I can corroborate the things darkness visible has said, this is the standard for what is accepted in neurological studies. I however have deferred the possibility that muder equipment's facts have basis since he said he has read extensively.

I do know that science is a formative religion of truth, and it is in a process of nearing completion. I would advize murder equipment to not be so free with numbers when accounting for how much science knows about life, it is far more than 5 %.

The problem with science is that it doesn't acknowledge certain realities since life is a very layered game, and science is one of theose tools for use in making people realise things that fall deaf on other people's ears. Certain people have a je nas sais pas with facts to the extent they can read a nutritional manual and get from the statements what they are really trying to say, as life works on a totally different level.

Being a Philosophy major I am sure is just the same as every other major, that there is a small core of say 10-15 philosphy classes and then other required classes which what's his face has revealed as the humanities.

Even though I have shot holes through science with the preceding paragraphs, for it is a human endeavor and then also it is corrupt, still the Humanities do not centralize their teachings around science. Science is the ultimate tool for pin pointing what is and what is not in life, and I would only hope that someday someone takes pot shots at PLato's forms of shadows on the cave wall, and generate what 3 dimensional object is throwing these shadows so that the determination of reality is not open to interpretation from a field of intellect based on speculation and not ascertation.

From all the books he has read and the indefinite status of science today, that new theories are to remain plausible until proven otherwise by the test of time, I have this to say about Murder Equipment's theory.

His gloom is but one of the seasons of passion. It is passion which is awakened by love, for we are asleep until we love, as Tolstoy noted, and after wards some may get depressed, yes, but others like me form great works of art from something called the blues. Blues for me is the sahdow of love. I have never been depressed, but after losing my gradeschool sweetheart I was a deep thinker because the woman that I was sharing my existence with, those extra set of 2 eyes and ears was gone, and it was inevitable in the absence of love that I would become a writer as she awoke me at an early age. Fo me the shadow of love is not gloom but blues, as love is what awakens the dormancy of the hidden mind mechanisms.

Once all these gears and cogs are oiled by love juices, there is no telling what a man can do once his broken HEART has made it HE ART, an and ARTist in the classical sense of the word, where actual works of art are created.

I have been an artist for a short period of my life, since about 1994, when I decided to concentrate my efforts as a writer, and in that time period I have produced 4 mega books that are all lined up and ready to go, plus a collection of poetry that predates this time period and extends into the future when I reap the riches from the colossal work that I have done in the time many of you were drooling. I think you will get a kick out of yourself when you dismissed the things this particular writer gave on the internet for free when other people could easily snatch the material, and hoarde the material for monetary gain, or private prestige, but I am a teacher in the core, and should I deem it advizable I could throw a javalin into Hollywood and let the air out of the lie of the fake vampire myths and bring down vampirism to be a medical condition that is very poorly understood which is part of the Science Academia.

I think life is set up in such a way that things are the way they are for a reason, and even though I could prove vampirism for a very big paycheck, I have enough irons in the fire, to not rock the boat and keep you young know it alls in the dark, since telling you things scientifically and flat out doesn't seem to work. As it is, even contributing to the world understanding of vampirism, or certain darknesses and gaps in understanding of life, why should I forfeit all my hard work by revealing on a global level a system that is put in place to keep the world order intact. I have enough money and soon anough fame to satisfy my desires, and to keep everyone else happy.

In retrospect of the vampire soul trip their ain't a darn thing wrong with life. It is just life. Writers generally are people who change reality and even though my books will establish an audience where I could change reality I choose to go about it on a quiet way in an underground level where one would think such sharing of knowledge would be appreciated.
Now having writ this in one months time, another young booksmart know it all will ask me who the hell I am, but I will not write this again, I will be cryptic as usual to the extent that even though I will make concrete all my metaphors, the intelligencia of this site will pull the wool over young people's eyes and say don't listen to VAMPARIAH he is insane.

My friends the world is insane, if I am insane because I understand the world is insane and I am playing by the rules because I have a name to uphold, then so be it. Do not listen to me. You have been made familiar with and are abreast of that western civilization is a big facade.

People can change destiny. The move I am required to do buried by time is so difficult for a baby, yet throwing a crunched up piece of paper at a bin and having it rim around, is a motion that is fun fun fun, a little bot messy because you never know what is in garbage.

Fear is an imprint. Living with sin and forgiving ourselves is godly. Carrying around ghosts in the closet is visited upon the children, and my heart may not be pure, but life is about losing virginity and accepting animal sides. If you people have figured out the code, or the plot to life, or you are not who you say you are, and i am talking to operatives for the CIA, or I am going to freak out whatever fucken page I visit on the internet will give me a virus of the mind, nah, I have always been free. When I was a child I put cherrios up my nose, and now, I do something a little different because I am not a child.

Really man in the future if they want men to evolve and get the bugs out, just fucken put them in an incuvator for ten years, don't put them through hell, and make it seem like they chose to dive. There is no alternative than to dive from heaven and find out what is going on in hell, if my free pass in heaven doesn't work in this world. The heaven free pass doesn't work because it is meant to make you get frustrated and enter hell. That is where the game begins, the gifts that cannot be used.

Yeah I was really proud of that one. I met the gay dude by a parking meter, he took me back to his place, the convo started over the fact I like jelly beans, and he gave me some.

So anyways, he takes me to his place, and then years later I romance a girl that lives below him, and she waorks at a restaurant. I just always looked at her feet, and she seemed to think it was silly. But I would run out of things to say and then look at her feet.

She did have nice shoes. It ended badly and I am happy to have forgot her name. Nadia was it? I ws good with the Italian and romanced her with her language, and then she got cold. I wish I had a girl cat to go to, when humans dry up like that. A go to cat.

Oh by the way, I learned how to close the high chakra. The highest chakra. IT is not something that you can close up any times, so I was wrong about vampires living for ever. You have to close the door on the hell life. Well, you could live forever, actually, as an animal, I would age really badly, and then at the moment before I turn to dust, take all I know and reverse it all. One of the final keys is prayer. But it is not what you think, it is a double caliper effect, but you all knew that didn't you? Hmmmmmmmm

I think I will just go to sleep and have fun with the brown bee cherrio fella. I am in no rush to redo the interior of hell, but I know how to do it. I on the other hand will dig around and see of the junk in my trunk that I found there in December is gone, that alien bit of whatever that everyone has.

PORN
02:25:43 - Dec 15 2006
Times Read: 32



…... Alright. Well, we'll start chronologically. I was sitting in Mrs Errante's Italian class, and this was before my growth spurt since I found my dick late in life, so I must have been at the oldest 15. She was my age, but her name was Alina. She had on these shiny beige pants which make it look like she was nude. I didn’t know I was more into fabrics back then, and my mantra of the Flip Wilson saying what you see is what you get and what you don’t is better yet, I wanted the pussy behind that shiny beige pant, I didn’t want the clothes. The clothes did speak to me though, you see, shiny clothes, with advent of latex, the hologram stuff that sucks the warmth right out of you, the foil, is buts are cool anyways, but with a foil panty pressed into pelvis, it is vampiric and sucks the warmth right out of slippery interface between your thang and her sweaty backside under panty of whatever material, especially latex, that’ll make you sweat, and I don’t think polishing the panty over and over is going to make the latex panty better to breath with, no I am not saying put it over your head, no, that is my point latex doesn’t breathe. Alina’s ass was fine for her mind was phenomenal, and usually the better the ass the more intelligent the woman, because life happens to the hot and the rest get ignored, so her asss was fine in the see through pant shiny, whatever material it was like I was saying, I didn’t know of fabrics like aluria, spandex, lycra, nylon even (what they make bullet proof vests out of), latex was some space age military secret to defeat aliens with, but back to Alina, as the famous proverb goes, all I wanted to do is to get her pussy flesh grooves upon my face because there was something I had never seen before, she was kinda scrunching back in her school chair, and these were sliding chairs, so they weren't hooked to the desk, but she was disinterested, twirling her hair and popping cracking sounds with her pink Bubblicious chewing gum as Latina chicks know how to do annoyingly for attention, to hear the pop of bubble in class to not to even have to look for, the image of the pink crystalline gum covering her cute little button nose until she has to take the fingers from her hair to inextricate the bubblicious from her nose in the air at all of us because she was so hot and she knew it sliding in her chair of silky fabric skin color groove. She didn't return my gaze when I got the courage to check her out the second time. I kept looking back, any time someone moved a foot, I figured it was her foot dragging on the dirty floor making scraping sounds with her feet, and I hoped it was her who moved because maybe I could scope out an even more intimate interior look at twat, of the finest spic girl in the school. She shifted in her seat just as I looked back and looked out the window dreaming of a stud that filled her spot of where something was not now that was stuffed earlier, last night while grandmother went out to visit relatives and she had a bed to herself, to call the stud over to fill her yum yum, they spooned after with his hands over this yum factorish presence that required filling like a servicing at a gas station pump might do from time to time checking lubricant levels with mechanics greasy monkey grease monkey hands with sausage blue collar fingers that wouldn’t know how to write about a woman with dainty writers fingers that know how to touch women but don’t yet touch them brutishly like black stained blue collared thick sausage fingers would, touch them hard and all over until it was all over her like love on her face glowing, that someone accepted her lust and they were black and blue with pink clit all reddish and invigorated, innervated, and inflamed, her camel toe was not inflamed now, she had slept well after the affair. Grease monkey mechanics never write about touching them, because they just do it, you know, because they are blue collar men that act and do not think. Women have to wear slinky sultry smooth fabrics over their pussies because they are at it nonstop never admitting to masturbation like men do, because in actuality women play with themselves a whole lot more, in bondage to their sexuality, using sex as a weapon to lure the man to keep him true by desiring pussy by never getting it from her, so they play with themselves until they are raw and then they need to wear the latex panties to keep it all smooth and viscous, with a butt plug up their butts when their pussy is raw, they go to buy some milk to drink and pretend to be a cat lapping milk while they are on their knees with their boyfriend on the phone pretending to be doing the laundry or something never telling the men what they are doing on the phone because they can masturbate with us in the phone and the guy never knows because playing with cunt don’t make the slapping sounds as when a guy plays with his snake. They had fallen asleep spooning, and before the door was tinkered with grandma key, he would hit the fire escape of the ghetto apartment on her bed covered with a plastic lining because she peed in bed frequently because she played with herself too much, enough hand on slit until she needed the plastic sheets and the slide effect, she got up in her school chair and arched her back with a yawn with arms in the air, and sat the way females can only do because even though girls chests are bigger their chest size is smaller when the back of the man enters the equation, and they don’t have that thing between their legz that men have that would prevent a man from sitting that way. Men true men cannot sit with an arched back, it feels quite queer to sit that way, and there are very many chair designers that design chairs just for the girly arched back effect that guys have to put in garage sales just so that prospective women come by and try out the chair on the lawn and sit like a lady all pent up inside from the feeling of sitting on leather chair that makes you feel all feminine and girlishly wet on the inside. It was very difficult to be that stunning and to have a head on the shoulders that led down to the sexiest body in the school. I guess she knew spanish too well, and I was happy she didn't choose greek, because talking greek can screw up her pretty face. I don’t like girls in veils or latex masks, now or then. It is much more beautiful to form words with your tongue as you imagine latex cameltoe on your lips, or the fine smell of PVC with fabric paint that glimmers that you dollop and pile on so high to remove the bondage marks, from black belts in the sex attack that you even have to put master shine fixer on it so the glimmering silver fabric paint doesn’t peel off from future bondage. Then the shine gets more intense, so you put more master shine on it, and you go to sleep wearing this stuff because it feels cool in the summer, and you have erotic dreams all night until it turns into a nightmare thinking of Alina on her plastic pee sheets squirming and squirting out cums multiple style as only girls can do. But in the morning the pink deflated ring floatation device that you have ontop of the PVC skirt is actually just like a skirt, but there is a chemical reaction between the translucent ringed floatation device and the master shine, and you shimmy all over the bed, trying to find the source of the toxicity, and then there it is the yellow PVC skirt has melded with the pink translucent skirt, and you are stuck. In some kind of bondage with the clothes because of your love with women, all women, any woman wearing latex is hot even if they are ugly. A man is not a man until he understands women, and part of understanding women is donning the prima donnas clothes when she has gone to put out the trash, and you hope she catches you in her stuff stuff because then maybe she can become a lipstick lesbian latex lover of guys doing her in her shiny slinky girl clothes of whatever color you want to imagine him wearing because he loves you so. Peeling away the hot pink translucent skirt from the yellow PVC silver luminescent painted master shined over yellow skirt makes a noise audible for the girl friend of the neighbor above you, so you shut the fan and turn off the morning female jock that gets you hot and bothered so you can hear the crinkling of the skirt attack your neighbor’s girlfriends ears through the floor, you want to hear what she hears, the fumes of the chemical reaction between the two fabrics, if you can call them fabrics is almost like smoking Angel Dust it has the same unnatural element to it, as if you could smell the iridescence with your iris, you wish she could smell this smell of burning shiny clothes not meant to be together and there is a disorienting high of wondering whether you will ever get your male mind back, when all you can think is the reason why you like shiny clothes is because when a women wears then she is saying she wants a special kind of attention, sexual in nature, and when women can’t ask for it, they let the clothes covering up their grooves do the speaking for them, although there are some asexual fetishists, still there are kinds like me that will provide juice to shine girl clothes since the reaching of the desired effect of equating pussy with shiny clothes from that first look at Alina when I was a Sophmore brainwashed me for life being confused whether to want the pussy or the draping around it making the glisten more alluring, needing the wet look to stop the dampness from making camel toe wetter camel toe observed by all. Anyway Italian is a romance language, and greek, well, that almost sounds arabic or russian. So I am glad she was in my Italian class. I always wanted to write poetry in Italian about her grooved beige camel shiny toe, a pattern came out when the sun came from out behind a cloud, I didn’t know whether to look in the hot twatness of the shiny butterfly cocooned deflowered flower blinding me but I had to look because the room filled up like with a fog of diffused light to the extent I could look at her pussy clothed as it was without being caught, I studied the print of the shiny pussy, the precursor of latex, the prototype for making vampires out of angels, to take something that needed no augmentation, to put the spot light of sun on the elasticity of it all, to look until drool came out and you wish you could go pound the erasers on the back board in the back board in the back of the room, to get the drool on her wet twat glistening in the sun, to have the white chalk in the air cloud the air so that all men could see in the room your drool upon her glistening shiny quim freebie brunch muff munch free lunch high noon tang of poon. Then she coughs because of the chalk and her body convulses while she sits with arched back because of unnatural school girl chair curvature, and it is like her feet are tied, and she is stuck in your presence because education isn’t really why any of us are there, we want to see the hot girl run across the campus yard in the rain until her Jordache designer new dark blue jeans get wet until some guy says you better buy see thru plastic pants to cover it up so your legs don’t get all raw and inflamed and irritated by wet crotch effect of dampness caught in the rain with improper clothes. All these thoughts went through my head, while I confined my eyes under my hands and pretended at times to be looking at the calendar on the wall over her shoulder, it was good to be a restless and to be known as a geeky squirmer, to have the idiocy of youth to be fascinated in all things, so I studied her poon tang shine in the sun hoping for a sun shower so she would be wet and the sun with all it’s rainbow of Technicolor magnificence would blind me forever, to become a perpetual masturbator of two fisted fury closing my mindseye on her shiny spit shined up slitness. I was famous for taking pictures with my eyes, which is prerequisite for being a writer, which is quite natural, camels are beige aren't they, but they have a propensity to sporadically spit at men in particular, men treat camels quite brutishly, and rub them the wrong way all the time, because they like to see camels spit. But which is the right way to rub a camel? And just what makes it so easy to rub a latex camel toe? Male or female the pearl jam froth is the same, but we are talking about female camels here, beige ones mistreated by men left out in the rain of the desert because it gets so hot and humid and sticky in the desert the camel don’t know better than their master, so they are left out in the rain, and it is not acid rain that is going to eat away their putrid public fur that everyone can see, this is like the natural pure aquifiered water of the sky in a land where there is no pollution because peeps don’t live in the desert for the wars over the years, all the wells have been poisoned, and fields been salted if there is even good earth anywheres, so the camels kind of get into it, they get on all fours, and hold their head up to suck the pee of god rain down coming on their mouth, as their tail is between their legs, camel do have tails too though right, yeah, in fact if you look right at a camel toe sometimes you can see the chubbyness of ass just above if you are right behind behind upside down stuffing taxidermic style some beastial imaginings where the camel is not a woman, but a woman being stuffed like a lifeless rag doll with pig tails bouncing over their fuzzy ears. Herders shepphards all fuck their sheep, and when women wear those fancy wool sweaters above their leather pants, the wool has had cum all over it, meant for her. You don’t want to impregnate any sheep and have more sheepy slave type mutants walk the earth, it is better to live one day as a lion than a hundred years as a sheep, even if you have to pull out of the sheep to not make some mythological creature, like the way the central American Indians thought the conquistadors were half horse and half man, that is why they lost that war and a few thousand conquistadors took over all of Central and South America, the horse dick power of the illusion of the women must have had being Queen Victoria-ed by a horse with a dick more than a foot long donkey dick fantasy impregnation scenario where even if there was such a thing as time travel these fine shortys wouldn’t ever even think of using glow in the dark magnum condoms on the conquistador donkey dick in shining armor of the middle ages with visor blocking the glint of the sun so they could lean to the side in the saddle and see a great deal of the multi colored glow in the latex condom pistoning in and out of the Latina pussy, in and out, in and out…. She wonders why the shephard has given her the free sweater, but it isn’t her booby nipples with small areola postale poking out through the stitching, or the bra straps of clear plastic that pop through the shoulders, he is staring at her cum covered body from his spermicidal ecstasy imagining fucking her with a plastic bag over her head and kissing her until her face turns blue. To get her to the point of death, with tongues slithering touching between a plastic kiss of death. Then the dizziness disorientates and like strangulation INXS an edging of ecstasy with the power of death life death French kiss guilletine moment where the grim reaper comes with scythe, and then your man at the point of your last multiple orgasm, he has kept count, men are good with numbers, he debags your head and lets you breathe in rapture of the brink of coming in a plastic fantasy where trying to get to the sum that never seems to cum, because you can’t cum anymore, but you have to cum or you will die, so you must cum, but you can’t cum because you have to, so you have to as a girl imagine something that’ll make you come, or force you to cum, like a great writer may want you to cum for him because you are scared of his power and can never be with him because only he has the power to break your heart so, that is why when you are with your sheep man you have to think of someone else you might want to come for, someone who might have total power of controlling you and your orgasm, to bring you to life with a cum, to set you free from your bondage to the clothes you wear to keep him true to you, and if this man is non existent, if there is no man on this earth that you can think of to get you to cum, if there is no man powerful enough to mindfuck cyberspace alien abduction you will die. So you think of him, a man who knows you inside and without, knows what it takes for you to cum so you can live, one who is a beast, an animal, bestial in nature and can touch you from here, with a dick as wide as a iced coke can and as long as asparagus shoots that make you shit blood once he is done fucking your latex covered ass, he takes the plastic bag off your pretty face and you lean over and lick the perspiration on his shoulders like real man would make you feel, licking his latex induced sweat for replenishment, happy with no other thoughts in your head other than joy ecstasy, and rapture when heaven descends to eradicate all your fake made up problems of a life without drama embellished to make other people believe you are damaged goods, when you know damn well you are perfect in your latex taut tight body to body sweaty body on his hairless chest not even heaving because you are out of breath from cumming for him again and again, because he cares enough about you to let you live and let you live in perpetual joy, an immortal perpetual mummy of latex bondage… because he has taken the time to understand you because you wear latex. This is the only reason why he has let you cum because you like latex, I mean you can’t even put a sentence together, all you want to do is cum cum cum and cum all over your mutual bodies, because women need to free their bodies from out of their sexual bondage but they never find a man they can trust to let loose with, so they never let loose until they meet their Soulmaker, the one that makes them able to write form sentences, because even though he is only with you because he saw you in shined up clothes, which told him he could dominate you, now that you have used sex as a weapon on him, he is addicted to controlling your cums, and he comes to care about you, because you are a precious female, worthy of such a man, and with the love of you, he learns to love you even without latex, because latex is just for the eye, yes it is true life isn’t about sex it is about being sexy, that is why there is an X in LATEX, but the Latex was just a lure, now that you got him here in your where ever you are, your four poster bed with hand cuffs attached to your sides, he peels the latex off your body and the skin on skin effect is marvelous, it is better than silk, plastic, anything, a healthy woman without freckles and good skin that eats right has a velvet skin like baby oil all over, up and down round and round, and his hairless body of marble that has a different solidity to it, like a statue made out of melted down conquistador armor. The touch of a lover who cares about you, who knows where he licks to touch you because you have let him know where you like to be touched, and you never repeat here your G spot is again because he knows you inside and out and cares about giving you the best orgasm possible, skin on skin on plastic sheeted bed, with knowing caresses of kisses of lips full with perfect teeth behind nibbling on your nubbin till you say stop and then and only then five minutes more of this camel latex toe fantastic ecstasy, because the most important thing in life is to be touched by a hand that loves you, all of you, especially even the dumb quirks all women seem to have. This is why you cum so hard because you found a man that accept your love of latex, not the shininess of it, but the fact that it has to be shined. All other men suddenly seem to not to exist, and all you can do is think about your master, even when you are with him, but especially when he is not, because life is full and he is dragged away from you from time to time, and then when love is gone, you write to him you write for him, you tell him your fantasy of being plugged by a fine tool but a pool aboard a diving board, as he dives into your muff to get you wet to get you slick so you can get the donkey dick effect on a personal floatation device taut with air you lay on and get stuffed from sausage with skin of velvet health mojo, in the sun for the neighbors to voyeuristically hear your squeal as he puts his stink in you on you and draining your mind of fake loves that only brought you pain, erasing all the stupid idiots in life that didn’t love you like you wanted to be loved and touched and kissed and caressed, and when he has cum into you without the latex condom because you so desperately want a replica of his jeans in your tum growing into a man a master of women and a leader of men, then after he has fucked you on this wetted down plastic hot pink personal floatation device, and he cannot cum for you anymore, then he straps on a strap on and puts a strap on on because all white chicks like dick even of plastic up their bums covered not in LATEX but in lamb skin to deplume deflower your brickhouse velvet underground like a chimney sweep aught, for the female cunt look just like a sheep’s, so he has to turn you over in the sun to do you well with a dick that never tires, a plastic cock covered in lamb skin scum bag to royally do you anal as you wish your deepest fear, the sun is hot it tightens your skin as in the rash a woman gets right before and around the time she comes all over her breasts and chest, with hair follicles, little blonde hair all over your tight taut body the sunburn of Indian summer comes and the skin gets tighter and there is that tingle of a butterfly fly by flower all over your skin, so as he fucks you in your tight caboose you know it won’t loosen, because he is rimming you with a finger while the strap on in is in, so he controls your ass sphincter to the point where he knows and is knowledgeable enough to do you up their with out giving you hemorrhoids, so you don’t walk for the rest of your life funny because some disrespectful guy busted your butt for a 5 minute “O” and he is at the bottom of the muscle ridge of the interior of your fine otherworldly ass making circles with his loving hand’s finger tips touching your pussy through ass wall, the sugar walls jism and contract, whispering n your ear about the first time he set eyes on you, what you wear wearing because first impressions stick don’t they? He is doing you so well as if when you come this time you will spit out all your ovaries and lose your mother hood because you are a dirty little whore, but this time he covers your tingling skin with baby oil, he read your mind, he knows what you need, so it doesn’t feel so tight and tingly, from the sunburn of voyeuristic pool side neighborhood looky look fuck, so it just feels nice and feels right, the blonde bimbos in non shiny bikinis he keeps for his friends are side by side of the diving board in the water splashing water on your fornicating sodomistic bodies gyrating because he planned everything right, he dove into your diary to find the time of the month for best to fuck you with so that you won’t be bleeding anymore for nine months, that last multiple orgasm he gave you on the plastic sheets in the body oils and velvet skin of the power of the fountain of youth, he has given you the child to transform you from a whore to be a responsible mother, it takes a HO to become a mom, all women have to dress in LATEX to attract rich men, men who are their own bosses and make money from using their minds, women have to whore to mother, and the ones without children ask why? That is because they don’t understand men enough to know we like our women to play dress up and act like whore when we know they are not whores, they are good women, so good they are sitting on powder kegs of dynamite sexuality, and the better the person you are the more the TNT builds up under the girl like Fort Knox of liquid gold girl juice jisming for him. She is happy she busted the lock on her diary so you know every detail about her specific feminine mystique until he got her under his thumb, and there is no mist in her mystique. Even if you are a submissive sheep of a female in your little lamb of a side of beefy ass bulbous from too much cumming and too much female girl juice of hormonal man controlled cumming that because he is a man and lets you cum for him, he makes a woman out of you, a mother, a wifey, a trophy of perfection, a slave and a Mistress of dens of pleasure and dens of pain game. Anyways, rule of thumb says if camels spit it at the shephard it means they actually like you, they don't care which way you rub them, they are camels all the way from their sleeping hoods over their little heads down to their toes, of which I am told they have four, but who keeps could of how many fingers, or appendages they have on display on their cameltoes, anyways, it is difficult to count the toes because they are always moving, grooving to some music in their head, they do a little dance, and plus they are in the desert and so their appendages are buried, sunk or sinking in sand constantly, a quick sand of mud that makes suctioning sounds of evil non stop flight to oblivion even though naturalists have rugs to prevent the camel toes sinking feeling, still these are heavy beasts laden down with the finest silk from the far east, so all that shiny fabric from what is it? The juice from the mulbury I mean mulberry plant, that the worms fashion silk out of? Burry or berry I am not sure, I have never studied the berry of that silk production plant, I mean if I did, I would probably try to study that slippery little berry better by breaking off a branch to poke around with later on when I am counting camel toe, you see this well heeled man is quite a multi tasker, in a way, I can do many things at the same time, geez I've got two hands, and many fingers I like to keep buried in on important work, I have to stay busy, constantly for the devil finds things to do with idle hands, and we don't want that, so we have to use what god gave us, and operate and stay busy counting on camel toe, but my mind keeps drifting back to Alina and her beige covered grooved almost corduroy plastic pussy. Well, I think I am gonna smoke another cig because I am lost in horny reverie, looking back always to my first introduction to pussy through camel toe. Camel toe you can't count on though, it is never there when you want it so it quite happens by accident, a sudden movement, an innocent shifting of hips to avoid the seam from riding sometimes has the opposite effect it just makes it ride higher into the hilt, but what can a girl do? She likes tight pants, for the guys to stare repeatedly, intermittently, and often, focusing on.... um, yeah, because she likes the attention, she hass to wear tight pants, and then she has to put up with the camel toe, and sometimes the guy she really likes doesn't notice her so she has to lift the waistband higher until the low rider latex pants cover her belly button and up into the seam the clit keeps getting rubbed from the process and she just gets frustrated because she feels all alone in a crowded room, she doesn't notice that all these other guys are checking her out, because she is focused on his eyes, saying to the girls that he has nice eyes, there is nothing beautiful about his eyes, she just likes his eyes because she likes to look at where the eat up her body with gulpfuls of glances like that first time she noticed him noticing her, because of the crease wedge thingy poon quim squirm thang, and she thought he would like her for her hot twat but, she is frustrated, not knowing whether to pull the pants down to relieve the tension or to pull it back up again? Back and forth back and forth greasing the crease inadvertantly, waiting for his beautiful eyes to notice she has a spot right in her fat heart, her full fat heart for him, a genuine ever growing spot, good thing she isn't wearing panties, maybe she can turn him on to a new fetish? A wet camel toe. But he is wearing sunglasses, so she doesn’t know what he is looking at so she is like a plant that grows strange because lack of light, not knowing how to act because she doesn’t know what behavior she does he likes so she does them all, displays her snatch in a variety of poses. Where was I? Oh I had my hand all ontop of your pants, or inside of it. Spelling letters, numbers you like, or the word lust or love with your finger, sex or dick, like I wish a dick was here and then point at your wetness or writing my name on your slick sleek camel toe, but, whaat? You don’t know my name? You mean you let a stranger play with your latexed up camel toe? Bad girl you are going to need a spanking for stranger to have had his hand all over this soppy mess slippery under the latex for a quickie at work, but I never spanked a girl wearing latex, so you are going to have to guide me through it, just tell me how you like to be spanked, do you want my hand on your peachy ass or do you want the safety of the hermetic seal of latex to keep my masculine dog germs out of your many many canals? We can only hope Alina finds some guy to lap up the mess, things can get quite sticky down there, and to get all that ooze on the fingers it is quite unbecoming the lady, and then to wipe off this cream, this jazzy jism rhythm, it just doesn't come off you know you have to have a guys lap it up and eat it down, up and down, side to side, back and forth, fast and faster slow, because you just can't throw out girl cum, or flush it down the toilet, it is unrecyclable, and so it must be assimilated, even though eating pussy loaded with all those female hormones is bad for boys, men aren't meant to drink their piss, or really ever swallow their best friends girlfriends cum, no, then that would not be a very masculine activity if it led to consuming feminine juice .... yeah so girls need girlfriends to lap up all that pearl rubbed so hard it turned into foam, because if you play with it too long those little bubbles pop, and we don't like the sound of pussy popping. Well I better send this, because I may lose my connection, but I hear Alina is planning to wear pink latex pants tomorrow and go riding a bike in the park, you know those camera phones come in handy when you want to see what you saw again, and business cards come in handy when you can't get a guys to clean up wet cameltoe, and only a girl would do it, because it is safe for girls to eat pussy, no guys want to turn into girls after all from eating too much puss.
_________________



……The next time I saw taut stuff was when I went to my homeland. I was not yet 18. I remember totally leaving my family at the docks of Trieste, Yugoslavia. Yugoslavia was communist. They had gas pump guys dressed up like super Mario, in yellow jumpers out of Anime fabric. Life is a game, a video game at that. They should have masturbation channels on the TV like they do for guys, in fact every channel is a masturbation channel of masturbitrices. I ordered some soup and I got one pea in it and some bacon fat. It was the best this old Italian city could offer under Tito's thumb. Well back to the port. I just saw a girl in unpolished latex, she was a whore it was neon blue, original style, the pink pockets were so small they were only there for ornamentation, and the stitching of the pockets was futuristic and so tightly bound man hands couldn’t feel around in, maybe a guy could tuck his penis in those little pink pockets, but there is that chance a guy could become a permanent member of her latex pants by getting his member stuck in her penis pockets, and then dragged around fa eva following this girl’s latexed ass as if attached from the hip to the groin. I knew I would find my family again, so I followed latex ass whore where ever it would lead. It was nice I saw her pick up a guy, and then I did rendezvous with my family no one ever the wiser about my fetish. Another time I saw latex girls on the street, she was with a rich man who knew what he wanted and she was going to give it to him. They were getting a hot dog outside the Museum of natural history on the upper west side, and it was red shined up latex, perhaps from all the sperm collection those pants had done in the past, some sisterhood of the traveling latex pants deal of sperm collection to shine the red of the latex uber good, making them brand new with pearly strings of guy cum, because the color hadn't drained out of it from too much washing away of sperm, she wanted the stink of the various beasts she had let mount her, because she wanted the timid guys to be repelled in fear of the men she had coupled with. These sperm collection device red latex pants only had to have the best guy jism on em, for ass to be territory to marked so guys could tell a mile away what cum looks like, other guys fertile virile cum, some women don’t even know what guy cum looks like so it was a signal from one woman to all men, back away unless you have the best seed on the earth, the rest of the women are oblivious to the butt shine of her assy ass ass. I didn't think about these things. The cool cat was eating a hot dog. They went into the museum and I followed her blindly. They went all around the exhibits I knew so well, so fortunately I didn't have to glance around at the stuffy display booths. They ended up by a red wood tree cut down in california, maybe a giant sequoia, either way it was a huge tree and the soon to be rich girl obviously liked the girth of the trunk. They caught on to me, because, obviously she was an experienced botonist and wanted to inspect his tree in his trunks. I had to get out of there. Another time, I remember these fondly by the way, I was on Madison Avenue, where in the day time the best looking women in the world walk the streets. My mother in her late thirties then was now working for Marimekko on Madison ave, since she no longer could model, she could sell the clothes because she was an expert on fabrics and Finnish tongue. I went out to get something to eat, and across the street was a purplish latexed girl, er woman, and I followed her wiggley butt the way to the Whitney museum before getting right up behind her and getting the eyeful I desired. It was a long walk down the Whitney, and I felt so bad with every step going back to mom that I decided no matter if it was gold latex bondage pants with buckles in silver and black, I would never stalk another woman again.

Anyway as you can see I start telling a story about my trip to Italy when I was 16 and I end up following the hooker that makes me reminisce all the times I saw Latex in the wild. One of the biggest mistakes I ever made in life was not going to a ZZTOP concert. My brother and our good friend Motor went there, and Motor wasn't even into Latex, but he told me how just about every girl wanted to get backstage p ass, and had the back stage pass all over their ass wrapped in an assortment of latex color. I would figure all those girls would have broken out into some foot woship of the blues men, doing tongue calesthenics with four on the floor to see who had the longest tongue to swab the rock gods snake skin texicali boots with steel tipped shoes, if I was god and I could construct a heaven I would be the male dancer on the stage with my shirt off and getting the sloppy seconds of the latex clad vixens as the came from a quick cum, just moments after they had the Hollywood fuck of a life time. They would be putty in my hands so mesmerized by greatness they wouldn’t even see me do what ever I did with them, because they wouldn’t know I was there, I could get away with anything, maybe I could outright steal their pussy quim quim natural vibrator and have a collection of vibrating pussies I could use to massage my back with when I have written and perfected porn for too long. Yeah go to the closet and get out my collection of swiped poon tang, and put it all over my back, my face, my pelvis, everywhere covered in the flesh of perfect pussy of only hot femmes inquire within. No no, keep the uncomfortable shoes on, yes that's it and keep jumping. You gotta do what you gotta do if you want to meet the band. Funny the only guy without a beard in ZZTOP has the last name of Beard, I think he is the drummer, but I missed that concert.

So after Trieste, which used to be a part of Italy, we went to Austria, where I got my second glimpse at camel toe. At 16 I was the size I am now, but this girl that I saw made me feel so small. She was with a man, and I didn't like him at all, I didn't care if they spoke the same language, I spoke the language of camel toe, not that I knew what it was called. Whatever it was called, it was a good thing to be around. Walking around the store you figured with the denim seam would get her wet. I waited for that moment. She was wearing denim in a type of Germanic lederhosen style, so it had buckles, and straps, and she had pulled her jeans all the way up past her hips to accent the crevicing. To see the hip bones protrude like Summer's body was quite the thrill, stretched taut over the depressions hills and valleys of her frontal pubic bone, and pelvis tilt, so sexy. I pretended to buy some sausages. Anyways later on in the car we had to look for a room to sleep under goose feathers, eiderdown. But everywhere they went were these damn camera shops. They didn't look like camera shops, but then after a while my father said this is the place. It was another camera shop, and I am like how can we get goosed in a camera shop? He was like, no, David, camera means room in Austria, and then it hit me, I wish I had bought a camera in a camera shop to take a picture of the Aryan 6 foot plus Austrian brown haired leaderhosen style jean camel toe girl because well in dwarfing me by her heritage of Frankensteinism of breeding for exagerated hip and pelvis bone, as well as the public bone, it was at about my face level, to see exotic jean camel toe up close, like I had a sherlock holmes magnifying glass and I could see public hair coming out of the zipper, I wondered if she had on underwear. I didn't know what panties were yet, for all I knew women wore boxers and briefs like me. Of course her ass was riding uppa high too, but I had seen plenty of ass in my life, just not monsterous exaggerated whatever it was called. It was simply groovey.

There is this episode on Seinfeld, where a bad breaker upper tells Elaine that her head is too big. A bord in Central Park then flies into her head. I bought a David Gilmor album, whom really was Pink Anderson and Floyd Council, the band, for Sid Barrett was nothing. The album art had a cover of birds flying down to him playng guitar sitting on a rock at a beach or on an isle. That as when I realised that for a time there birds liked to fly directly over my head. I am not saying that I have a big head or something, In fact to be honored to get out of hell, one has to have a small head, which I am sure you all believe that I think I am hot shit, but I am really a modest guy, why, whne walking an old woman across the street I rifled her purse.

Anyways, so last night at 3 something the birds started singing and woke me up. After 3 days of no sex there was a blue movie on cable called THE GIRLS FROM BIKINI, so I had to look, even though I knew I wasn't supposed to because one of my CALVES was like hurting the day before badly from looking at porn, but they all had on new outfits and alot of pink, so I couldn't look away. So I went to sleep after about an hur of being teased, and then I woke up to the birds singing mysteriously at 3:30 something.

Then something told me something was going to happen. I felt a bubbling up of energy into my ass, from out of my legs because legs are sexuality, all sexual energy is stored in the legs, and if you get too sexual it takes over the body.

Anyways, they knew I would be unable to deter my eyes from the BIKINI team of the CIA, and what it felt like was this.

It felt like a good sized brocoli head was going up my ass, into my colon, and it took over my whole body. After the whole thing subsided, and my body had chills and goose pimples, then I turned on the radio to see what I was supposed to do. The radio quickly told me to get the fuck out of there, and before I did, I laid on my stomach and pointed my heels at the sky, and I felt a good energy doing that. I had gone to sleep facing the other way in my bed which is what you are supposed to do from time to time, but i save up moments of new aspects in relation to the celestial bodies and my bed, and I knew tonight something was going to happen so I tuned into different gravitational fields, and felt the magnetism f the iron in my hemoglobin be polarized from the opposite side of the mafgnetic poles, and then I went to the television for directions. Frazier was on, he was talking to Lillith, and Frazier said, something about making a mess, or if I do that I will make a mess, and then his ex wife, says, yes, it is ok, if you make a mess we will just clean it up.

You can go an hour, but it is better to get it done in 45 minutes, as the sexual energy builds too great and spoils the next day, so at about 45 minutes, I did as requested, and then I laid down.

Then I woke up with wood really bad, and I was pissed, there goes my dream of being a girl. The damn thing would not go away as usual after about 2 hours I decided to put my feet up and point my fingers up at the sky above my feet to drain the sexual energy out of my feet and also have the healing powers of my index fingers above every other part of my body. Then I flipped around sat on my belly and rotated my ankles in a cirles both ways with the feet supinated and flexed, and there was some good energy there. I ain't hitting my taint again and losing my manhood again, however the fantasy of become a woman was not realized, I realised. nd that was depressing. I think I am supposed to hold my breath until Father's day now. Also I forgot to do pyramidical Caliper moves on my passion extension, so the 45 mnute experience wasn't healing that all, so, this after noon Orson Wells told me to go play the skin flute and so I did, applying reverse strokes and changes angels and everything and counting to 24.

The clouds vanished and NYC is hot again.

What you are not married, you are sooooo done. Consider yourself done, take the thermometer out. I was going to do you anyways, marriage bands are really just boner makers anyways, the tabu. Women only want a man when he has got a wifey trophy and they want to destroy him and kill a perfectly happy marriage through circumnavigation of defenses of perfectly painted white picket fences, alarm systems, fierce dogs that answer to steaks, and back doors that are always swinging but somehow never slamming when hubby gets home.

What I am saying is that Moses stole the ten commandments from like the Egyptians, and I guess he only got off with a few of the tablets, for the Egyptians had far more rules. As far the Christianity, I totally agree, Christianity is a time mnachine of perfection of femininty, like a genie in a bottle that never gets old. God protects these fine women, and I predict that Christian girls will win the war of the womb and not even by providing soldiers for the battlefield to decided whose god is in the next generations mind. I totally believe in Pentacostal women who are lining up at sperm donor clinics to get doses of flagellum from men they fear, but must incubate in their tummies to keep this shp of humanity afloat. Button noses rule this world, and the Christian women living in land away from the sharks of the oceans have got a monopoly on the future, them and their blonde hair, curtains drapes, everything, with freckles.

What do I believe in? I will never convert, instead I will get a convertable couch and lay as many distaffs as I possible can, because now I have been "programmed" to desire to impregnate every female I see walking on the street, especially the ugly ones, so perfect babies can come from them, and they aren't miserable.

But if I am of the faith of the Christian conversion couch, then I would say I am more Anglican than Pentacostal. I think the English have it right, men can wear female clothes, and it is more erotic for hot men to wear girl clothes since most females are lesbians, especially the finest ones, and strap ons always pop out and bisexual females are just going to have to get used to the Anglican lesbian reality that men who cross dress don't have to wear strap ons.

It is about eliminating the middle man, and since I am possessed by the Holy Ghost, I refute Pentacostal Christianity, thank you for telling me what I needed to know and pointing me in the right direction to freeze hell over, so, to answer the initial question... what do I believe in? WELL NOW YOU KNOW.

I have to go wash my panties now and hang them to dry. That woolite is great for problems like those.

Um, the other person was like who the hell I am. Well, I am proud of you people not being addicted to porn surfing, and blogging about yourself, and you are interested in the exchange of ideas. The person above does not know that I have loads of underground writing for free on the internet and has no idea who Vampariah is. That is cool. When you start at the top all you can do is go downwards. It did not make sense for me to try to climb higher in life. I went down. Since the earliest ages I have had famous people sit at my table, and with wit teach me how to speak and say things the way minds that come from something would present somebody who is someone, someone who has the audacity to even go against the grain of what convention would dictate would be appropriate to say. I have had these modest icons sit at my table and be. When I am approached with fame I do not ask for an autograph, I know what to do with these paparazzi chased beings, include them in life the way it was before someone said HEY THEY GOT SOMETHING NO ONE ELSE HAS, and their life changed forever.

Fame comes from the word hunger in Italian, it is fame. To be an athlete you need hunger to win, to receive fame, but as an artist you need a different kind of hunger, you have to live without for when with the muse the poem never gets written, and so hunger, is not allowing things fa ya self, because if we feed the hunger then we are animals, if we deny ourselves these feedings then we are gods, and icons, and we become something more than nature intended.

Hell, is hell neccessary? Yes Hell is neccessary in this reality. We won't need hell in the future. Hell serves a very important sevice these days, the pretend wars, the pretend evil, the bubble of peace has decended, and the focus of the media on horrors is to get us humans seekign peace, like a man may walk away from a bickering campifire instead of telling the HOOK story, and pretending to not to have a hand, and scare all the little kids, instead of that the man goes insearch of where his echo comes from, he shouts, he sings, he listens, and he follows the neck of the woods from where he hears somethng with almost the same power as him, and he will face a chasm, he will see the placid water below, and when he turns his foot on a pebble and the scraping sound is amphitheatre amplified, then he knows he is alone, and he speaks: "A man could get used to this." He says. The echo repeats what he says and he is surprized he got an echo from life, in the emptiness, it is the emptiness that collects the sounds waves and then throws them back at you. The fire will always be there.

Oh, and now I see you said Hell isn't neccessarily a bad thing, I thought you asked if hell was neccessary. Um, no hell is quite foul, and hopeless. The only thing that I had going for me unlike other poeple that slip into hell, is that I systematically went in there burrowing tunnel after tunnel with bare hands fascinated how the dirt was shit and the shit was dirt, and the more I played with the dirt and shit the more I became one with the earth and became a shit and at one with the dirt. Going into hell on purpose is different than others who because of lack of information do not even know where the hell entrance is, get stuck in hell, because they were unprepared. It takes a lifetime to prepare for hell. You need to know the name of every muscle in your body, every bone, and the physiology of the body, because it is simply a matter of body snatching. And to get the body back you have to know how the body works, and how it doesn't work, shitting in your pants and walking the streets in the center of the road where no one can smell you because your body is not yur own.

Oh He is tough, he walks in the center of the street, who does he think he is? He thinks he is better.

No I am worthless, my underwear is yellow as well, this great body is not my own, my skin it peels, and the sunlight has caused an explosion in my face, like there was some fossil fuel there and the sun caught fire to it. No one will hit me with their car, they see me a long ways off like a wounded animal dressed in black, limping, dragging a leg because it is stuck in hell. Th only hope I had was that I enetered hell to prove I could get out so that all of you had no fucken reason to complain about life, because I am tired about all of your apathy and complaints. LIfe is beautiful. Hell isn't bad for men either, women ar eto put men through hell, to make them marinated so they can get married, because a man isn't worth a dman if he doesn't face the evil in himself and beat the shit out of it, because when we walk the streets the kids they know none of this and we have to stand their in the sunlight and look like shit and speak such pleasant things and teach them how to carry on when it all seems so hopeless and pointless having lost the race so bad and so quickly, in an instant one momentary lapse of reason and you have slipped into hell. But you stand ij front of the kids and they run up to you like you are going to make a coin appear behind their ears or something, because the magic trick of life, is that everyone over thirty knows, that it is a mess after that. Life is a mess, everyone finds their own personal hells by then, but by forty we all got it figured out, because we are fucken smart, all of us have been put through the god process, even the blacks, just less so for them. Everyone has gone through what I have gone through in a past life, 100 years back, 300 years back, 1,200 years back, we all have come from someone that could level a great city if they felt like it, or caused a great flood too, or let loose a really bad hurricane season that people talk about for hundreds of years. We all come from someone that had the power of god, and that power of god comes from Hell. All of us are hell spawn, but that is just evolution baby.

I said you were right, and always right. And then you said no, that is not true. You admitted being false. Then you turn around and you say you don't like that idea either.

Women are always right because they think for two always, they are always with child at all tiiimes in their lives, except when they dry up. Men have shit behind their belly buttons, women have a galaxy up in there. In fact, the ovaries, all those eggs past the fallopian tubes are like not even inside any container. There are seeds just hanging out in the abdomen,, like under the lung and all.

Women are always right because they don't think. It is people who think that are wrong. Tamara used to say I always was staying home in the dark analyzing shit and filling socks with goo.

Some things you don't have to think about, hesitation is not always the best answer, the gut reaction is best, it is an intuition that leads women to always doing the right thing and ending up with the wrong man. Women know better than to be with the man they really love. Real love hurts, and a boyfriend they don't fear is a safe thing. Women don't like to take chances, they are preservers of life on the planet and inside of them, this is why they are such a delicacy, yum.

Women are always right, because as soon as they make one mistake and are wrong once they lose their femininity, they lose their perfection, then they get dried up. Women shouldn't become vampires. That is nasty, women should be preyed on by vampires, mind fucked until they can't walk, and then with the knowledge of how ot stay young for ever, then they can go about their day, doing wrong and hurting people and being selfish, because they can get away with it. Females having such a fine fashion sense always look good, come out smelling like flowers, no matter what they do, they can do no wrong. They are women.

It is part of the process to molest boys to turn them gay and to make them walk with the power of the holy ghost as saviors for the next generation. Sacrificing children is part and parcel with civilization. They can't stop it, but they learn to ontrol it. I have heard people tell me about what it is like to molest someone, they feel like they are puppets, doing what was done to them to others sadistically.

Gay people don't like being gay, and they become part of the workforce to create a better future, this is why children are sacrificed, people have to know how delicate life is, otherwise how can any of us be protectors or know what to look for as in terms of trouble. In the future, molestors will not be needed to function in society with their puppet role from the past, kicking a dog when they come home from work because the boss kicked them. Abuse is a cycle yes, but soon their will be a cycle of love, and love is more powerful than evil, but love has to know evil for heaven to descend.

I don't think it is called murder sunspots. murder is the casting of the first stone. We did not murder Hitlers legions, we killed them, they murdered the Jews 6 million of them a 5 million other ethnic minorities. They let the lesbians live however, think a germanic Messiah could come along and transform lesbians into male loving creatures. That is what Messiahs do, they can change peoples sexuality with the know how of the fetish. I can use a fetish to do an exorcism on someone and make them be sexually attracted to anything. If you don't want to be gay, or if you want to be gay I can teach you how to be trained to lust after what ever I want you to lust after.

And as far as the development of the thread, which has taken a departure from the original threadstarter, and somehow it is "not off topic" hmmmmmm, ????

I think there is universal immorality, and the reasons ride deep, as I outlined horrifically before aboveformentioned.

I THINK I WAS not crucified in life because I was hot, or talented, I don't think it has anything to do with me physically, it is a total spiritual reason I was crucified, and people like me who had great ideals.

People who are role models cannot walk in the streets on courts, in businesses, or in classrooms proud as peacocks unknowing of the evil that men do. You take a great man, the best of the best, and you destroy him perfect him, denurture him, and let him know that the darkness of life is not when the sun sets, it is under the magnificence of the sun that evil lurks.

They used to say, what makes a morning person a morning person. It is a horror show the people that have to get up in the morning and do the shit jobs of life. Morning people are all over the place, they ar ein mourning, they are dead creatures alking about under the cover of the sun as wraiths. The night has a beauty of safety of shoulders that no one shoves for might makes right, and the kids are all in bed, and everyone is safe, and evil goes to sleep because good loses one fight in its life, once good know what the fight is about, good smply can never lose again. Their whole life is bent towards preserving themself so that they can stand for the ones whom cannot defend themself.

Yeah, I am on heroin, because I have a hero in.

12 Jun 07 5:29 am

I don't know anything about Sartre. I cannibalize philosphers, I don't remember which head I cut off of whom, or what mask of face I am borrowing tomorrow, I am the 6 milliion dollar man of philosophizers.

Um, I mean even anyone can say something really cool, that is what I like, unknown people, underrated people.

People teach you things in life, how to blow a bubble, how to whistle without one, how to successful go to the bathroom and do number two. You would be surprized how much I c an learn just by changing my approach. I once forgot to put ,ilk in my coffee, and it threw me off so bad, that I forgot to put the sugar in also, and I was like wow, that tastes good. Doing things like taking a shower left handed, you can almost drown, is like stepping into a shower and truning on the water surprized the nozzle is on. Lately, the past two days, after I ball awhile I take a warm shower to loosen the muscles, but then when my body is all heated and almost reddish, I will tunr the water to cool, because it is still spring and the water is ice cold upstate NY water, and it feels so contrasty. Then I will end wigth my head in the cold very cold water.

I am addicted to going through life and always trying to find some other way to do something, like crossing the street is a big adventure. I'll go up to a sign on the sidewalk and I'll grip it with two hands and shake the fuck out of the post iuntil the sign makes a flopping sound. The yuppies with their dates in the sidewalk restaurants look and wish they could be a child at 40 like me. My brother thinks they are successful. I think not. Life is about doing whatever the fuck you want whenever you want and in front of everyone and nobody. Hey, I was supposed to be dead, this is all gravy.

Um, I have seen diagrams of temples of the originator of the MOnostheistic god, and I have seen their hats, I have come to understand their secret ceremonies, and it is basically all about phallic stuff.

The Jews have all this devotion to the penis, and sex, and Magick. That is all that religion comes from, the Western World and the Mid East.

There are more reasons to obfuscate religions messages, but I won't get into that. They are stories that Madison Avenue commercial writer during bong hits bash and laugh to themselves like they are insane.

Make people in fear to be good. That is what religion is, and there ain't no god anyways. I know. We are the gods. The Beta people, well, nah. I guess everyone can't be alpha and have life sliced up and dissected for ya, we need sheep, we need religion, and for me....

I don't care anymore, I don't care about me, or doing the right thing for my kids, because I see the problem with this earth is that everyone is so damn freaken concerned about success they don't even know how to redefine success. All of the gentic problem you people have with your ticks or your hysteria, it comes from poeple long ago trying to dot all their I's and cross all their T's, and so we have people that have to be like superman and hide in phone booths and then come out as "normal people"

Unfortuantely we have the insane in the streets and they have no walls to hide behind. Their forbears followed religion and tried to make them as best they could and they just over did it. The problem with religion and trying to be gods is that gods don't have to try to be gods, they just are, and the Beta people whom fall into the afterlife, when they learn that in irder for them to be reborn they have to reconfigure and reanimate their virility they begin to have this tremendous concern for their offspring since LIncoln and the Bible both said a house divided cannot stand. People try too hard when they come back from the dead and then their children turn crazy. I am stopping the game for me, I am releasing the fear, and if I die or if my kids turn out wrong, so the fuck what, perfection only gets persecuted anyways, so they gotta come up with the crucifiction stories to have us know that when a god comes down the street it is time to bow down and pick up a rock for a public stoning. That is what perfection gets, it gets shown the door.

I have done my best to be a whole house, so me and the kids in my feet cab stand together, but I am going to do what I want when I want and I am going to stop living in fear, doing things religiously, and if god strikes me down, please do so, because this is soooooooooooo not life. It is heaven if I will it to be.