my inner demons are trying to tell me something

Me: I don't know why I'm still angry right now or why I'm sad or lonely or why my eyes are as moist as a vagina, but I do know that poetry does not fucking help. Shit, I'm up again at dawn reading up on the symptoms of heartbreak. You do not stop dwelling on the past: Check. You cry more pointlessly than a prostitute getting raped: Check. You could have had her: Check. Your life was once engulfed in her sunlight, but now your life is shit-on-fire without her and you should just die or castrate your pointless balls off: Motherfucking Check.

Self-Esteem Demon: Wait a second – uncheck that shit you melodramatic fuck. Truth is, yeah, you could have had her. And yeah, it seems like right now the past may be all you have. I mean, she was your future, right? And now that she's gone, so is your future. I get it bro – but no I fucking don't. There are millions of women gagging for your estrogenic emotions and your pathetic dick, so stop trying to perform auto-fellatio.

Me: Dude, everyone wants to perform auto-fellatio. It's one of those quirky skills not many people can do – therefore you want to do it.

Self-Esteem Demon: No, you piece of shit. Not many people can do it because they don't try. They aren't fucking losers like you. They have girlfriends or wives or friends with benefits that suck their dick for them. What do you have?

Me: Why are you even talking, man. Why can't you stay subconscious. I hate you.

Self-Esteem Demon: I am but a reflection of your self-esteem. In reality, you hate yourself. 


So man up or keep using your tears as lubricant.

granny porn and menstruation

I’ve spent 30 minutes with my head in my palms wondering how i’m going to start this blog. I have no idea what I want out of it. In probability, no one’s going to read my blog so I'll risk putting every personal aspect of my life here and live in constant fear that someone might accidentally stumble on this while googling Granny porn and menstruation. I like to think I live on the wild side of life.

I should probably be living up to expectations of my age group and be out terrorising the neighbourhood – I could be painting cats pink or having sex in a bush or chasing grannies through the park – but no, instead I spend my time surfing the internet doing nothing of interest, certainly nothing productive (take this blog for example). [Note: I have a six-pac of abs from all the abdominal tensing inflicted through masturbation]

This post is about how I deviated from my lifeless routine for some girl and the consequences of such.

——

In retrospect, when meeting someone for the first time, you have no idea of the big impact they could have on your life. Think the butterfly effect – everyone contributes to everything; it’s what makes the mechanism of mankind unpredictable. People around us can touch our lives from behind the curtain, they could be the one’s pulling the strings or the one’s swept away in the same tide. Think about it, you could be sitting next to your future wife, a future president, someone that could save your life or someone that could eventually end it. In my case, she was the girl that would set my life on fire.

She was seated next to me in Philosophy class a few years ago. I was rendered completely speechless. She was rungs above me in the social ladder and unlike myself, she had a life outside of school. She was smart and funny and every boy lucky to be within 10 feet of her suddenly needed to adjust their pants. To more eloquently put it, she was beautiful. Sorry let me rephrase that with personality: B-e-a-u-tiful – she had eyes so blue and deep that Poseidon himself was confused over which to rule.

And this was where I made my first mistake: I thought I had a chance with this unstoppable force of nature.

To all those reading this post – in order to succeed in getting fucked-over, this is essential: Fantasise in detail about the adventures the two of you are destined to have together – the millions of possible elevators in the world you could be stuck in; the need for human sustainment after a zombie apocalypse; the jumping in front of a bullet for her in the hope of a thank-you-fuck. These ideas will shapeshift from an *innocent fantasy to a desire, a wish or an aim pretty fast – and once you aim for something and do not achieve it, you will be crushed.

Back to the classroom now. While seated next to her, use your gift of language to it’s full capacity and stutter out your first words to her. Something along the lines of “I like your fingernails, your toenails probably look good too” (Yep, I really accidentally said that. And yeah, it did actually achieve something – I had made contact with a non-pixelated female). Upon hearing my comment about her feet, she laughed. Seeing her laugh, I laughed. She thought I was joking, so I did what any other freak do in this situation – I lied and pretended to be joking. [Note: all successful relationships are based on lies.]

Next, after establishing contact with her – stalk her – wear your darkest clothes (I recommend a trench-coat and black leather boots), wear a hat to cover your eyes, and remember to lurk. Lurking is essential… I’m kidding, of course – put that ski mask down, you sick fuck. Take the somewhat safer and less exciting option: search for her on Facebook or Twitter or if she’s a 13 year-old emo camwhore, Myspace.

Use the safety behind a computer monitor to become the person you’ve always wanted to become. Create a false image of yourself. Become Jekyll (Hyde your true self). You become more mysterious this way. [Note: all successful relationships are based on lies. it is, however, important not to go overboard with the lies. For example, telling her that you're a black-belt in Karate is plausible - telling her that you travelled up a secret mountain-way to discover your inner Tai before winning the intergalactic MMA championship on Mars, however, is completely not. Unless she is a dumb cunt, that is.]

This whole charade/façade is exactly what I did the first time I met her – and it essentially got me nowhere except into the friendzone. A place of eternal misery and loneliness and mindrape. It is the Alcatraz of relationships. Okay, that metaphor probably isn’t right as I’m sure people have escaped the friendzone, but I don’t think anyone has ever escaped Alcatraz. Except Sean Connery in ‘The Rock’. And that’s fiction. And Sean used to be James Bond.

Ergo and to conclude – no one inferior to James Bond can ever escape the friendzone. So don’t even fucking try.