The perseverance of the three legged cat that sleeps in my alley pulls me from my bed each morning.
It stretches its hind leg, taking no time to remember when stretching was a simpler task, minding the gap, yet not feeling empty.
It limps from my alley and continues its search for food, or meaning, or whatever cats search for, and I limp into my bathroom, searching for meaning, but settling for a toothbrush.
I scrub away last night’s dreams of teeth falling from my mouth. I remember feeling the weight of my off-white molars in my palm, the rough outer edges in numb fascination. I spit the memory into my sink, and rinse.
The kitchen window has a nicer, if less inspirational, view than its brother in my bedroom. I’ve watched the tree that blocks the city be reborn a dozen times, yet I still feel anticipation every time the brownorangered starts, and I wonder when I’ll grow new leaves. I grab the sugar bowl from the table for morning coffee, but my grip is weak - I’ve always had trouble holding onto things. The bowl slips from my fingers, and the ground is covered with porcelain, off-white shards. I study them, finding a home in the familiarity, and begin to pick up the pieces.
Get caught up in their own moralization
That's a product
Of their own sexual neuroses
As they receive the Financial Fuckover Treatment
From the Economic Elites.
People blame THEMSELVES
For their own inadequacies and failures
That the Entire Economic System
Is completely rigged against them.
We're all "inadequate" in certain ways,
But that's why we need to COOPERATE
Capitalism does not FAVOR Cooperation.
So, people end up
Sleeping on the Streets
That they didn't
Try hard enough.
Walked near her slowly,
Brushed with hand, breathing slowly,
She came closer, shaking,
Warm, quite, soft...
Her eyes were shing like a moon,
They were telling way too much,
I've start to play with her with hand,
Slowly put her legs apart...
Hand was filled with warmth of her soft breast,
Movement up and down she been waiting for...
Then thrill pierced inside of me,
And white liquid dripped..
At that moment i felt enravishment,
That's how i milked a cow for a first time...
[[More real than the real, that is how the real is abolished]] de facto slogan to the virtual economy \ Reality has collapsed through its own fiction || rummaging through boxes // a DVD from the 2001’s states [[the future of gaming is here]] opening with ten minutes of nauseating zooms on women’s asses \ The future doesn’t look much different from the past || hyper-masculine neo-enlightenment fucks scrawling wet dream entries into digitised soliloquies \ VR technology once used to aid traumatised amputees now a billion dollar industry of condom throwing simulators for bored middle-class kids \ Parents watch awkwardly from the corner of the room too disconnected from reality to connect with irreality \ Two and the same \ Silicon synapses pass through trade routes of jutting ribs and serotonin receptors \ White America a botnet of alt-right neoliberal fundamentalist-atheists gutting the majority world so everyone can watch Doctor Strange // Marvel’s latest explosive wank from the libidinal imagination of a middle-aged idiot \ Thanatos and Eros arrive at the same destination to dismantle subliminal desire one commodity at a time \ The sublime never experienced // only destroyed // consumed in the inverted maw of late-stage capitalism where each irruptions of desire is more banal than the previous \ Banality the ultimate distraction from apathy // a pseudo-cyclical time dilation of ever accelerating proportions \ Soon nothing will be experienced at all and Rotten Tomatoes will give it a 99% score \ When the singularity hits everyone will be too brain dead to care that they’re god \ 24-7 VR porn // Disney reincarnated as a being of pure light // recursive integration of every bland radio hit about a sexist prick at a club // irreality shocked into neurons bypassing sensual phenomena // an all encompassing warmth // veil of death // eyecaps dragging flesh closed // backup released // no escape // digitised irreality // holographic Disney dancing on the train home // notice of termination swiped away as junk mail // all beings arrive // transcend circuitry // fly through the cosmos watching every episode of Friends at once \ Didn’t you know? [[The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of banalisation \ ]]
The Theories of Sigmund Freud
There are anti-depressive drugs, mood stabilizers, anti-anxiety drugs, and anti-psychotic drugs.
If you're abnormal,
The psychiatrists can make you normal again,
If you're uncomfortable with psychiatrists,
Marijuana has been decriminalized.
So, there are various
"Designer Strains" of Marijuana out there
To "help people with their problems",
What I'd like to know is,
If Freud's Theories are outmoded,
Why do so many people
Have toilet problems?
Why are so many of them
Full of shit?
Why are so many of them
According the the "Failed Messiah" Website,
There is a lot of sexual abuse of boys in the Hasidic Jewish Community.
However, I don't think that this sexual abuse of boys
Is UNIQUE to Chasidic Jews.
There must be a lot of boys
Who are "gettin' it up their butts".
What I'm sayin' might be ruffling a few feathers.
Maybe, you (the reader) is one of those people
Who have trouble
Letting Go of Shit.
I take lots of herbs to help my Liver Functioning,
In order to let go of as much shit as possible.
I might be able to avert the suggested "colonoscopy"
When I reach a certain age.
I haven't experienced any anal penetration yet,
And I don't think I would enjoy this procedure,
Even if it is performed by Medical Personnel.
I will TRY not to be an ass hole,
But please leave my butt alone.
All my feelings have disbanded
They've gone and left me stranded
Of every emotion I am void
I need to talk to someone like Freud
This feeling of nothingness, leaves me past the brink
For now into TURE insanity I sink
Only the truly insane will not care
If they close the lid and leave you no air
For guilt will not play it's part
For the insane has no heart
You can take a knife and plunged it in
Make me pay for all my sins
I really don't care who dies
Not even if it's I
There will be not one tear to cry
For all my emotions, the good and bad
Have disappeared, it should make me sad
But it don't
Don't ask me to care, I can't and I wont
"So why are you painting a woman in a bottle?"
It's a learning painting. I want to see if I can handle all those layers of transparency and quirky reflections.
"But she has a set of phantom arms and legs, what about that?"
Yes, pretty cool. A Vitruvian woman in a bottle.
"I'm looking for Meaning: Don't paintings symbolize things?"
You mean, what does it mean, really mean? I had an idea: Can I really do graphical justice to an absurd, but challenging situation?
"But what are you saying with that?"
It's not feminist nor anti, it's just a technical exercise.
"But aren't you, as an artist, exposing reality and interpreting, presenting emotions and feelings, seeing the soul?"
I'm not on a soapbox-- I'm testing my skill-- I paint and don't think about it too much. After all, 'Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar' or is it 'just a smoke'?
"I don't like your message."
OK, I'll paint you in a bottle...
As a shrunken head.
Hi i’m Sebastian
i’m an addict
Addicted to frantic
i lacked the panache.
But as of lately
That is changing
Have replaced the
The crass habit of
By an affidavit
Now i’m Exasperated
i amass amazing
A translucent human
Finds a hue soothing
Like my time as a youth spent
i pulled the blue pen
Through the movements
Maneuvered cerulean loops
Drew crude dudes and
Exuberant protruding boobs
For a youths amusement
Freud’s lament meant that
A pen is a penis
i comment these tittles of i’s
Are eyes at a zenith
With these i see things
Don’t ask what an asterisk is
But believe me i’ve seen it