Dear PD...

[Doktor Howl]

Back in the day, Cainad preached so hard one time that he required reconstructive surgery on his spleen.  Those days are over now, as he has taken up a rewarding new career as a one-legged prostitute.

[Cainad (dec.)]

Back in the day, Cainad preached so hard one time that he required reconstructive surgery on his spleen.  Those days are over now, as he has taken up a rewarding new career as a one-legged prostitute.

It's not as gratifying, but at least the pay and benefits are worse.



AAAAAIIIEEEEEE!

One last final. Tomorrow, I write my last prayer to the heathen monstrosity of Undergraduate Education, and walk away on Friday with my Unholy Writ of BS, testifying to the rest of the benighted world my worth as a human being.

I have spent my years learning the ways of the stone beneath us, Doktor. The stone and the magma which churns like blood thicker than steel, the dirt and dust which whirls through our lungs.

It hungers, Doktor. So slowly that a thousand more Empires, each more degenerate than the last, will simmer and pop like a noxious slurry of FUN before it devours us. Slowly, but yet it does hunger. We are merely stewing.

Then it shall drag us back into its mass, like a child gnawing on its fingernails, returning us to the stone. Our bones are not our bones; they are merely borrowed hydroxylapatite.

And it will all be quiet again.

[Sita]

I've just recently come to accept that at some point I have lost all passion for anything. Whether it is a game, a book, a tv show, etc.
I simply exist. Which seems to be enough for everyone else, as no one has voiced a concern.

This at times has made my the voice in my head scream, for it wants to both be hidden by shadow and seen at the same time. The screaming was at first very jarring, but it too is becoming part of the background and losing the intensity it once had.

[Doktor Howl]

I've just recently come to accept that at some point I have lost all passion for anything.

Sucks to be you.  You should maybe started picking out a headstone.

[Left]

Back in the day, Cainad preached so hard one time that he required reconstructive surgery on his spleen.  Those days are over now, as he has taken up a rewarding new career as a one-legged prostitute.

Yeah...I meditate too much these days to have too much spleen.
I'm insane, but I'm not really mad about much.

Anyway...
I'm kinda bummed at my new job schedule.
I work weekends now.
All the BDSM play parties are on SATURDAY.
I'm working 3 pm  until 3 am.
...This is seriously interfering with my agenda of getting the crap spanked, whipped, paddled and flogged out of me.

YARGANARGANARG.

Every day, they take pieces of you.  Bits of your rage, bits of your anger.  Bits of your patience.  Bits and bits and bits.

You're not being worn down, your being CHIPPED AWAY.  Removing both your defenses, and your OFFENCES.  Shaping you into shapelessness.  Hacking off antennae, radar, sensors, receptors.  Chopping off your pointing stick, your bludgeon hammer, slicing the lips off your yap machine¹.

Till all you are is a formless mass, unable to move, to respond, to act in any way.  Just sitting there, enduring.  And when you endure for long enough, you begin to accept.  And when you accept, you anticipate; and when you anticipate you become eager,and when you become eager, you fall in love.

And so there you are, in love with that which has ruined you.

Radical acceptance doesn't mean you cave in.
It means you accept that the world is a crock of shit, and you accept the overwhelming stupidity. Not with complacence, not thinking this is good, but not ripping your nails from their beds frantically scrabbling at it.
It's big, it's ugly, and it is incredibly moronic...and too big for you to affect it by planless flailing.
So, you wait, with patience, concentration, and focus...
For the right place to insert the lever to appear, the right way to flip it over on it's back like a 200-ton turtle on a slab of cement. 
The chink in the armor, the seam in the world that will help you to take it down or take it over, to upset the powers that be, to create a new chaos in the midst of a truly surreal sleepwalking nightmare of bureaucracy.
And meanwhile you mindfuck, and you fuck, and you meditate, and you make art, and you make revolution in your own head and the heads of those you love.
You should NEVER love the system.
But you can love those trapped in the system, and we ALL are struggling to be free.

Some call me insane.  I think that's pretty accurate.
But fuck them anyway, I'm having FUN.

[Doktor Howl]

Back in the day, Cainad preached so hard one time that he required reconstructive surgery on his spleen.  Those days are over now, as he has taken up a rewarding new career as a one-legged prostitute.

It's not as gratifying, but at least the pay and benefits are worse.



AAAAAIIIEEEEEE!

One last final. Tomorrow, I write my last prayer to the heathen monstrosity of Undergraduate Education, and walk away on Friday with my Unholy Writ of BS, testifying to the rest of the benighted world my worth as a human being.

I have spent my years learning the ways of the stone beneath us, Doktor. The stone and the magma which churns like blood thicker than steel, the dirt and dust which whirls through our lungs.

It hungers, Doktor. So slowly that a thousand more Empires, each more degenerate than the last, will simmer and pop like a noxious slurry of FUN before it devours us. Slowly, but yet it does hunger. We are merely stewing.

Then it shall drag us back into its mass, like a child gnawing on its fingernails, returning us to the stone. Our bones are not our bones; they are merely borrowed hydroxylapatite.

And it will all be quiet again.

HAR HAR!  Now you have to come out HERE, into the REAL WORLD, with the rest of us.  Remember what happened to Cramulus?  Yeah.  You'll be smashed into a cubicle in DAYS, and there will be NO MORE BALLPIPE.

[Doktor Howl]

Back in the day, Cainad preached so hard one time that he required reconstructive surgery on his spleen.  Those days are over now, as he has taken up a rewarding new career as a one-legged prostitute.

Yeah...I meditate too much these days to have too much spleen.
I'm insane, but I'm not really mad about much.

Anyway...
I'm kinda bummed at my new job schedule.
I work weekends now.
All the BDSM play parties are on SATURDAY.
I'm working 3 pm  until 3 am.
...This is seriously interfering with my agenda of getting the crap spanked, whipped, paddled and flogged out of me.

Balls, even Tucson has an all-week bondage joint.

Um, of course, we ARE the Mecca of perversion in America, these days.  Still, there should be SOMETHING out there, even if it doesn't measure up to Desert Dominion, the high end flogging palace in Tucson. 

Never understood that kink, but then again, it's not actually required that I understand it.  It's your monkey, you jump on it however you please.

[Cainad (dec.)]

HAR HAR!  Now you have to come out HERE, into the REAL WORLD, with the rest of us.  Remember what happened to Cramulus?  Yeah.  You'll be smashed into a cubicle in DAYS, and there will be NO MORE BALLPIPE.

BALLPIPE WILL LIVE ON!

Somehow, despite its obvious reproduction-inhibiting effects, it will live on. The universe is just horrible enough to allow such perversity to sneak around the rules.


At least there's a slight chance that being crushed into a different kind of awful routine will rustle a different set of jimmies. My academic jimmies are all rustled-out. I came here with pance full of Hate during high school, and had some new shit to spew after starting college, but this lat year has been pure grey. All my friends have graduated, and Stony Brook is a notoriously un-college town.

[Sita]

I've just recently come to accept that at some point I have lost all passion for anything.

Sucks to be you.  You should maybe started picking out a headstone.

Tell me about it.
But there will be no headstone for me. What a waste of money and ground. If people must have something to look at they can have a little metal cylinder of my ashes to keep around.

[Doktor Howl]

HAR HAR!  Now you have to come out HERE, into the REAL WORLD, with the rest of us.  Remember what happened to Cramulus?  Yeah.  You'll be smashed into a cubicle in DAYS, and there will be NO MORE BALLPIPE.

BALLPIPE WILL LIVE ON!

Somehow, despite its obvious reproduction-inhibiting effects, it will live on. The universe is just horrible enough to allow such perversity to sneak around the rules.


At least there's a slight chance that being crushed into a different kind of awful routine will rustle a different set of jimmies. My academic jimmies are all rustled-out. I came here with pance full of Hate during high school, and had some new shit to spew after starting college, but this lat year has been pure grey. All my friends have graduated, and Stony Brook is a notoriously un-college town.

Ah, they're so CUTE before the hammer comes down!   

[Doktor Howl]

I've just recently come to accept that at some point I have lost all passion for anything.

Sucks to be you.  You should maybe started picking out a headstone.

Tell me about it.
But there will be no headstone for me. What a waste of money and ground. If people must have something to look at they can have a little metal cylinder of my ashes to keep around.

I want to be parted out, like an old Chevy.  But not yet.  There are more people to slap, more screaming to be done, more heathens to abuse.

Life's a rollercoaster.  It loses the effect if you scrunch your eyes shut.

[Richter]

HAR HAR!  Now you have to come out HERE, into the REAL WORLD, with the rest of us.  Remember what happened to Cramulus?  Yeah.  You'll be smashed into a cubicle in DAYS, and there will be NO MORE BALLPIPE.

BALLPIPE WILL LIVE ON!

Somehow, despite its obvious reproduction-inhibiting effects, it will live on. The universe is just horrible enough to allow such perversity to sneak around the rules.


At least there's a slight chance that being crushed into a different kind of awful routine will rustle a different set of jimmies. My academic jimmies are all rustled-out. I came here with pance full of Hate during high school, and had some new shit to spew after starting college, but this lat year has been pure grey. All my friends have graduated, and Stony Brook is a notoriously un-college town.

So now you know, and it's time for you to go, Kwai Chang Caine style, and bang weird into some other place in life. 

Learn from my first mistake, and NEVER be afraid to call people out on taking the piss.

[Cainad (dec.)]

Ah, they're so CUTE before the hammer comes down!   

I've got no doubt that within a few short years I'll be howling to be let back in.

But it's hard to work up the adrenaline and give a shout like you really MEAN it unless you've ACTUALLY smashed your toe, know what I mean?

From where I am right now, trying to hide is more like fear than prudence. Can't make a rug until I'm actually turned into roadkill and all flattened out.


...I think that metaphor got away from me.

[Doktor Howl]

Ah, they're so CUTE before the hammer comes down!   

I've got no doubt that within a few short years I'll be howling to be let back in.

But it's hard to work up the adrenaline and give a shout like you really MEAN it unless you've ACTUALLY smashed your toe, know what I mean?

From where I am right now, trying to hide is more like fear than prudence. Can't make a rug until I'm actually turned into roadkill and all flattened out.


...I think that metaphor got away from me.

I just had this vision of the ghost of Spiro Agnew pounding on the outside of the prison doors, demanding entry.

I've been thinking about LOBB a bit too much, I think.

[Richter]

Ah, they're so CUTE before the hammer comes down!   

I've got no doubt that within a few short years I'll be howling to be let back in.

But it's hard to work up the adrenaline and give a shout like you really MEAN it unless you've ACTUALLY smashed your toe, know what I mean?

From where I am right now, trying to hide is more like fear than prudence. Can't make a rug until I'm actually turned into roadkill and all flattened out.


...I think that metaphor got away from me.

I just had this vision of the ghost of Spiro Agnew pounding on the outside of the prison doors, demanding entry.

I've been thinking about LOBB a bit too much, I think.

Sling Blade, if nothing else did it calm and collected.