mad drunk genius

I used to have all sorts of problems. Now there's just the one.

Category: Insomniac

Scattered storms, like ideas, are heavier in some places than others

  1. A bigot / misogynist who mistreats robot / AI. He renames his Siri-equivalent a slur, pretends at living in the antebellum South. The voice isnt recorded by anyone but automatically generated. The fellow is a miserable person, the sort who’d kick a dog if he had a bad day & people still owned dogs. But he doesnt. He doesnt own anything, even the AI. He pays a subscription for it. How you feel about the story depends on what sort of jobs he has. Maybe that’s the end of it: he leaves for work, and it isnt specified what the occupation is.
  2. An alien species without malice. Hermit crabs who find a species capable of sentience in order to grow them, make them capable of progressing technologically enough to get off the planet & onto others. No, that sounds too much like Prometheus. But I cant imagine why space-farers would choose to inhabit the ruins of other civilizations, as was the original idea.
  3. Humanity starts using viruses to re-write DNA and fix problems, like eyesight, congenital defects, etc. But it mutates & changes scent. People start to identify others by smell, physical reaction to those who don’t smell ‘right’. Society re-structured around pheromones, exile akin to death. But people can still communicate as long as it’s not in person, or they’re wearing containment suits. Protagonist has to be someone who lacks an identity.
  4. It’s the future, and there’s little meat left except what’s in carapace. There is beef & chicken, but allocations of only 1kg of beef per year & 1kg of chicken per month, per adult person. Tastes terrible, only comes from animals that have died of age or disease. The poor can auction off meat ration to wealthier people, but also have first rights to their own family’s flesh.
    1. Corpse meat can also be sold to Eaters of the Dead cults, or sold or rented to ravishers, who generally pay the most & buy bodies whole.
    2. Church of Eternal & Righteous Love targets drug rehab centers to convert young to religion in hopes they’ll sign over their bodies before a fatal relapse.
    3. Church of the Final Revelation started the trend off.
    4. Story is of a family eating last meal with terminally ill mother, her tasting meat for the last time, and discussing what to do with her body. Treatment exists but too expensive; discussion of cost includes possibility that illness runs in family & money from selling body could provide for testing/treatment of children.
    5. ‘They were right about everything. It just had nothing to do with their daughter.’
    6. Title is In Remembrance Of
  5. The easiest way to add to life is stop sleeping
    1. Pill lets you sleep for 2 hours, give or take, while remaining fully conscious and hallucinating.
    2. Need prescription based on argument of utility. Need to have a useful job, be a ‘producer’ rather than a consumer, so only the wealthy can qualify.
    3. ‘There was a girl missing. Like all missing girls anyone cares to find out what happened to, this one was pretty. She also played saxophone more than decently and wore a short skirt and tall heels[?]. Her family thought that she’d been kidnapped or murdered. They wanted me to find out how and why. They could pay a month’s worth of No Doze, a quarter now to make sure I could stay hot on the trail, but three quarters when I’d done my job. But I’m an android. I have no lust for sleep or dreams. ~This has to be two ideas, not one.

I dont mind miscommunication, really

He caught me at Starbucks reading the Bible and said, Wouldnt it be nice if everyone had inherent telepathy, not reading minds, you see, but being able to send a thought completely and be understood completely. Exactly, not approximately. He did also think it’d change the economy and all sort of stuff, but I didnt agree with that at all and mainly didnt agree inherent telepathy would be all that nice, the death of misunderstandings at least.

All of our abstractions and approximations of language developed ’cause we dont know really what anybody else is thinking. It’s what helped us get out of human mind and emotion and perception. Fractions and fairness and liberty dont exist if we cant talk about things we dont feel, and total knowledge of another person’s feelings doesnt equate with total empathy.

‘The road to excess leads to the palace of wisdom,’ and all of those extra words and approximate abstracts cant help you get to the idea itself, but they aint necessarily a waste, is my point.

So maybe God thought he’d thwarted us all at Babel but really the tower warent going nowhere, and we instead touched the Moon (and Mars [and more] ) with our confused tongues.

People have been fashioning dicks for 30,000 years, or more. It’s comforting, somewhat

That’s what I learned from the the Oriental Institute at the University of Chicago. The cradle of civilization was all about big-titted women, and stone dicks. Maybe they were religious in nature. Or maybe people are people and haven’t much changed.

I walked outside and saw someone in chalk had written under a bridge, “LOVE = penis!” Altho by the looks of it, someone had added the ” = penis” later. But, it was nice to see.

You know, they say graffiti is even more valuable to archaeologists than writings or monuments because it reveals how things really were, what people really thought and cared about, not what those in power wanted to be preserved.

No wonder the officials want it scrubbed off now

Now the python scares me.

But as a child I nailed a rattlesnake to the floor (straight into the wood) and chopped its rattle in half.

Once I cut off its head; now the body’s jerkings put me to flight.

But that’s because the rattlesnake is immortal, and if we let it finds its head, we’ll never know it’s coming.

(How long, O Lord, how long?)

Nothing drives me wild like redheads

Except blondes. And brunettes. And girls with hair jet black or gray or white or any unnatural dye. And I love clear, pale skin. And freckles and tattoos. And dark, perfect tans. And tan lines. Oh, if I had a choice, I’d want a girl with eyes green like emeralds, but I like girls with eyes blue like the sky best, and all I really want is my brown-eyed girl.

I like girls white and Asian, Mexican, Injun, Arabic, Persian, Slavic, Mediterranean. I want a pure Nubian princess, but I really want a girl of mixed blood.

I like my girls skinny, almost anorexic. I like to see the skin go over the ribs, but I like a girl with curves better, the hourglass figure, almost as much as a girl with a bit of a pooch, or more. And there’s nothing like an athletic girl with muscles sculpted perfect like marble to drive me mad.

I like them best 17 or 27, 7 or 48. I like them young and naive or cunning and sure. I like having to take it slow and teach them everything, I like it when they teach me something new. I like it when they first turn wild for it, I like it when they know exactly what they want and don’t bother pretending anything else. I like being the first to have a girl and being the latest. I like it when she gets hers first and then is tired of it and knows just what to do to make me finish and how to do it so there ain’t no use at all in fighting it. I like my mouth on a nipple like a baby trying for milk and I like the the coos that escape her mouth near like a baby, too.

I like them shaved and trimmed and bald and hairy, cleaned and washed or after a full day’s sweat, and I like them bleeding (with a towel down if it’s my place; anywhere if it’s hers). And I like every shape and fold because it’s as individual as each of them.

I like the satisfaction of desire, and I like the thwarting of desire, and I love the desire itself for what it is.

Give them all to me! I’m famished. I just want to look, to taste, to nibble, just to gorge.

I sometimes forget the bugs arent there

Ha ha, old boy what we must do is get a plane and flee the sun, fly the world and never get old. It’s all relativity aint it? Keep moving! Time can fuck itself.

Brick wall, white wall, teal doors. Trees hacked at the bottom, spiky at the top.
——Boring little obligation.
Here starts the drainage ditch.
——The character, it’s all in the signs. That’s the city, in the individual and poorly made, kitsch, self produced and lovely. And it’s in the fading, crumbling, boarded up things.
——The McSuburb is like any other franchise, the same everywhere, prefabricate. The old, personal business and home is identity.
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If women had no rights and legally existed solely to please men and bear children

I’d be totally okay with that.

Some men would be in charge of keeping them healthy enough to look attractive, some men would have to raise children, and the rest of us could get our rocks off and enjoy our lives as was intended.

We wouldn’t have to teach them how to read or talk, so as long as we fed them and they enjoyed some sexual pleasure, they’d have good lives until they got too old and we had to put them down.

After the first generation. They wouldn’t be able to conceive of anything else but the lives they had, so they wouldn’t feel at all unsatisfied unless their physical needs weren’t being met. It would actually be kind of rewarding.

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My life, my love/I saw you were getting married

My life, my love

I met you at Wal-Mart and found you buying bras. You were embarrassed, but you shouldn’t have been. I was drunk, but I shouldn’t have been. I recognized you, but only barely, and said hello, and loved you as you once loved me.

You filled my dreams with thoughts of yore, with memories of times lost to time, of memories that never happened. I blame you (I must, you know) but I love you more now for it than I ever did then.

We should have been together, should be together, but you have two kids, darling, lovely thing, and you won’t be with me now, if you ever would have. So I’m stuck in my mind, in my dreams, sleeping and thinking of you and the things that spring forth from your associations. Ho ho! How terrible, nostalgia.

I’d trade it for nothing, though, I think, my sweet Allison.

I saw you were getting married

Oh my darling (oh darling who could have, should have, still might have been my darling). You, you don’t know who you are, but I do (and he does, but if he says anything of it, I’ll take his body out of town and dump it in that ditch) are finally getting married. So salutations and congratulations on this marvelous occasion. You whore.

Getting married at our age? You’re pregnant, aren’t you? I bet so you nasty cunt, got knocked up and then decided to put a ring on your finger. YOU AREN’T FOOLING ANYONE. Least of all me.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t think of it so much as LOSING an old crush as GAINING a mortal enemy. Your new husband is a fucking faggot piece of shit, and one day he won’t come home. He’ll have run off (you’ll think) and then I’ll be there to console you and make everything OK.

Ah, already I miss your tiny mouth (it was so small, I can’t believe it even now). You were so short, but your breasts were enormous. You talked of getting breast reduction surgery for your back’s sake, and I pleaded with you not to do it, for mankind’s sake. Just stay on your back where you belonged and they wouldn’t give you any problems, I said. (AND YOU LAUGHED! My God, what kind of woman were you?)

You lost so much weight during that one year of junior high school (that must be where your breasts came from). I wonder if you ever gained it back? The last I saw you (was it four years ago, between the buildings at old OC?) you still hadn’t, were still so pretty, were still so nice. I choose to remember you like this, regardless, like this or something before. I should have said yes to the dance. Alas, such a cute lass you were.

Whatever. I wish you well, is the point of all this. I really do wish you well. You always seemed a genuinely nice person, deserving happiness when so few of us do. I didn’t know you then, not really, and I’m sure less now, but for a time you liked me, and for that, I’ll always love you, in the fond, nostalgic way I love anything I love. Sweet and artificial, but I hope the love you have is real, your wedding of joy and not necessity, or even if so, something grows so that your adult life is a happy one. I’m sure his will be as long as he’s with you.

From far away, floating and remote, I care. But I don’t want anything to do with you, your life, especially not now. Still, I’d like to hear later that things are well with you, because that helps keep me well, in the vicarious way that always satisfies.

My senior year, someone killed my best friend’s dog and hung it from a tree

He wasn’t the first one up that morning, but he was the first one to look out the window into the backyard. That’s what he said, anyway. His parents had already left for work when he called them to tell them.

They took him out of school for a few weeks and sent him to counseling. The whole thing was just odd. I didn’t know of anyone who hated him enough to do it, and no other animals were killed in the neighborhood, or as far as I know, the rest of the city.

He didn’t like to talk about it, and I never pressed him on what happened. It was just odd, and since we went off to different colleges, I found other friends.

I have a longing for eternity

When it’s night, I want it to be night forever. When it’s day, I want it to be day forever. When it’s summer, I love the heat. When it’s winter, I love the cold. When I’m awake, I never want to sleep again. When I’m drowsy or dreaming, I never want to wake.

The last one is the only one I have any kind of control over, and when I’m on my own schedule, I tend toward extremes. Up two days, asleep for one. Up four days, asleep for two.

I want to live forever only because I’m living now, I think.

But one day I’ll die and probably want to stay dead forever, and then I bet I’ll get my wish.