Monthly Archives: May 2003
im beginning to think more and more like you and the rest of the paranoid americans now, my brain just so happens to be working this fast at the moment, deciphering codes in the papers and on KaZaa even, radio frequencies, broadbandwidths, how to turn dials back and forth and catch certain phrases, subliminalized potential propoganda that my scatter-brained, easily stimulated person tunes right fuckin’ in to. im the perfect space espionage robot android right now.
thats what im preaching. that’s how i think. thank thunk.
that’s how i always thunk, the speed at which. you choose to align your thoughts to whatever is around you, whatever stimulus is there, some girls boobies, a newspaper, a bumblebee, your vagina, etc etc etc. and then you put them all together and the television is on in the same room while you are typing up blog posts, and there is a fax machine beside you, kazaa is open, and you are in california, the weather is terrible and u are in manhattan beach, on a rainy cloudy day, orange alert day, and raymi the minx’s brain is all over the place, all over all over but then focusing on the machine, bill’s machine. typing. to. him. this is what she believes at the time. whether it is true or not is irrelevent. this is highly confidential information and partial reason as to why a lil extra paranoia gets into her bones. her blood. you can only run a person/machine, for so long until they need rest. their brains, working so hard, and heart pounding and other stuff too.
i think somewhere in the us is next. definitely. but if and where and when, right? and how this time, more airplanes into more buildings, probably not. probably fuckin’ vans and stuff full of plastic explosives sent to department stores…or driven around streets, anywhere random, and left there. now they’re setting shit off in turkey and all over the world, trying to distract your brain and think, woah, they got some beef with turkey and then the next day, it”s you. fuck osama. not again. not this time. not his cells of people. im not taking cabs anymore. the same guys showing up to my house acting all weird in van cabs now, perfect lil smuggling white girls around in mobiles. on the premise of being all handicapped, u know. whatever. this is the rightest time to be paranoid. definitely. and the news you choose to watch on tv, decipher it correctly. look at all the lil blips and beeps and mistakes even in commercials. and read foreign papers too, make a point to buy them, and see that sometimes the same write of a column written in english or spanish will sometimes rewrite the same column for another paper, in another language, but put everything backwards, thus re-arranging what was negative in the one paper and what was positive in the other, written by the same dude, simply, to fuck with everyone who reads those papers’ minds, easily.
guess how fucking easy it is to get some knucklehead to do this for you, osama bin lad-in or not. it’s like subliminal brainwashing tactics, but with words, and read daily, for the same papers. it’s how war monsters communicate their messages, all overthe world. which war and time period also does not matter. im just trying to tell you fags that this is definitely reality and it is happening. it is. and then did you hear about the kid who worked for the ny times for over 4 years and every mundane article he wrote was fabricated, or something. the dates wouldn’t match up, the location, all of it. for 4 YEARS. what a genius. aaaand then the ny times gives hi ma bookdeal. HA! nice. when we learn that we have people like that on our side, it makes us feel better, right? right. if some stupid kid can do it, then we call can. we all can change around dates and addresses and timezones and everything. did you know i watched david letterman last nit eand learned about this kid and i dont even remember his name. it’s not important, u know, people’s names. sometimes lies on tv are the best. if osama watched letterman last nite, would he take letterman literally? or the same way i took it? the english language is really fucking hard, you know. especially when paul and dave are talking major fucking jive really fucking fast and stuff, and for some afghani fag or whoever, all you get to read is the top ten list dedicated to the kid, the ny times kid, so then afghani has only that list, can he even read english? probably. does he have intelligence like we have, sitting around his fucking chill-out livingroom or cave, deciphering dave letterman’s top ten list, proving that nyc is smarter this time around and yeh, it is the city that never sleeps and it will never, ever, ever forget what you fucking did to it. and me either.
i saw it. with my own eyes. from my park slope, prospect ave. 15th street rooftop in brooklyn and then all the ashes landed on our cars and in my basil garden but i ate it all anyway. and everything sucked after that. i was poor man, and it was hot and there were people everywhere fucking crying and wallpapered missing peoples posters and shrines and open churches and then it got hotter and hotter and i lived there til 12 october, and no one knew what the fuck was going on. i flew back to canada on canada3000 which is now defunct, thanks to flying paranoia and osama. thanks fag. i flew canada3000 when i was 17, twice, when i went to england.
this is getting to be too long.
throw off osama. propaganda, they want u to hear and think certain things, they leave behind vhs tapes and move to another cave.
he can’t be far. he could be here or there.
disguises, whatever. is he smart enough for blogs and bloggers? this, i always wonder. can we get out information before he sees it? does he know about dsl and cable connection and how to drop a bomb on my head? he knows the backdoor routes, mass murder with 9/11 get exposed, hide out as much as u can, let some of yer pithy soldier dudes die, fight a bit, die a bit, cry a bit, whatever, then start it up again, more war, more. kill this osama fag or not, his cells will still operate. they all must be taken down. how? we”ll get to that. when they say orange alert, they fucking mean it basically. so be wise. inform yourself. watch the news. be wise to who u speak to, let into your home, take a cab from, share a pen with, who your neighbors are, your new or old ones, they could have been living next door all along, training in florida for their plane ride of death and right now, they be in canada, of course. the taliban, fuck YOU.
lookmessage to your la designer teacher
oh student
here it is right here
u send who u want to wear the clothes u fucking make
to their house
and they wear a few outfitsit goes right to the streets
why would the model pay you
she is FREELY advertising your PRODUCT.YOUR BRAND
benefact yourself
ill see u in europe.
ps – poor is ALWAYS in.
pps. rich people paying more money for poor people’s clothing, never went out.
i have yet to see matrix reloaded. i will see it soon.
being a geek is better than being a nerd. nerd is an insult. geek is not. get a fleet of geeks on your side and then you are set. people i know who are very smart, are still very smart but they smoke too much pot or crack or get trashed in my part of towne, in toronto, in brooklyn…ja-fucking-pan, wherever, and they are not as smart as i am right now because of their addictions, afflictions. they can only think to say things like, “in general you piss everyone off…” on my shout outs to try and get me to not ever rear my face in town again, i know the fear of the blond girl. ive seen it. i have proof. then fear of the other people. and then the other. harassment, a term you use as the only thing you’ve got to hold against me? puhhlease. ive got other terms, to use, against, all of yous. dont ever call me again, my home, dont show up, if we bump into one another on the streets, don’t take it personally, but i would probably kick the crap out of you with my own bare hands. you and me alone, dont send some big dumb guy to my house to smash my face in, there was no broken glass here. keep your shit to your own shit. i no longer want to be nice. ill talk about you in therapy. and cheryl, you ar ethe one who needs the mental supervision. GET your own identity. you saw and witnessed firsthand what exboyfriend O did to me every fucking day we were together. im not doing this to get attention. this is my fucking blog and i always write the truth on it. if you are so goddamn afraid of being outed, STOP coming by and leaving annonymous messages on my shout outs. go to the police before i do and say this girl “harassed” you, do it, i implore you. see what happens. because counter-reacting to your ignoramous and pithy tactics in-which you try to scare me away, so much fun.
guess what MY side of the story will be, m henry, oo and b girl.? exactly. are you going to have me murdered like you wanted about to months ago, which we have logged on anti’s blog? huh? and which dude is going to show up and do that, exactly. which window of my house to i have to stand by with my dad’s fucking shotgun and then my brother’s friends and then this whole towne and the one next door to it, too? i fucknig hate you guys, get it. my mum was from the ‘shhhhwahhhh too. but now we up over here on this side. nahhmean. so stay out of shelbyville. be FOREWARNED, you are not welcome here.
ebm is though, because she is friends with kevin who i was friends with first who is also or was friends with sebastienne and you know ive heard their side to your story abou tthat relationship, … anyhow. not my business. you should even let it go but you harbor the past and clutch it in your gut like poison because YOU m henry, u fucking never ever forget. well, please forget i exist. dont call me. dont show up. you can see me on tv next, i know you like to watch it.
hi everyone.
i dont even read my own blog anymore.
i dont even do a lot of things anymore other than be angry and riding on my longboard and watering plants, telling off kids and throwing rocks at pylons and getting dive-bombed by a dad pigeon and holding a roman candle towards anti’s face. oh, dont forget suburban summertime explosions of fireworks and stuff etc etc happy home, homemaking life. i spend all my money at the same three stores and my hatred for pepsi and mcdonalds, the machine, grows stronger, daily. i hate advertisers. i enjoy ripping people off. ripping off brands. brand names. especially if they’re old, reputible, really rich, “popular” “in”, i dont care. i dont care i dont care. i like to tear apart my clothing and put it back together with scotch tape and socks and nail polish with sparkles. im fuckin hot and slammin and the only not knocked up bitch in this towne and ive had it. send helicopters over my head, send niggers over my back fence, the fbi down my throat and then hidden spy cameras in canadian versions of the sizzler, americanised, nicely, perfectly, preparedly for the bombs going to be dropping on yalls heads up in thayah so then you safely, quietly, drive your homes up over northern borders, then, tony blair goes, whups bush, sawry there, mate gotta go where the fresh waters are, some of yous can come too but in this ole monarch of britain (canada), they be de-criminalizing that weed so of course, them borders’s that yousa been wanting to a been crossing, yah see, yah see how mucha harder themma borders gonna be to pass?
it’s not cool to be american right now. – anti.
u know, im offended that i am at the bottom, of your fucking gangstas list, under tony, then this james guy, goose, hose and then the ill fated fucking fat loser michigan ward guys and then, YOU have ANTI as a playa, in the middle of the list, right there in the fuggin MIDDLE. now, this bleat guy, your like, douglas coupland to my whatever, get it, got it, good? u want to fuck me. u like anti, but he is not in your top five men list… moreover, i am at the fucking BOTTOM of that same, all time fave list like john cusack said in high fidelity over and over, i have that book too, but the BRITISH version, the first version point-fucking-oh (to be 1.0 is the best, why? read MICROSERFS instead of this bleat guy), trev-or, and when you put the ultimate supreme being at the fucking bottom of the top five men list, she gets, super mega-pixel-dissed, and then, pissed, AND then and then..that BLEAst dude is all yah i wish i could write the BEAT instead of the bleat like me, a real beat to the nik.
beatnik shit. hes my 3rd cousin, jack kerouac and i’m assuming totally, a hunch that the bleat might be coined from the term the beat, u know therefore he might like jack, am i right? doesnt matter, that guy couldnt hold my attention for more than fuuuuggin five seconds because well, thats how fast i think. being young and modern and hot and sexy and all that is hard for me on my brain and everything. u know welp. lets see. u also, call this blog of yours, on the basic fucking template that i had FIRST since ’99, u call it, if i had breasts you’d read me, thats the first thing that got me mad. thats the loop, full circle, the title of this little essay, if you will, monologue, i dont care. pay homage properly to who you fucking steal links from hits from whatever. im west coast and fuck you for not realising sooner, for not putting my anti in the top 5 men and me not at the top of the ward, those are your friends? online buddies. nope. those are your i want lots of hits put them at the top do it for hits mainstream 18 yr old greedy guts way like everyone. newsflash, blogs suck. theres a quote for bumper sticker ads. once celebrities have these things, they suck. google jim munroe. my ex boyfriend fucker his now wife. nomediakings.org i found out about online journaling from the toronto star when i was like in grade 10 and he was talking about it and im basically saying, you gotta get a new way to get famous because it isnt all about blogs. it’s the tv box or a combination of the two or its books and words or being canadian (which by mtv terms, is so hot right now) or its canadians being silent and bitter and smarter and shit not caring, gentle calmed rage bitterness and than acceptance fore more races and stuff…better prepared. anyway i have a headache now, and yes, my brain hurts. it’s depleted of seratonin and all other fluids, i try and stay up as long as i canto convince myself of happiness and by the time i hit the pillow i have to be ready to sleep otherwise the act of lying there, is simply, the biggest most waste of my brain energy brain time. anti and i arent fucking. we are romancing much or any of that shit. my mum is driving us crazy. everything i say is true always and forever. its not all peaches n cream. my life is hard. so fuck you everyone. im hitting the ward next you fucking assholes. brainwash a nice boy like trevor, fuck you. i mean it. he is young and knows not what he sees because yeh, hes two years younger than me and anti is three years older there for, anti cancels you out on the fucking top five list and i dont even want to be on that list, or i do, it is irrelevent, this whole thing is to prove how smarter than everyone in the world i am or am not just by applying logis. i am only twenty. i have not gone to university. tho i went to south ucla of manhattan beach, to teach a room full of doctor-professors-students, just how much i wanted to think myself happy to get out of a psyche ward because yah, thinking evil things makes u feel evil and when people make so many mean comments to you or say things whatever, im basically an “online celebrity in a specific world” and fuck it, it made me smarter, meaner, bolder,dgdgrgre rightfully so, it saved me from myself all along. i am allowed to say anything i want. if you take it personally so much that you want to kill me like john lennon was killed, please know, that whatever it is that i said, im fucking not saying it directly outwards towards you, right at you personally, im probably generalizing, trying to do that bagism fagism shit, politically correcting, my un-pcness whatever, and yes, yes, i do have breasts and a vagina and maybe trevor if you changed yer template around a bit, or wrote for me, people would read you. yes you can write for me and be a guest on my show or some sort of lacky and also on tony’s show and mebbe ill think about having sex with younger boys, cause i am a cougar to you, and basically to anti kuz he has this thing for cougars and since i am an adult lady like firgure in public when i need to and want to be and a complete closet nymphomaniac who fakes being a slut all along wanting one person to beat the crap out of and hold hands with etc etc.
i invented whitey. i miss whitey.
tony is going to get me on howard stern in times squareD
please link me a lot. please make more people link me a lot. help me make a comeback. goes both ways, i help you, you help me, we help each other and then good things happen to us both, us all. i just wanna get all the stuff that i ever bought for myself, i want that back. i want my things back. my life back. what i own. i want to be able to not be angry at people anymore. i want to be able to forgive and one day, perhaps, forget how things turned out. i am very careful with the words i choose to type, to print and the names that i don’t name. i have my own assets to protect. i have my own shit going on, i just want to be a big famous famous super mega star but i can’t do those fun things right now like going out to bars and drinking and even smoking weed and karaoke too. it’s my heart, you know? and it’s my head. i’m too smart. i wired myself into this pool of geniusness, i had to because i had to prove that yes i am a genius, especially without college and/or university degrees. you teach yourself and then you remember what you’ve been taught all along. no one took me seriously, in real life, no one got it and then, if they did, they kept it to themselves and would not, for some reason, grant me the satisfaction of compliments and the like and then if they did, i was too busy listening to my inner-negativity and insecurities to realise that mebbe, yah, this person wants me badly or that person wants to be my best friend or my girlfriend or lover or pusher, pauper, pigeon, buddy, cousin…
i pleased too many people
every person i could
and now i’m working from the inside out
i don’t look in mirrors anymore and i don’t lecture into them. i try and tell people i am happy inside but all they hear is the manic tone and the anger rage and frustration and sadness that i kinda scripted all along and then they can’t believe that i actually am happy now because there is too much rage inside of me because there are certain people in this real world that wont return my calls now or txt messages and see things from their perspectives and several of them i have forgotten about those people for the time being, but i never fully delete them in my mind… i figured my way into this mess and i know my way out.
thank you for being my friend. everyone.
thank you.
and thank you internet friends the most. you helped me the most during a lot of bad times and i’m sorry if i was snarky to you, but you know, that’s my deal, say it like i see it and then you can have the next line, back at me.
d/l. pete yorn’s, life on a chain.
carlos d. butler
hoo ha ha in the end. i am not allowed to write for this blog. period.
you’re my sex bomb
the boondocks
another.com
k bye.
