Ha.

Today I want to talk about old music. I'm sure many of you are familiar with a very popular rock band, The Eatles. We've all heard songs like I wanna hold your ham and All you need is lunch. Also very famous, Yellow sub sandwich, Maxwell's silver meat tenderizer, but as researchers have proven, 100% of the National Socialist party of Germany consumed food, so it was no surprised when they released The White Supremacy Album, or songs like Hey Juden.

Za burues.

If you dampen that wood, boy
It won't sound as good, boy
Teardrops on the guitar,
Won't get ya too far

-guitar bit-

Blues ain't about tears, boy
Or expressin' yer fears, boy
It's the pain o' the chain
At the bottom of the glaaass~

-more gutar-


Will resume some day mebe.

The nature of the beast, part 2.

I really like red, the colour of passion, for it is passion that fuels me, partly, alongside defiance.
Red, like wine, like blood, surging through your veins, like iron and steel freshly plucked from the flames of the oven, ready to be shaped into something new.
Like the flame of the eternal phoenix, spreading contrasting red and orange across a blue sky as it rises from its ashes and soars amongst the clouds, with each death and rebirth finding new heights.
Red, as the spark ignites in your cheek when there's a flaming tornado being spun inside.
When the cold, damp blue of doubt, fear and calm give in to the warm light, being replace by a firestorm of passion, a rush of blood to specific body parts the author of this text would rather not mention, for reasons unknown.
When rust supersedes the shine, and shows the wear of time on something subject to use.
When one more second or minute is all that matters in the grand scheme of things, and your will is able to overthrow reason, when desire overcomes need, often becoming it.
When oxygen rushes to your muscles out of no particular need, but your breath still won't slow down, even accelerating as if to make some point, ever unwavering in the face of its own mild discomfort.

Red is often the colour of love too, burning deeply and brightly, igniting the darkness and deepest corners of ones soul, a feeling as known as it is mysterious, as strange as it is familiar, and as shallow as it is deep.  

Red is a colour that spills and taints, a colour that flows to provide warmth, that gushes to vibrantly stand out of both white and black, that jumps in the eyes and sticks.

I like red, the colour of passion, and I might just like you too, depending on your true colours.

Some poets, writers and artists were drunks, maybe because words flow easily as alcohol flows to the bloodstream, but I am none of those, bar an infantile demeanor surging through an ever-changing body, fascinated by the deep crimson of wine on a dreary Tuesday afternoon, wondering if a better place in the world could be found for my head, searching for a lap willing to accept it, for a mind to lay my thoughts with.

Addendum, to the person reading this: I wrote some of this thinking of you, though I shall not disclose which parts of it. You know who you are, as Red is a name I've given you.

I felt like writing.

It's nice to, at the end of the day to have a place to dump your thoughts into. Now, that place can either be a piece of paper, digital or not, or a person. I'd argue it's nicer for it to be another person, so you can have some feedback on it, but shooting shit at the wall to see what sticks is fine too. I lost my train of thought. I might write some more soon, maybe, probably.

This movie gets it.

Yeah, fuck you, too. Fuck *me*? Fuck *you*, Fuck you and this whole city and everyone in it. Fuck the panhandlers, grubbing for money, and smiling at me behind my back. Fuck the squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car - get a fucking job! Fuck the Sikhs and the Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores stinking up my day. Terrorists in fucking training. SLOW THE FUCK DOWN! Fuck the Chelsea boys with their waxed chests and pumped-up biceps. Going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, jingling their dicks on my Channel 35. Fuck the Korean grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country, still no speaky English? Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafés, sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth. Wheelin' and dealin' and schemin'. Go back where you fucking came from! Fuck the black-hatted Chassidim, strolling up and down 47th street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff. Selling South African apartheid diamonds! Fuck the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas, Gordon Gekko wannabe mother fuckers, figuring out new ways to rob hard working people blind. Send those Enron assholes to jail for FUCKING LIFE! You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that shit? Give me a fucking break! Tyco! Worldcom! Fuck the Puerto Ricans. Twenty to a car, swelling up the welfare rolls, worst fuckin' parade in the city. And don't even get me started on the Dom-in-i-cans, 'cause they make the Puerto Ricans look good. Fuck the Bensonhurst Italians with their pomaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits, their St. Anthony medallions, swinging their Jason Giambi Louisville Slugger baseball bats, trying to audition for "The Sopranos." Fuck the Upper East Side wives with their Hermès scarves and their fifty-dollar Balducci artichokes. Overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched, all taut and shiny. You're not fooling anybody, sweetheart! Fuck the uptown brothers. They never pass the ball, they don't want to play defense, they take five steps on every lay-up to the hoop. And then they want to turn around and blame everything on the white man. Slavery ended one hundred and thirty seven years ago. Move the fuck on! Fuck the corrupt cops with their anus-violating plungers and their 41 shots, standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betray our trust! Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil. And while you're at it, fuck J.C.! He got off easy! A day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity! Try seven years in fuckin' Otisville, J.! Fuck Osama Bin Laden, al-Qaeda, and backward-ass cave-dwelling fundamentalist assholes everywhere. On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your seventy-two whores roasting in a jet-fuel fire in hell. You towel-headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal Irish ass! Fuck Jacob Elinsky. Whining malcontent. Fuck Francis Xavier Slaughtery my best friend, judging me while he stares at my girlfriend's ass. Fuck Naturelle Riviera, I gave her my trust and she stabbed me in the back, sold me up the river, fucking bitch. Fuck my father with his endless grief, standing behind that bar sipping on club sodas, selling whisky to firemen, and cheering the Bronx Bombers. Fuck this whole city and everyone in it. From the row-houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenue, from the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in Soho. From the tenements in Alphabet City to the brownstones in Park Slope to the split-levels in Staten Island. Let an earthquake crumble it, let the fires rage, let it burn to fucking ash and then let the waters rise and submerge this whole rat-infested place.

More complaining and depressing shit

    Some people are just sad. Some people will always feel sad and alone. I'm one of those, as you can probably already tell. I'm perfectly capable of feeling happy, but it never lasts more than a few minutes. All the sorrow I have to bury in myself just finds a way to come out, eventually. Built up and strong, too. And with no reason. I've barely any reason to be sad other than the fact that that's just how I am. I don't want to justify it with anything, I must be honest with myself. I am a sad, lonely person who just likes to complain. Who the hell wants to be around someone like that? The people that do slide by me don't know, and the people that don't matter I don't care if they do. I don't know what I want. Maybe I just want someone who I can be sad with, yes, sad with, not happy, sad with who will still accept me. Like any other human, I want to be accepted, but I am too selfish to change and I don't care enough to anyway. I just like to complain, I can always find any little thing to complain about. I don't even want a relationship, at least not a real life touchy-feely relationship. I want a thought vessel who I can complain to and who can complain to me in the same way. Not seeing each-other as people, but as thinking entities. I don't like people, I don't like the physical aspect of being social. Sometimes you just smile weird, some day you're walking funny, someday your shirt has a stain, someday you're just too rough, every other day something about you is just wrong. It's just little retarded bullshit that people make out to matter when I would love not to care about it in the slightest. But it's hard to go against majority and deal with retarded remarks each fucking time. Oh my, the stares and the little laughs, and then you check back on yourself and you see nothing wrong. I have many insecurities and they're not just that, they're things that I am part of. I don't like being ugly, but how much choice did I have in that? I don't really like being THIS weird, but again, did I really chose this? Fuck it man, why must stupid shit like this matter? I like being social just at the thought level though, I like talking to people, but not straight into their face. I don't want to look them in the eye, because that's further from perfect than just talking and I want things to be ideological and perfect because I'm scared of change. I'm scared, really,  scared that my appearance of manner would mess something up, so I'd rather just be a thinking entity to people, because in the end that's all that matters to me.
Some people are meant to be with people. And others, like me, are just different. I'd rather hide myself for the rest of my days in a small enclosed room, I don't have the need to see other people, and in all fact, I hate it because I know they don't like seeing me.

I uh

Oh man, in retrospect all these things are pretty depressing to read, man. Shit.

XXIV

Who I am, an objective analysis.

      I'm not to tall, not to short, though maybe shorter than the usual guy. I'm 5'7" , or in normal people measuring systems, 167 cm. Though I am not sure how much I weigh, I am generally skinny-regular build, with a bit more fat around my stomach. I do have a bit of muscle on my legs and arms, probably from ages of "handy" work.
      My face has several imperfections, ranging from eyebags that are starting to expand up to the side, some weird creases on my cheeks, just under the cheek bones and two bumps under my mouth from when I was hit in the face with a swing. That probably messed up a bit one of my front teeth as well. I have a pretty large nose. My hair is way too puffy when freshly washed, but generally looks decent after a few days. Both my eyes and hair are dark brown. I sport a trimmed goatee, though I plan to let it just grow.
     I tend to walk in a nervous manner, sometimes staring at the ground, maybe slightly haunched. Whenever I feel that people are watching me, my walking gets even more awkward and stressed. I don't generally look at people in the eye, especially if I don't know them, avoiding eye contact at most times. I have a bit of trouble hearing, so usually I have people repeat things until I get them right or just assume I did so the first time. My eyes are pretty bad too, I wear distance glasses. I can see fine up close, but further than maybe 5 meters  I start having trouble reading signs and posts. I get tired easily when running or any other heavy oxygen intake thing, one of my nostrils being blocked off by a mixture of cartilage.
     I eat very little each day, sometimes just one meal, sometimes just a bunch of snacks. I do not care for healthy food, I eat based on what I feel like tasting and judge foods on taste only.
     I am a very lazy person, up to the point that I pick doing everything at the last moment. I do things half-assed. I don't pour much effort into what I'm doing. I do not like meeting new people at all, and dislike being around people in general. I don't want to indulge in human interaction at all, but at the same time, sometimes I feel the need to talk. I also have an immense craving for affection to contradict my dislike of people. It's maybe because I grew up receiving very little affection. Could be because I am stupid enough to believe in the concept of love. I dislike change in general, if you already found something that works, you better stick to it. It's hard, even for me, to understand how I act around people. I guess to most people I know, I have another side that takes something from their personality to adapt to them easier. I tend to try to make jokes, most of which are not really amusing. I am introverted and highly opinionated. I would rather not speak most of the time. When I do say something, it usually turns into a disagreement argument which I either win or just verbally beat up the other person until they give up. The two friends with which I used to walk home from school had a policy of not arguing with me on account of the fact they'd always lose. I have few friends, most of which are based on mutual interest for video games, playing them together and occasionally eating/drinking out. I can count 7 or 8 people in the category.
     I am not very creative, thought sometimes I do get a good idea which I fail to translate properly into a drawing, considering I was too lazy to ever improve my technique. I find writing much easier than drawing, though I know most of the time what I am typing isn't interesting at all.
     I view my principles highly, but I am too stupid at times to respect them. These are probably the only positive things I find about myself. I value honesty, honour and fairness very much.
     I have been told many times that I am smart, regarding academic pursuit, though I do not agree. My memory had and has the tendency to remember important things straight out from classes, so I seldom had the need to study. Other than that, I am pretty dumb and would rather know theoretical things rather than practical ones.
     All I do all day is mostly sit inside. I play video games and surf the internet generally. Other than this, I will maybe draw or write. The only times I step out of the house is where beer or pizza are mentioned and when I have to do something I can't avoid.
     I come off as a negative person, but it's something I'd like to call realism. I always expect the worse because with expecting the worse your disposition can only go up or stay steady rather than fall.
     There is probably a lot more to say, but for now that's all I can think of. Maybe I'll continue some other time. As a short summary, I am an ugly, short, skinnyfat awkward antisocial moron. The irony of writing this is that I am listening to a song titled "I am perfection" while doing it. I thought that was kind of funny.

XXIII

        I wish to write thousands upon thousands of words to paint hundreds upon hundreds of pictures, but I adhere to the phrase "quality over quantity" if only in principle. How many things have I to say that I've not yet spoken of? I dread the moment I start repeating myself. It escapes my memory whether I have mentioned or not before of my resent for fools that claim as theirs the achievement of others. "Look how much we've built, how high we reached". We? We, my good friend, have no participation into said heights and claiming to do so is just a further example of our own ignorance. It is no longer a claim over nationality or vicinity, but a claim over humanity as a whole. Why do these buffoons feel the need to justify their petty existence by associating with things that are largely viewed as great? It is because they are unable to do anything of their own, one would be lead to think.
       I really do love seeing my pursuit of knowledge being fulfilled ever since I had the pleasure of picking it up. It's not everyday that I learn or figure something, but every so often when I do it does bring me satisfaction. Thought my knowledge and experience might be limited, I do hope that what I stumble upon is the truth, and even if that is not the case, thought my opinion matters most to me, I am able to change it provided better solid reasoning is provided. I know and accept that I am subject to the flaws I criticize, that including being wrong. But it's not that which I dislike, but rather the denial of compelling proof that irks me.
     Though I am not fond of extremes, there are some in which my mind would rather I fall into. One of these is my view on life. Were it my way, I would either cease to exist or gain immortal life. Immortality offers the possibility to forever continue my quest for truth which has become so important to me, as well as ceaseless entertainment. Lack of existence brings peace to my thoughts, though I can not be sure how it would "be". I do not wish to be subjected to physical pain, hunger and all other things concerning mortality, defects of the mind are much more pleasant.
      I do not know if it's hasty to make this statement, but it would seem honesty and honour are also becoming fictional concepts. Further thought proves that they always were, part of the illusion of greatness we attribute the human mind to. Vile, greedy, disgusting and stupid are concepts which define it rather better than qualities. Qualities of the mind, come to think of it, are compensation for lack of physical ones. It almost seems an artificial process of developing them to spite nature, but at the same time it has to be natural, right?
       I am already tired of mentioning each time that all I say must be taken in relative terms, but it is how it is. Whether it is my limited experience or the sheer amount of different possibilities that human mentality has at it's disposal, I cannot say that everything is available for everyone. Even my most prized remark, "everyone is stupid" could be knocked as relative. It just hasn't yet.
      Disposability. It is amazing how actually disposable to your life people are and how much we act as if they're not. It's another leftover mechanism. In hunter-gathering times, tribes or packs of humans were present in limited numbers and spread out. Thus, if you couldn't make friends with who you had close then you would be in a great amount of trouble, and had little chance of surviving. Care for close individuals is a mechanism to keep the pack together, but look at us. There are so many of us with numerous similar copies of each-other existing. You are free to mess up social relationships as many times as you want, you probably will never actually mess up 7 billion times.

People are shit.

Yep yep. May not apply to everyone.
Edit, edit, edit.

XXII

       A blank slate. A new day. Another night of missed sleep. Another conquest and battle for the truth. Nothing matters though, and there still is no reason to seek it, yet I still do. It's fun, entertaining and interesting, and that's the only thing that keeps me safe from the horror of boredom. Have I reached an answer? Is it possible to? Should I contain emotion or completely wipe it out? Is either of those possible? Questions. An endless stream of them rush to me, seeking an answer, just like all the others. I'm guessing strictly emotionless human behaviour is improbable without extensive conditioning from early on, but it still might be a possibility. What would Tyler Durden do? Would he encourage rationality or sentimentality and which one does really benefit anyone? I'm sure both are beneficial and detrimental to us, individually or on a large scale and it's hard to weight in which one is better. Many good things are emotionally drive and many bad things alike. Though, rationality doesn't endorse self-damaging behaviour. I'd like to believe rationality is what is most beneficial for an emotionally unstable individual like me. I have nothing and I have everything, yet I am nothing and nothing more. Just another contradiction, I tell myself, and learn to live on with it, in time. Add it to the pile. Who am I even? I don't...hm. Maybe I am just really flexible and twist around to mould to the people I surround myself with? When's the last time I acted a way because I felt like it and not for someone else? It must have been at least a month ago. I want that to stop, and I want to do things for myself only. I don't want to care for anyone, not even myself. I can't accept anyone, no matter how close they come to perfection because they will always have flaws. I can't accept myself much, seeing the piles upon piles I've gathered, but the difference between me and other people is that I can choose who to talk to but I can't detach my conscience from the flesh I am. I want to never care for anyone else and I am sure I am able to, to never give one iota of feeling for anything other than enjoyment of entertainment. It's the only thing I want to be concerned, the well being and entertainment of myself and I should not care at what price it comes from people I may or may not have cared or care. It's a hard decision to take, but it must be taken in order to be my true self-centred selfish self.
          I do not fear death but have no wish to live. I don't wish to die, either. What the hell do I want? To be entertained. It seems to have surfaced many times as my predominant motivational factor. Entertainment of any sorts, I could say, drives everything I do. I don't want money in large sums, I do not wish for women or friends. I don't want to socialize, I don't want to live "high" on life or any substance. I simply want to be entertained and the sole reason I exist is to entertain myself. The aggravating part is that people seem to get caught in that existence, people that want to or force themselves into it. People I end up liking and disliking at the same time. People from which I have to break free, should I wish to be free to be the real me, because the only time I can be the real me is isolated from all contact from people I would ever care about.
           It's really annoying how little choice we have regarding where, how, when and to who we are born, who we meet and what we become in time, therefore, man will always seek freedom. The only reward that comes from that is the delusional idea of freedom, a concept which cannot exist to the absolute for anything that was ever born, simply because they didn't choose to get born. They might agree to it, but it's not the same. Or maybe I am wrong and we do choose to be born? Everything is possible, which is why the search for truth is so difficult. It's not an easy task to discern between apparent truth and actual truth, and even then the very standards by which we judge might be flawed. With that said, perfect rationality doesn't exist either. Just a few of the reasons why I am bothered by the fact I exist to think these paradoxical thoughts.

Funny shit.

I love how it fucks up the blog layout hahah. Disregard that.

XXI

          I find myself utterly despicable. Pathetic, lazy, unproductive, silly and many more. It seems that insults just lose meaning when you throw them at yourself don't they? It seems they do have a greater impact when somebody else tells it to you. By insults I guess I mean truths, really. I'm a pretty shy guy, socially awkward even. So whenever I am just walking around and get these long weird gazes at me I start feeling insecure. I sometimes wish I could tell what people are thinking, you know, read their minds so I can tell whether they're judging me properly or not. I know I am ugly and weird to the first sight, but damn, I didn't think it was really that bad. Or maybe that's just how people are? They just stare around a bunch and observe other people out of curiosity? I do that too. The most I tend to see is that they usually size you up, especially stopping at the shoes. Are we seriously shallow enough to judge people by the brand of shoes they wear or am I just drawing  a hasty conclusion?
          I don't want to stand out but I'd never cut my hear short and wear whatever is "fashionable" because it just seems like a load of sparkly flamboyant shit to me. Nobody considers clothes actually being useful, and it just seems to be made to draw attention. After all, that is what fashion has become, a cry for attention. But if they're all screaming for attention at each other, who's gonna stop and give it to them? And on the note of usefulness, weren't clothes developed with the idea of protection? As in warm in the winter, cold in the summer, whatever in-between? With this in mid, the other day I see some girl wearing considerably long fur boots. And it's 35 C outside. A bunch of crazy people I tell you. Whatever happened to respectable men wearing watches and glasses as useful accessories? Now every guy I see is just wearing a bazillion bracelets, earrings, random metal on their face. What the hell man? Fuck.
          I just wear some simple shirt, some simple pants, decent shoes good for both running and walking and maybe, sometimes, a watch. My hair just feels good and natural to be long, and I've had a respect for older cultures like the Norse one in which some men had long hair.
           And that's where my creative juice stops flowing.

Long list of explanations for people I upset that I don't feel like repeating every single time

Note: aavot = and any variation of that

• "you must be a miserable virgin with nothing better to do" aavot

 Pretty much. But that's not the reason I'm making fun of you. It's because it's entertaining and funny to observe your reactions and probably because I want to show you my truth.

• "I don't care" aavot

 If you didn't you wouldn't bother to tell me, you would just ignore me. There is hardly sincerity in that phrase and you know I'm right. It's a thing you say to seem like you really don't but if you follow it with some kind of justification why you're not <insert what I said you are here> then it's kinda starting to show you're in denial.

• "you are being mean" aavot

 Truth is just a kick in the nuts sometimes, but I'm a realist. If you can't accept it then that's just more reason for me to shove it down your throat with the risk of sounding like some retarded preacher.

• "you are being immature" aavot

Really? Last time I checked stupidity, delusion and lack of scepticism weren't very mature either. And I don't see how the wish to make people aware of their flaws is immature. Would you say an artist is being immature because he's criticising society? Furthermore, if you say that because I word my sentences funnily and use "dirty" words than you are a dumb fuck and you need to grow up.

• "what gives you the right to judge me" aavot

What doesn't? As for what does, it's a cultivated sense of observation, fact based conclusions and highly rational thinking. But you probably don't even want to know what, you just asked because you need to calm your tits and you do so by doing mental gymnastics to invalidate my opinion.

• "you must have no friends" aavot

Contrary to your belief, there are actually people who are worth associating with. There are people that are not as <insert what I said you are here> as you are, therefore agreeable to. You and your friends are most likely not part of these select few.

• "that's just your opinion" aavot

Really? You know, I actually googled you and copy pasted an opinion. What? Of course it's my opinion, I said it. Of course it's what I think about you but I came to that conclusion based on observing certain things about you, not by ingesting magical opinion dust and shitting out a comment. Unless I was making fun of you in which case you actually be wrong to say it's my opinion because I never meant anything I said.

• "You just want to spout out shit to try to hurt me" aavot (actual quote by some bitch)

While I believe all humans are worthless meat bags by default and think they shouldn't exist, I have no intention of making them feel anything, good or bad. If I say something to you it's because I believe it's the truth and it has to be said to wake you up from whatever delusion you've built around yourself because I fucking hate delusional idiots.

I feel as if these will come in handy pretty soon.

Spilling some soul, my bad.

Why do I get sad? Because life keeps dangling happiness in front of me, carrot on a stick style. I think this is actually what motivates some people, because they can't see the string or the stick and don't realise they'll never catch up with it.
Why do I get sad? Because I've grown accustomed to it. It's what I am. I am sorrowful angry and hateful person. It's what I've become and I can't care enough to change because no matter how sad you get it never hurts you physically. So there's never a reason to stop being sad other than the fact that it's unpleasant.
Why do I get sad? Because I've very little and spread out reasons to be happy. I could be happy, I could bury the sorrow away, but it would be a part of me that I am burying and forgetting. And feelings without a reason are as empty as it can get.
Why do I get sad? Because I am selfish and want everything to be good. Because it's rare for things to happen the way I want them to and my wish extends over to forces and beings I have no control over. Being selfish makes you believe you are entitled to be happy.
Why do I get sad? Because I see things that are wrong which I can't fix. I notice mistakes made in large scale, hypocrisy, deception, delusion and lies that, in the view of a honest man, have no reason to be part of the world. Sincerity is losing the battle to greed.
Why do I get sad? Because I let that feeling linger. I live with it, and sometimes, to be honest, it feels good to feel sad. Specifically, when it's the only feeling I can feel justified, and the only feeling I have under my comfort blanket.
Why do I get sad? Because despite all the armour I've built for myself, you can never wear something protective enough. There's always a little slit somewhere where someone can just stick their knife in. And blood rusts armour.It's because I'm proven time and time again I am still weak enough to depend on other people and dumb enough to get attached.
Why do I get sad? Because I am lonely and we are hard wired to feel sad alongside being lonely. And I am lonely because of a plethora of reasons. I am not attractive. I am not social. I am not creative. I am not likeable. The only times I can be funny is when I reference somebody else's joke or emulate some funny behaviour. And in reality, the only kind of person that would like me would either have to lie to themselves or just be the same. And -1+ (-1) =! 2.
Why do I get sad? Because I believe in concepts that only exist in fiction. Because I've been convinced to believe in concepts such as true love and honour.
Why do I get sad? Because I am a useless, broken, talentless, purposeless, deluded, dumb, pathetic, weak piece of shit.
Addendum : I never said I didn't want to be sad, but I never said I didn't want to be happy. And I'm guessing being happy is better. I don't know.

Dickbag theories (for now)

#1 Everyone is stupid. No exceptions.
#2 The only thing you can be sure of is that you can't be sure of anything.
#3 You can prove the existence of a single entity, the originator of the "I", in "I think".
#4 Humans are the most delusional animals and they lie to each other and themselves all the time.

Dreams of a sleepless fuck

One of them geeky pale girls with long black hair. She's got these crazy green eyes and I could swear I lose myself countless times in just when she wakes up. And she looks so short and skinny as she gets up to walk toward the bathroom to wash her pretty face. Fragile little thing. So I get myself together, get up and follow her. I hug her in front of the mirror and think for a second that I might actually be happy. But I know she doesn't feel the same. She sleeps around, I'm just another guy.

Some dreams can mess you up pretty bad, man.

Right-Click > Convert to... analogy

Alright. Say you're this kid born in the  1920's and you never meet your father. Say your mother and everyone else tells you that your father is a highly influential illusive rich man that will always be watching you but never interferes dirrectly with your life. You also get told he loves you very much, but if you do not believe he's your father you will get beat up pretty bad. So you go through life and he pays a bunch of guys to pick on you in high school, you get fired from every job, but he also leaves random 100$ bills you find and pays this one girl at some point to show affection to you, but you don't think that he actually does all of this even though the same people tell you he does. So you grow up not to believe in him because if he is really rich and loves you he wouldn't let you have such a shitty life, and you can't afford a private detective and DNA tests don't exist for you to prove anything. And then one day you randomly run into him and you get knocked out. You wake up in this red room where an ex-employee of him just beats the living shit out of you and then nurses you back to health to beat the shit out of you again. For the rest of your life. And your father is there watching. Because he loves you.

Serial killers and you

         Intro
I think I was 14 by the time  I had a serial killer idea. And yes, I was stupid enough for a while that I went outside examining the area and people with these crazy thoughts. Anyway , the keyword with this thing is evidence. One must be absolutely sure no evidence is left behind. With how stuff works especially today, leaving a 2mm bit of hair is equal to you getting caught. My idea would involve putting plenty of money into it which springs American Psycho into mind.

        Weapons
The only thing reusable would be the car used for transport but even that might be a means of tying you to the murders. For weapons and clothes always buy from random stores without a pattern. Use stuff that is everyday material but can be used as a weapon (scissor, nail gun, hammer, screwdriver (heh, tools)) and. Clothes have to be dark colors but throw in a random light colored shirt occasionally which you don't use. Shop out the zone you live and make no comments about the stuff you buy unless asked and then reply casually.

         The act
 The downside is that this takes all personality out of killing. You have no pattern, killing must be done swiftly so no enjoyment, no police fame but then again that is what drags everyone down, the point is just never being caught. Second of all your state of mind is important, as you must have enough mental capacity to remain unchanged mentally in any means and give no hint that you ever did anything like this. This makes the murders seem like disappearances with no trace if you made sure enough that there is no evidence behind. Every act must be carried out on a random day, and not more than twice maybe per year.  First of all examine the area thoroughly looking for blind spots, obviously do it at night, pick completely random victims and don't have any reason to do it, carry out the murder as fast as possible making sure noise isn't a problem. Also falling into patterns is a bad idea. 

         Disposing of the act
Now I think that the solution is fire. Acquire a means of transporting your dead victim to a place where you can be sure nobody will see you pull them out and start a fire such as middle of the woods and make the place different every time. Do it in a different city/state every time is also a good option but that incriminates you with travelling around too much so try to avoid being recorded doing this. Burn both the body, the weapon and the clothes you were wearing during the murder in an as small as possible fire ( takes time so you might lose a night) and then scatter ash and burry skeleton as well as pull out the teeth and skull and bury them much farther, spread out bones and the remains of the weapon.

         Dealing with the outcome
The thing is this might actually spark a pattern, and you will get your fame but when you do hear word of it you must act shocked but not show interest more than the average person. Do not follow the mediatization of your acts, and keep absolutely nothing that might tie you to the murder at all.

        Outro
I'm obviously not going to be stupid enough to do it as I think I would take no pleasure in murdering random people and I did write this whole stuff so it's going to be easy to recognize it by someone who read it (nobody, ever). I just felt that the thought process might be interesting.

Shit I need to remember to verify maybe

•  Being gay is natural selection.
•  The only thing that can be perfect is pure inexistence(not: things you imagined that don't exist).
•  Everyone is stupid.
•  There are no judeo-christian gods, and no poly-theistic religion gods either.
•  Fetishes derive from the subconscious due to some event.
•  There is no reason for us to ponder the workings of things or even us being rational.
•  Racism is part of survival instinct and/or natural selection.
•  Everything living beings do is due to survival instinct.
•  Most stupid people want to stand out, therfore do stupid stuff. They all believe they are unique.
• Sleep has no function to the phyiscal body, just to the brain, therefore pysical fatigue due to lack of sleep doesn't exist.
• All we say and do is the result of a cognitive process, conscious or subconscious, everything we do has a reason beside surivial instinct OR is our understanding of survival instinct.