You won’t enjoy this if you even secretly discriminate against incoherence

The world’s gonna change.

There’s nothing pretentiously romantic about that.

If a scientist is somehow reading this then Yeah I Know the world has always been and continues to always change you fucking E.Q.-challenged genius-arrogass. Sorry. I made an assumption. I’m the ass.

Still fuck you if you thought it.

I’m gonna go ahead and shit no I don’t feel like hitting the arrow button up. DISCLAIMER. This one sucks. So stop reading if you’re not interested in an angst-turmoiled fuckeroo saying things only searingly sad people at the core can empathize with. Also no I’m not drunk. It takes more than how much I’ve drunken already to do that. Yeah fuck you stereotypers, I have at least the tolerance of a French mediumweight. Is that low? Whatever fuck turtlenecks.

Oh my gosh… Shit um.

[Drags hands through Moroccan-oiled hair] no I’m fine really Mat. Nothing happened. That’s exactly part of it. You’re gonna have to tell me if you think this is too abstract cause I at least have the pseudo-integrity to not be all-out explicit. But…

Dan Barrett I won’t blame you if your ass is clenching reading this. I know I could’ve edited all this but just like good rap music there’s a meaning behind this.

I’m good.

Look to the Actually Autistics Blogs List which is an actual blog that’s somehow reading this website, what I’m getting at here—no wait that’s not true, you don’t have to be autistic to relate to this.

I want you to read this if and when you’re just hurting. I’m documenting this right now cause in a couple hours when I’m head banging to a newly-arranged beat I’ll probably be more towards “empowered rage” mode and I don’t think I can contribute much writing there. There’s no morale in this post. It’s not like I’m even writing to anyone. As much as I don’t realize there are people who actually read this. None of your validation saves me. Cutie pie bullshit popularity won’t save me. Money clearly won’t save me. That self-important stop motion movie where dolls have sex that’s not team america didn’t save me. Jessie it’s the one we saw where the poster says the movie changes your life.

Also, I’m always referring to people so it sounds like I’m popular, but trust me, those like 5 people are like 5 of the digs hand across hair 13 people I even semi-speak too and no fuck you I don’t need your aww shove it up your rectum. Loook

Binny, Mat, and Ian [cause you might just be worried at this point when you’re back from camping] oh wow talk about listing the 3 people not biologically blood-bound who stayed last. Look at that wasn’t even trying. D.H.A.H. [digs hands across hair] I’m just gonna pretend like you’re the only ones reading this.

Don’t call me asking if I’m ok. I’m not. You know I’m not. Except you Mat cause your way of caring has you prolongingly worried until you’re told I’m ok. Well I never am if that makes it any better. You’ll be fine. You deserve better than me. Btw call me whenever 25 feels way too awful cause I’ll reassure you by sharing how you’re not wrong at all, it is awful if you draw the wrong lotto max. But you’ll be fine Mat. People need you.

I swear I’m calm. I also don’t care how self-serving this comes off cause whatever “success” I hit won’t depend at all on my public decency. And that’s a fact cause I’m more likely to be an “important” person before I ever go to a barber. I’m weirdly comforted pretending you 3 are reading this. Not comforted in the I feel better way. Rather than I’ll die but at least you 3 have the highest chance of spreading my nihilistic legacy. Naw who am I kidding I only trust Ian with that. You’re too positive Binny. That was a compliment.


So I just broke the snake wtv the Hell the expression so I’m back and I’ve switched itunes from longing-drenched astrobrite to Giles Corey by Giles Corey and I’ve also changed the post title from Accelerating my death to help you recover quicker. I’m admitting this cause I’m also very vehemently not gonna edit this or even read through and grammar-check cause for the 1 person who ends up king of the hill reading this, you probably got what I wanted to martyr myself for, which is this is a documentation of when you’re feeling the familiarity of all-encompassing loss. And yes this isn’t a 

Oh shit it’s raining. It’s like this post was made for this. Just in time, Mr. Corey having an epileptic attack with a burlap sack over his head. For those who don’t know he got squished by the government for not saying he’s a witch, though he was a dick anyway cause he beat up his servant to death.

It doesn’t matter if you stepped onto a mine walking out the house or if… I don’t know something less third world horrible. You’re human, you exist, you by principle have a reason to be miserable. Before you tell me I need to get laid, go choke on a lay classic bbq, you could be miserable if you’re married and your kid’s bullied just cause they’re they’re not albino-skinned.

I’m not even imposing this on Ian, Mat, and B anymore. You’re probably the very last one reading this cause you’re in some kind of parallel pain that doesn’t need a pandemic, a racialized event, or cockroaches for national leaders to say you’re mad. You don’t need to even say you’re mad because if you were really that mad you wouldn’t be concentrating really hard to follow this, you’d be getting a free guitar from steve’s music store, and by free I mean you went after dark and with like a crowbar to pick it up.

I used to have a really hard time saying the word bully. Cause all it made me do was sink into own traumas without ever convicting every time I scarred someone. Bully bully bully bully. Wow easier than I thought.

Doesn’t matter if you used to be bullied at any point. If you were yourself a bully at any point THINK HARD CAUSE YOU’VE AT MOST PROFUSELY DENIED IT then smash a proverbial mirror into your face because I don’t think you’ll ever give what you think you can give before you acknowledge what is so very utterly wrong with you.

Which is why I’m gonna die alone! 8D

Cause you likely won’t meet someone as generously self-destructive as I, and that’s not a brag [Epilepsy-Giles Corey piano solos while going “ffffffffAAAWWK”, The Haunting Presence, 2011] cause being generously self-destructive does not get you laid. Posh gets you laid. Knowing 16th-century architecture gets you laid. Being taller than fuckin 5…7-rounded gets you laid. Being WHITE AND RICH WITH A BOAT TOO gets you laid. I’m good I’m good.

I feel like you can tell by now lone reader that you are reading the words of someone who will never be above you nor ever come close to concluding so even if he has something you don’t, like a Samsung blu-ray burner from 20…not 20, just discontinued cause it was too good to not rip people off on.

How does this connect at all to everything I’ve shared thus far. Believe it or not, I think if anything everything before this was a trampoline off-course safety net for a publishing like this. Did I properly foolproof time and again that no matter how good I think it gets it will Always revert to the status quo of voids? That wasn’t rhetorical, I’m genuinely asking you. Though you won’t answer me, cause I’ll never meet you, or you’ll understandably be in too much pain to trust it with a fucker like me. I write to a lonely ghost of who the other person(s) will never want what they have to give. I’ll link the song.

If it’s one thing I will always look ut form it’s scrutinizing when anything cathartic comes. Maybe it’s my own self-condemnation and frankly long-due ability to ground myself in forever-self-condemned punishment to never expect anything good to profoundly last. I’m not talking about the bullshit you got what you wanted and then it was over cause of natural causes so don’t be sad it ended be happy it happened, fuck you get fucking Explosive Painful Diarrhea. If someone gets what they want then has the self-bicycle-pump-inflated crotch to preach to you that you’ll get what you want too, then they honestly could have everything go to Hell then beg you to listen to which you respond with the 16thsearch-engined result of CLR cause you cared enough to be selective.

If you’re anything as nihilistic as I am when you’re not brief-flash hopeful like I could be, then I’m beseeching you to remember—it will almost certainly go to Heaven-which-is-the-real-Hell again.

It’s no one’s fault. Not your soul-broken enemy or their cronies, not your parent(s) if you have any shitty parent(s), not the one you claim you’d give yourself to to. FUCK NOT YOUR I DON’T WHATEVER FUCK.

[Giles Corey happens to go FAWK again]

You might feel comfortable and relieved when you sit in the dust of your own latest catastrophe. Trust me, you’ll get 0 satisfaction out of it. You’ll think you’d rather be in hopeless turmoil and you can do with just your thoughts and loss but once that novelty passes your humility if you have any catches up to you and all you can think of is what you could’ve had, even if it wasn’t close to what you entitled yourself to.

I’m serious.

I can’t take myself seriously cause my head’s 1.5 times the proportionate size of the rest of my body [doesn’t matter how unconditionally beautiful Jamz finds it [sorry Jess if you’re on the shitter when you read this [not like you even tell me you read this [ironic that was Ian’s thing but I can’t lie when he cares enough to say he reads them [I miss Jaxon [I’m not being toxic Jessie you know how self-accountable I make myself ultimately [I really wanna finish this album soon but no pressure [just I don’t wanna think about it when I’m in the wasteland again]]]]]] but I mean it when I say it. I want you to know a stranger you won’t meet can feel some version of the loss you feel, without comparisons and backwards-competitions of who’s more miserable. But I also need to you to know that the same stranger knows how it feels when the dust has settled. Your self-satisfaction will not reign supreme. It never has and it never will. Unless you’re just a fundamentally shitty person, to which how are you even reading this.

And I Don’t Want To Be A Shitty Person. I am, but I don’t want to.

 And I don’t know how to reconcile what’s broken in me with who I could be.

I don’t blame you if you’re relatively happy / have what you want and read this going “ah mah gad…” Even if you think you’re lonely and can’t tell anyone what’s really on your heart and in your mind and yet everyone who wants you is at your service and one of them could wear turtlenecks I don’t even fucking know him who the Hell am I to write bullshit like this self-awareness is not a get out of jail free card where is my CLR. Jesus.

This feels like experimental art but with actual consequences. Cause if david lynch did what I was doing everyone would just wanna suck his dick even more caue he’s such an artiste. What does that say about our perceptions of taste and validation? What I do can still be pure garbage but the fact that all it takes is un filme by david lanche slapped onto this and pitchpork’s sperm is coats the white of this page’s background. [Sips]

If you’re a spiteful person reading this and getting a boner over someone else’s suffering, you’re gonna choke and fatally asphyxiate on your own cum, proverbially or physiologically. Just a fact. Ask your family doctor if you even have one you pigfuck bitch.

And to whoever for some deranged reason actually relates to me–if you do anything that parallels what you’re reading–

You think this shit makes you hot?

You think this will somehow toxically aggression-reverse-psychology get you want you want out of fear and hostile manipulation even if that’s not what you meant?

You think self-awareness makes it ok to hurt people just cause you can call yourself out?

You think this will make you feel relieve?

This bold? No destructive. Cowardly from being noble towards actual emotions.

Give you catharsis and let you move on?

Now think of the people who made rise of skywalker thinking “this will satisfy them” and the reaction will be a metaphor for you.

[You as in also I]

Fuck You.

Seriously, go die. At least you don’t deserve to live amongst those you wish saw you.

 Seriously go read up the lyrics to the tracks I’m linking, they might reflect your life.

But if your life gets better. If you somehow irrevocably get what you want, I want you to know I sincerely am content for you. I’d just rather you stop reading what I write. It’d be healthier for both of us.

Look I’m not encouraging to go and ruin your own life cause you think it’s gonna go to heaven-real-Hell anyway. Mat I want you to be happy. I uncompromisingly do. You talk to me once every 3 years but I know you want a happy life so who I am to impose and compromise on that. Fuck you do not call me asking if I’m Ok I’m cleeaaly not. And no nothing happened, Terry just happened. Agh D.H.A.H please keep giving for the both of us. Not that I’d take any credit. Nor I even impose you too. Actually just ignore everything I just said.

The world’s gonna change. With or without your contribution. So if you’d rather leave behind a legacy of narcissism, go ahead grow that posh beard or seek that bourgeois life. And if I’m me, to which even if I tried I’m too much an X2-X-Men 3-and-all-the-others-bryan-kinberg-level mess to even feign sophistication. I might as well move to vancouver and rot with the upper east enders while spending my leisure time punching as many racists as I can locate. I don’t gain anything from being a bad person. I don’t gain anything from admitting it. Shut up Mat. This is my median. And anything good I do will be a painfully ripped-apart anomaly.

And yes when I’m sober but equally as clear-minded as I am now, I will aim how I can for the anomaly. I’m not dead yet, so it’s the least I could do. If you’re still reading, I pray you will too.

I said something at the start of this website that encompasses everything. Where

If you’re reading this—if you got anything out of this—then you were witness to a loner paradox. One where you may or may not in your own parallel way feel just as alone as I do. And by that we will never come together. Because were I there with you I wouldn’t have written this and you wouldn’t be reading it. And to me it genuinely feels like I’ll stop existing if it were any other way.

If I ever got a single thing right in my entire self-condemned-wasted time in this life, it’s that I didn’t contradict that.

Lu I hope I haven’t.

Not yet.

Please not yet.

Haunting Presence / Blackest Bile

Published by crescendoangstcinevision

Licensed creative vandalism

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