Confessions of a Muteful Hater: Not For Under 18z

Some may describe me as quiet and as one who does not stir up manure no matter the situation or circumstance and they wouldn’t be wrong in their observations as I am for the most part a placid little fucker

But there’s a particularly dark corner of my psyche in which hate and anger glows hot with excited indignation at all things alive or inanimate

Don’t tell me it’s my grandmother’s birthday, don’t ask if “I know how to warm” certain food because the microwave is crocked (I wasn’t born yesteryear)

Don’t make assumptions; don’t tell me you’re “sticking to your own truth” (for fucks sake what the hell does that mean??? Are there two thousand truths and you’re the ring leader of this idiocracy?) – Fuck off.

At times I feel guilt about my private little explosions because their content is so vile they would leave many a anger-therapists in a coma of disbelief

(mind you all of this rage is kept inside); I curse and curse and curse and wish the most vile things would befall those around me and politicians most especially (next to pedo’s and rapists, and general thieves)

I Hate with greater passion than I Love. One could say I love not at all. But oh hate; yes, I can taste it on the tip of my tongue.

When I was cheated on; I imagined things which have burnt a picture in my head to this day about my former lover (although I am without resentment towards the cheater now)
It is, admittedly, a good thing that all of this volcanic ire remains within.

I’d be a vile creature (much like those I despise) were it anywhere else.

[All things considered. I’m a full blown Humanist] ( 😀 )

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Practicing Non-Fiction For My Studies

Sometimes the Remedy can depress you as much as the problem.
It can be as much of a trap as the situation you’re trying to run away from,
In its own way, it kills you softly

It has come to this; I cannot listen to my favourite music (which leans heavily on the minor – more depressing – keys)
All things worth consuming – in my opinion – ruminate on the world. They tend to hone in on the world AS IT IS. And there’s nothing more depressing than actuality, reality, fatality.
So I fill my ears with that oomph-oomph of club music and, it works, in so much as it stabalises my neurochemistry, removing a few dark blotches from the network of synapses.
But I equate this to being in a hole you were falling in for years and have merely slowed down your descent.
I need rescuing, but there’s only the moon staring down at me, the sun never comes out.

[TOOL, Radiohead, Marilyn Manson, Sun O))), Electric Wizard, My Chemical Romance.]

Happy Clappy Hands

The noise oh the noise.
I may be mentally impaired.
Pills to float on the surface of sanity.
People I knew in high school moving fluidly through life.
Perplexed at how so many autistic folk move, as NT’s, with as much fluidity.
Enter autistic space and feel like an outsider. Maybe wires crossed in existential circuitry.
He unplugs from the rest of the world and finds it easy to forget.
He drinks non-alcoholic beverages to escape sobriety.
She doesn’t understand the milieu of smiles.
She wishes they would be transparent.
It’s all electronic and cybernetic.
It cannot cope with life.
Oh well never mind.
Nouns + Verbs.
Aspergian.

Maybe our hands will meet Tristesse

I feel weird for enjoying sad movies, music, books. Really dark and doom orientated content.

Why do I enjoy melancholy?:

Maybe it’s because they agree with the reality constantly surrounding us; the unflattering certainty of the definite infinities to come that’ll BE without this very present and all its inhabitants as the Past is no longer in a Here and Now it used to partake in. Poor dinosaurs. (Confusionist)

I love minor keys. I love quiet (not silent) movies. I love minimalist (vignette) books.

The truth is, there is nothing enjoyable about sadness; but in a world full of contradiction and lies and turning a blind eye… The overwheling emotion of truth; found in a B-minor sonata or a hopeless movie with a pages’ worth of dialogue, – brings the real world to the fore of the brain and sometimes this is more beautiful than most of the distractions which hide it all.

…echo–Echo…

Awkward Blogger out.