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Got rid of twitter, and facebook has been long gone, a dried up stream.
Everything is coming full circle; the lie begets the lie in birth.
Lies upon lies make for fields of failure.
And I wonder how one fails at living, fails at being present in a place. In my case, I think I have failed at the Bay Area and the urge to slither away grows present.
I knew that I'd die somehow at my age but not like this, not spiritually.
Hang up my levis and destroy my glasses. I'll be selling my library and calling it quits.
Maybe I'm just never who I think I am.
Reductio ad absurdum
I was just perusing through my meagre set of reviews and saw this response to a (satirical) review I wrote for Emily Youcis, shown in the transcript below:
EAT MY ROTTEN MEAT 2012 October 30, 2012
What a delightfully fun and family-oriented animation. I thought it encouraged strong values and moral fibre in our youth. I especially liked the part where all the children got together despite their religious and ethnic differences at that communal dinner scene. I'm sure that the talent behind this animation are deeply humanitarian and moral members of society. I would just love to sit down and have a hot cocoa with them. Bless you.
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I hope you and yourchildren can have many many hours watching this wholesome cartoon then..... sick fuck
Emily Youcis, that scatillating scumstress, called ME a sick fuck, which, in my humble opinion, is the equivalent of the crow calling the night "black." Rather hilarious; I love it, and I rather like her as well.
As well, many thanks to any of you who have watched my collab toon "hipstah mario" by the way. I figured I have been on this site long enough to help put out a hiccough of a picture. Cheers.
Just noticed once again that by this time next year I have been crusing Newgrounds for almost a decade. I can't think of almost anything thats been so consistent in this turbulent tenner. History: It's just one fucking thing after another.
On another note, I would HIGHLY reccommend watching "Lucky Day Forever" on the front page right now. It really moved me and reminded me of a flash I commented on eight years ago. Lo and behold it turns out it is the same author. That blew me clear away. Beautiful flash, moving, brilliant.
Cheers folks. Rest easy.
I've known you for too long and you are nothing like the awesome cyberspace that I expected from Blade Runner, Hackers, or Lawnmower Man, or any cool cyberpunk type movie. Instead, you are full of porn, strange blogs, and a world of information that I'd rather not even know. You are a wonderland for governments and corporations. For some, you are perfect, and without you some people would have less opportunities and knowledge. But I think that you in web 2.0 is just another step towards a lame existence for mankind. Everyone can rebuke my opinion and quite righteously so, but you just don't feel trustworthy anymore. There is just TOO MUCH of you, just like us. The web makes everything irrelevant; for every thought provoking or progressive idea that pops up, something idiotic, venal, or predatory pops up as well. Fuck you very much for that, internet. And this is how I say this when I'm entirely too despondent to insult you with any real wit or intelligence. I'm just too damn tired. I just hope that cyberGawd comes down and destroys you and kicks your dog.
P.S. Web, I will watch you now intensely as you generate some internet users inane comments about my lameblog. Watch below; I shall watch out too. Nobody says that those people really exist, out here in the webaverse everything is essentially illusory.
I'm so very tired
on the verge of slumber
teetering in the white
of the clouded tundra
Every word a mumble
every thought flown away
every movement pliable
like a seventh drink array
Whether the day was great
or the day unbearable
Sleep shall come inevitable.
One day, sleep will come
with a dark uninvited friend,
waking you rudely,
interrupting you cruelly.
Then, no sleep, only black-
With the last firm chip of chistle
About to bring Galatea to a perfect
and beautiful animus. Being there,
I reach out to stop the heavenly
hand of Pygmalion. Being lonely,
and eager, he asks -why?
I clasp my hands around his,
bringing us both down
with a brutish male force to
sever the sweet head of his
love, and his art. I seize him and
scold -Look upon thy
creation, there's no blood there in
it's remains. Only imagination, only
artifice. The only real pulses through
your veins and charges in your mind.
Sometimes there is no escape,
so face the real. That's pain
looking back at you.
Subject: Today and Tomorrow
Going under the knife tomorrow, mixed thoughts and considerations. Somewhat fearful, filled with
anticipation. We've hitherto come so far, and now we're within reach.
And they progressed, and they moved on parallel, not knowing one another, their neighbor. We'd be tinkering with precious metals, noxious gases, mixing oozes, testing their alchemy. I kept my eyes on my own work, always, everyday, every possible moment. There in the lab we all had tunnel vision. In our own way, we had reached a level of hyper-reality unlike anyplace I had ever encountered. Complete sensory deprivation. Our precious senses, sterilized as we walked through the chamber each day and donned that hollow shell of a suit. Solitude, and my own thoughts. One morning after being sleep deprived for 32 hours at the lab, I stumbled into the cubbyhole apartment and tumbled into a dark, dreamless sleep. The rapid thumping of my heart hurtled me into consciousness sometime in the early morning. I quickly realized that the neighbors were in a fit of vigorous lovemaking, moaning and huffing ceaselessly. My exhaustion was quickly subsided by the same mixture of thoughts and emotions that I am sure most people feel in that situation, one equal of disgust and intrigue. I rolled off the bed and went to take a long piss alone in the unlit bathroom.
It was the next day that I made my breakthrough; I took the motherboard and inserted in into the metal orb. I injected gas #NV+a77 into the orb and gave the electrodes a high blast, around 12000 volts. The magnetism shot through the chamber and pulled the walls in. Chelsea shrieked. On the monitor, Dr. Sace kept a stern look on his face. He then proceeded to remove his his rimless glasses and wipe them on his sleeve. He gave a slight cough and drew in a breath.
-It's not art what we're doing here baby, it's science. The light, the spark, everyone else sitting in the dark. We're candlelight, we're lightbulb strobe. Honey, your vanity ain't got nothing on us, not a cathode ray nor transistor tube. Speechless, you're speechless, not a quip or maxim or nothing. We're reaching out for something unheard of, we're touching the tip of the candlelight. Remember being a child; discovery kept you clean. Yes, we're doing the work of zap zap. Goodles.
That evening, I cooked linguini that evening, paired with a nice cianti. I continued to read from that cyberpunk novel "The Heigth Ray." well, more like I skimmed it.
You always think of Becky's rack while masturbating, I said to myself while masturbating a thinking of Becky's buoyant orbs. Back to the lab. Zappo, let's make graviton-bombs as Don-don says.
Are you listening? We're not here to be the center of all existence. Instead, we are simply here to watch the seasons revolve ceaselessly.
-But why, for pity's sake? Put simply, consciousness is a nightmare form which I am trying to awake.
A misty late night; sat by the computer and sifted through lurid material, as usual. Lurid, indeed that is the word that best describes the internet labyrinthine innards and endless "consciousness." I am reluctant to admit this, but I happened to come upon a certain website that unfortunately shall go unnamed that (oh my, I'm switching in between it and this post intermittently) most masterfully baffled me to a new level. The internet is a place that defeats all notions of order, whether natural or established by man. There are no rules to be seen, all is box reality within the box. There is no sense in dreaming of some sort of clandestine matrix overtaking human minds....its already happened, and to the point in which I believe that the artificial intelligence of the machine, the "ghost" is the makeup of all of our created alter-self and beta reality. Simply, the internet is a imaginary realm that has crossed over, surpassing our control. It's sick, it's frustrating, but inevitably capturing our attention and apparently helping facilitate something that we have all long desired: hypo-omnipotence.
Yes, I am rambling, but this has all been endlessly penetrating my mind this whole lazy summer. This place, this realm, will freak us all out; will drive us all endlessly naked lunch mad. And of course, it takes a certain kind of perception to see the kind of thing I'm looking to accurately describe. For the moment, it seems entire impossible to describe what exactly this new consciousness represents or means. Until then, it is whatever you want it to be-try it, reach out and look into its all seeing eye, hypnotise, hypnotise...
whatever doesn't kill you, simply makes you...stranger. (?)
One more thing. It is come to my attention that internet, like this world, is as well a primarily male realm.
Still looking at the page, the page looking at me, a flashy companion. What was once a given, like innocence, now