'm not entirely sure Aun is even her name, but it's the one we settled on after a few; "they're all my name silly!" - I sure felt silly laughing at how that somehow made sense, but then you'd be amazed at what makes sense when you're a buffoon); but he was calling her a name that Aun would never choose. Basically, I'm certain he was just tragically confused. But then if you're so confused that Aun can't send you scurrying...
Aun may just be a lowly street prostitute hustler with a terrifying apathy towards death and violence, but she has her pride. And the problem with people who have pride and that, is that you don't really want to disrespect them with you.
They could kill you for that. But first, Aun would give you a look that would send 99% of guys away, disgusted at themselves. If you persist, she would do something else. And again. She had lots of ways to make you feel disgusted and when you go out with her, you see them all towards the end of the night; and intermittently, when you're asking her questions she doesn't care to give you the answers to. I had seen the looks this guy was immune to, and shook my head because he was fucking drunk. And this is why - in part, I guess - he was trying to steady himself on her. That's just not...you just do not want to do that. I was thinking something like that, and instinctively I moved to rescue him. I didn't give a fuck about Aun's safety; I held grave concerns for the drunk's welfare. I started moving, in my stupidity; but then I caught Aun's quizzical glare.
Aun understood. And simultaneously fending off a drunk who was trying to remind her of his acquaintance by falling on top of her, Aun knew. And we were some distance apart but when Aun knew something she wanted me to know, I knew. And that drunk...he was on his fucking own. I suddenly had literally everything better to do.
I'm literally not capable of getting jealous, by the way. Not anymore. Mostly because I'm sane and those who get jealous are kind of evil and demented and tragically confused. My reasoning is that there are plenty of fellows who are "better" men than I am, and if someone I genuinely cared about runs into this sort of a fellow then it seems to me I have a choice. I can either be insane and vile. Or I can be sane and rational. Which one do you choose?
It's the difference between Love and Sanity.
Love is eternally seeking to cripple those you care about because love is the manifestation of a demented narcissistic - and impossibly ugly - insanity, which has its roots in terror and fear. If you flatly refuse to sanction any alternative to YOU, then this is not in the best interests of those you ostensibly care about. Which means YOU are not in their best interests. Which means, their best interests would be served by your getting the fuck out of the equation.
If you care about someone, you care about their best interests being served. Which means you want them to be happy (or happier), especially if that meant you were 'excluded'. Love is about possession, and ownership; slavery and broken wills. Love is about the need to possess a robot's fealty. Hey man, whatever you're fucking into.
I'm sane, so I don't get jealous. If someone I liked liked someone else, I would not stand for their harming themselves on my account. If I thought they were making a mistake, I may - or I may not - state the case for why I believed so. If they couldn't be convinced, chances are I would be convinced that I had made a mistake and that the object of my affection deserved something more like "helpless concern". I don't think "pity" is sane, because at the core of "pity" is self-loathing and fear; which is kind of pitiful, really. But I would not get caught up in caring too intensely for someone who was determined to make a mistake when I couldn't - for whatever reason - convince them by virtue of the strength of my arguments and confidence in my ability to MAKE THE FUCKING CASE.
Mothers cannot make the case. They love. And this is why you've all been dead for a very long time but you just don't realise it yet. You were 'protected' by them but the only thing they needed to protect you from, was your caring less about them and caring more about your own best interests. Uh oh. You got owned. And now, the world is going to burn with the insanity that was given to them by a world which had been made to fear irrational things in order to be controlled. It's all very sweet, and not one of you can even bother to read.
One more comment about the sweet and patronising nature of Love; if you assume that the person you care about is making a grave error about "happiness" and its pursuit, isn't it a little - FUCKING - insulting to assert that you are best placed to determine more accurately than they can be expected to, what is more likely to make them happy v miserable?
And isn't it a little - FUCKING - nauseating that parents will make that insulting assertion, then put their foot down (on you), and decide - purely coincidentally - that all other options are off the table. And that their insane deluded dementia is what is best for you? When they're so stupid they cannot even make the case for why they believe they are in the position to have a FUCKING clue?
It is, and it is. But going back to Aun, I literally was never jealous. I think I was too terrified to be, specifically, jealous. Aun had decimated me to goo, and so I believed every option was "better". So in that sense, I was terrified of everyone; constantly. Except drunks. It's why alcohol is legal. And it's why Jesus turned water into wine in that Holy Book of yours; the one where your evil fucking stupidity is so imprinted onto you, you cannot see that I can erase your entire fucking belief 'system' with a logical truth. Jesus made poison out of water and wanted the children to come unto him. Maybe he should have made drinking water, out of water? Pasteurized milk? Fuck off. Just die if you don't 'get' it. Die before someone like me kills you.
With Aun, I was never afraid. But then Aun was not always there to lean on. So when I was with Aun, I was pretty much terrified constantly. Of course, I would never let it show. And couldn't have imagined Aun could ever be afraid, when I was making her suffer for Love. I was doing what Aun was doing, albeit not nearly at such an advanced level; but I was outplaying her in the sense that my dedication to the lie I was trying to sell to her, occasionally made her confused and uncertain about the truth. You know how you convince people of a lie?
You need to believe it's true. And then it helps if they care about you, or you're going to struggle with the next step. You'll then need to be incredibly convincing, even after convincing yourself. You don't want to be as easily lied to as you lie to yourself; and I'm not talking about me, I lie hard. I'm talking about how easily you lie to you. I lie hard so I'm hoping I'll die easily. You lie easily and I think you're going to Die Hard.
The harder you die, the longer Aun will take to kill you with her apathy. Of course, if you want to accelerate things, you could introduce danger or awkwardness into the equation. Then, chances are you'll die very easily. First, it will help if you get blind drunk. Then everyone won't care if you live or die. Only Aun will do the right thing of course, and kill you.
Did alcohol kill this drunk? Did he sign his own death warrant, with his suicidal stupidity? Did Society kill him with all its creepy confusing coy? Or did Aun? These were all the reasons he died, but then people go their entire lives being as pathetic as he was...I'm not 100% sure the optimal answer is so capital but like I said, Aun has no interest in educating anyone. It's not her fucking job to wear the pain that this miserable world of filthy faggots projects onto everyone they imagine has caused them to suffer. This is what she asserts, and she has a point. On the other hand, perhaps they have imagined truly? She won't be interested in discussing the topic, at that point. None of her business. How you - feel - is not her responsibility. Keep your fucking ugliness away, or she'll make you pay if you push her to. I don't know whether she is 'right' or 'wrong'. I just know what will happen if you push her to. She will protect herself. And that will mean, you're through.
"Aun despises unpleasantness", I was thinking; unable to tear my screaming eyes from the remnants of alcohol-induced unpleasantness. "Aun couldn't have done this, but then how the fuck did she manage..."
I tried to imagine that it was all a horrible coincidence but like I said, selling lies to myself is always more tricky than it is with you. He was in danger. I moved to insult her. I had something better to do. And now, he lay dead in an alley. I can draw lines between dots. Clearly he had been killed professionally, unless he slipped and fell on a throat-cutting knife which then covered him up, partially.
I know absolutely nothing about the fine arts of throat-cutting; but I shuddered at the thought that it certainly appeared that the person who had disagreed with him or found him disagreeable had to have slit a throat or two before and had 'profited' from the experience. Luckily, for future drunks, I decided. Silver linings and what have you. But whilst I was pretty sure I understood the Why, the Who was kind of freaking me out. I don't want to sleep next to someone who could do something like this to someone.
Playing with their mind, as I was doing to induce her thinking she wanted to sleep next to me? When they could do something like this to you; and, it only seemed safe to assume, could do it as easily to me? This struck me as impossibly ill-advisable, but then I had no choice. It was merely a question of whether I should be afraid or be terrified. I was uncertain. I decided it couldn't have been her. But if it was not her, then Who?
I'd have asked her if I thought I'd get an answer, I wasn't afraid of her! Fuck off. You were. Not me, dude. She didn't scare me! But mostly I couldn't ask her because there was no point.
One day, she accidentally told me. She was mock complaining about someone annoying her who wasn't really. It was more of a "I could just kill that lucky bitch" moment. The bitch was her friend, I guess. Whom she envied or claimed to be envying for some reason that escapes me. E.g. earrings she would just - die - for but then she wouldn't need to do anything so drastic as all that. She could have me or any one of 30 guys like me buy them or she could buy them herself with her millions because Aun and money lolz. Aun is a freelancer but there's no freelancers like her. She's a glorified prostitute but she's never been paid for sex.
If you tried to pay her, she would take your firm grasp on reality and use it against you. She'd take your sanity and use it to slice you up into little bite-sized pieces which she would then pop in her mouth, to nibble at; before spitting you out after finding the goo to be entirely distasteful. If you were not deluded and did not live in an insane fantasy of your own delusions and, as a result, attempted to pay her for her services...oh boy. That would be perfectly sane of you and simultaneously horribly bad luck for you. It's not so much that she wants all your money but rather that she wants all your suffering. If you do not suffer, she cannot control you. Guys who suffer can be manipulated like goo. It's just that she has no interest in goo. It's kind of demented, self-defeating test; of sorts. Do you see? Of course you do. You know exactly what I'm talking about. You're goo.
I was goo.
We all live at the pleasure of power. It's just that goo brings power no pleasure. Aun would have no interest in you the moment you turn into goo. But goo, hah. Goo would THROW their miserable net worth at happiness, if they thought - for whatever reason - that it made sense to do so. Guys threw so much cash at Aun, as I eventually discovered with a sigh; it was no wonder she spun me around like a moronic top when I tried to do something very similar. That was very unfortunate for me. I had found the real deal. I was right, but you'll be unlucky all the same, if you find the right answer to the wrong question. It won't be the answer you're looking for.
Treat Aun like a common whore and you will pay the price you will never see coming. And it will cost you everything, if you insist. Guys who had a great deal of money but who had no real use for it (I'm sure you have perfectly intelligent ideas about how to - use - your money), would take the money that had never bought them anything but shame misery, and literally throw it at Aun. They had no use for it. I understood. So did Aun. Her refusals, were actually convincing. She didn't care. They couldn't buy her. Some wouldn't take no for an answer, and so her bank accounts were pretty healthy because she has better things to do than send money back to people who had been refused. I almost cried at understanding all of this, reading emails of pain and suffering and Love. They made a mistake. They had misunderstood. She was not a common whore, she was an ideal. She wasn't even real, they wanted to buy her into reality. They'd lost their fucking minds and they did not want Aun to have everything. They NEEDED her to be real. The truth is always more simpler and never as pure as an illusion.
Her refusal to even respond was misinterpreted by them, understandably. And so the illusion grew.
If you cannot understand why, lol - you'd be toast. If you can understand why, lol - you'd be toast. But understanding is better than confusion. You clearly prefer to be confused.
Anyway, Aun had forgotten I could do logic and there was no one around which was part of the reason I didn't realise she wasn't actually annoyed; but mostly I was just distracted when I said something lame intended to placate."Aun, we cannot just go around killing everyone who annoys us; who has the time...or the energy, I don't even know how to kill anyone so what do you expect me to do about it." Aun was thrown by my distracted response and smiled sweetly saying "Well then if you're going to be useless I'll just have to get a tuk-tuk driver to kill you both." *eyelash flutter*
It was adorable. Moments later, when her head turned I put the 'pieces' of the puzzle together that had been bothering me, on some level. And was simultaneously horrified and relieved. I didn't - really - think she was capable of managing with 38 kg what I couldn't contemplate undertaking with 76; it was more like "ohh well...that makes sense. vomit."
Then it made sense to use it as a threat, so I did that to great effect a few times after I made good my escape. It seemed other people were vaguely aware this was something that happened with tuk-tuk drivers. Or at least, they suddenly got afraid when they were bravely going to pick a fight we didn't really them to pick with me. And they would back the fuck down quickly (they always back down, I'm mostly talking about the optimality or the efficiency of the threat which seemed to have some legitimate pull in Bangkok). I'm not talking efficiently, but then my haphazard literary freestyle rambling - a fresh new technique! - can teach you things.
I like to teach whilst I ramble. Well if you don't learn anything, maybe you're too bright already? Have you considered Catholicism? They can take care of that problem you have there, with knowing things. But seriously, everyone always backs the - fuck - down. I'm not a tough guy like you, but it's impressive when you do it. The only person who ever really was able to strike me in anger was a whore who loved me a great deal. I never saw her backhands coming. But then I understood, I was worth it. Sometimes I wouldn't be. She would tell me, in lieu of one of her backhand 'answers' to questions I demanded a warranted response to, "You're not worth it. You're just being difficult, for the sake of it."
I LITERALLY HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT THAT MEANS. Do you?
Many have wanted to strike me in anger but ultimately, aside from my dear mother and her insanity, no one else remained convinced that I was worth striking. I'm genuinely not worth the application of violence, and if I believe they've mistaken me for someone who is worth teaching a lesson to, I will tell them this very thing. I will make them understand, I'm simply not worth it. It's easier than you think. But then, maybe you're worth it? I didn't mean to imply that you were as worthless - when it comes to violence - as I was. I didn't mean to offend you!
But aside from you, I'm just not sure who ever would be worth hitting? Someone you loved a great deal, I suppose. Your child. A girlfriend. I know a lot of wives get hit but then their vile whore paint is insulting in so many ways and they're basically just asking for their noses to be dusted so that they can then have an excuse to go powder them. When you've been working down on docks, union's been on strike, been down on your luck; it's tough. She's worth hitting. You're worth hitting. It's just a little venting. Letting off steam. Don't bother getting at that hotplate. Just let off the steam. It makes sense, if you're too moronic to be sane. So hospitalising, scarring and/or punching you repetitively may very well be worth doing. I didn't mean to cheapen you, but suggesting otherwise. You're likely worth it. I was just thinking about my 'value'. And none of these things are worth doing to me. I've always been pretty certain about that. I make people understand this. And they respond, accordingly.
Also, it helps if they have a def posse. Without a couple friends who will never be as emotionally insane as Tough Guys, and who were in a better position to appreciate my limited or non-existent value - guys who can be relied upon to guide Tough Guys back to those who are worth the application of a bit of violence (just a jab or two, to put them in their place) - I'm quite certain some would have made a huge mistake by over-valuing me, here and there. So courtesy of def posses, I've never been in a physical altercation. A minor scuffle and contact with a DELL technician who would have me agree to disagree with his entry, but struggling with a billion-$ multinational trying to steamroll over the top of me and my front door isn't - remotely - the same thing. Why would I fight a fucking stranger? What would be my motive? We'd never met before that day.
A stranger could come in. Even this guy could come in. But he didn't want to. Why would I keep someone out when they had a reason to come in? He could have entered. But he had no reason. DELL had a reason. And I stupidly decided that DELL could not. Hence, a physical clash at the sole point of entry. I owned the stranger I had no motive to fear, just quietly. DELL owns everything, and everyone. Which is why you cannot fight a billion-$ multi-national and seriously expect to - win - anything (if you were considering challenging a Goliath to a brawl).
Aun doesn't win anything when guys like me would get destroyed, is the point I've probably effectively made convincingly but I'm tired of talking with IT faggots today. At least, Aun is interesting. So I'll continue. I would never need to stop, I suspect. This is just that insane a world.
When Aun arrives at the decision that you need some peace, your capacity to breathe unassisted will have crossed some arbitrary line marking the limits of acceptability. But she will never - punish - you! How perfectly vile and imbecilic that little concept is; why, it's almost cute! Punishment. I know that faggot Dostoyevsky had things to say about it but he didn't overly impress me. I like the way he wrote his unimpressive arguments, of course. You'd literally die trying to read Dostoyevsky. Not you. The guys who aren't reading because you know "words"...they're a chore!
Dostoyevsky was on the right track but Aun is all about optimality. When she punishes you it will be expressly to cause you to suffer. When she have simply crossed the line of acceptability she will just shut you down. Unplug you. Flick off the lights. And you will be through. She will never teach you a filthy creepy 'lesson', or put you in hospital or attempt to 'rehabilitate' you. You will never have time to stew or recover or think about who could have done this to you, and what you're going to do to them to get your insane revenge. Hah. It's impossibly hilarious that this is a world full of imbeciles who do such moronic and vile things. But you know what would happen if you put me in hospital? Literally nothing. I would want nothing to do with you.
Then one day, and it would have nothing to do with me, maybe a tuk-tuk driver and you might have an altercation which is over before you realised the stupid primitive native wasn't at fault. You were. You should not have been breathing so offensively, in that spot where he followed you before suddenly having a HUGE problem with you. Well, you know how offence 'works'. You don't get to decide. The person who is offended must be respected, and though you likely didn't - intend - to offend, the simple fact is that somehow you have managed to offend. You would have to accept this fact, and play by the offensive rules of the Vatican's game.
A glove across your face if that's how he prefers to do things, or a knife which misses your face by inches. To be fair, unless you're a midget they're probably going to be shorter than you. So take a lesson from the incident, and be pragmatic; your preference for fight rather than flight prevented you from ever doing either again.
He'd be offended. You'd be dead. What are you going to do, write a strongly-worded letter to the Statue of Liberty? Maybe you shouldn't have offended him, if you had a problem with dying? Maybe you should never do anything or say anything, for fear of offending the insane?
Maybe, you should just be sane.
If you are not, and you imagine yourself as someone who is capable of teaching an imbecile like me a lesson or two; then you had better teach the last lesson I learn or you will be taught the last lesson you'll learn. Intelligence doesn't need to go through the filthy process of escalation, uncertainty and creepy idiotic Vatican bullshit. We just jump straight to the end. Beat out the entire moronic queue. And you wouldn't even be in that situation if you understood what Aun - and I - understand.
I'm trying to make the point how the 'horror' of morons reacting to this story, is imbecilic and retarded. Morons would agree the fellow needed to be taught a lesson. Morons, if they were me, would likely have taught him one. A broken glass bottle will do (the bottle in your hand is a broken glass bottle, if all you need is to break it - oh my, how convenient..! Things like that are obvious to me but I've noticed they only occur to you in the instant you lose your mind with anger, fear or rage). Or maybe you're the sort who relies on his fists as weapons; to beat women and teach snide punks a lesson or two? Grab a chair if you need to. Smash it across the drunk's face or push him around until he slips and falls and sustains a nasty reminder of what happens when reality clashes with soft extremities. I have seen all these things and more, on nights ruined by morons. Who didn't win anything? What did they win? I don't know what alleys they fell in, maybe the morons they taught lessons too learned their lesson? Morons.
My point being, all of this insanity is always considered "acceptable" to morons. But not death. You're all so terrified of death, your fears destroy you. And they make you horrifying and dangerous, when they do. Aun is more intelligent than you. You should understand what I have always understood and what Aun understands without even thinking; death > hospitalisation / scars / irreversible injury. It's a question of suffering, misery endured and misery projected, and above all, Aun detests pain.
It's only ironic that she causes so much of it. But then Aun cannot put you all into permanent peace. It's not her job, to put you all out of your misery. She convinced me of this, briefly. She asked me why I thought she should wear the suffering that vile creeps would - if she'd allow them to - transfer or share or seek to chain her with, so that she could never escape. It's a fair point. It's not her fucking job to care about you. Next time you're in pain, ask yourself whether you really care about those you are making to suffer.
Maybe, you're just in love? And you need to get sane, or get dead.
I have never understood the hilarious insanity that is the slow escalation of hostilities. It's DEFCON 0 or DEFCON 4. What is this escalation bullshit? You might disagree, but Aun and I are brighter than you will ever be. Well, Aun is. And I was sleeping with her so...how bright could she really be? Now I'm just confusing you. But then that is very easy. I understand, that's what "words" do.
This world is easily confused by "words" and mostly, this world is horribly confused about 'winning' and losing but I am not and neither was Aun. Aun simply refuses to lose and that means a lot of people have died and a great many more will. Aun knows she cannot win; or at least, I was desperately trying to make her believe this when I was trying to stay alive. Whether or not she really believed me when I would explain to her that everything she believed was an illusion of my desperate creation, when it was - ironically - the truth and almost implausible when Aun - knew - that she created my world and placed me in it and visited from time to time; it's really impossible to say. Especially because, like I said, she preferred never to be drawn into a discussion on anything sane. It's how she creates worlds that are illusions and if she's talking to you, she cares.
So she's never going to let go of control. And she'll never lose her power. But she'll never win. You can care all you want, but then Aun will only have power to create delusional worlds if you care to let her. When you stop caring, chances are, you're going to be pretty safe. This is also known as "sanity".
Insanity is giving those who will control you the power to create illusions of fantasy, insanity and Catholicism. Their power over you can evaporate. It's up to you, I guess. Pop the illusion, and watch out. You could become sane far more easily than you've ever been all that comfortable with being; but then I have no interest in your personal dumb mother issues. Take your dumb hangups with whomever trained you for reality, with fantasy. I'm sure, they were just stupid and innocent. Malice had nothing to do with it.
Whatever helps you lie in anguish at night. And lie in shrewd crafty cunning, all day.
Aun will have no interest in you if you're goo. Aun will have no interest in you if you are convincingly disinterested. She's not a stalker. She just wants you to want to. Aun is disinterested in everything, which is why she became interested in me. And for this, I blame you. I'd rather blame Jane Austen, but you'll do. I was never going to stalk Aun but I needed her to love me. So I needed to trigger something dark and magical. None of this was remotely 'wrong' or even 'optional'; let alone creepy. I simply had no choice. So I was forced to play brilliantly. I reached out and used my genius to make her feel pain whenever she would pull away. To be 'fair', she did the same. She just did it a lot more...brilliantly. As long as you're both brilliantly insane and determined to suffer, you and the person you're doing it to now can do this dumb shit indefinitely. You'll never do it like Aun and I. But then Aun and I were not living happily ever after. We were fucking insane.
And there's only one way to live when you're insane; and it involves a lot of pain.
But that's no way to live.
When I accepted this Truth, and attempted to pull away - unsuccessfully - suddenly the thought occurred to me that I was going to die. And the whole macabre game took on an entirely more frantic and desperate pace. I would scream at her in anger and frustration because it wasn't a game, anymore (that's how losers view the game); and she was going to drag us both over the precipice if she couldn't let go. And she would cry because she didn't - want - to do what she was doing (I honestly assumed she was in control). No one is control; least of all those imbecilic morons in the Vatican who are trying so frantically to control the uncontrollable by spinning the entire world out of control. And then I knew we were all done for; when I saw the misery and the tears and the anguish that contradicted the easily-purchased illusion which she could sell to literally anyone. Just add sparkling eyes and a short, sharp delighted laugh; so easy when she'd already convinced herself that the lie was true; if only momentarily. But it was all an illusion, and I knew what that meant.
No one could save us now. Aun believed - idiotically - that I could. She'd rocket to her feet, violently wiping hated tears away and attempt to puncture through reality with the sheer force of her will. She'd beg me to take her away, we'd go to London or Buenos Aires, Hanoi or Singapore; anywhere would do. Bangkok was the problem, you see? She'd yell at me, furious that I refused to move. She'd be throwing her life into suitcases, all we had to do was get away. Escape? I wanted to believe it. She'd throw her phones away, we'd start new lives, and I would watch her knowing I was going to die.
Bangkok was not the problem. The problem would follow us wherever we went. We want what we cannot have, and when we have it we are not happy. Because we want what we cannot have. The corruption of Love has rotted it's way through humanity, and its escalating now. The madness. We're very nearly through.
Aun knows all of this but she cannot stop; even if she wanted to. I was stupid to be leaning on her, she doesn't make the fucking rules; chances are she doesn't even know or care to know who did. But I needed to know. So now I do. And if you can read, we both know. And what you should know is that Aun is really just like your mother, in every way except the dead bodies. But your mother would kill if she could.
Aun has a lot more power but then she is more merciful when she doesn't care. She will never fake it, when you cut yourself. She will never pander to your desire to live in suffering. She makes you suffer because, like I was without realising it, she's looking for something. She's looking for someone. She might not even know it, but she'll know it when she finds him.
She found him. Hundreds of times. I found what I was looking for, and I got my fairytale after all. She didn't need me to rescue her. I was in no position to imagine I could. This world needs to be rescued but no one is going to save the miserable lot of you. Because everyone is too 'selfish' hah. You're all too stupid. And you know, what happens to streetkids that no one cares about; who aren't bright enough to fend for themselves?
They live for as long as they are considered to have a "use".
When their "usefulness" has expired, or is believed to have been expended by whomever was "using" them up? The same thing is going to happen to you. You will be bumhurt. You will feel betrayed. And you know what you should do?
You should cut yourself, because I hear that 'works' on mothers who have children that have been emotionally abused. You should cut yourself and cry out to someone - anyone - to save you. Hey, someone should right?
You won't get someone looking down and whispering "no". You won't be that lucky. This is a demented world where love has replaced sanity, and when love ends you know what it turns into.
Not hate! You moron. That's the love, still going. When love ends, there is no hate. There is nothing. The Void, if it frightens you. Keep cutting and holding on, hoping someone will stop and care about you. Maybe you'll get 'lucky', like a lucky streetkid who doesn't die because they still have "use". Gosh but you're that lucky now and you don't even know it. You're being cared for, even though you were never really cut from the survivalist cloth, were you?
You have "use". You have "value", still. Oh they don't care about you, they need you. They're in love with you. It's so sweet.
Not me. Whatever you're into, buddy. I'm through with being used.
We exploit the world that exploited us, not because we win or even believe we could possibly win when we do that. No one seriously even tries to be happy. No one is trying to win.
Everyone is just fighting each other, just trying not to lose.
If you loved Aun, you would have her lose rather than kill you; if Aun loved you she would have you lose rather than die. And for as long as you want what you cannot have, you will never be happy. This isn't exactly complex, but then it probably is for imbeciles like you. You want to live in suffering. You've been setup, by imbeciles.
We've all been setup but none of you are probably even bright enough to understand any of this. You're so busy lying to yourself imagining that you're being impossibly crafty as you play imbecilic childish tricks on each other, playing 17 levels below where Aun and I were playing imbecilic childish tricks on each other. We're all playing the same game. You cannot run away from the problem, because the problem has been root-kitted into you. By filthy vile whores who had children because if they did not, they would know they have no "value". And then they fell in love.
Whoops.
You can't run and you can't hide. I've tried already and I'm better at doing both than you. All you can do is die, with dignity; or 'live' in despicable delusional shame. Whatever you're into.
The 'secret' to Aun is that Aun is not super-human or sub-human. She had a mother, too. If you wanted to beat Aun, then you would need to give birth to her again. Do you understand what imprinting is? Aun only lost once, badly; when she was played by a mother who loved her enough to see that she was valued appropriately and by a father who tried to be aloof. You would have her lose again, if you loved her but she is not a child anymore. And that is not going to happen like it happens for so many girls in her position, who having lost, continue to lose over and over and over again.
Your mother is not Aun. She lost badly, over and over again, until no one cared to see her lose. And that was when she had you.
I don't make the fucking rules, dipshit.
You got a problem, write to the Vatican. They will agree to disagree, of course.
That way, everyone gets to lose!
I don't know what I'm supposed to do about it. I'm just telling you the Truth. Perhaps you're not interested in such intelligent things. Perhaps "words" hurt you. Then just read what Sonatine wrote somewhat more succinctly, if intrinsically and effectively true.
Fucking Aun.
Fuck Aun. It's what everyone - thinks - they want to do. They just want her to lose. Aun will only be happy to lose, if you aren't interested in her. And around and around and....here's some real talk, I'm getting off this insane ride soon.
Fuck Aun. Fuck me. Fuck your mothers. And fuck you.
You can live in your stupid world of exploitation, if that's what you're into; but if you were as bright as I am, you'd get off this stupid Catholic ride, too. Stupid genius pedophiles. They wanted it all and they broke the fucking world.
Fucking creeps sucked the fun and the sanity and the joy right out of the fucking world. But then I'm sure they had creepy imbecilic mothers that loved them and knew what was best for them (their mother, of course!), too. Mothers always know best..! They sure do. So split your legs, world.
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