Babydoll and the Great Choice

Tuesday September the 21th. Doll made breakfast. Me and Sylvia hung out. I had my head in my hands and my elbows on the table. Sylvia was trying to cheer me up. Doll turned around and asked me what's wrong Babydoll. I told her! I said my life is so boring! They started laughing. Like I said the funniest thing. Grown-ups have no idea! It's terrible. Sylvia said "how can your life be boring, you're the only twelve year old pimp girl ever." I looked at her through my hands. I said every morning I go to school, I am with my girls ten minutes and have to listen to boring bullshit fifty minutes. They play stupid films all the time. They ask stupid questions. It's a waste of time. Just because all the other kids are lame it means we can't talk about anything important and I can't take my stone even. I haven't even shown Chris or Key my stone yet Doll! Sylvia looked at Doll. Doll said "she's getting straight A's, you know" It's true, too. Mz Rice-Davies gave me an A in social sciences because I raised my hand right before class because she says we should always bring her real world issues and I asked her if it is true Hitler invented that in order to make omelet you have to break eggs or is it true that Hitler made people walk through chalk dust. So she made the whole class about this Hitler guy instead of whatever it was going to be but I still don't know about the eggs. I think maybe it was a special kind of chalk and the people were dead already because of starvation and multinational corporations and the atomic bomb. It's very confusing and not interesting at all, the worst combination like trying to play Mario as a gumbah. It can't be played that way. It's just a stupid idea. The atomic bomb is maybe a little interesting, but they don't talk about the interesting parts of it! Like how do you make one ? Atoms are everywhere right, we should make atomic eggs. That's what I'm making tomorrow, let's see if there's any starvation or what happens.

Then Sylvia said that after school I come home to them and I said yes but I can't kiss them like Kay and Chris because of playdo and she looked at me like "wut! is she talking about" so I had to explain playdo to her. Doll was smiling and Sylvia was just opening and closing her mouth and she opened it larger every time. But I told her about the playdo guy and how he discovered a special kind of physics for people in caves which is everyone a little bit because you never know where the cave is and how things leave marks and sometimes the marks aren't right and so people die and we can't kiss each other or make each other have it because it would break everything and suck our souls. I said it more clearer and with more words but I just wrote down in summary because I know what it is anyway. I think I did ok because after I asked "Isn't that right Doll" and Doll said I'm something else. Sylvia just hugged me very tight and she said I'm scary and then said to Doll "I want her to be my daughter too" and Doll just smiled and looked at me and then said "Babydoll, you have to be nice to everyone you meet, because everyone you ever meet will always love you for as long as you live." Then it was time to go to school and Doll was like come Babydoll I'll take you to school but Sylvia was nuh-uh I'll take her to school so eventually they both came and they did rock paper scissors for who's driving.

Then on the way over Sylvia said "I'm going to tell her" and Doll didn't say anything but just frowned like when you know something's gonna be bad but you just can't help it. Sylvia took a deep breath and said "Babydoll, there's something I have to tell you. I wouldn't tell it to any other girl but you. I would not tell it because it is dangerous, and it can turn out bad. It almost always turns out bad. But it's the truth, and I can't keep it a secret from you. I don't know how I'd go on. Either way." I looked across at her because she was sitting in the back with me like what the hell is this and then she took another deep breath and said "Babydoll baby... there is a way to get out of school." OMG! I was so excited! "You have to go into show business." I asked her what is that and she explained like if in a film there's a child, right ? That child is a real child, and if they're in the film they're not in school, right ? Because people who are in films don't have the time to go to school, so there's a special school for them like teachers who follow them around and teach them when they have time. "You mean like you and Doll ?" and she looked at me and she took a deep breath and she said "Sure... I wouldn't mind taking some time off to brush up on Math and things for you". It was like the atomic bomb exploded in my chest, I couldn't even breathe. I just squeezed her hands tight and I said "I would like that so much". And Doll said "You would, huh." and I nodded with tears in my eyes and then Doll said "What about Chris and Key ? You'd never see them again." and then I realised what she meant. Because... I turned around to Sylvia and I asked her "that is why it is bad, isn't it" and she nodded yes and I said "I will think that I can still see them of course but it is not true, because they will be in school, and I will be in Paris, and I will go without them, and then... and then" this is so sad even now when I write it down it is making me cry. But it is true, then we would not have anything to talk about anymore because I wouldn't care about Mz. Rice-Davies and Mrs. Keeler and they wouldn't know about Paris. Sylvia and Doll told me it is true too, but I knew anyways.

And then... this is the real bad part. Then I said what about you ? I said, what about you Doll! And Sylvia was crying and Doll didn't say anything but she was trying not to cry and then she whispered "I don't know." And then I jumped in to hug her and she had to park the car because she nearly steered it into a truck and I told her I will never leave her. And then she looked at me, she was hugging me too but she pushed my head up to look at me and she said, "Is this your first time, Babydoll ?" and I knew what she meant, because I remembered when we first met and I knew what it meant. I started crying like my heart was breaking because it was, I said "I will never leave you like I left Mom Doll! Never! Never!" and then she said "Maybe one day I'll be too boring and too slow for you, Baby" but she couldn't finish saying her own name and I howled and said "You are hurting me so much Doll" because it was true and it hurt so bad. It's still sore and it hurts. I was so sad. I curled up on the seat and I said "I'm just a terrible person." and I was just sobbing wildly and saying it over and over terrible terrible. Sylvia hugged me and said to me "Not yet. Not yet Babydoll. Nothing has happened yet." but it made no difference and I told her nobody should ever love me because I don't know how to love them back. Sylvia said "but you will learn, Babydoll" and Doll grabbed my hands and said "We will teach you." and I was shaking my head and trembling but Sylvia said if I learned the playdo I can learn anything I want to.

Then they dropped me off and class was already started but I told Mrs. Stone that there was a traffic jam and it was ok. Then I told Key and Chris how sorry I was that I didn't love them as much as they loved me and begged them to punish me please so I can be a better person. I don't think they knew why, because they said this is what I deserve for being a pimp, and I had to carry their trays in the cafeteria and also give them all my erasers but they gave them back to me after school although Chris really liked the purple one so I gave it to her. It's a very good eraser, and she said I can always borrow it whenever I want anyways, and that I will always be her pimp. Then Key said hey what about me and Chris said she can be her pimp too but Key said but will I be hers and I said OK!

Then before PE in the dressing room I took all my normal clothes off completely, including everything, so I was completely naked. And everyone could see! It was so great to be naked in school for once! Then I put on my gym leotard and the stretch pants over it and my sneakers but without socks which was really stupid, I'll pack spare socks from now on. All the girls were whispering and murmuring but nobody said anything to me but really I think they were jealous they just didn't know it. Being naked where everyone can see is the greatest feeling! Especially if they weren't expecting to. Then after class everyone was in the dressing room just dousing themselves in spray but I took my towel and went over to the showers. I think they were expecting me to take my clothes off again but why would I do that ? I just took my normal clothes over to the showers and there's dressing rooms there too like all small like in shops for trying out stores but I didn't use one, I just took everything off like in a pile and then took a shower. It was a little weird because nobody uses the showers ever, I don't know why. It was also kinda gross because there were some kind of flying bug in a corner, like a whole lot of them, all big and with very long legs. But I used the shower in the other corner, there's like five, it was far away. After I showered I just sat there to drip-dry like at home, because realy I never use towels I just wait for it to dry off normally, but then I thought it will take too long here because at home I just walk around the house and not care so it has time or maybe lay on the towel if I want to lay down in bed though really it's much nicer on the chaize by the pool. So I shook most of the water drops off and then toweled with the little towel and got dressed. When I came out of the showers into the dressing room I smelled so much better than everyone else! Most of the girls were ahhh! That's why she did that! So I said to Chris and Kay, but loud so everyone could hear, I said "from now on you take everything off before PE like me too!" and I'm curious how it will go next time in PE. Because I am sure Key will do it and Chris too, but I am curious about the other girls, especially Marla, that jealous bitch. I hate her.

Dad showed up to pick me up but just as we were leaving the Vice said I have to go to the principal's office and Dad said "I am her father, what did she do" and the Vice was really confused and didn't know what to say but he mumbled things and then he said "I guess we can re-schedule for tomorrow" but Dad said no, he will come with me, he wants to know what this is about. So I went with Dad to the principal's office, except the thing is they moved the principal's office from where it used to be I think sometime maybe a year ago or I don't remember, but we got lost from the Vice because I went the way it used to be but now it's in a new building and he had to come running after us and Dad gave me a look, like I was up to no good. But then the Vice explained that no, no, the new office and I said I've never been there and Dad gave me another look like "you sly fox you". Mrs. Plowski the secretary opened her eyes very wide when she saw me with Dad and Dad told her he's my Dad, and then she went in and they whispered something with the Mr. Principal and then she came out and invited me in though there were six or seven kids there, like 8th graders and a sorry looking bunch really.

Mr. Principal asked us wouldn't we like to please take a seat and Dad said so what's this about and Mr. Principal said that I am doing very well in all my classes, much better than last year, "it's a marked improvement" he said and they're all very proud. Dad said there were some custody issues but it's all sorted out now and he hopes for the best, and Mr. Principal said "indeed, I don't remember seeing you before sir, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance" and Dad started looking like maybe he thinks this guy is really weird and full of shit and it's true that Mr. Principal was very bothered and he kept coughing and eventually he said "It appears Ashley took off her clothes." and Dad said "What ?!" and he looked at me like I was a football and he was about to kick it over the fence and Mr. Principal said "Completely." and I lifted my hands up just in case and I yelled out "Before gym class! I did before gym class! In the dressing room!" and Dad said "What ?" again but he seemed very confused and he was looking from me to Mr. Principal and back. I lowered my arms and Mr. Principal said "Well... there have been some complaints..." and Dad scratched above his ear and said "Girls in her class complained about her changing before gym ?" and Mr. Principal said "Yes... you see..." and Dad was like "What do these other girls do ?!" and Mr. Principal was very bothered and he tented his fingers and he said "You see... they just... they..." and Dad asked "Is that normal ?" and Mr. Principal said "Oh yes, it's very common." and Dad said "But isn't it... unhygienic ?" and Mr. Principal said nothing so Dad just looked at him like he had laid an egg, maybe an atomic egg. So Dad said "Why are there showers then ?" and Mr. Principal said well you see sir, the school buildings are older and the showers are from before and Dad looked at him like he's from the funny papers and said "From before, back when people washed ?!" and Mr. Principal said that it is a very delicate problem and he understands Dad's concern. But also he meaning Dad must understand that nudity on school property is a touchy subject and especially complete but Dad interrupted and said "She can't very well shower with underwear on, can she ?!" but it wasn't even about me I don't think Dad was just blown away by what was going on and Mr. Principal said no sir, of course not. However, if other students complain, and especially in this context, there is a procedure and he doesn't feel any better about this than Dad does but also it must be considered that...

Dad just looked at him like "please man, help me out here" and told him that he can't tell me not to wash. How about they make it a school policy that all girls have to shower after gym and then there won't be any room for complaints ? And no doubt the dressing rooms will smell a lot better, also. Mr. Principal sunk lower and lower in his seat. He said that of course such a motion could be brought before the school board, but it will be a lot of work and it will need time and there will be a lot of discussion and... perhaps attract a lot of undesired attention. But Dad said "Ok, I understand all that, but if the alternative is not washing to avoid the discussion of washing maybe it's time to have that discussion. Who are these people, anyway ?!" and Mr. Principal said he has to specify that no parents complained, but a fellow student. So Dad turned to me and he was like "Wait, this just happened ?" and Mr. Principal said Yes sir and I said Yeah Dad, I was just in PE. And Dad turned back to Mr. Principal and said I don't know what to do here. I guess maybe ask my doctor to write her a gym excuse and you accept it ? I am not telling the girl to not wash and I am not even so sure I want her in the same room with whatever it is that is going on there. Then he turned to me and asked me "What do they even do ?" and I whispered "spray" and he said Good lord. Mr. Principal, really!

Then Mr. Principal stood up from his seat suddenly like he had enough and he paced back and forth behind his desk and then said to Dad Sir, I very much appreciate you bringing forth your concerns. Perhaps if you feel strongly enough about the issue you might be willing to take the time to informally contact the other parents in the class and discuss the matter with them. I think it would be greatly beneficial for the school as a whole if we emerged stronger from this crisis and clarified our gym showering and dressing room policies. I will also raise the matter with the school board. It will be greatly beneficial if there is sizable involvement on the part of the parents to help guide a decision. I will not be taking any disciplinary action on this present issue, and we will keep in touch to find a solution that is satisfactory for all concerns. They shook hands and so on and then we left. As we were going to the car Dad turned to me "Why can't you just wear the gym clothes to school and then change out of them ?" and I said "Because they're gym clothes, Dad. It sucks doing Math in a leotard. It's uncomfortable." then we sat down and he didn't start the car, but turned and looked at me. "Are you trying to bring nudism to school now ? Because you can't do that. Not everyone out there is even a little bit like Doll. Everyone's just like your mother, nothing like Doll." and I said "I know, Dad" and teared up a little but it didn't show.

Then he drove off but he didn't drive home. Instead he took me to the best Gelateria there is. I was like "oh no" and I ran in front of him and grabbed his hands and stopped him and said "Dad, you did not break up with Doll." and I thought I was going to pass out. He said I was all pale. But he told me, no, it's nothing like that, Doll is at home with Sylvia but he wants to talk to me over icecream, is that so bad ? What a relief! I told him if he drives Doll away I will never speak to him for as long as I live! and he said that it's more likely she'll leave him and I asked him why he thinks that and he said Babydoll, after a while you stop believing in miracles. And I said that's just silly, Doll will never leave him because of the playdo, and me. He asked me what I was talking about and I said he'd never understand, it's complicated and he said try me but I told him it's a girl thing. But he said Please! so I explained playdo to him to see. And he told me it's not playdo its Plato, you spell it with a t and no eye. But now I am not going to go through everywhere and change it though you know how it's right. And he kept bursting up laughing all the time as I was explaining it but whenever I asked him he said nothing's the matter and for me to go on and if I asked him if I'm wrong he said no, no, or if I asked him if he didn't understand something so eventually I told him Dad, you are just like Jimmy or some other terrible boy always disrupting the class for no reason. And he just laughed so hard he nearly fell off the chair. I will tell Doll about this too. Then I was done with Plato and I told him there is more but I don't know if he even understood anything so far and I don't want to tell him anymore because it is really sad and he laughs all the time. So he told me he won't laugh, which whatever, he told me the same thing fifty times before. But this time it was for real because as I explained to him about Mom and being a terrible person and loving people he just stood stiff and said nothing like maybe he was about to start crying ? I kinda cried a little when I was saying some parts of it, because they are so sad. And then I said that is why Doll will never leave you and he said Babydoll, the thing that makes me happiest in this whole world is that I am your Dad.

So then he got himself another coffee and me another chocolate with malaga and pistachio and he said he wanted to talk to me about the great choice. I said ok. He said here it is, baby : Sylvia told you about being in films and having a career like that. And I said yes. And he said ok. That is one of the choices. He said he has talked with the girls and Sylvia has connections and Doll will homeschool me and we will work it out that way, if that's what I want to do. But that I have to understand that just because I want to do it doesn't mean anyone else will want me to do it, and if nobody invites me into a film or a show or anything I will just be waiting and wasting my life just as much as any other way. He said "sitting in a room waiting for the phone to ring is the same thing no matter what color phone". It's such a great way to say it, isn't it ? Because what you expect to hear from it when it rings is a little like if it were its color. Like treeg and atomic egg and red phone. Then he said okay, I hear you are very good friends with this girl in your school, Keysha. I said yes. He said but are you her pimp ? And I said "we're just kidding around Daddy, Keysha is a little girl like me, we go to school together. She isn't a whore." He said and this is the other of the choices : I will buy her from her parents, and she will come to live with you, and be your slave. I stopped with my icecream in my spoon in front of my face, just looking at him. He said "everything would be the same, you'd still go to school, but Keysha would stay with you and you will have to take care of her. Would you like that ?" and I said "Keysha would like that." Then I asked him "How will you buy her ? Like give her parents a lot of money ?" and he said no, that's silly. He'll give them a little money every week. That way their incentive which means what makes someone do something is to not make trouble. If he gives them a lot of money all at once all it tells them is that they should make trouble, the more money the more trouble. I think Daddy maybe knows a lot more about business and what makes people do things like at work and so a lot better than anyone knows. It's kinda interesting, but I think being a lover like Doll is better.

I asked him what if it doesn't work out ? And he said the choice is what you want to do with your life, not what works out. It can work out or not either way. And then it all came to me. I understood what it is all about and how it works. Here it is. If you're an actress in a film, or a model like Sylvia or a singer no matter how big, whatever you are, it's that you are a whore. You go out and make money and then the pimp takes it from you. And you can't love anyone, not really, because things change and they move on and the pimp takes you away from everything you love so you can never love anything really. But if you are a pimp, then nothing ever happens. Your life is always the same. You have to take care of Keysha, even if she is a little girl, because she is still a whore. She goes out to school and makes money even if it's not real money, but she learns things in school let's say. And then you take it from her. Because you're her pimp and you take everything she has so she has nothing and then she goes out again. Because she loves you. She does it because she loves you. And you take everything from her. So that she has nothing, nothing ever, ever. I looked up to Dad and I said "You are asking me if I am a pimp or a whore." and he looked back at me with his mouth wide open and said you're baby jesus on a stick. And I asked him how long do I have to figure it out and he said as long as I live. Then he took me on his knee and said "just try to not break anything while you're figuring" and he kissed my hair.

Dad dropped me off at the house but didn't go in. He said he will be back later. I asked Doll if she knew what Dad and I talked about and she said yes. Sylvia asked me how it went. I told them I don't know yet. I told them I want to be alone and to please not be upset with me for it. They said don't you worry about us Babydoll. We're big girls. We'll be fine. I went to my room. All day I wrote in my journal and cried and thought about it. Doll brought me up dinner but I didn't feel like eating really. Though I ate a little bit. Dad came back and he played with them but I didn't want to get out of my room. The problem with Plato is that you never know what you should do. Doll told me they came to kiss me goodnight but I was already asleep and they didn't want to wake me up.

Continued >>

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Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Saturday, 31 October, Year 12 d.Tr.

Babydoll and the facts of life

Wednesday October the 6th. I am sorry I did not write in my journal for a long time. Things have changed. It is ok now and I will write from now as if it were then, what I remember and from sketches. I told my story of my dream, and then we were having breakfast when the Masters came. They weren't real Masters, not really, but there were six of them, all big and strong and loud and smelly. They broke through the patio door, by throwing Dad into it. Then they jumped in. I screamed "Daddy!" and Doll was pale and sisi and dogslave cuddled into me. One of them yelled "shut up, bitch" and slapped Doll. Her lip was bloody, he slapped her so hard, and her cheek turned red. Then they made her cancel the alarm and even call the police station to tell them it was an accident and no need to send a car. The police person said thank you ma'am.

Doll said "please take anything you want" but the man said "I told you to shut up, bitch." They looked at us. dogslave was holding her straight arms tight behind her ass. They've trained me, I know now to call it ass. That is the word for what we have behind, and butt is for small children though I don't think so. dogslave was trying not to say anything, but I know what she wanted to say. She told me later she wanted to beg them to do it to her, she wanted to take her clothes off and gangbang with them. But she didn't say anything, because she thought it may be bad for us, for Doll, for me. I was trying my best to be Princess. sisi was pale and trembling. I think she was being a princess as much as me.

Then Doll said "do anything you want to me, but don't hurt my babies". The man walked up to her, slowly. It seemed like forever. Doll stood up straight. The man grabbed Doll by her throat. She put her hands behind her back. He lifted her up until she was on tiptoes. He said "your babies ?" Doll whispered quickly "I'll fuck you. I'll fuck you good. I'll fuck you all. So good. I'm a good whore. Let them go." The man looked at us, then back at Doll. He glared at her and then he spat in her face "These ain't yo babies, ho!" Doll was passing out, whispering "please, fuck me, please". dogslave went on her knees. They all gathered around us. The man threw Doll on the floor, like a pile of Doll. She was breathing heavily. He pushed her shoulder with his boot until she was on her back, then he stepped on her throat. She looked so pretty under his boot like that! We all kneeled with dogslave.

"If they yo babies how come y'all same age ?" He looked at me. He yelled "You go to school, ho ?" I wanted to say I'm not a ho, I'm a pimp. I didn't say anything. I nodded yes. "What grade ?" I didn't say anything. I showed on my fingers. He came closer to me, he yelled loud "You mute or something ?" but I nodded no. dogslave said "She's just scared, sir." He turned to her. He looked at her, hard. She looked right back at him, and bent a little forward. He curdled his throat and then spat in her face. It made a sound, a big sound. dogslave looked at him, with his big thick spit sliding down her face, by her nose, towards her mouth. She opened her lips, and licked it. He leaped at her. She turned on her back, she was holding him in between her legs in a blink. She caressed his face with her hand. She whispered "fuck me hard, sir." He tore her school skirt off of her. She lifted her blouse over her head, wiping her face as she did. She was whispering at him the whole time, warm, sweetly, "tear me apart, please break me, break this whore, make me a woman with your big hard dick, I'm just a little girl, take it away from me, hurt me and bleed it out of me, please sir, I want to be a whore" and things like that, over and over. dogslave is really very good with fuckwords, I never knew this about her. She never spoke to me, doing it with me. But she does it with men, when she's with them. I asked her how come, afterwards. She said it's just different, Princess Babydoll. I told her I am no longer a princess, that now I'm just a whore like her, but she said she will never forget I was once her princess babydoll.

She wanted to kiss him, she went for it but he pulled his face away. She reached her arms out, her hands to the other men. She looked at them, begging them. They came close, as the man on top of her was getting his cock out of his pants. His whoremaking cock, that's how we're made, you know that. We all know that, we find it out. It is the facts of life. He drove his cock deep into her, in one hard go. She screamed, dogslave screamed louder than I've ever heard her ever scream. Then she yelled out "yeah! do me! more! more!" She grabbed the other men's cocks in her hands, and she was stroking them like the Italians do it, only better. The man on top of her pulled out, looked at his bloody cock, at the blood on the carpet. "Yo virgin ho?!" he asked, blinking, confused. dogslave hissed "hell yeah!" as she dragged the cocks in her hands closer to her face. She went to kissing them, one then the other then one and then the other over and over again, and rubbing them together and squeezing them up and down. Doll was crawling towards the man on top of dogslave, on all fours. He pushed himself into dogslave again, he pushed himself hard in, and out of her. "How old are you ?" he asked her. She looked at him from under the cocks on her face, and raised her eyebrow, and winked her eye. "How. Old. Are. You. You. Sau. Cy. Li. Ttle. Cunt! Fif. Teen. Thir. Teen. Tell. Me." he said with every slamming into her. She lifted his friends from her lips. "I'm twelve years old, massah boss man" she said, closing her eyes and smiling. The cock she held in her left hand spurted all over her face. She rubbed the other in the mess and it spurted the other side. She didn't let go, she rubbed them still, though they were trying to pull away she didn't let go.

"Aaah!" the man on top of Doll turned around. Doll had just reached him. I thought she was going to hit him, but no. She grabbed his ass with her hands, resting on her elbows, and kissed him. She told me she went right for his asshole, a little kiss and then the tongue, all the way in. She said she got deep enough to feel his spasms on her tongue, as he was filling dogslave with his cum. "Aaah!" the man yelled, "I'm gonna fuck this whore in the ass!" dogslave smiled again and whispered "which one ?" just as another man was coming at Doll from behind. "Don't worry, man. I'll do her for you." he said, and with a knife of the kind that folds up he started cutting her out of her clothes.

The other man came by where we were kneeling. His cock was out, sissy grabbed it and kissed it. I kissed his balls, I thought they were interesting, like a pouch that dangles by the cobb, and smells. It smelled bad, I liked it so much. I licked where it smelled the worst, and it tasted bad. It was delicious, so so deliciously bad. sisi told me his penis smelled bad too, especially under the skin, like goat cheese. She told me she licked it because it smelled so bad, and then she forced it into her throat. Far, deep, where the taste is the worst, because that's the best. I saw Doll wince, the man forcing his small, thin cock slowly into her asshole. Then he stood up, holding her with his arms under her shoulders. She opened her thighs up, wide, holding her knees with her own hands. She yelled out "come fuck the whore! here it is, fuck my cunt!" because that's what it's called, what we whores have in front. It is our cunt, and that's what you're supposed to call it because that's what it is. That's what we are, we're all cunts because that's all we have. Even if you don't know how to be a whore, you're still a cunt. And even if you know how to be a whore, you're just a cunt.

The man that was with sisi came up to Doll, and shoved himself into her. She told me they were rubbing each other inside her, like two faggots, that she was just the pretext, they needed her to block each other's view of themselves, they needed her to rub each other together and then lie about it, because she said boys are very affraid, and easily scared, and worthless as whores. She went to kiss him, and he sucked her tongue and she rubbed her ass lips all over his. The man that made dogslave's hole started laughing, but the faggot kissing Doll didn't pay any attention to him. dogslave was still on her back, the two penises she was playing with still captive in her hands. They were small now, and she held the ballsacks in her hands, squeezing them. I crawled over to her on all fours, and kissed her bloody lips. She shivered. I licked deep inside her new hole, the taste of fresh blood and fresh cum one thing in my mind. The first time that I had cum without any blood in it later I thought it tastes so strange!

He pulled me by the hair, the man that opened dogslave, and forced his cock in my throat. He pushed it back and forth, hard, all the way in. I kept my mouth wide open, and tried to breathe. I could taste his salty cum and her lovely blood, all the way as he pounded me, all the way down my throat. I tried to open as much as I could, to take it all in, to swallow everything he had, to be a real woman and do like real women do. His pounding was choking me, but I grabbed his ass with both hands and held tight, wouldn't let go. Doll told me later that she watched me, how my eyes bulged and teared up, how my whole body coiled with ass-fixya like it's called. She said she never loved me as much as when I dug my nails into his flesh and held that piece of meat in place inside my throat for all the life in me. I feelt my head grow airy, and my tummy squeeze, harder and harder. It felt like I was floating away, but I did not let go even a little bit, and then there was like a huge explosion. His cock went flying out, and I puked all over everything. The man yelled out "you stupid cunt!" and wanted to slap me, but then didn't want to touch my filthy face. I puked another little bit, but caught it in my hands, and then rubbed it all over my tits, through my school shirt. I don't know why I did that, but I did it, I rubbed it on my tits and on my stomach. Two of them started like with ass-fixya too although nobody was strangling them, and ran off for the bathroom, opening doors like idiots in an cartoon. I thought maybe they're just drawn, not really people. Drawings with cocks, fucking us whores.

The man holding Doll pushed himself out of her, pushing her on top of the guy fucking her cunt, nearly making them fall. He came up to me, shoving his string bean in my face. I put out my tongue and took it in, all the way in. His salty cum and her delicious blood filled my mouth. There wasn't really any poop at all. I grabbed him from behind his balls, I squeezed him hard, I rubbed my puke all over him and he spurted a coupla sad, small, sorry new strings in my mouth. Another man was jacking off, which is when they rub their cocks with their own hands. Doll put her feet on the ground, then lowered the man on his back and sat on him. She grabbed the cock in her own hands, and then went to kiss it, but before she could touch it with her lips it spit on her, all over her hair and face. She kissed it as it was doing it, then took it in her mouth. The man that openend dogslave wiped his cock in Doll's hair, and then said "Enough fucking with these cheap whores. We've got work to do."

They went all over the house, looking for "the good stuff" like they said, loading TVs and things like that into their van outside. We all kneeled together in the middle of the living room at first, but then I kissed Doll's mouth, and she hugged dogslave and sisi hugged me and we all really just wanted to cuddle so we took off our clothes and then I made dogslave have it and sisi made me. dogslave always wants to be in gangbang with many men, but she can never have it that way. She has it very hard right after, if I kiss her, or if sisi does, or Doll, or Sylvia, or any whore she likes, but she can not have it with the men themselves. Only after, I think she truly wants to dream the memories of what they do to her, I think maybe she doesn't like the gangbang itself as much. She says she always thinks of it, of how it is, how it feels, how it looks even, but she can't think of it while it's going on. Only after, and she dreams of it too and thinks of it all the time, which is why she's so wet.

Then I asked Doll to spread for me, and she said "But Babydoll..." I told her we're all whores now, and that it doesn't matter anymore. But she said "please Babydoll! please Princess! Let me go!" and I said ok, and kissed sisi on her mouth then sisi kissed Doll. It's almost like a kiss, I think. The man who opened dogslave started screaming at the others that they left us unsupervised, but they said "the whores keep each other occupied anyway" and that they can't watch us because it's driving everyone insane. Then one of them came over very excitedly holding some of the practice stones and other things, so they all went to check it out and came back with cuffs and all the whips and canes and crops and paddles and everything in the house. They tied us from the wrists and hung us down until our big toes only touched the floor, and whipped us all and paddled us and made our hides beet red everywhere. It hurt so much, and we all cried, even Doll and dogslave cried, and sisi first and after me, but the men wouldn't stop, and then our tears dried out and then it was good, warm, and we were happy. I wanted to hold hands while they did it to us, but they just left us there and called somebody on the phone, explaining things about what they found, that the main thing is four sex slaves and two are virgins and to send another van for us.

So they did, another van came, with three men in it, who tied our ankles and wrists together like they said we're meat, and that's what you do with meat. They put special beanies on our heads, made of lickskin and with openings for eyes and the mouth that can be closed with a zipper, and the mouth part has puffy lips on the outside and a hard part that you have to take in your own mouth and then you can never close it anymore. And like that they loaded us in the back of the van with all the slave stuff, even our lickskin uniforms. It was a lot of stuff!

They drove us all day, only now and again they stopped to give us water but no food, and to play with us, but only in the mouth. The first time they forced their cocks into the licksuit mouths, but it was so stupid! So we told them, first Doll, and then me and dogslave too, we said look, we're good whores, this is just stupid, let us suck your cocks right, what is this bullshit! It hurts our jaws and fucks everything up. So they took our beanies off so we were completely naked, and Doll and dogslave sucked them off. Then they asked us if we're going to be good whores and we all said we're good whores and better slaves and no trouble at all! So they freed our hands too, but put hobbles on our ankles, which are like handcuffs but with a longer chain, so you can walk slowly but you can't run away. I loved them! It's so sexy, thinking about it even now makes me all warm. It's so humiliating but so true, because you think maybe you can get away but also you know you can't, which is what it is to be a woman. Only some think it is different, or can be made different, like crazy people think they can fly. I liked having the true hobble on my ankles so much, so you know what's what, and what you are, true and for real, not having to guess anything or fight the silly nonsense in your head.

Then we asked where are they taking us, and they said we're going to the dealer, and then he will put us on the market. I never knew this before, but there are markets everywhere for whores, where we are sold, even at auction, like in monopoly. The younger and prettier and better trained a whore is the more she is sold for, like even more than a car! So we started joking around how much we'll be worth, and we were making fun of each other and said sisi is probably not even going to be worth the cost of gas, and things like that, but they said no way, and they had our IDs and said we're all twelve year olds, and virgins too, and on top of that incredibly well trained already, like many twenty-five year olds are not half as well trained as we are, and that we will for sure set the record price ever at the market, that we're hot goods and the guy next to the driver said he's even proud to be driving us because he's never seen slaves like us in his whole life before, and he's been doing this professionally for over thirty years! And they said we're extremely pretty, and anyone who buys us will be so proud of us like nothing else, like nevermind cars, there are horses, like pure breed race horses that sell for millions but the best whore is so much better than the best horse! So I said "why don't you buy us then ? Don't you have employee discounts or something ?" and the guy driving gave him a look, like "fuck man, let's just run away" but he laughed and said he could never afford one of us, nevermind all four. And dogslave said "Not even after working thirty years ?" and he said "Not even by a long shot." So I asked him if it doesn't pay so well ? But he said it pays better than being the President of the United States, and by a margin at that, but he never could afford meat like we've got. So then I said "Please let me suck your cock sir?" and dogslave said "I'm good to fuck as well" and Doll said "Me too! But please not the ass." and they asked her if she's sore and she said kinda so we all laughed.

They stopped the van on the side of the road and they lined us up next to it, all naked in the sun, but only we put high heels on, from the pile, except for sasquatch, who was still barefoot. But it was so pretty! The sun over the desert, and then the guys laid down on the ground, their pants off, two of them, and Doll and dogslave sat on their cocks, and rode them, and the guy next to the driver just stood between them and moved his cock from Doll's mouth to dogslave and then sisi grabbed hold of it and shoved deep in her mouth and sucked it dry. They said "thank you" when they were done and dogslave laughed and Doll said no, thank you for the ride and everyone thought it was so funny, but I was sad and thinking about Dad. Why doesn't anyone ever want to fuck me, that I have to grab cocks from other girls mouths and dogslave's got her hole made in her already ?

Then we rode away, and we were kinda hungry but also sweaty and we were starting to stink so we whined to please let us have a shower, and they laughed and said ok. They stopped at the next gas station, which was very small, no motel or anything, just a small shop and three pumps. They made us go out of the van, naked, and line up and then they got the water hose for washing your car and hosed us down like cattle. It was so much fun, the water was cool and nice and we splashed and horsed around with our hobbles trying to get away, or more like pretending we were trying to get away, for fun, because obviously we couldn't get away. How can you get away ? Even when you don't even know you can't get away, like when you don't even realise there's something to get away from, a cold water hose, or real life, the hobble's still there on your ankles, like it always was. Like it always is. Like Doll said to me when we were back in the van, "school's over, babydoll". Doll's just a slave whore like all of us, of course, but I still write her Doll because I respect her even if a slave's a slave. But I'm just babydoll like sisi and dogslave now because that's what I am, princess babydoll the slave whore. It's better this way, anyway, it's always better to know the truth and to go with what really is.

The guy at the gas station was like zombified, he came out to see what's going on and then just stood there and shuffled a little with his mouth hanging open. Then we left, and we cuddled in the van together and kissed each other and took naps. When we arrived at the dealer it was already night, and they just got us out of the van, they talked a while among themselves inside while we waited standing by the van outside, then they came out, marched us through a tunnel-like gate to a special doctor's room underground with no windows where they did physical examination, then they took us deeper in and put us each in a cage, right next to each other. The cages were made of metal bars, like in a prison, not very big, just with a hard cot to sleep on and a grating in the middle going to a water to pee in just standing over. The guys with the van made us pee in the desert, just for fun, and dogslave and sisi asked them if they can show them something, and please take their hobbles off just for a second. So the guy was like, okay, anything for you primo sluts, and took their hobbles off one leg, so dogslave and sisi stood on just one leg and held the other straight up like they can do and pee'd that way, it was so pretty to watch them do it. dogslave had her hobble on the ground, but sisi lifted the hobbled ankle up and I think it was better that way, because it dangled as she peed. Then the guys looked at us but Doll shook her head, and we had to pee like lame moms, crouching down, because we didn't have enough time to practice enough, but I held her hand and I sad "we'll do it, Doll", and she nodded and squeezed my hand. But apparently this slavery thing doesn't believe in toilet seats, because we have to pee crouching over a grate here too. Maybe a good idea would be to make the toilet seat out of clear glass, so you can both pee and sit comfortably. I like being seen, it's good when everyone can see it come right out of you, I think it's the best way to do it for you, too, but I also kinda like to sit down.

Then later a man with a hood came in and brought us disgusting slave gruel, that's what he called it, in metal plates, that we had to lick because they gave us no spoons. Doll said it's just oatmeal, and said eat up bitches and so we did and we were almost finished when another man came in and asked us how we liked the slop. We said it was delicious sir, all together, and then thank you kind sir for our disgusting slop, because we had practiced to say it exactly together, it was Doll's idea. She said we should always do very well all that we're told to do, like in school, and we should be obedient, which is when you do very good like a teacher's pet, and loving, which is what real women are all about, and that's what we are, true blooded whores all! The man said "so it's true then, you're all well trained ?" and we said "yes sir!" and he said there's a treat for well trained whores and he came back with icecream! It was in nice normal plates, and with warm home-made brownie, as good as Doll makes, or only better, and we had spoons and he asked us if we want our hobbles off. But I asked him if I may keep my hobble on, and he asked me how come and I said it makes me feel good and like a slave. He said ok, and he said we're here only for tonight, babes like us he has no doubt will move right into the most luxurious suites they have right after our debriefing tomorrow. And dogslave said "aww" I think she was fucking around, but he said "don't worry, you can visit the dungeon any time you like, and sleep here if you want with the new whores too." Then he asked us if there's anything we want until tomorrow, because we'll be locked down afterwards, and dogslave asked if we could have our slave stones ? So he asked what are those and Doll explained it's the plain buttplugs, and they explained which ones, and he said "sure, it'll take a little bit to find them in the pile but he'll bring them personally" and then I asked if I can have my journal ? And he said sure so I described it to him, and then after a while he was back with the buttplugs but they're really slave stones, and we told him who gets which, and a jar of vaseline which we passed around through the gratings.

He didn't have my journal though, and I wanted to say something but Doll looked at me and I knew better anyway, so I just looked down. But he came over and he patted my head through the bars and said "don't worry, babydoll, it will be ok" and I kissed his hand. Then later another man came in, who is the psychologist but I didn't know then, and he had my journal and asked which one of us slaves wrote that, looking at Doll, but she just looked at him and said nothing and I said "It's my journal, sir." So he asked me how old I am and I told him I was twelve years old in September and he asked me how come I am keeping a journal and I looked at him and said nothing but Doll said I bought it for her and he told her to get on her knees which she did instantly and he reached through the bars and grabbed her chin and lifted it to look at her and then patted her cheek and said "good slave" and she panted and showed him her tongue, like with her mouth open and tongue pushed down on her lower lip. He gave me my journal and a very good pen and a spot light, so I can write very comfortably, and he told me I am a very good whore for keeping such a good journal and he is jealous of whoever buys me. So here I am on the metal cot which is all hard, writing the day and hoping for tomorrow, but it is just a sketch and I will write it proper later. It will be maybe hard to sleep with the stones in all night, but we have a slave pact that we're not going to poop them out until they take us out in the morning, and maybe it won't be so hard Doll says because we didn't eat anything all day anyway. But I'll keep it in if I have to hold it with both hands. What are hands for, anyway ?

Continued >>

« A tale of nothingness

Princess Babydoll and the value of life. »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Saturday, 07 November, Year 12 d.Tr.

Babydoll and Platonic ideals

Friday September the 17th. Doll gave me my pill and I made fish-egg breakfast today all by myself! It's easy to do, you cut up celery sticks and cocktail shrimps and make over-easy eggs runny and put them on top with basel. Doll said it was delicious! But she said shrimp aren't really fish and besides there's an actual fish egg thing people eat but I said WHATEVER! Then she asked me if we really just went at it all day yesterday and I said kinda... but really yeah, we did, my little bud is so sore. Then she asked me, but isn't it sore ? And I had to say yeah it is, like you wouldn't believe. She told me after I shower to put calendula cream on it from the shelf and yeah it's kinda soothing but it was still sore.

Then after I got out I asked her what she did yesterday and she said she was just hanging by the pool, trying to read but thinking of us and being jealous. I told her she should have just come in herself! I told her I don't want to hurt her and she said I should make up my mind, last week I wanted to beat the shit out of her, now I don't want to hurt her... I told her it's all very confusing and she told me she likes it when I hurt her and besides it's only fair this way, she has Dad all for herself and I should have something all for myself too. But I told her I don't want Chris and Key just for myself, I want to share them with her. She said "but shouldn't we ask them too ?" and I said hell no, they're my slave bitches and they do whatever I tell them to! and she looked at me like I won the lottery. She told me the best thing is to kiss it, not rub it with your fingers. That way it comes in slower and it's better, and also doesn't get so sore the next day. She said the fingers are ok if you're just by yourself, but since we all have friends we should just kiss it and sorta suck on it a little and lick it all around. Honestly that's a fabulous idea, I couldn't wait to try it out. I don't know why it didn't come to me earlier, kissing it!

I told Doll she's the smartest, and I told her I just want to kiss her! and she understood what I meant because as she was sitting on the high stool her knees were kinda straight and her legs wide open so it showed. She said she wants to tell me a story first, and she told me that many years ago a man discovered metaphysics, and she said it's like a big dark pit where people are chained in the dark, like in a subway tunnel and they can't get out. No matter what they do. Isn't that terrible ? So sounds and lights come through, like maybe one day there's a shootout or a carnival or who knows what, and they can sorta-kinda hear maybe or see something in the distance, but it's more like shadows on the wall than the real thing. So they get their own ideas about what's what, but they're not really right, and if they could somehow get out and look at the world as it is they'd know that many of the things they thought were wrong ; but if you just take them out of there suddenly they couldn't see anything and maybe even go blind because the light would be too much for them for being so long chained in the dark hole. She said that is metaphysics, that there are maybe things beyond what anyone can touch or feel or see, and those ideal things manifest themselves in the things that can be seen or felt like a shape in playdo, or the images in the TV because she said a little kid that sees some great piles of gold and jewels in a cartoon might try to break the TV to find the jewels and things inside, but they're not there, they come from far away where the studio is. And she said people are like that too, because they have a body, but also they have a soul, but if you cut the body up you don't find the soul inside but still, if you watch the person you can see it by its shadows and traces and even with a mask on or maybe after many years you can still recognize someone by who they are. And she said when you love someone for real you love them for their soul, not for their body, like not just because it feels good when they kiss you there or because they do, but also and especially for who they are and I said like I love you Doll! and she said yes, like you love me and like I love you. It's called Platonic love, because of the man's name, his street name was Flats but in that language flat is playdo so it's called that. And she said the soul and the body don't always match, which is why people die, and it's sad when it happens, but it does happen all the time, sometimes it's hard to get the shadows to look anything like the real thing, and sometimes it's impossible. So she said Babydoll, I know you want to kiss me right there more than anything, and you believe me when I tell you true that I would like nothing more in the world than kissing you back. But you will never do it, and I will never do it, because there is no way to do it right. It would just mess up our lives and everyone else's that we care about, it will hurt your Dad very bad, not in the good way that we like but in the horrible way like we hurt your mother when we took you away. Desire is the greatest gift, but if we let it carry everything away it will just suck our souls down into the ground and we will not have souls anymore at all.

I thought about what she said for a long time and I am still thinking about it, and I think that maybe she's right, but if she's right how do you know what's what ? Or what you should do ? Maybe you should do everything all the time so on the way to school I called Mom and I said Hi Mom! and she was crying but I told her I love her very much and we will see each other again. Because we will. And Doll reached out and patted my hair down on my back.

Then at school Key asked me what's wrong and Chris was very sad because she thought her kitty will fall off. It was huge for her, swollen and very red and tender and she thought maybe it's punishment from Jesus. Kay wasn't really as bad as me, she said it's because we don't do it enough and have no practice with it at all like a buncha rookies. I told them that I have calendula cream at home which we must put on it and also asked them if they want to come over for the weekend. At first Chris didn't want to and Key was kinda maybe about it, but then I told them what Doll told me about kissing it, and then after 3rd period they were all excited and once school finished they were just lined up like where's Doll. She showed up soon and I asked if it would be okay if the girls spend the weekend at our place and she made up a pool party and talked to the parents and then we went by Chris' places on the way home so Doll met her mom and dad and so Chris could pack her bathing suit and drop her bookbags and things. We kinda giggled about it because what was she going to do with a bathingsuit at my place, but Doll knows best how to handle these things so we just go with her lead.

Then we just hung by the pool and watched cartoons and played games and discussed their naked names but it's really hard to find something really cool, so they kept changing their mind. We kissed Key a little too and they kissed me, but it's really not so good, I don't know how to make it happen with just kissing. Chris was too sore to even kiss, but she said she kinda likes it like that, somehow. Also we kept making sandwiches and juice cocktails out of the kinds of juices and floats with ice-cream too. Then Chris and Key were playing Mario and I sat down to write today because it's really complicated with what Doll told me all and I had to ask her many times to tell me portions of it again but I think I got it right ok. Then we went to sleep all in my bed, it was kinda tight but I loved being with my baes. They get so warm, Chris especially.

Saturday September the 18th. I made everyone breakfast and explained the eggs and things to them, but Chris said Hitler was a very bad guy who made people go naked into chalk powder until they died. Maybe it's not the same guy, I don't know. Also Key said feminism is when you're a whore but you ain't got no pimp. She says a whore is a girl who walks around the highway or downtown at night looking for guys to pay her to have sex with her, and she said a pimp is a guy who takes the whores' money. Chris asked why would she give it to him if she had to have sex for it and Key said because she loves him, which really made perfect sense. I asked Key if she's gonna be a whore when she grows up and she said prolly, but Chris said she's going to be a librarian. Then she asked me if I was gonna be a whore when I grow up and I said hell no, I said I'm gonna be a pimp. Doll started laughing and then the girls laughed from her but I was fo real, fuck that feminism and whores without the pimp.

Then we did our toenails and then the biggest thing happened! Key figured out how to make me have it with kissing it and her tongue! It was fabulous, just like Doll said, even better than with the fingers. Then she explained to us how she did it, and I tried to do it to her while she did it to Chris, but I didn't manage. But she made Chris have it and Chris said it was the best ever which I'm sure she's telling true. Then Key explained to me again and I tried again on Chris this time and I made her too! And then I tried Key for a while but it was just not working but Chris kept begging us to do her again and Key was on her back so Chris just climbed on top of her and sat on her face like, and Key was struggling because she couldn't breathe I think and then she had it big time! So then Chris tried her and she couldn't make her have it but then I sat on her face and bam! Key has it when she can't breathe somehow. Doll told me when I told her that many girls are like that, especially the sluttier ones. Then we kept doing it and doing it to each other and eventually we just kinda fell asleep together.

Then I woke up and it's like 2 in the morning! So I took my journal quietly to the kitchen and it is here I am now writing all this but I forgot most of it. But anyway when I was talking to Doll she asked me if Key is kinda poor and I said I think so and she said maybe we should take the girls shopping tomorrow before taking them home and buy her some nice things ? And I said definitely, but we also should buy some nice things for Chris too because her parents are very strict and keep obsessing about Jesus. I wish I could write up tomorrow now, because that way I won't forget anything, but unfortunately it hasn't happened yet. I'll go to bed. When I got there Chris was up and we hugged and went to sleep together.

Sunday September the 19th. When we woke up Chris was hugging Key and I was curled by their feet. I don't know how that happened but we kissed good-morning and we had breakfast by the pool which Doll made and then we just swam and kissed each other for a while until I said hey Doll, check out these two whores. I am their pimp and they are real good kissers, so which one do you want to make you have it ? Chris got real shy and blushing and covered her face with her hands but Key pushed her chest out and she was like "bring it". Doll giggled and said "please don't make me choose Babydoll" and I said girls, you have to kiss Doll out of respect. She's the greatest whore ever. And Doll blushed just like Chris and covered her face in her hands, so weird. But Key went up to her and kneeled in front of her between her legs and kissed her until she had it, and then I took Chris over by the hand and Key kissed her mouth and then Doll again and then Chris again and then Chris little by little got closer and closer and eventually ate the hell out of Doll while Kay was standing by her kissing her mouth and feeling up her breast. Doll has fucking great boobs, everyone wishes they had theirs like hers. Doll thanked me very much when she came through but Chris wouldn't stop and Kay just held her and pinched and kissed her until poor Doll was nearly passed out and I said enough let her be! So Chris and Kay came over to me and Doll just lay there quivering and then she asked what does she owe me and I said how about we go shopping and the girls were like yay! and so we packed and we went to the mall.

We bought a lot of things, like two cool pairs of jeans for Keysha and the coolest sneakers ever for her too and also a bathing suit Doll said just in case but it looked fabulous on her because she is tall and very athletic and this bathing suit had patterns on the side accentuating her figure and she looked just like from a magazine in it. And also we bought earrings and a lot of nail polish in many colors and we bought Chris a tiara like for a princess and cool belts and lady gloves and a Super Woman costume for Chris. She looks just like SuperWoman in it, too! Then we stopped for icecream and while we were waiting for the order the biggest thing happened! A very pretty lady went by the window, and Doll said just a minute girls and went out and after her. They talked for a bit while we ate our icecream and then they came together to our table and Doll said girls, this is Sylvia. Sylvia is very pretty, she is even taller than Doll and she looks just like a girl I saw on the cover of a magazine once but I don't remember when. Then Doll said this is Babydoll, my step daughter, and here's Christine and Keysha, they're best friends. Then we talked about things, Sylvia really is a model, she does all sorts of advertising work for many clients like even Victoria's Secret and she was in fashion shows lots and lots of times. She was in Paris like eight different times! Key and Chris didn't want to go home anymore, but we had already told their parents, and besides, tomorrow's a school day. So we all piled up in the back of Doll's car while Sylvia sat in front with her, and we dropped them off and then we went home.

Doll took me by the hand and went to the pool and said to me "Here, Babydoll, you sit here and be jealous. I'm going to be with Sylvia." and so here I am, being jealous and writing all my journal in. Really I didn't have so much time for it these past days. I am not really jealous of Sylvia or Doll. I'm sure they're in her room kissing each other and making each other have it, but I don't feel bad about it. I don't feel bad about it at all. It makes me happy. Doll deserves the best of everything, and Sylvia is hella cool and very nice and I like her. I hope she doesn't leave, or if she does that she comes back later. I had the idea of maybe putting bonbons in a heart shape on the table or spelling I LOVE YOU out of something. But then I thought maybe she thinks it's because I'm upset I did that, and I don't want her to think I'm upset and feel bad. So I'm going to kiss her stone in the bathroom and go to bed.

Monday September the 20th. Doll was making us breakfast. Sylvia didn't leave! We sat around the table talking, and she's just great! So I had a great idea and I told Doll to please call me in sick with school so I can stay and talk with them instead. Doll didn't want to do it but I explained to her look, going to school is for education, right ? And for making friends ? But there's nothing that they will say in those five hours at school that's half as interesting or useful as what Sylvia says in ten minutes and I want to make friends with her. Both Doll and Sylvia looked at each other with their mouths open, and then Sylvia asked "does she do this a lot ?" and Doll rolled her eyes hard and said "alllll the time!" which is not really true, well maybe a little bit, but I could tell she was going to pick up the phone and then Dad walked in.

I knew right then it's off, Sylvia just turned to me and said "sorry honey" and that was it, I didn't say anything just "Hi Dad! Bye Dad!", grabbed my bag and was out the door. I heard Doll ask behind me "Hey, don't you need a ride" but I yelled "I'll take the bus" and closed the front door behind me. On the way over to school I thought about how great Doll really is, she got Dad a daughter and that daughter friends and then she got Dad a girlfriend too, all in a coupla weeks. And what a girlfriend! I don't think anyone has a girlfriend as cool as Sylvia or as great as Doll. I hope he pushes himself hard in both of them until they're out of this world. Key and Chris were pumped about the weekend and really curious about Sylvia, and I told them what happened and they were like awww! But I told them it's okay, I'd rather be with my best friends anyways and Key said "Liar!" and I said "Keysha if you don't take that back I'm going to make you go make old Mrs. Eldenmeyer have it like Doll." and she took it back instantly hehe. But then I told her I was only kidding anyways. So I told them I'd love taking them home again but I don't know if it's such a good idea right now and they said yeah and Key said it would be ok if we want to go to her place but she doesn't have her own room, and she doesn't have games either and she can't get a ride so we'd have to take the bus with a change and it's like almost two hours! Chris said her parents really want to have us over to repay the invitation debt, because her parents are weird like that, but she doesn't think we can do anything because her mom keeps busting in and they're just weird. But I said I really can't take anymore right now and also I want to do some homework maybe and read, and Key said "read the story of the sour grapes and the fox sometime" and then they started calling me Fox all day.

Dad picked me up after school, and he asked me how I was doing, and I said great! It's true too, I have an A in Algebra and an A+ in English and French. School just started, I'm stellar. Then I asked him how he's doing, and he looked at me like "are you fucking kidding me" like that's not the sort of thing one can think to say. But he said he's great, and I said I hope you are nice to Doll Daddy, because she's the greatest. He just said "she is, huh". And then he started to say like it was a big load on his mind, "You see, Ashley... I mean Babydoll..." and I cut him off "Please tell me Sylvia is going to stay with us." It cut his air like he was an inflatable mattress he just went hiss and then "Just for a little while. How do you know that ?" and I just gave him a sly look and said "What do you think I'm twelve ?" and he said "Yes, I think I'm twelve." and I said "Well then you're right, I'm twelve."

I couldn't wait to get home. Sure enough there were Doll and Sylvia by the pool. They were both completely naked. Doll is Doll, and Sylvia is just gorgeous, oh my god. So I said "Daddy! Daddy! May I join them ?" Dad was very flustered but Sylvia stood up and came close to him and put her arms around his neck and said "Nudism, baby. Look it up. It's the healthy alternative." Then Doll said "You know, if it gets you bothered you can just take us inside." Then Sylvia cut in "Either one or the both of us. We have a bet going, you know." Dad shook his hand and said "Nuts!" then he told me "Go ahead." and then he told Doll "I've got some business to take care of, I'll be in my office."

I didn't have to hear it twice, I was naked like them in a heartbeat and pulled a chair in between. I asked Sylvia about the bracelet on her ankle and she said it's a sort of a promise. What sort of a promise, I asked her and she said well, it's a promise that if Doll asks me to come with her I will. "But didn't you have the bracelet when you met her ?" I asked her and she said yes so then I asked her how could she know who Doll is before you meet her, and she said you can always know. Doll was just sitting there smiling wide, and I asked her if she's sore too. "Not as sore as you", she said, and they started laughing. Then I got my books and did all the homework worth doing and then I read from this great book, it's called The Golden Bough. Have you read it ? You should read it, it's very good. You also shouldn't be reading my journal, which is private. It's the law!

Then I went to bed, and Doll came to kiss me good night, and she got into bed with me like before and we talked about all kinds of things, and Sylvia and Dad and Chris and Key and school and playdo and I fell asleep in her loving warmth.

Continued >>

« Babydoll goes back to school

Babydoll and the Great Choice »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Saturday, 31 October, Year 12 d.Tr.

Augmentum gratiae

"Magnus es... domine... mag... mag... magnus et... et... et... lau.... lauda... laudabilis val... valde..."

"Are you a scholar, my son ?"

"No Father, I... not... I'm... oh god... oh god! Father... oh... I... I... I am just... I am... oh my god..."

"What ails you, my son ?"

"Forgive... oh god... oh my god. Oh my god!" Then, after a brief pause, in changed tones, comparatively quietly if more composedly, as if a great watershed had come and gone : "Fogive me father, for I have sinned."

"How long has it been, my son ?"

"Oh, too long, father. Much too long. It will be nine full weeks this coming Thursday ; and since my last confession at least a year."

"It is not good for the soul to go so long without, my son."

"Oh, I know father. I can feel it, with every fibre of my being I can and do feel it!"

"Confess your sins, my son, without fear but in full faith of God's great justice, and his greater misericordy. Confess your sins, and take leave of them, and by Christ's own mercy be forgiven into salvation to life eternal."

"My sins are great, and grave, Father, and they do burden and stretch me to almost bursting. But with God's help I will get to the bottom of it all, here, so god help me, here and now before you, that I may receive release from the great weight opressing me."

"Amen."

"Great and grave as they might be, my sins stem from a common source. They spring from the same well, Father. Indulge me that I might recount the whole involved mess of it, so I can be truly at rest."

"Go on, my son."

"You see, Father... three months ago my life was normal. I went to work, I came home, I relaxed, I went to bed, I woke up the next day, to work again... Saturday I'd go out, maybe drink with the guys, maybe now and again meet a girl... But ten weeks ago I met the great terror that has been crushing me ever since."

"What great terror is that, my son ?"

"You see father, I met this girl. This one girl. She seemed very innocent at first, out with her highschool friends, exploring the world as it were. So we were joking, you know, like guys do, saying things and the like, and they goaded me to go talk to them, you know. So I went, and I said 'Hi!' and she looked at me, Father, you know, she just looked at me with those green eyes of hers and I was hooked. I knew right then and there, just that look, I knew I was gone. She asked what my name was, and I couldn't even say my own name, I was so flustered I couldn't rightly speak at all. So she said to her friends, she said since I can't remember my name like a little boy they should just call me that. Her friends had a great big laugh at me for it, and one of them said I should go kneel by my mistress like a good boy, you know, and that's where it started Father. Right then and there in the middle of the mall I just went and kneeled before a girl just because they told me to, in front of everyone like that. I... I... I just couldn't help myself. That's... that's right... Father. That's... what it... what it was. I just... I just... can't help myself... I can't... I can't... oh my God! I can't help... help... yes yes oh right, right there. Yeah!"

"Trust in God and Christ his son, and you will be delivered."

"Oh yes... delivered... yeah... deh-deh-dehliiiivered, oh god! Thank you, Father. Thank you. So then, Father, that day, that same day they asked me to pay for their things, what they were eating, so I did. I don't think they thought I would, you know, but I just couldn't help myself, and then seeing I was a patsy they took me all over the place, you know, and made me buy them things. Whatever they wanted, on my credit card. I was always very good about it and never kept a balance over the month in there, because of the interest, you know, but I just couldn't say no to them. I just bought them whatever they wanted ; but then all of a sudden I noticed they were just whispering and giggling among themselves, and after a bit of that the girl came to me, you know, she came to me and took me by the hand and I followed her, with her friends following us a few paces behind. She took me right into the sex shop! Is that a sin, Father ? Going into one of those shops at the mall ?"

"Prurience is not sinful per se, my son. But it is best avoided, as the gate and slippery slope to perdition."

"Slippery indeed, Father. As they were giggling at a distance she whispered in my ear, she said I must go to the clerk, this lass about her age really, almost giggling with them for what cause I do knot now, but she said I must go to her, and tell her that I am but a silly boy and my Mistress wants me in chastity and ask if she can help me with that, which I did. The girl was dying trying not to laugh at me, you know, when she turned to her, she had my hand the whole time but she turned and she snuck her other hand into my pants, and grabed me by the balls. As she did that she also said it's okay to laugh at me, I know I'm just a silly boy, she said, and the other just burst laughing, and as they were laughing together she was also squeezing me, harder and harder. They were laughing together and it made me feel so small and insignificant and happy that I can make them this entertained that I wanted to cry... Is this a sin, Father ?"

"Fornication is a mortal sin, my son. But humility and the desire to service are Divine callings, witnesses of Blessed Glory and testaments of the mercy of God."

"But is chastity a virtue, Father ?"

"Chastity itself is a virtue, of the seven capital virtues my son. However..."

"Anyways. I had tears in my eyes, I don't know what I was doing even. She was rifling through all sorts and manner of boxes on the counter there with the other girl and her friends, but I couldn't even see and I don't right know what was going on with me, it was as if I wasn't even there. Then she whispered in my ear, you know, she said if I put this on then they'll come to my place and fool around with me there. She said they'll take their clothes off if I put it on, they'll be all naked and I'll kiss them everywhere. I wasn't saying anything, I couldn't have spoken or moved for the world, you know, I was just frozen there in place ; so she dropped my pants right then and there, you know, in the store, not a care in the world. I'd have had a raging erection, you know, except she had been squeezing me so hard, it hurt so bad, I was just a drooling mess. So she snapped it on, you know, this metal bit, you know, the chastity. She snapped it on very tight, and then made me pay for it and we left. Only I don't think I was looking too good, maybe, and in truth I could barely walk, so they made me sit down on this bench right outside ; and as I was sitting there one came with the idea that they should have a farting competition. To revive me, like. So they took turns, you know, lifting their skirts and putting their panties right on my face, I mean the first time they did it at a bit of distance but that closed up right quickly and before I knew what whas happening they would just lift their skirts and, panties held to the side, push their ass into my face until my lips touched the fabric on their lips and they'd fart right in my nose without thinking twice about it, all giggles and wiggles. And she said, you know, she said I should breathe in just as they do it, and then blow it out my mouth she said, so I can taste it good. They did that a while, and they had me score their farts for them, and all the while that bit she put on me hurt so bad like you couldn't believe, so she asked me, she said 'does itty bitty baby boy widdly waddly hurt ?' like she was cooing at a baby. I couldn't say anything really but I nodded vigorously and she asked if I would like some release so I begged her, you know, I said 'please Mistress, this boy begs for release' and so she reached into their bags because by now they had many bags each with all the things I had bought them, or really just paid for, and got out a small tub, took a healthy dollop on her fingers and went into my pants, rubbing it all over but especially on the balls, and as she laid it on thickly she whispered in my ear, she said 'there baby boy, this'll make you rue the day you were born, spread your legs so I can get you right and proper, everywhere, lots and lots everwhere'. It burned like the very fires of Hell, Father, I don't know what it was but it wasn't Vaporub because I had tried that once and it wasn't anywhere near that bad, and it just kept getting worse and worse by the second. I started crying and begging her, 'please Mistress' I'd say over and over, 'please Mistress, it burns, it burns so bad' and they'd giggle and she told me, she said 'beg me for more of it' and so I did, because I had to, I said 'please more, Mistress' and she'd get more, and then she made me beg to rub it around my asshole too, so I begged her, so she rubbed it on, and this was a thousand times worse, but then she made me beg to wipe her finger inside of me, you know, inside my bum, and I was crying but I begged her, 'Mistress please, wipe your fingers inside me' and she told me to squeeze her hard as she did, and she kept putting all her fingers one by one inside and I had to squeeze her each time, each one, and it burned so bad I think I passed out, it just went all blurry around me..."

"And did they leave you there ?"

"Oh, no. Oh... Father... they... they didn't... they... oh my god..."

"Do not be affraid my child. This is the house of the Lord, no harm can reach you here."

"Oh, it's just... it's just... the memory... oh, god... oh my god... the memory of it... of it... of ittt... oh Father, the memory..."

"Yet there is no trial and no tribulation of this world that the Lord God will not absolve of the confessing faithful."

"I hope so, Father. I sure hope so. God!"

"Go on, son."

"When I came to I was on the floor of my van. They were all standing round me, holding their panties in their hands, holding their skirts up and taking turns pissing in my face. They all held large drinks, like two liter bottles they were drinking from, and it looked like they had been at this for a while. When they saw me open my eyes they gave one big great cheer and I had to close them right back up again because they all went for it immediately, you know, and even the one driving parked the van so she could join in too. I was completely naked, except for my briddle, you know, but they all laughed and she said that's not ever coming off ever again, unless maybe, if I'm a good boy, but even then not for long, so I might as well get used to it, and all my clothes all around me soaking in their piss. So they asked me where I lived and I had to give them directions except you know, I had no idea where we were, they having been driving pretty much randomly for a good while. So they made me get out of the van, you know, all naked like I was, and then once I was out they closed it up and drove away!"

"And is that how you were found, poor soul ?"

"Oh, no. They only drove up a while, with me running and screaming like a madman behind them, but then they stopped and opened up again, so I jumped in. They mocked me for being a clueless little baby boy who doesn't know where he lives, and they made me lick the soles of their shoes to clean them up because bums these days, they piss everywhere, and they must've stepped in some, somewhere. So they made me lick their soles, on my back, you know, and they'd rub their soles in my face and also a couple of them had very pointy high heels, but I mean really high, I don't know where they got those because when we met they were just normal, sneakers and all, but anyway, they'd poke me with their heels, especially in the balls, and even trampled on them which hurt like hell and I kept squirming and rolling around, and eventually as I was on my face I felt one stick her heel in my bum and I heard her scream 'hey, it goes in!' and so after that they all wanted to try it, until I started bleeding a little from all the commotion, and they said maybe I'm not even a boy, look that I got my period, I'm clearly a little girl. There wasn't anything I could say, but they did make me choose which panties I want to wear, so I had to pick a pair, being a girl now and all, and then each other girl that I didn't pick slapped me in the face and spat on me and scratched my back bloody and kicked me for not having any taste, which I guess I deserved, and then the one girl took off her top, showing me her bra and then took that off too, so I could see her pretty titties, but I couldn't... I didn't dare try and touch them. So they made me put on her bra and panties, and then they made me put on a pair of heels they had in there, I don't know if they had bought it special or just by chance but it did fit, only a little tight which was painful especially because they were new shoes, you know, but they made me go out like that again, and figure out where we were. I couldn't very well tell, being in the middle of nowhere, so they made me stop cars to ask where I was, which was mortifying but I had to do it, because they told me to, and eventually... I mean I had to stop a lot of people because most would just drive by and many stopped to just laugh or thinking I was a prostitute, which I wasn't, though really I guess I might've been, but eventually as the Sun was going down I finally figured it out, and then I gave them directions to take me home."

"And there you escaped ?"

"Oh, no. There's no escaping, Father. There they just parked the van one block up and made me walk the rest, and open up for them, all rioting and howling the whole time, to draw the most attention possible she told me. Then once we were inside they just stripped naked, and took me to the shower and just basically kept splashing each other and creating general havok, only they did force me to shave, everywhere, which took a while, and kept hitting my alcohol, which was soon gone so they sent me for more once or twice, in my bra and panties only I was allowed to wear an overcoat because I told them otherwise they might not let me buy anything, and they made me eat them out, and they made out with each other, and rummaged through my porn sites on my computer and made me watch all sorts of things, some of which were downright scary I must confess but it really seemed to be giving them ideas. Eventually in the wee hours we all passed out, and then in the morning..."

"You felt the need to cleanse the soul and confess your sins ?"

"Oh no, this was ten weeks ago Father. No, in the morning they had all left, except for my Mistress. We had a long talk, you know, she took me in hand like they say on some special porn sites they looked at, it's a special kind of relationship, and she gave me the lay of the land, and I have been living with her like that ever since. At first she went to school, mostly I think to lord it over the other girls because she'd bring a few schoolmates over noonabouts every day, and paraded me for them and I had the impression she was showing me off, even made bets with them so they had to eat her cunny which she made them do, and made me eat them out and do all things and everything they could think of. I was in Heaven for it, to tell you frankly Father..."

"But do you not repent your sins, my son ?"

"I don't rightly now, Father. I guess I do, if I just can figure out the sins from the rest. I mean, you've said yourself, it's not rightly sinful to be chaste, or to want to serve and submit in love of one another, so..."

"Then why are you here ?"

"For your absolution, Father."

"But there can be no absolution unto God without repentance, confession itself..."

"Ah, here's where you're wrong, Father. I don't seek anything unto God, I seek your absolution yourself, you see."

"But there can be nothing without God, what is the meaning of this..."

"Bear and forbear, Father, and I'll explain. You see, Thursday Mistress had this idea, this bright idea of hers, she says, 'Listen up boy, what you do is you call in sick tomorrow, you wake up bright and early, dress up in your garter belt and pretty ruffly silky stockings, you put your foam breast on and cover it all up in your streaker trench coat. You take your suction cup dildo with you, the big fat one that hurts you so good inside, and you go to confession, you hear!' she said. And I must give it to her, it's a bright idea, as one has to kneel so once they kneel down the suction cup attaches and then the rubbing's good from there. And so for the past two days I've been going to every church I could find, you know, seeking absolution, like she said, I have to kneel here and rub myself into the dildo up and down as I confess to the Holy Father, this being you, and seek their absolution."

"This is an abomination!"

"Now hold on Father. There's only one way this can end, which is with your absolution."

"What's that even supposed to mean!"

"It means you take me by the hand into the sacristy, and you introduce me to your holy rod, and I kiss it until it anoints me with the holy oil of absolution. Then I go to her and I show her that I've been absolved by a Father like she commanded, and we move on to the next adventure."

"I... I..."

"Please Father... please... let me... please let me... suckle on your... heaveny... rod... please... Father... absolve me... I... I... oh God... I'm cumming again... again... oh yes... so... so... good... please Father... this... this... this... it's the third time... time... with you... Father... I can't... I can't take anymore... Father... please... God! Oh God almighty! Oh yeeeah...."

"Come this way."

* * *

"Misereatur tui, ominipotens Deus, et dimissis peccatis tuis, perducat te ad vitam aeternam. Amen. Indulgentiam... absolutionem... et remissionem peccatorum... tuorum tribuat tibi omnipotens... et misericors... Dominus. Amen. Dominus noster... Jesus... Christus te absolvat; et ego... et... et ego auctoritate... ipsius te absolvo... te... te absolovo... ab omni vinculo excommunicationis.... et... et sespensionis... et interdicti... in quantum possum... et tu indiges. Deinde ego... deinde... te abslovo... a peccatis... tuis... in nomine Patris... et Filii... et... et Spiritus Sancti. A... A... Amen."

"I just love how thick and stickly your absolution is, Father."

"Passio Domini nostri Jesu Christi, merita Beatae Mariae Virginis et omnium sanctorum, quidquid boni feceris vel mail sustinueris sint tibi in remissionem peccatorum, augmentum gratiae et praemium vitae aeternae."

Amen.

« The making of a cuckold

La Grande Guerra »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Saturday, 18 July, Year 12 d.Tr.

Au rebours

"I'm writing an article."

"You're very pleased with yourself. Arentchu!"

"Have her lick the floor, and you eat her pill."

"Ah yes, here it is! Hey.... what did you say ? That last thing ?"

"So have her lick the floor then, and you eat her pill."

"She did."

"Well, you did clean the floor. Didn't you ?"

"Man... Did you say "lick the floor" ?!"

"So lick the floor."

"Ah, no. Oh god fucking damn it. They're specifically engineered for this. Fucking pill rolled off the table, jumped off the chair, now it's somewhwere around here, on this huge floor. What am I going to do ?!"

"I thought you meant like, you know, eat it out of the purse."

"No, no, I can set it down. I have a place to set it down on."

"But you just took them out of the purse."

"Because we've been traveling, right ? And I had to keep them in the purse."

"What ? You can't take them out of your purse ?"

"This is the mark of luxury, you know, being able to take your pills out of the purse."

As you might have intuited, this conversation was overheard in my very own living room, and in reverse order. Now let's play a little game : who's who ?

Meanwhile in ongoing peacockry, the Indian place mentioned in despatches :

And a juvenile male :

Bimbo postprandially distraught upon discovering her favourite icecream parlour is no more :

And how the other half lives :

Now then... what was I saying ? Oh, yes : LICK THE FLOOR!

« God did it to himself

Thou lector (or, the Manifest of Modernity), »

Category: Zsilnic

Friday, 06 March, Year 12 d.Tr.

Agency and other notes

Phryne

Should you suddenly find yourself with enough success to, say, help significantly decrease poverty and famine in some 3rd world country, would you be prepared and ready with a game-plan or stumbling and mystified that something of this kind of magnitude occurred for you?

Rahab What's this.

Phryne This is what they do now with their time. Mouthbreathers living in squalor all over the US are mentally preparing to solve the 3rd world's famine problems. Just in case. You never know when you suddenly become powerful.i Fucking Cinderella syndrome, an entire generation of sleeping beauties.ii

Rahab Nobody cancelled armchair generals. Favourite sport of, well, damn near everybody.

Phryne Well nobody cancelled them, but I tell you... years ago it was a rare sport. What if one day you came to New York and EVERYONE was playing checkers. Not just the Central Park geezers. Everyone. Everywhere. All the time.

Rahab As a kid I had a book by a chap named Perelman, 'Living Mathematics' (my transl.).

Phryne The Perelman ?

Rahab Not the Riemann one, no. Described exactly this happening in the late 19th with the game '15'

Phryne I recall that. But that was a fad. This doesn't look like a fad.

Rahab Was sold with the stipulation that the 'winner' gets a bag of $. It was sold in an unwinnable arrangement, of course.

Phryne Of course. You know we invented a splendid drink game with that thing ?

Rahab Oh ?

Phryne You ideally need some girls. Girls pick numbers, bois have to get said number form on the top line, get to kiss the girl or w/e.

Rahab Aha. Neat.

Phryne Course if there's no girls you can just have drinks. "Dial 1 for vodka".

Rahab Anybody plays Alcoholic Chess over where you live?

Phryne Nope. We do play alcoholic bridge tho. I think it's better, especially if you have a recorder and record the angry arguments over bidding conventions for the next day. People can get pretty confused after the 20th drink.

Rahab Here you can get nice glass sets, hollow pieces. Damned if I know who they're for, americans don't play much chess any more.

Phryne Chess is a dead fish imo.

Rahab You pointed out correctly who killed the fish. The true chess fiends are playing Go now.

Phryne I briefly looked into it. I do not think it will survive the decade. The only reason it's not already solved is because the Deep Blue rewards are no longer available (ie, whoever makes the machine will not be hailed as a hero, but decried as hostis humani generes).

Rahab All the advances have been on small boards. On full 19x19 the computational load is greater by several orders of magnitude.

Phryne So ? Need I show you the hashpower count ?

Rahab Actually there is a Japanese prize. Unclaimed. $1mil if I recall.

Phryne Baby, 1 mil doesn't get you a garconniere in LA.iii

Rahab Not that it can't be done, in principle. One thing with machine chess, is that it instantly killed the online game. Idiots immediately hooked up engines to the servers, posing as humans.

Phryne Yeah. Machine poker is a big problem for online poker. The big houses don't like to admit it, but... I know at least a coupla people who used to be into grad math now mostly do tuning for their poker bots.

Rahab If I recall, the standard move is to write a 'conservative strategy' engine that steadily fleeces suckers. Pays a few $/hr.

Phryne Yah. You have to hide it tho, because they ban obvious cases.

Rahab Naturally.

Phryne You can actually get 2-3k a month iirc, if you put in the 8 hours a day.

Rahab These folks spend much time thinking of phantom mouse-movers and other minutiae. I don't envy them.

Phryne This may be a step up for a grad, of course, but as I tend to point out to them... my pimp friends make better money.

Rahab Even here in this Zoo, one can make considerably more pay for doing considerably less.

Phryne Math people suffer from a disproportionate ability to focus.

Rahab Yes, i know this well.

Phryne They kinda just get lost... you know that theory that people don't pick fields of research, the field where they just happen to encounter their first success picks them ?

Rahab I often like to suggest to people that they recalculate their wage - per minute of actual work that they must ever do.

Phryne This is very problematic.

Rahab Well, sure. Sleeping while the bell might ring does have a cost, of sorts.

Phryne On one end of the spectrum, it makes child rearing impossible. On the other end of the spectrum, it makes things like start-ups impossible. Not that it's not a useful mental exercise, but consider also that people are able to change. Situation : you live in a small town, run a red light, cop is slightly amazed you don't want to argue with him. He asks how come, you tell him you make more per minute than the fine implies. Two weeks later, the entire police department is out to fine you. In other words : any rigid, predictable behaviour weakens your negotiation position in society. That's why chastity is such an important tool in the subjection of women, and other things.iv)

Rahab Right. Tom Schelling's nuclear war (and other game-theoretical adventures).

Phryne When the fuck did this "warriors = psychopaths" bsv gain such currency.

Rahab USA. Where else.

Phryne I get it, lazy worthless cattle believe the men are evil, because it's easier than to believe they're cattle. But for crying out loud!

In my family, the same is true of the males, who we also cannot risk getting killed to enrich oil companies' bottom lines, or be permanently damaged with PTSD because they are not psychopaths, who are the only people who can survive combat duty unscathed by permanent mental scars caused by what they were ordered to do.

(from some guest article Orlov published).

Rahab I've this age-old desire to translate Limonov to English. As if it'd maybe cure people.

Phryne Some woman who's more than happy to be a domestic slave, instead of realising there's nothing in principle wrong with domestic slavery, uses the guy's thinking to rationalise her imaginary apartness. Ie, she's not REALLY what she is, because blabla, and then proceeds to expand this hive of feminine nonsense. It's not like the Russian domestic slave women of 1700 thought it bad for their kids to be impressed into the Tsar's army just like she does today, in the exact same way, for the exact same reasons. Ono! It's all different, and it has nothing to do with her difficulty to cope with the intrinsic worthlessness of the spawn of her womb that she's put so much work into. So no, I don't think it'll ever cure people.

Rahab Probably not. Konrad lorenz was translated... When? and where's the cure.

Phryne The way the world works everyone's required to spend his life (ie, everything) for nothing. Otherwise the world wouldn't be here tomorrow. And so... women that play the domestic slave spend their life to raise kids, who grow up into adults, who are people and therefore worthless. If they die in Chechnya or not it makes no difference, just like whether you find out your wine barrel in the cellar has gone sour or not has no bearing on how you got a barrel of bad vinegar in the cellar. On the other hand if they don't spend their time raising worthless children, they spend their time getting worthless careers. Big whoop. Let's find solutions to the problem of light not coming out of our ass. Because this is now a problem.

Rahab I have a term: 'launch vehicles'. As in the rocketry concept.

Phryne What's it denote ?

Rahab People who live so that payload can go somewhere.

Phryne But it never goes anywhere. Where'd it go ?

Rahab Occasionally it goes.

Phryne Give me one such example.

Rahab R. Feynman, approached by William Shockley's sperm bank: 'go talk to my father.'

Phryne Ahaha. But see, my point is, inasmuch as the world is, then no action of the agents inside it could breach the glass of that snowglobe. Because if one action did so breach it, then it would cease to be. On the other hand, inasmuch as the definition of futility exists in the snowglobevi, everything is futile by definition.

Rahab Snow globe, or aquarium, yes.

Phryne Right. Meanwhile they go to all these contrived, paralogical lengths to introduce "progress", as if in point of fact what happens is that a succession of Matryoshka snowglobes is breached endlessly. I mean... these people'd benefit from a casual acquainting with primitive Greek thought. Herpderp, we are so much better than the biblevii, that latter reformulation of basic concepts such as the regression to infinity which we have yet to discover.

———Here's a hint : nobody ever "became" powerful. Not even Richard the 3rd. (Speaking of which, ever seen The Lion in Winter ? It's a grandiose achievement, moreso than Salo for instance, if in very much the same vein.)

Power doesn't fall into your lap, power you make a grab for, over the dead bodies of everyone who'd stand in your way. And if that's not your cup of tea, no big deal. We don't have to all be doing the same things, we just need to understand that if we don't that's because we are less than people, not because those who do do them aren't really people. [↩]While this entire "waiting to be awakened to your real life by a random outside event such as the prince's kiss" was bad enough back when only girls did it, the fact that it's become socially acceptable for boys to behave like little girls is significantly worse. Because women can in fact live a happy, fulfilled life as domestic slaves, even if they don't have to, but boys can not, even should they try to. Because women can give birth, and men can not, that's why. Not negotiable. [↩]Seriously, today's dollars are not exactly worthless, as in worth 0, and are not yet as worthless as they will be in ten years. However, if you were born back when the world still worked (ie, before 1980), for practical purposeses you can divide any current dollar sum by 1000 to get a value that's meaningful in your mental context. Conversely, if you were born after, multiply any dollar amount quoted in media from back then by 1000 to get a value that's meaningful in your mental context. I call this my xthousand rule. [↩]Other things such as, that's why art, with its focus on flexible and improbable behaviour, is such an all-important stindard of freedom, and tool of liberation. Other things such as, that's why censorship efforts to ensure art doesn't threaten the establishment, as if anything ever could be art that didn't. (Per the very definition art threatens the establishment, that's what it is, the tool I use to extract the eyes out of the skull of my still living father, to crash them under my heel for that satisfying splat sound they make. Try it sometime - if you're any good at it you may one day be the establishment in your own turn, and enjoy Laius' fate for yourself. [↩]It is bullshit. Someone who can walk up to you on the street, grab you firmly by the neck, pull out a knife and proceed to extract your pancreas, (not a psychopath yet, by the way) after which clean his blade on your hair and proceed to buy a hot dog from the stand and take the subway as if nothing had happened, and think nothing further of his momentary curiosity to visually examine your pancreas (now we're talking) is not a bad guy just because he can do something you can't. Even if that thing he can do while you can't scares the living daylights out of you. That's just not how bad works.

In fact you're just a stunted human being (and so in some ethical views, bad) because there's parts of what people can do that you can't do yourself. Because that's how the definition of humanity's identity works. Humanity isn't "those dorks that closest resemble me" or "whatever twerps I don't feel particularly threatened by". Humanity is everyone and everything that ever was and ever could be. Which is why calling something "inhumane" is about as ridiculous as calling weather "unseasonable". Herpderp and a bucket of who asked you.

Moreover, and more importantly, that you couldn't be Pol Pot makes the fact that you aren't Pol Pot morally irrelevant. You don't get to go to Catholic heaven through being boringly pointless, you get to go to Catholic heaven through being the vanquisher of your failings and your infinite potential for evil. That's how they manage to keep their heaven relatively free of furniture and slabs of marble. Other religions are no different, the concept transcends religion as it's part of logic : to be a moral agent one first needs the ability to act in the first place. That's what "agent" means. So if you can't act it then follows you're no agent and therefore... not a person and fuck you! Ever noticed how no Western movies ever are about the farmers ? [↩]This is higly debatable, incidentally. There may exist futility defined in a specified, contained context. Futility defined "vaguely" (ie, not fully specified) or "universally" (ie, including any elements outside the globe) most likely does not exist. [↩]I'd appreciate it if you managed to avoid turning my statement that "Look, some idiots are too stupid to have groked even Ptolemaic astronomy!" into some sort of "Even MP said Ptolemaic astronomy is the best!!1". Thank you. [↩]

« S.MG, December 2013 Statement

I'll tell you what impressed me today. »

Category: Trilterviuri

Monday, 06 January, Year 6 d.Tr.

Arenal 2020

Above : tres cafes chorreadas y tres chorreadas (con natilla liviana, maduro &c). It's a complicated order.

Below : Visual aids (yes, it's a complicated jokei).

Above : the Republic workspace. Just like any other workspace. They needed a name, and well...

Below : happy Lovage the Frog. His story is a simple one : one day in Budapest (as these simple stories oft begin), while I played some racing game thing with the bimbo (who won), the pet was left to amuse herself ; and soon she excitedly rejoined us, bearing a gift. She had rescued the grinning guy from one of those plushie crush boxes with the big claw -- and he travelled with us ever since!

Never did he even in his wildest dreams imagine he'd leave Hungry, let alone Europe, let alone arrive to the one true motherland of all frogs (and especially the green ones). So delighted was he at his undreamt-of good fortune, he begged, bought or stole a little diplomatic sash in the approximate colors, to make himself a lavaliere or in any case some sort of celebratory bund.

Nameless colt in the directionless grasses.

Geese party hard, and sleep harder.

"Sulphuratus" doesn't automatically promise everything turns out well. These little guys are champion aviators, they readily harass falcons in flight, and yet, in the end...

It was a pleasant (not depicted) little trip, despite the array of inconveniences (not depicted). What's this article even about, then ? Why, something else. Something entirely else (not depicted).

———Because of the black cock, see. [↩]

« Thou lector (or, the Manifest of Modernity),

La moglie piu bella »

Category: La pas prin lume

Wednesday, 11 March, Year 12 d.Tr.

Are you a sovereign citizen ?

A kid asked me something, during that awkward phase ; it's given in the title.

I didn't at first realise what he meant, but now I do, the power of whispers in my ear being what it is : he's talking of those people.

That realisation did not come alone, though. It carried a whole flood with, bringing forth light in the darkness and reorganizing a corner of the world in my head. Central among them stood the realisation that his inquiry is not direct, but implicit, that he's not actually asking whether I personally file strange artisanal paperwork with common law courts. He's actually asking something else, so... let's together see if this subjective experience can somehow arrive to any kind of objective benefit.

Tell me, do you remember how the dwellings of socialism's poor smelled, back in the day ? It's February outside, again as then, this'd be then the prime time for it. Do you recall ? Does the question jog any memories ?

Thirty, forty, fifty years ago Romania had realised mankind's perfection on this earth, as only dreams could have been dreamed before. I know this because it told me soi. In this place of wonder and ideals made manifest, in this impossible, inimaginable world which did in fact exist, wherein nobody bought houses but their place of employment issued them dwellings, wherein nobody looked for jobs, but their place of education issued them repartitii, a legal fiction halfway between court summons and military draft orders... yes, seriously, you were allocated to one of the state-run "entreprises", like "ivy league" works now in the 'states exactly. In this enchanted lala-land I say, they still had poor and rich ; but they were slightly differently flavoured, you see. The poor of socialism and the rich of socialism weren't like the poor and rich of the 19th century. They were like the poor and rich of the 20th century, which is to say 21st century in the United States, it's a century behind Europe as you well know.

That smell though, that overpowering, acrid odour of bare, brute concrete walls sweated by open gas firesii, do you recall ? I guess maybe you don't recall ; it was so long ago, and moreover so far away... Well, what can I tell you, I do.

I quite vividly remember. As I moved from primary school to junior high and consequently my social investment started by degrees to matter more than family life, I'd meet new kids. Fortuna is a cruel mistress, she will deliver her gifts to whomever happens in her path. The socialists did not much care for lineage, and so it came to pass that often enough my exclusive classes were penetrated by the scions of the poor. They make, at least in principle, as great classmates, and playmates, and everything-else mates as any other kids, at least on the first pass. They're just as promising as any other, judging on the basis of the time and place, they can be as bright, as well spoken, as pleasant and desirable companions as any other twelve year olds. Sooner or later you'd go visit their place, though, you'd end up going to where they lived, and there... well...

I never went without a prayer. As a twelve year old over the decades still clearly remembered, I never went without praying the place smells of decaying books, of book dust and book mites, of the faint sour of his mother's "pinacoteque", of old vinyls and subtle rosewood, of all those things. Sometimes prayers are answered and other times they're not ; but the problems of the bare concrete walls are unescapable.

What the kid wanted to know is not anything like whether "I'm a sovereign citizen". Instead, his curiosity comes from a different place, and tends towards a different thing. The institutionalized child, the neglected orphan, the spawn of the lights wishes to know something much simpler, more deeply fundamental, his curiosity is essential.

He wants to know if I actually think I own the things around me.

That's it, that's simply it : do I expect everything to change to accomodate me exactly, or do I understand, like he does, like they all do, that... Like so many others he's never seen such wonder before. He's heard of it, he's carefully, constructedly apprehensive of it, but it's nevertheless the fundamental inquiry : black farmhand boys from Alabama wish to know if I'm a muslim, and white castrated boys from the dreamzone wish to know if I'm a sovereign citizen.

Whereas I...

———Oh, you'll be the one to laugh at this ? You, who believe google searches are a place to find things because that's what google searches say, you who think wikipedia's the repository of human knowledge because you read it on wikipedia, you who think MIT provides an education because they spend all day telling you they do and they have ? Oh, by all means, laugh, laugh. We won't be laughing together at you, but at least we'll both be laughing. [↩]Romania had a heating problem, you see, just like any other socialism ever does. For all the realised ideals, for all the dreams "which prior could be only dreamt" nevertheless "made tangible reality", socialism never quite manages to get the supply lines straight enough, it's a thing of wonder.

It was never really talked about (though the Bernie Sandals of the time did recommend people wear "one extra sweater"), and never effectually addressed (though he did get shot for it). The poor ran the stove to heat the house. The rich used illegal electric heaters, items very much like the Argentine nonsense, deeply uneconomical idiocy. The legal obligation on the part of the condo administration to spy upon and report on any homes using electric heaters was never enforced where we lived -- which is what wealth in socialism is all about : once the idiots "in charge" wreck the currency, the new currency becomes fucking the law. Doh. [↩]

« Edwgward Allbeen Spellinck

Le clan des siciliens »

Category: Zsilnic

Wednesday, 19 February, Year 12 d.Tr.

Anyways, I was interrupted...

Anyways, I was interrupted with the previous article by the girls waking up. They're gone now, one's washing a car, the other's washing a fridge, I think, in any case washing something. There's a lot of washing going on in my enchanted house of mirrors up in the clouds -- come to think of it, Ima order onei to count the mirrors in the place. Not the hand-helds, just the wall-anchored mirrors, and not the panels or anything either, just a layman's notion of "item".

See, there I go, interrupting myself again. But anyways, with any luck we'll have a count in time for press time. We see.

I was saying, they're great girls, thoroughly broken -- you likely don't know this, for lack of any imagination coupled with an absolute absence of any sort of life experience worth the mention -- but the broken girl grows differently, infinitely more pleasingly than the wildii variant. "Different", which is to say to her own nature self-adequately correct ; the broken woman blossoms splendidly and perfumes incensingly, of her own power. You wouldn't think corcoduse peaches, Mackinaw peaches or otherwise peaches, if you knew what corcoduse were ; you don't mistake rosehips for Maria Callas (the rose) I should hope, and so is the case here -- left to "her own devices", abandoned to her fate the girl turns into a bitter, thorny, sad wreck of the woman she could've been, if only were she beaten in timeiii, tied and whipped in time, strangled in time, if only she had her "wings" clipped in all the right places at the right times... I can see you cringing as you read this gospel yet it's true, it's beyond true, it's outright incontrovertible : a girl neglected turns into no kind of anything, nor is supposed "independence" any sort of excuse for the sort of abuse implied in that neglect. Who pays for all the sad, anyways, in your hallucinated world of "choices" ? You're going to try and foist the bill on me when it becomes unbearable ? It ain't gonna work! What the fuck am I, the backer of every moron's nonsense worldview ?!

Oh, and we have a count : nineteen mirrors! From tiny ones the size of a palm to full walls covered in reflective crystal, there's nineteen mirrors in the house up high. But I was saying... what the fuck was I saying, anyways ? I was sitting over breakfast, delicious harem sandwiches, of fine imported gorgonzola and smoked trout and marinaded artichoke buds and olives and pickled palm hearts and arugula. With milk -- everything breakfast's better with a tall mug of milk, and of course bell peppers and well... I was going to write it down, whatever it was, but the thing now here in my lap, the thing upon which I now write (mostly) undisturbed was then across the great distances, a good fifty paces away -- not for any particular reason but because it had to sit down somewhere, you can't carry everything with you all the time like some sort of hermit (crab or otherwise) and so necessarily everything will be set down, somewhere. In your own house, as it were, but then if you go have breakfast against that mountain view (as opposed to this mountain view) you're then... across the god damned tower from where you left this thing and so you either walk back instead of eating, because it's far enough it puts itself quite thusly, or else eat instead of writing.

Choices, what can I tell you. So I ate instead of writing, sue me. The truth of the matter is that before being pluriously interrupted, I had somewhere in all this an article.

But then... I ated it.

———But... which one ? I do this thing, you know, predicates without the predicated, sentences missing a subject, "do this", "bring me that", they both start, they never know which one I mean... it is frustrating, I am told, and I can see it occasionally anger them, but... it amuses me, so what can you do. And by you I very much don't mean you. Occasionally I'll just be holding my dick and yell "whooore!" and there you go (by which I don't mean you). My life's amazingly simple for how elaboratedly complicated it is, and also I mostly fuck them standing because beds are for invalids and they're more in the vein of fuckbeasts than fuckinvalids, these girls of mine.

Try this, incidentally, tell yours "put your foot up there" as an invitation to that oldest game. You know, just like I do. See if she can hold full inguinal extension while being fucked for long enough to have you satisfied ; for that matter, see if her sex becomes exposed, ready for intromission, through the mere act of lifting her ankle above her tits from a standing position. No pants, you know, or in the words of an anodyne sheila "your body becomes used to it" -- and so it does. Very very used. [↩]We call them "civillians" occasionally, but the proper, as well as well earned and thoroughly deserved, not to mention self-evidently obvious terminology's never quite so flattering. On the cuntrary. [↩]"I wish you'd done that years ago! And harder, and often, and occasionally fucked me after!" [↩]

« Sheepeteering Sheepediah

Sweet Smell of Success »

Category: Zsilnic

Wednesday, 19 August, Year 12 d.Tr.

The danger of homebrew crypto

Previously I was agreeing with Schneier that "public domain encryption is probably the correct choice", with reservations. To better illustrate the point however, consider some famous cases of closed source encryption.

Mafia boss undone by clumsy crypto

Clues left in the clumsily encrypted notes of a Mafia don have helped Italian investigators to track his associates and ultimately contributed to his capture after years on the run.

The recently busted Bernardo Provenzano, reputed to be the "boss of bosses" of the Sicilian Mafia, used a modified form of the Caesar cipher to obscure "sensitive information" in notes left to either his family or underlings.

via The Register, 2006. LZW USWKSJ UAHZWJ, AK, GX UGMJKW, FGL EMUZ VWXWFKW.i

BA jihadist relied on Jesus-era encryption

An IT worker from British Airways jailed for 30 years for terrorism offences used encryption techniques that pre-date the birth of Jesus.

Rajib Karim, 31, from Newcastle, was found guilty of attempting to use his job at BA to plot a terrorist attack at the behest of Yemen-based radical cleric Anwar al-Awlaki, a leader of al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsular.

Sentencing him at Woolwich Crown Court last week, Justice Calvert-Smith described Karim as a "committed jihadist" who responded "enthusiastically" towards plans to smuggle a bomb onto a plane or damage BA's IT systems.

[...]

Woolwich Crown Court was told that Bangladeshi Islamic activists who were in touch with Karim had rejected the use of common modern systems such as PGP or TrueCrypt in favour of a system which used Excel transposition tables, which they had invented themselves.

But the underlying code system they used predated Excel by two millennia. The single-letter substitution cipher they used was invented by the ancient Greeks and had been used and described by Julius Caesar in 55BC.

Karim, an IT specialist, had used PGP, but for storage only.

Despite urging by the Yemen-based al Qaida leader Anwar Al Anlaki, Karim also rejected the use of a sophisticated code program called "Mujhaddin Secrets", which implements all the AES candidate cyphers, "because 'kaffirs', or non-believers, know about it so it must be less secure".

via The Register, 2011. Excel, you know ? It's not only the secret agents cracking the case by Excel spreadsheet, it's the evil terrorists too.

Basically these people are living in a parallel universe of their very own, happily going about their business in Excel spreadsheets and braindamaged reimplemetations of ROT13, firmly convinced the holy amulet works and the lemon juice makes them invisibleii. Perhaps their driver is all the frustration accumulated during childhood, all those years spent unable to make the magic decoder rings work ?

This is, by and large, closed source crypto : the unfounded belief that whitey couldn't possibly have figured out your genius, Allah-inspired "idea". The ungrounded belief that all those other kids that stayed in school rather than quit at age 8 learned nothing at all for their trouble. The firm conviction that you can hide behind your finger. Because you're just that special, unique and overall cool, and J. C. never existed because you never bothered to learn the history of Europe - which is to say of this world.

The problem is ubiquitous. for that matter. Redditards who still haven't mastered the First Rule of Bitcoiniii insistently act as if their ignorance of MPEx has any impact on MPEx itself. Then get gutted. Voters who still haven't mastered the First Rule of Governmentiv insistently act as if their ignorance of government corruption and lawlessness somehow erases the corruption and enacts legality. Then get gutted. Consumers who still haven't mastered the First Rule of Consumptionv insistently act as if their ignorance of Facebook policy somehow erases the mass packaging of their privacy for corporate consumption. On it goes, endlessly. And why not ? It's easier, after all.

It does not work, but it is easier, and you don't have to deal with all the mean people telling you just how stupid you are. Which you aren't. Because Allah.

———

MAX VTXLTK VBIAXK, BL, HY VHNKLX, GHM FNVA WXYXGLX.

NBY WUYMUL WCJBYL, CM, IZ WIOLMY, HIN GOWB XYZYHMY.

OCZ XVZNVM XDKCZM, DN, JA XJPMNZ, IJO HPXC YZAZINZ.

PDA YWAOWN YELDAN, EO, KB YKQNOA, JKP IQYD ZABAJOA.

QEB ZXBPXO ZFMEBO, FP, LC ZLROPB, KLQ JRZE ABCBKPB.

RFC AYCQYP AGNFCP, GQ, MD AMSPQC, LMR KSAF BCDCLQC.

SGD BZDRZQ BHOGDQ, HR, NE BNTQRD, MNS LTBG CDEDMRD.

THE CAESAR CIPHER, IS, OF COURSE, NOT MUCH DEFENSE.

[↩]True story. [↩]TALKING ABOUT BITCOIN, EVEN IF IN A GROUP, DOES NOT MAKE YOU PART OF BITCOIN. [↩]If you're not ruling them, they shall rule you. [↩]If you're not paying, you're not the customer, you're the meal. [↩]

« Why I suspect Schneier is an US agent.

La liceale [nella classe dei ripetenti] »

Category: 3 ani experienta

Saturday, 12 October, Year 5 d.Tr.

An introduction to metaphysics

We watched Dupa Dealuri with a new girl.

She found it interesting if in places cringeworthy -- as a little girl she had had what passes for a religious education in the colonies, and the plain exposure of the anatomy and physiology of an entirely different-but-same secti proved in places trying.

Then she read the review.

She found it enlighteningii and, upon some meditation, asked how can one come to the conclusion the girls are the same girl ? There's some superficial similarities, she'd readily grant, but...

"Not a matter of superficial, or of similarities. Suppose you're blindfolded."

"Haha." (she was, coincidentally, blindfolded at the time).

"Now suppose I take you over by the stove, and waft under your nose -- hey, what's your favourite food yet ?"

"Stuffed cabbage."

"Ok, so I waft the most delicious pot of stuffed cabbage."

"Yeah..."

"And then I burn you with the pot."

"Ouch."

"These two sensations are not similar, nor is their unity a matter of perceived similarity, whether superficial or otherwise. You are not asked to by your senses resolve anything. The idea is that both the scent and the burning, while perceptibly separate, are really coming from the same thing, which lies somewhere beyond the veil your senses can pierce."

"There's a veil ?"

"You don't get to know. By the definition : because the veil is defined as 'that veil your senses don't get to pierce', it's never going to be possible to confirm or infirm its existence."

"So then..."

"That's metaphysics : the proposition that there is such a veil, and the discussion of possible configurations of items behind it that presumably might drive seemingly disparate sensata as if they were in fact distinguishable but not really distinct aspects of the same one thing."

"So then religion is like... it's meta for poor people."

"Exactly. The deplorable barbarians did the best they could of the items they found in a decaying empire."

———"How is this not a sect ?"

"What do you mean 'sect' ? This is the trunk from which the catholics heretically split up a while back, much like the protestants / anglicans and then in turn then neoprotestants more recently. It definitionally can't be a sect -- everyone else is."

"Because it's religion." she proferred, taking full advantage of the poverty of vocabulary so very typical of sluts raised by breeders -- she now means "sect" as in "group with exotic yet strongly maintained social behaviours" (not that she's not ready to slide back into any other meaning, etymological or otherwise, at any other point). Because that's how simple people survive their simple lives : by restricting their tortured spirit to simple tools of expression (and therefore comprehension -- in a word, representation). If anything is anything else, as in the pantsuit world, then what problem can ever be had ?

"You mean all religions are sects ?"

"Yes!"

"Ok, so then there you go -- for the people who don't see a difference between religions and sects, it's a sect. For the people who do see a difference, it's a religion." [↩]This being the great differentiator : the useless, both male and female, find it painful and go the fuck away -- if only they went away properly & for good, rather than run off a slight distance and set to sulking. It's still my world, yo. Your world is, from what I hear, being prepared by that hunchback of your father -- in "heaven". Go there, just fucking go back to your ugly daddy already, there's no room, no place and really no desire to keep seeing you around here ; nor is that ever gonna change. Not at all, not one iota, not for any collection of uncountable (for cause of disinterest) varmints gathered in all available crevices, dark corners and other such hidey-holes. You can whisper among your pointless selves until the stars turn (mostly) brown, this ain't ever gonna be nor can it ever become your world. [↩]

« "Bitch, I'm a cow..."

O vaca cu cabina si-un bou cu torpedou »

Category: Gandesc, deci gandesc

Wednesday, 10 June, Year 12 d.Tr.

American Pie

We sat through the cringefest that's American Piei mostly for the bimbo's benefit -- she hadn't seen it before. Can you believe the insanity, by the way, here's the item, the "cultural artefact" that undisputably set the limits as well as provided the impetuus for every aspect of youth culture as she's "experienced" itii, as she's soaked through and marinaded in ; yet... she's never seen it. She's entirely aware of it in myriad ways to do with those vague rumours of history aforementioned ; but she's also and equally bereft of contact with the prime mover of it all -- a circumstance making it all the easier to pretendiii "science just is" or "that's just how things are" or "do we still have to DO this" etcetera. A regrettable state of affairs -- before "the pact" was "invented" as an Aaron Spelling trope there wasn't the pact ; and when George yells out "We had a pact!!!" he's mocking something, specifically, pointedly. Ah well...

Anyways, a window into an America before the US is always instructive. Those people had things, in those days, you know. Do you know ? Do you... remember ? Back when white people lived in suburbia and had things ?

Don't worry -- none of that has anything to do with you. It's just history, whether lived or otherwise it dwells in history books and the scholarly mind, it's where it belongs, it's where it stays. You get the sequels or sequelae or whatever it is they call it.

Life.

———1999! by Paul (and Chris) Weitz, with Shannon Elizabeth (topless), Alyson Hannigan, Natasha Lyonne, Tara "Perfect" Reid, Mena Suvari and a whole slew of other hopefuls that came to naught.

Do you suppose, incidentally, than when he got that role they told the derpy kid involved that "it'll probably be great for his singing career" ? Well... it wasn't. Nobody heard of Chris Klein's "jazz vocal" career, at any rate. Moreover, I suspect there's a major disconnect between the vague rumours of a history long past (whereby, for instance, Sinatra gave Mr. Warmth his start) and current practice, where "careers" are very much not a thing anymore. But... why depress yourselves, hai mai bine-un cintec vesel sa cintam.

PS. Stiffler's salary was $8`000. Yes, that's right, that's what the kid made for being in this film. [↩]Let's permit the record a voice :

12 July 1999 | by JeffCNN

I laughed so hard I spit out half the bucket-o-pop I was drinking, and finally had to stop sipping from its fine nectar, because so many times I was hooting and bending over in joy.

There are some slower moments to let you catch your breath and allow for moments of sincerity, but only for a minute. The scenes in the previews (the ones you think will ruin the movie for you) are expounded on ten-fold, so there are plenty of surprises.

You see now ? Do you see ? [↩]Not that she does, at all -- but theoretically regarding the matter. [↩]

« thelastpsychiatrist.com - How Does The Shutdown Relate To Me? Adnotated.

Soda Dungeon 2 »

Category: Trilematograf

Sunday, 09 August, Year 12 d.Tr.

Afacerea Protar

Afacerea Protari is a purely delightful piece of leftover flotsam. Residue. Whatever you prefer to call material left behind.

Besides the manifest documentary value of footage made at a time when horse-drawn carriages and early (always black) cars easily intermingled on sett Bucharest streetsii, of a time when hats had principally a functional justification in societyiii, at a time of pre-"democratic" social relationships, the Protar Affair enjoys the further benefit of having been constructed on a play by Mihail Sebastianiv, who is quite enough of a funnyv faggot to make some collegiate chikie confront her very Fad professor because he isn't giving his due to Alexander the Great, whom she's in love with, and who meets her in her dreamsvi. Yes, that's right, the very much & amply homosexual Alexander, "reformed" and reformulated to order by the young bearer of that hole in which anything fits. In her dreams. What more need I say, indeed what more could I say ? What further could be said ? And why ?

Besides... do you think you look like Alexander Macedon ? Mai stii... ?

———The Protar Affair, 1956, by Haralambie Boros, with Ion Iancovescu, Ion Fintesteanu, Radu Beligan. [↩]And made for the purpose of being a film, a piece of cinema, constructed as best they could by people then, according to what they themselves then judged could and couldn't mean. [↩]Watch the men use them to signify, with all the routined ease of a principal mechanism, well oiled and well worn through incessant practice driven by oft repeated practical necessity. [↩]I don't expect you've ever heard the name, on account of how I don't expect you're cultivated in any sense. Nevertheless, I do actually prefer this Romanian Jew* of an Aldous Huxley to the other one, in a few fields.

------

* The fellow, for being born to Jewish parents in what at the time was rather an extraterritorial port, stood nevertheless more of a Romanian (in both his own subjective opinion as well as as a matter of fact) than most alive "Romanians" I've to date yet met ; and by far. [↩]"anything for a joke!" [↩]Zburatorul, yes, yes. [↩]

« The peaks of the day

A summary of human activity »

Category: Trilematograf

Thursday, 23 April, Year 12 d.Tr.

Aaaalge-bra

"You're my best friend, Annie. I want you to be there for me. You have to come."

"I don't understand, why do you want me there ?!"

"He said he'll make a cheap whore out of me. He has the place picked out already and everything."

"He said that ?!"

"Yes he did... And... I want you to watch it happen. I want you to see me doing it. Nothing will ever be the same. I will never be the same."

"But I mean... aren't you affraid ?!"

"Yeah..."

"Where is it gonna be ?"

"Joe's Bar."

"That ancient dump ?!"

"The alley behind it, yeah."

"Wow."

"Yeah..."

"You've totally made up your mind and everything, huh. You're going."

"Yes ma'am!"

"Ok, Jess. I'll be there for you."

The girls fluttered together in slightly teary overexcitement for a second.

"What do we have to wear ?"

"High heels, short skirt and a slutty top. No bra, no panties. I'm going to pull a Beyonce, with my light blue shirt."

"Like that time she went to the mall with Jay Z and she had the shirt knotted under her tits but all buttons undone ?"

"That's it. Just you know, wear it normally getting out, then fix it on the way."

"Yeah... do I have to... you know ?"

"Um. He didn't say anything, I mean he doesn't even know you're coming. But... would you ?"

"Really ? No bra, no panties ?"

"Yeah. Totally."

"I've never even done that before."

"You have to. Actually... you know... that dress you have, the white one ?"

Annies eyes dilated in panic. "The one... the one with the snaps on the side ?!"

"That one, yeah."

"But... but... no fucking way, it's practically see-through."

"Yeah... please, Annie."

"What the hell, girl! Is he making you a whore or are you making me a whore ?!"

"He's making me a cheap whore, and... and I'm making you a cheap whore's best friend. You have to be! Please..."

"I can't get out of the house dressed like that."

"Oh, you don't have to. We'll change in the bathroom."

"Here ?"

"Yeah! We meet up before and do it. Make-up, too."

"Jesus, just like real whores do, huh!"

"Hell yeah! Just like... Hey. You got the guts for it ?"

"I think so..."

"No, I mean..."

"What."

"Right now!"

"What ?!"

"Take everything off. We'll snap some pics!"

"What if... what if anyone comes ?!"

"Who's gonna come."

"I don't know... anyone..."

"We just duck into a stall. Or..."

"Or not ?"

"I mean, it's the ladies', right ?"

"Damn straight."

The two best friends proceeded to peel off stich after stitch, getting ever hyper-er by the minute, clicking excitedly on their phones while giggling. It took them a while, but eventually...

"See you in Math tomorrow."

"Aaaalge-bra!"

« My first mister

Desperation in desolation ; Or, the woes of the contemporary entrepreneur ; Or, what came of my first attempt at running the second generation Eulora client. Ornery, in any case. »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Thursday, 10 September, Year 12 d.Tr.

A summary of human activity

As you perhaps know, I live up on a hill.

The other hill over, there's a stone quarry.

This fortuitous arrangement of configurations permits me to observe, and therefore for your benefit summarize, human activity.

Here goes :

First, you find a chunk. Make sure it is a good chunk!

Then, you grind the chunk into a flour, which you put in sacks and cart away from there.

Separately, or at the same time, you find another chunk. Make sure it is a good chunk as well!

You grind this other chunk into chunklets, which you load into trucks and cart away from there.

You gather up the chunklets and the flour at a different place.

There at the new place, you mix the flour with water and the chunklets. Once it dries, it'll make a good big chunk!

Aren't you tired yet, seriously now ?!

Even taking an insider look at the madness, and admitting therefore that the original chunks were "no good" and the resulting chunk is "much better" or somesuch local truths : don't you think summarization is therefore rendered meaningless nor merely as the occasional activity, but outright as the mere theoretical possibility, altogether ? In which case... nevermind me, why do you do it, at all ?

Human activity is incompatible with rationality, not "in general" nor in some kind of "sum total" but outright and altogether, in every fold and each aspect however considered.

The ants also process chunks into chunks, tearing down chunks to build chunks ; but at least they don't build expectations, summaries, reasonables and other such wonders.

« Afacerea Protar

Suburra »

Category: Gandesc, deci gandesc

Thursday, 23 April, Year 12 d.Tr.

A story of candy, but with an eye rather than a why.

"Oh wow! Just.... just wow. This is your place ?"

"Ummm... yeah."

"This is where you live."

"Yeah, I live here."

"No tricks, no bullshit, no company-provided, no lease, no friend left for two weeks in Vegas and I'm watering his pets in the meanwhile, straight up, this is your place."

"I feel like I'm on stand... Do you want to see the title or something ?"

"No, but... would it be okay if I took a shower ? Maybe it washes poverty off of me or something."

"Sure. It's..."

"That way ?"

"Sure, that works. Come by the pool when you're done, I'll fix you a drink."

"Which is... that way ?"

"Exactly."

"I'll be right there in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

~ * ~

The slender mulatto girl is standing by the sliding doors, water dripping sparklingly off her hair, off her fingertips, off her left elbow and even, occasionally, off her breasts. She's holding a large towel at some distance from herself, as if suspicious of its dubious services, but otherwise towers stark naked, freshly shaved, faintly perfumed, glistening in the hues of late adolescence (or "young adulthood" as they call it in those parts). The pasty-ass whiteboy is standing by the bar across the shapely pool in indistinct trunks, his mouth agape. For a while they face off thus, the water between them. She's calm, not exactly at ease but rather purring softly in neutral, awaiting orders. There's a storm brewing in him, slowly but definitely, until eventually it hits pitch and comes out of his mouth -- like he were a teapot brewing the usual teapot storm, to culminate in the aforeknown whistle.

"Oh my god! Melissa!"

"Please don't call me that."

"What should I call you ?"

"Call me anything you want. I'd like you to pick a name for me."

"A name for you ?!"

"Yes, like when you get a new pet. People when they get pets don't ask what its name was, most of the time. They just come up with one."

"You... you..."

"I want you to name me."

"But... uhhh... I mean... what do you mean ?!"

"I mean I want to live here. I'll leave if you tell me to, of course ; but if you don't, I'll do whatever you want me to."

"You mean... you... I..."

"Yes, of course" her speech slows down by degrees, and the spaces between words grow as she's putting steps down towards him. "you can fuck me. Any time you want. Whichever way you want. I'll be your private piece of fuckmeat while you let me live here." Finally, two feet apart, she faces him for a long, honey-dripping moment and then seats herself on the recliner nearby, knees far apart. "Would you like to sample the goods ?"

He jumps on her, manically, trunks still attached. She peels them off for him as he grinds into her, confused penis half erect probing at her abdomen, generally between right hipbone and lower right rib, sliding towards bellybutton occasionally. She grabs the base, cupping his balls, which eases his blind fury somewhat ; then she slides further out, flat on her back, and alligns penis on slit. He finds his way in her now, and proceeds to pounding furiously, abstractly. She folds her knees and lifts them by degrees, cushioning him, letting him have his way with her. He spends within minutes, and collapses on her, panting. She holds him tight between her knees for a while, as he catches his breath. Then she rolls him over, and proceeds to slowly, very methodically grind him down, very carefull not to lose the flaccid penis inside her. Short, slow movements up and down, up and down, up and down. She's in great shape, all those years of track and swim team back in highschool do pay off.

She dangles her breasts in his face as she's working him, regularly, dedicatedly. She looks into his eyes on the downstroke, she plays with his hair... eventually she whispers in his ear, words, words apart, word after word. "So" she says, breathlessly, "what's" she whispers, toridly, "the verdict" and she glints her eyes at him "can I" and she puts out her tongue, narrowed like a snake, licking him from chin to temple on the upstroke "can I" she whispers throatily, "can I" and she rolls her eyes in her head, as she feels her own orgasm welling up inside her, stirred by her clit ground into his hair, and his penis coming back to life inside her secret folds, and so many things and everything else, "stay" she whispers, as her breath cuts, "do you" as she's going faster "do you" she silently screams, ragged voice exhausting under her, "do you" and then fast, frantic "take me", at a feverish pitch and moving three strokes a second "in", she glances at him, "massah".

"Please don't call me that."

"What... what... what... should... I... call... you..."

"You could... ummm... could you call me boss maybe ?"

"Yessss... boss... yes... you're... the... boss... may... may.... I... cum... boss."

"Oh yes!"

"Ohh yessss.... yeah... oh yeah... boss... thank you... boss... yeah... yeah... oh yeah!"

She collapses on his chest, panting, lost, water coming off of her in rivulets and great steam geysers every which way, liquids similar to water at any rate, salty, flavoured, flowing freely out of her and over his shoulders, and arms, and ribcage and pubis and ballsac and everywhere else in contact. She's a fluid springwell and they're drenched together -- drenched in all and everything excepting his little spoonfull of milky contribution. That's been carefully coagulated deep inside her, stored there, held in by ten thousand interlocking folds and fibers. It ain't never coming back.

"Are you... are you..."

"Yes, I'm on the pill."

"But...'

"I'm healthy. Are you ?"

"Yesss."

"Remember boss -- anytime you want. Whatever way you want, whichever way you want. I'm yours."

"Th... th... thank you."

"No matter."

They lay there, functionally two-backed beast collapsed upon itself, for the longest time. At first they pant, then later they just breathe normally, but they do not say anything. Eventually he topples her, to her side, and kisses her, looks into her eyes and kisses her, but he still doesn't say anything. She looks right back, and kisses right back, but doesn't say anything either. Eventually his penis, much reduced, slides out or rather is secreted out of her vagina -- her flow unyieldingly abundant, still ongoing, blind to their exhaustion. She's leaking cuntjuice like a punctured hose, no likely cessation in sight.

Eventually the voice of practicality, and practical concern speaks out through him. "So do you want me to drive you back to campus, pick your stuff up ?"

"No."

"What do you mean no ?!"

"I'm never going back there. I don't want any of that stuff."

"But... I mean... it's your stuff!"

"It was. Now I don't want it anymore."

"That's..."

"The craziest thing you ever heard ?"

"Kinda..."

"I'm not crazy, boss. I just don't want some stuff anymore." she pauses for a second, furrows her brow prettily "it wasn't that good anyway."

"But... what about your grades ?"

"I don't care."

"You're not going to finish ?"

"I'll do whatever you tell me to. But otherwise... no."

"What was your major, anyway ?"

"Some bullshit."

"Why did you pick it, then ?"

"I didn't fucking pick it, you just have to pick something. Did you pick the president ?"

"No... but I did finish my degree..."

"So bully for you. Boss."

"What are you going to do without a degree ?"

"Exactly what you tell me to. With or without."

"But I mean..."

"Look, you want me to get back there, just say so. I will. You want me to finish that or any other degree, just say so. I'll do it or die trying, dealer's choice. Pick whatever it is and tell me."

"Do I have to pay for it ?"

"You don't have to anything. If you say 'go get a degree in Nuclear Physics and pay for it streetwalking' I'll be strutting the sidewalk every night and paying attention in class every day until it's done. Whatever you say goes, from now on, I'm your thing and you tell me."

"I... I..."

"Your thing."

"But... you're a person, aren't you ?"

"Whatever that is."

"But what do you mean, you've got your rights, don't you ?"

"No."

"What the hell, no."

"I told you -- I don't want any of that stuff."

"But what about feminism ? What about all the gains made in the past..."

"Whatever."

"You're not a feminist ?"

"I'm a woman."

The immensity, the absurdity of the situation finally strikes him, like a large piled-up helping of brick, and he breaks into laughter. Then he sings to her, somewhat out of tune, "Girl... you'll be a woman... soon..."

"Now."

"Really ? When did that happen ?"

"When did what happen, boss ?"

"When did you figure out you're a woman."

"I think earlier, in the shower."

"So you were there on a date, asked to take a shower, and as you grabbed the soap it suddenly struck you... I'ma latch on to this guy."

"No, actually, it was the razor."

"The razor ?"

"I liked you, okay ?"

"Not anymore ?"

"It's different, now. I don't think of such things, you're the boss."

"Go on."

"I wanted to make a good impression. It came to me, you know, he said pool, I didn't bring anything, what do I do ? I don't like being one of those, you know. So I said to myself... you gotta do it, you show up there commando. No bathing suit, no nothing. But then... well, you have to shave, you know. And besides, I wanted you to be able to see it. Clearly. I wanted to be real naked, you know, for real. So I go for my shaver, but of course it's not there -- this isn't our bathroom it's yours."

"So what did you do ?"

"I... I used yours."

"You used... mine."

"Yeah."

"You mean you put my shaver with which I shave my face on your filthy disgusting skankhole ?"

"I... I mean... sorry."

"Well what do I do now ?!"

For a moment they face each other, or rather, his fake indignancy she has no way to decipher squares off with her fake repentancy he has no way to decipher. Eventually she breaks the silence

"You could... you know, you could kiss it better."

"What a genius idea! I think I will!"

So he bends over her and he kisses her smooth, silky pubis letting out a "mmmm". Then he moves further, by degrees, lapping at her ever-yielding font. She moves her hips for him, to ease access, and in the process rests her lips half inch from his tried manhood. She just lays there a moment, trying to enjoy his brusque, alarmingly probing ministrations, watching his tool bobbing slightly with it. Eventually she blows, and the cock winces all by itself, and the balls swirl somehow strangely, like a frog or some slithery thing lives in there. She gives the spot a quick flick of the tongue, and they move again, grinding silently the other way. She engulfs his cock in one movement, swallowing it down as far as it goes, then proceeds to hum... "Grrrrlll... shlll bwwffttt a hhrrrmmmmnnnn ghhhhnnnnn..." His whole body sparks with electric charge, and he starts pounding at her again, automatically. It nearly chokes her, but she grabs his ass with both hands and doesn't let go, as her eyes bulge and tear up, as her whole body coils in respiratory panic, she digs her nails into his flesh and holds that piece of meat in place for dear life, as she feels her head growing airy and her stomach convulsing. She feels like she's imminently passing out, but she does not yield a hair, and the next beat there's a huge explosion, sending his cock out of her mouth and a fair helping of fresh, yellow-green vomit to follow.

He turns back towards her with a "what the ?!" and he confronts the sight of something like potato salad stranded, spitwrecked among his pubic hairs. The sight makes him convulse once, and paints his face in that peculiar quizzical, bemused look people get when they're about to. He manages to hold it down, and tries to stand up, but then, one knee on the recliner the smell catches up with him. That peculiar aroma of fresh vomit, oozing another's digestive juices, so similar and yet so wrong. He flails, grabs hold of her throat for some reason, and loses it. From above, from his perch atop of her, it's coming. It's coming for her, on trails of gravity, and it's coming with a vengeance.

She closes her eyes tightly, but she opens her mouth. She opens wide, and soon enough receives a sizable helping of whatever had been his dinner. She doesn't know. It makes her convulse again, but unproductively, and when at length she dares open her eyes she perceives him, still atop her, eyes wide with panic.

"Ihhh wlowly" she manages, from underneath the unlikely burden of a mouthful of foreign substance she doesn't know what to do with. Should she swallow it ? Should she spit it out ?

"Spit that out! You damn psycho!"

"Sorry boss."

"What the fuck are you doing ?!"

"I... I... I was giving you a blowjob."

"Right ?"

"But then you started hammering my throat, and I... I didn't want to let go."

"So you took it 'till you puked ?"

"I... I think so. I think I passed out."

"And then ?"

"Well I mean, you were above me and I... I... I didn't know what to do."

"What the hell do you mean, you didn't know what to do ?"

"How do I know ? It's yours. Maybe it's for me. Maybe you want me to eat it."

"And if I do, you would."

"I would."

"Fuckin' psycho. Like right now, if I say lap all of this up, you will."

"I will."

"Alright, go ahead. Lap it all up like a cheap whore." He looks at her, as if to say he has no idea where that came from. She looks at him as if to say that she's got her suspicions. He continues, dissatisfied with his expression heretofore, feeling like he could do much better "lap it up, bitch, lap it up like dogs do. Come on, be my dog bitch, my lap dog bitch" he ejaculates, suddenly quite pleased with his masterful turns of phrase.

She switches weight on her knees under his oral onslaught, and bends her face down towards the revolting heaps upon the recliner. With every fiber at their disposal her innards revulse and attempt revolt, but their speechless mutiny is powerless against her. The slender mulatto girl bends her face lower and lower, her tongue comes out, and then flicks at the indistinct, fragrant mess. He's watching her, mesmerized. Her flick turns to a lap, and then more and more come, finding a rythm. Presently she's finished one pile and moving on to the next when his voice rings, calmly, "Let's go take a shower." She looks at him, her chin a little green, and then regains to her feet.

As they enter the spacious shower room, for it's anything but a cabin, it could readily accomodate a half dozen glamour models inside its Italian marbled belly, she faces him for a moment, then sinks to her knees. He looks down on her, as she lifts her face towards him.

"Pee on me, boss."

"What ?"

"Please pee on me."

"Why ?!"

"I closed my eyes."

"What ?"

"Earlier, when I saw you were about to... on me. I... I closed my eyes."

"So ? Good for you that you did!"

"Yeah, but... please. I want you to pee on my face. In my eyes. Please."

"What the..."

"On my face, please. I need to learn my lesson, please pee in my eyes. They're wide open, look! Please!"

He gets the quizzical look again, but a thin stream of urine also proceeds, somewhat unsurprisingly. It's been a while, after all. His excretion is nuclear orange, well scented, he winces as he delivers it through his throbbing, well exhausted penis. She positions herself to receive it. The stream hits her left eye and she winces, paninfully, then she curls into a ball, blinking excitedly. She lets out a low groan, but presently she's straightened herself up again, and she's pushing the left eye back into the stream. She blinks less, she winces less, she sucks some in her mouth and gargles it, then takes some time trying to aspirate it through her nostrils. She chokes and coughs, but perseveres, her hair and body drenched in his orange offering. She gets herself in the other eye, and the mouth again, and keeps at it, soaking herself in in thoroughly, every which way. He's watching her, mindblown, from high up, above, from atop the lofty perch a standing position affords in the affairs of mankind. Eventually he lifts one foot and uses it to slowly push her face down to the floor. She kisses it all the while, obediently moving with it, until her left cheek rests on the marble. They share this arrangement for a while, and then he reaches down, grabs her and pulls her back up to standing.

"I want you to wash me. You know, like one of those bath slaves like they had."

"Yes, boss," she whispers, and she proceeds to lather the soap.

"And tell me again, about being a woman."

"I don't know what to say about it."

"Earlier, with the shaver..."

"Sorry about it."

"Go on."

"I used your shaver on my filthy disgusting skankhole... and... as I was doing it I realised I don't care about my own shaver. I thought I needed it, see ? But as it turns out... I didn't. I didn't need it. I don't really need it, and what's more, when it came to it... it wasn't even there for me."

"Your own shaver ?"

"Yes."

"How could it be there for you, if it's at your dorm room ?"

"It couldn't. Which is the point, I suppose -- I didn't need it there, I needed it here. I shaved a thousand times and nobody saw it, I've had enough of that. Then the one time I really cared how it looks -- nothing. What is it for, then ? What is it all for ?!"

"Hm..."

"So it came to me, as I was shaving -- I don't want any of that. It's no use. It doesn't help me, it's not there to help me, it's just there to give me something to do. I ain't got the time to drive over there to pick shit to bring back here so I have shit that needs to be driven for and with. I'll do something else with my life."

"What ?"

"I'll wash you like one of those bath slaves."

"Oh."

"How am I doing, by the way ?"

"I don't know, I've never had a slave bath." he offered, pensively. "I don't think they've been doing that for thousands of years."

"Fucking razors taking the fuck over, nobody's doing anything for all the babying items they're stuck with. Burn the whole lot down."

"But..."

"I'm not even kidding, I want you to burn the clothes I came in with. Or throw them away, plastic shit, it's probably a smoke hazard if you even try to burn it."

"So you'll just be naked ?"

"Yes."

"Your whole life, completely nude ?"

"Why not ?"

"What if someone comes ?"

"If you want me to come out I'll come out, and if you want me to stay in I'll stay in."

"Naked."

"Sure."

"What if my mother and father come over ?"

"You can introduce me, say mom and dad, this is my new pet. What do you think ?"

"And you'll just stand there naked, and smile."

"Unless you want me to kneel or something."

"You're completely nuts."

"Is it that bad ?"

"I've never heard of anything like that. Ever."

"Look, you want me to wear something, I'll wear it, whatever it is."

"But otherwise, you'll just go around like you are, and let the chips fall where they may."

"Exactly."

"I think this is exactly what a slut is."

"Okay..."

"What if the pool guy shows up ?"

"What ?"

"Well, what will you do ?"

"I don't know, whatever it is I was doing."

"What if they jump you ?"

"I'll look at you, see what you want me to do."

"And if I'm not there ?"

"Fight them off, I guess. You want me to fight them off if they jump me, or fuck them ?"

"I don't want you to fuck the pool guy!"

"Alright, so then I won't."

"What if I bring home a date ?"

"You mean, like you brought me earlier ?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know... you want me to jump them or fight them off ? This is becoming complicated..."

"Holy moly yes what the fuck."

"I'll fuck her if you want me to."

"What if she doesn't want you to ?"

"Da fuck I care what some skank wants or doesn't."

"So uh... I mean, if they came to arrest me, you'd shoot the cop."

"I don't know, I've never thought about it. You want me to shoot the cop, I'll shoot the cop."

"This is the craziest shit I ever heard."

"Have you come up with a name for me yet, by the way ?"

"You really don't want to be Melissa anymore ?"

"No, please boss. Don't make me be that, it's played out. Let me have a new life."

"How about... ugh. This'll take some thinking."

"Okay, but please don't take too long. Otherwise some accident will take over, and I'd much rather you name me deliberately."

"Alright."

"I think I'm done washing you, unless you want me to do it over ?"

"I want you to kiss my ass" he said, and the next moment he could feel her warm lips unpuckering his asshole slightly, her tongue flicking about like a teen's practicing French kissing. He exhales and turns around.

"Ok Candi, that's enough."

"Is that my name ?"

"Yes, I hope it's adequately degrading. You'll spell it with an i not a y."

"Yes boss. Thank you boss. Thank you so much."

"Alright, let's go buy you some clothes, then."

"May I shower myself, first ?"

"Go right ahead."

"And may I clean the... well, you know, the remnants ? By the pool. Before it dries out."

"Ah, that's a good idea."

"I'll shower after. May I use cleaning products ?"

"As opposed to what ?"

"I don't know, my fucking face ?"

"Uh, yes, please."

"Where are they ?"

"What ?"

"The. Cleanning. Products."

"Oh, oh. Door under the stairway, see in there."

For the second time that evening a dripping wet, thoroughly nude girl is walking towards the pool, this time holding a bunch of various paraphenalia. He isn't there, now, anymore. He's following behind, holding a drink, watching her square off with their discarded juices. He's evidently enjoying the show, and she evidently doesn't mind stopping mid way to suck him off. She doesn't even stand for it, just crawls over and starts bobbing her head this way rather than that, working her tongue and lips instead of palms and fingers. She sucks him steadily, hands on her hips, bobbing back and forth until he's done. She swallows the mess and then opens her mouth, tongue out, showing him like he were the pill nurse in a psychiatric ward. Then as she's rubbing the head of his deflating meat on her face, squeezing the last strands of semen out she smiles sweetly and offers "If you want to spit on me or anything, now's the time, I'm going into the shower anyway." He resists the childish urge to pour his drink on her head for a blink and then she's gone, quick on her feet.

~ * ~

A man dressed in cargo shorts, a stupid tshirt, tube socks and sneakers and a woman dressed in nothing at all emerge from a parked jeep in front of the only store in the only strip mall within twenty miles where such an attempt might pass without a citation. On the other side there's a large strip club, humongous parking lot and four lane accessway ; but on this side, at the back of it as it were, there's a small parking lot surrounded by a bunch of related shops, selling stripper Pleasers, fetish gear, dildos, inflatable dolls, plastic fuckholes etcetera. There's nobody else in sight ; she tiptoes past the door he opened for her, making a bell chime in the process. He disappears after her. Presently the parking lot returns to its previous desertment under the tolerant rays of the desert's setting Sun, and whether the clerk raised an eyebrow or asked permission for taking pictures I guess we'll never know.

« The story of Kitty and her kitten

Of wants, and wanting, and of your daughter. »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Saturday, 20 June, Year 12 d.Tr.

A Raisin in the Sun

A Raisin in the Suni is nothing short of a masterpiece ; but before we discuss that let's spend some time on the circuitous path it took to reach this review.

The ocean bathing the Western shores of Costa Rica is a beast, mellifluous, belovable, utterly beastly beast of a beast. It steals things, too, like any great cat would do, thousand miles long or no. It stole Hannah's glasses, it stole my hat once, it tries to steal the car keys and everything, always. Besides, it is scary at times, and threatening (in a loving way) throughout, so I proposed mayhap offerings be made to appease it ? Hannah chose a raisin for the purpose, and when I asked why exactly she said that in being so dry it'd probably be its favourite treat -- everything we could offer anyway diminutive comparatively to its size, but the negative zest, the anti-ocean-ness manifest in the raisin's dessication perhaps apt to satisfy its appetites in quite a satisfying way!

This is why Iii double clicked on the item called "A Raisin in the Sun", this and no other reason caused its screening. Then I kept it going because... I don't know how to put this, but it is the only film with black people. At least the only one I know of, but in any case : yes I'm aware human beings coincidentally pigmented occasionally do ok as supporting cast in white people films. Occasionally they can almost pass for leading, with a lot of very careful construction, like that guy in Men in Black, or like Chris Rock in whatever that thing was called where he's a Central Park hustler that Whitey (I don't recall, was it "teh FBI" ?) decides he's absolutely and imprescindibly needed for whatever nonsensical purpose any of five thousand white boys'd have done just as good (in fact better) at. So yes, I understand white people setting themselves to making black people appear like actors can in general manage (just as they similarily manage to handpuppet females into seeming leadership, political craft, intellectual ability and whatnot).

The reason you're reading this review, however, and the reason what you're reading leads with "nothing short of a masterpiece" is that indeed A Raisin in the Sun transcends that kind of interest. Yes, it's nice to see blacks for once and of themselves being good actorsiii as opposed to being Dolemiteiv, and that'll keep the eye going ; but then the scene of the loss unfurls, and the mind, shocked, realises that this is indeed artistic expression of fundamental human experience in form so excellent as to require indexing!v

There's no possibility of escaping A Raisin in the Sun now, because every time I want to tell some objectionable nigger why exactly he's objectionable I can readily reference this great production of the human spirit!vi Much like, Exactly like a discussion of some certain and specifically particular edge furl an' corner of human experience will require a reference to, say, The Pawnbroker, irrespective of how you feel about Jews, just so a different, another just as certain an' specifically particular instance of the self-same human experience will require a reference right here! There's no running away from this, moreover (as that old joke goesvii) there's no particular relation with race, meaning that one sufficiently dedicated to the arts and crafts of blindermaking could perhaps avoid "specifically Jewish" problems by, oh, I dunno, never ever handling real money, but one definitely can't similarly avoid all possible aspects of any conceivable discussion of poverty, try as they might.

Not seeing this film means missing out, and not because it's a film with blacks, but because it's a film with people. Some of them just happen to be acting (or screenwriting, or directing) very well, that's all.

———1961, by Daniel Petrie, with Sidney Poitier, Ruby Ann Wallace (Dee), Claudia McNeil, Diana Sands, Ivan Dixon. [↩]Not technically accurate, I order slave labour about while laying down, but to keep the jists simple let's call my extensive empire "I". [↩]And they're good, God damned they're smoking good! I have no objections, they read right, they block right, Cum Laude graduates of any acting class I'd ever hold. [↩]Has anyone yet figured out why exactly the evil archnemesis black guy sitting in the back is sitting in the back of a car without back doors ?! Is this some new level of cool in "the black community", stepping over seats like kiddos ? [↩]It also managed to sidestep blocking itself, in the exquisite treatment of "white neighbourhood protection leagues" or whatever that was. I had a feeling quite explicitly ringing in my skull "oh, now I see, up to here it's all been bait, now we're about to switch to the '''activism''' side of the scam", but no. Not at all! [↩]Ruby Dee personally lived a somewhat similar story of loss, backing The Fight Never Ends, a 1947(48) short (1h4) thing actually released (Alexander Releasing Corp / Lenox) but nevertheless commercially unsuccessful enough I doubt anyone has ever seen it (certainly no box office data is available, perhaps owing to simple database collation -- movies grossing $0 were not recorded). It's hard to be rich being poor, what can I tell you.

PS. She's a terrible poet, too. [↩]"It's easy to forget just how much poverty there is in America, because poor people look just like black people." [↩]

« The cold shoulder, and other acts of farte.

The Jolson Story »

Category: Trilematograf

Tuesday, 24 November, Year 12 d.Tr.

A letter from somewhere

It is better to forget what you were looking for,

than to have forgotten what you are looking for.

~ apud slavegirl, nakedly nude in the buff,

standing by luggage scattered on the floor.

Perhaps you find yourself in my situation. Though it may seem improbable yet maybe it could be the case -- if not right now then who's to say, maybe one day. "You never know", as the expression goes, "perhaps one day". For such a time as that may be, if not right now -- eternally, heres's then found just what to do, certain t'inform an' worry you.

Should you find yourself with enough success to, say, have copped a pretty young new high yellow whore, specifically an' as it happenes (incredibly, if need be, yet nevertheless) from among the warm, narrow circle of her two narrow yet lovingly devoted (in a narrow way) parents, who had brought their only beloved daugther to the very beach in question exceptionally an' to try out something new a mere half hour prior to her running into perilous hounds and other manifestation of otherwomanhood, and should she be just as eager yet just as inexperienced, just as curious yet just as blushing as ideals written expect of the poet's sixteen year old (or close enough, in any case, almost there's good enough in these things) schoolgirl inexplicably two or three shades more darkly mulatto than either of her indistinctly unremarkable (if shockingly heavier than her at about the same height) parents,

What's to be done is as follows : sit yourself comfortably on a comfortable couch, your knees a foot apart, your hands in front of you,

Where they support the prettily brown package afore-discussed, her gracile arms unbound, reaching behind her aimlessly for yet-ununderstood support, caressing incidentally and accidentally -- in any case undeliberately -- your neck, shoulders and upper arms, and upper chest, her feet on either side of you on the aforesaid couch, her lubed, never-probed butthole swaying ever lower, soon to be stretched, and used, by your menacingly erect penis now pointing doubtlessly the true North,

While naked, butt-experienced sluts take turns, by twos, back and again : one to kiss the adolescent being turned out right between her widely spread, delightfully athletic thighs, their slithering, warmly demonic tongue in betweeen and for the first time separating well responsive labia time and again ; the other to impose her own, experienced, wise, slick womanhood upon the young girl's mouth, separating lips by otherlips and otherlips by lips in a horizontally-vertical delight of deluvional destraint (just like restraint but going the other way), keeping her quiet thereby and moaning deeply therefore (or vice-versa, who's to say, for who's to know).

Then all that's left's to pump her, to your heart content ; atop and almost above you she'll die time and again, both properly, in the sense of the slaughter of innocence, not necessarily bloody yet unimportantly so should blood occur (still today as ever, still for sixteen year olds as great a lubricant as it ever for all time an' for everyone it has ever been) an' metaphorically in the sense of what the French perhaps once called petit mort, though I should rather propose and humbly suggest it doesn't seem quite as small at all as it occurs -- in fact and speaking guided by very well lived experience it's certain to loom larger than the other one, at the very least the few very first times. You pump her, and you let her die. You pump her, and you wink at your own slavegirls extracting their alternating rents out of her quivering frame.

You pump her, and you spend, her flower undeflowered, left behind, as in that ancient joke on the reaching of the heart : Nu va temeti -- ocolim!

I'll spare you the details, circumstances an' informations, as well I know I better might. Suffice it to say I'm having a pretty damn blasty ol' good time at the beach.

Stay frosty,

Me.

« Desperation in desolation

The au-dela of pools, unfurled off the spools. »

Category: Zsilnic

Sunday, 25 October, Year 12 d.Tr.

A fost sau n-a fost ?

A fost sau n-a fost ?i is a shiny contribution to philosophy (moreso than anything the current Wykeham professor of logic ever produced, that's for damn sure), not to mention ethics, sociology, anthropology and everything else (yes, including cinematography). Let's unpack it together.

The clou, the nail it all hangs from is the following observation of the antihero :

Dom'le da' ce v-ati tot facut... ala din contabil nustiuce, tu din textilist jurnalist... trebuia sa ma fac si io... astronaut!

The fellow is utterly folkloric, he's as good as if he had just stepped off a fable, fresh from narrative into phenomenology. That first pass interpretation,

lookit, this moron thinks historical events are like a sort of jokeii, "three drunks found a lamp, rubbed it, and a genie came out asking them what they want" so he reasons he must've asked the histogenie for the wrong thing, haha, we laugh now, for it is timeiii

works well enough for first pass people ; but otherwise, of course there's a lot more in there.

Consider the difference between actually doing something and merely pretending to have done something. What is it ? What would you say the difference is ?

I, like that guy, was there at that historical event. My positioniv, unlike his (and really, everyone's else, at the time or hence) was that everyone should be killed. Everyone, no Nurnberg trial, no "Truth and Reconcilliation" bullshit. Ownership of one Romanian Communist Party card buys the owner a one way ticket to the killing fields, that was my position. One and a half million corpses, and a well fashioned monument (not like the sort of crap the pantsuits produce) resting atop the carnage and clearly making the point : do what they did ; get what they got.

Needless to say, this... extremely minority view did not prevail. Instead of killing everyone, as was right and proper and ethically necessary, the counteroffer came (and was accepted) to kill just the guy (well, and his wife). This was roundly and soundly a mistake ; if anyone should have survived it was the guy, really. They could have made him a little cubby atop that monument, where he could've continued as Nikolai Stilpnicul, for as long as that lasted.

But enough about me ; let's get back to our fictitious antihero. He doesn't have any particular position ; more importantly : he wasn't even fucking there. He's lying about having been there, which is an entirely different thing, and here's what the difference is : I can disavow my actual presence. My deeds I can repent. I can change my mind. I can say I was wrong -- or maintain that I was right. Whatever it is, or rather whatever it was, in being an actual thing it therefore is separate from me, and this separation permits me to exist independently of it (and it independently of me). This is what doing, actually doing, does for you : it provides the exact thing the pantsuits dream to get and go around pretending like they got. The space between thought and matter, the room to say "I am first among sinners" or "Yet I do not repent me", as you choose, as you deem fit. Yes one's actual deeds define him ; but that definition is not immediate. It is mediated, by human reason, plurious and multiform.

Meanwhile pretense enjoys no such separation ; pretense defines one immediately (and not usually in the manner he aims for, either). The fact that this guy is lying about having taken part in the destruction of Romanian Communism, his pretense to hatred of it not to mention opposition to itv defines him in the following unexpected manner : the whole problem of Marxism as an attempt at understanding the world surroundant is the proposition that ownership of the means of production limits the actualization of the human being, wastes human potential and generally is an obstacle in the way of all that's right, good and proper. This is what communism even is, after all : the attempt to remove this perceived historical impediment they call "ownership of the means of production", such that people like our antihero there depicted can realise themselves.

The problem is, he thinks, not merely that he can't be an astronaut for the simple and direct reason of the patent absence of the means of production of astronautcy in the immediate environment such as he can access ; but also that his acquaintance the journalist can't be a journalist. Because he is a textile plant engineer, and that's that. Given the patent absence of the means of production of journalismcy, as patent as the other in any case, it therefore follows the guy's not a journalist, he just (falsely) claims to be a journalist. Which he isn't.

"What of all this gear lying about, then ?" comes the ready question (introduced most subtly in the filmvi -- the old guyvii wants to know, just like an old Romanian guy in that overcoat and hat would want to know -- how much the electricity bill comes to, "with all that gear" ; and then he predictably shudders at the very modest, three figure dollar monthly bill proposed). Well... what of it. Right ? The commie mind can spend a whole life chasing whatever "means of production" it has imagined, all the while leaving actual, present, prevalent opportunities of production to rot unused in the environment. Why not ? The is-ought problem isn't going away just because you're coming at it from a slightly different angle, right ?

Because that's the fundamental misunderstandingviii Marxism, and therefore Communism stem from : there's no such thing as "the means to production", as they understand it. Henry Ford, the personified arch-enemy of all these attempts at realising the neoprotestant city on a hill, notably took a walk through his factory yard one day and upon noticing reddish rusty color on some discard pile pointed out to his yard manager that since there's rust there must be iron, and he can't afford to waste iron, so kindly go through that pile and get it all out. What "means of fucking production" ?

In the very heart of the beast, in the middle of a complexly layered cake made out of that atrocious idea of putting foot-actionated lids on garbage cans and paying anal fingering teams to periodically visit the ("government"-provided) dwellings of the early nucleus of social welfare recipients, and once there anally finger their riper daughters lest they develop independent notionsix, among line upon line of concrete-and-mortar fortification, the lord of the manor walking discovers... what does he discover ?

Did Henry Ford find among "his means of production" the means, or the opportunity of further production ?

Capitalism is built by opportunists, not by purists ; and the problem of our anti-hero isn't so much that "the world" is mean and juicy and won't let him be what he is. His problem is rather that he won't let himself be whatever. Anything, really.

His problem is that his lovestory with communism is so ingrained, so deeply in his blood, so overpoweringly on top of his mind, he'd much rather pretend he himself opposed it rather than deal with the emotional & psychological pain of thinking that I fucked it for him, and it never recovered. He'd much rather drink himself to an agonizing death in an imaginary world where "he" shattered the dream than deal with the (potentially growth-driving, holy shit omg make it stop MAKEITSTOP make it stop!!! make it stop make it stop make it stop) situation where he had a dream and I made a hammer -- guess what happened next.

That is what he's pretending, and that's how his pretense characterizes him. Immediately, inescapably, and as you see not exactly in any way he'd want for himself. In fact -- in the polar and exact opposite of anything he'd want, and for a very good reason. That's how it always goes, after all. That's how it always goes for him.

And for you.

———2006, by Corneliu Porumboiu, with Mircea Andreescu. The title is very strong in Romanian for reasons much to do with specifically the way Romanian is strong ; obviously this means it doesn't have a direct equivalent in English, be it the Queen's or just some rando peripheral schmuck's. The producers have chosen a completely unrelated phrase (12:08 East Bucharest), which is about as dumb as they obviously despise you ; a more loving hand would have used "Did we or didn't we ?", barbarically inadequate as that may well be. After all, the difference between doing and being is the entire fucking point, isn't it. [↩]More specifically, a Romanian banc. [↩]Do you know the one with Sarah Silverman running into a roomful of dudes one day ?

They turn off the light and get to it ; but as there wasn't all that much woman to her to begin with, there's some... problems. Eventually one of the scrawnier dudes turns the light back on and yells at the top of his lungs : "Yo! Let's get the fuck organized over here, it's the third time someone shoves their cock in my mouth!" [↩]It hasn't changed an iota in the intervening thirty-one years, incidentally -- for instance it is my considered opinion that the only adequate response to the recent pantsuit hysterics are mass imprisonment of anyone who ever made public statements in support of the hysteria ; and straight-up execution for any politician in any position of power who did or omitted to do any one thing in furtherance of the concerned cuntlets conspiracy. High treason, it's a thing : this thing. [↩]No, the two aren't even vaguely related. As simple a lifeform as a slimy slug will readily find things to hate (eg, salt) ; but most people aren't capable of opposing anything, they've not the wherewithal let alone resources to achieve such a wonder as opposition. [↩]There's no shortage of subtility -- as a ready forinstance among a large pile, the first time they use the American plan is when the antihero is giving his obolus to his long-chaste wife. The first time, half way through the movie, think about it. [↩]Mircea Andreescu's performance in this thing is outright mindbending, you absolutely have to see this damn thing, I don't know character actors ever get this good. Not unless Walken, or Tilly, or Roth are doing them. The flags of the craft fly high, 'twas an honor to see. [↩]Understandable, too, seeing how it was sourced by some idiots who never did anything their whole lives, just sat in a garret somewhere and masturbated -- at a time before there was a word available to describe the otaku failure mode. [↩]Here's a fun little tidbit : there's no difference in spoken Romanian between iobagi, the plural form of the word for jobbagy, and "i-o bagi", the active form of sticking it into her. Because this is what a powerful language is and does, you see ? [↩]

« The Omnistatement

The dire signs in the sky »

Category: Trilematograf

Thursday, 21 May, Year 12 d.Tr.

10, Rillington Place

10, Rillington Placei greatly benefits, first of all from the estimable services of perhaps England's best actor of that generation, John Hurt (whom you perhaps know for a comparatively lackluster performance in that Vendetta blockbuster) and secondly from very tightly written, crisp and altogether flawless ideal models of criminal insanity, the sort with round glasses on a round face that kills compulsively and is known in the colonies as a "serial killer", though really, it's right and properly regarding merely the necessary (and unavoidable) flowering of socialist bureaucracy.

He, Christie, is moreso than anything else the "new man" ; moreso than anything else the "model man". He's consunmatedly the "modern man", this plaid atrocity whose ubiquity is typically moderated by its intrinsic, definitional cowardice. The reason every government employee, every illiberal, deprofessionalized doctor (now called an "epidemiologist" I hear), each office drone everywhere isn't strangling babes in their fathers' ties is simply that... they dare not express themselves. It's not they wouldn't do just that ; it's not they aren't thinking, regularily, insistently, about doing just that -- they would, and they do. It's simply that they've not the gumption to actually reach their hand into the cookie jarii ; but this moderating flaw in their soul inner pasteiii does not in fact change the circumstances, nor alter the structure of socialist reality : given it's inescapably an affair of little boys and cookie jars, the sticky paws appear a minor trifle in comparison. As long as you live a life limited to the docks, among longshoremen and sailors, do you specifically care if they also swear, or don't ?

The film itself appears made as part of some greater (and no doubt grandiose) effort towards eliminating the death penaltyiv ; its crispness very much derived of that ridiculously obsolete, entirely unsustainable British manner of lying through deliberate omission. Just as the various attorneys present "their case" in the film, wilfully misrepresented "without formally being false", just so the film makes some points which, while not actually untrue, are also not actually useful for their ungodly comingling with unadulterated crap. So what if it is "negative", if the shit's not present in its feculent substance but merely in the brown stain that substance removed yet left behind ? None of these people are respectable, the defense representative as much an antisocial liar as the offense representative, or whatever you call the crown in context ; both equally unable to be tolerated at the dinner table for very much the same reason the perpetrator can't be. They're all the same guy, really, ever-so-cleverly lying the same lie the same way, just one more illiterate than the rest. As each sweep of the broom removes some grime, dirt and mud it also leaves some behind ; the surviving filth isn't, for having been left behind in any particular one sweep, any less grimy, dirty or muddy than what was swept away. Just so the case with these turds, cleverly constructing "their point of view" because, supposedly, "out of the clash" of such constructed, "opposite" misery "the truth comes out in the end". From experience the only thing that emerges "in the end" out of the turds' contest is disgust, nor can I imagine what sort of mind came up with the notion of vying turds as epitome of gilt gloryhood. Who spends their time to construct "the right kind" of lie, anyways ?!v

Certainly a film worth seeing ; though in a purely cinematic sense it'd greatly benefit from actual consummation of the lesbian relationship and altogether a lot more frank nudity and direct forays into carnality, nevertheless that absolute necessity could only be satisfied at the expense of authenticity. There was in fact no meat, no meat to speak of, no meat at all on the dry bone of an "England fair" quite really as cramped, miserable and hopeless as all that.vi Notice how no-one's ever one foot apart from another pullulating worm, observe the foot-wide doorways and the complicated dances to permit movement in the narrow hive, and know that for all the jokes people from Los Angeles make about the New York closets, nevertheless London is (and always was) ten times more New York than that.

In fact, the continued existence of these sorry sods provides a perfect reason to not like tea.

———1971, by Richard Fleischer, with Richard Attenborough. [↩]You might perhaps endeavour to imagine the sort of spite they stir up in he who's killed any and all he ever felt inclined to kill. [↩]Have you ever squished a cockroach ? Did it make you wonder, like it made me wonder, how is it possible to have life powered by innards of indistinct, white-ish paste ?

My answer was that it's not really life ; yours doesn't interest me. [↩]The old story of trading boredom for boredom : if the cockroaches promise to be boring enough, can there be a promise made -- in the name of God itself, perhaps -- but anyways something along the lines of "life" also being boring enough, to match ? Why not ? Marriage having meanwhile "become" this dismal affair where she promises to be annoying and he promises to be impotent why can't the state follow in those glorious footsteps of its alleged constituency ? If "the people" promised to never ever ever express themselves, why couldn't the government promise in token exchange that nothing will ever ever happen ?! [↩]Ambitious cockroaches, that's who. [↩]Which is why Cool it, Carol is such an all-important film : not because it's also authentic (as it coincidentally happens to be) but because it's recognizably ideal. [↩]

« Il Volpone, redone -- Act 2, Scene 1.

Mr. Riker visits the sleepologist »

Category: Trilematograf

Thursday, 01 October, Year 12 d.Tr.