Women Led Me On Only To Throw Me Aside; They Mocked And Tortured Me When Others Were Around, Only To

I will say, if you need your job title, be it cop or military, to include hero in the title somehow magically youre not a hero youre a fucking small cowardly publicity whore, you know what makes a hero?  someone who rejects that title...

Here’s a song I posted awhile ago, these are random people doing it, but this is probably CLOSER to the original 1800s version of the song.  Little Pretty Anna...

I never could think of prostitutes as human beings or even as women. They seemed more like imbeciles or lunatics. But in their arms I felt absolute security. I could sleep soundly. It was pathetic how utterly devoid of greed they really were. And perhaps because they felt for me something like an affinity for their kind, these prostitutes always showed me a natural friendliness which never became oppressive. Friendliness with no ulterior motive, friendliness stripped of high pressure salesmanship, for someone who might never come again. Some nights I saw these imbecile, lunatic prostitutes with the halo of Mary. I went to them to escape from my dread of human beings, to seek a mere night of repose, but in the process of diverting myself with these 'kindred' prostitutes, I seem to have acquired before I was aware of it a certain offensive atmosphere which clung inseparably to me... I had, quite objectively speaking, passed through an apprenticeship in women at the hands of prostitutes, and I had of late become quite adept. The odor of ' lady killer ' had come to permeate me...I remembered now clumsily written letters from bar girls...with all of them I had been extremely negative and it had gone no further. But it was an undeniable fact, and not just some foolish delusion on my part, that there lingered about me an atmosphere which could send women into sentimental reveries. It caused me a bitterness akin to shame to have this pointed out by someone like Horiki; at the same time, I lost all interest in prostitutes

Osamu Dazai, No Longer Human

All Things Remain Much the Same

You know what I LOVE about reformed junkies and what not?  even without the junk they’re still awesome at only talking about themselves, their problems, and things relating to them, its good to know suckin ya own metaphoric dick aint contingent on a needle.  They’ve learned alot...through Jesus....

( dies laughing )

Try It!

______ has been proven to cure depression better than ______ in clinical trials.  Try new________.  side effects include anal leakage,dick problems and thoughts of suicide.  Do not take _______ if you are allergic to _________.  People with depression should not take ________, this is better than alcohol somehow.  If you got better how would we make money off you?  You stupid depressed cash cow, try new ______ today because we told you to and you have no independent thought.

The Cemetery

My last post reminds me I never told you people that I worked in a cemetery as a teen, I remember the first body I buried i was maybe 13, 14 ( i worked under the table because i knew people there ) He was a suicide victim, 35 i think.  I stood at a distance during the funeral, picked up the plywood, took off the straps from lowering the coffin, etc. 

With modern machinery most is done with a backhoe, but you need to manually shovel the dirt between the vault and the ground, and etc.  so It’s raining out, and by the time i get there the hole is filled with water, i jump on the coffin and shovel dirt, i feel the coffin move beneath my feet, i float on this dead man and shovel dirt in cracks/ 

I remember after I went to the crematorium, which was a warehouse full of cardboard boxes, and drank coffee and what not, it being cold and rainy.  I remember shedding a single tear for the man I never met and moving on with my life.

After that it was childsplay, nothing in a box or in the ground was even human, but that one moment will stick with me forever, that and the smell of the crematorium, once you smell a burning human body I promise you you wont ever forget it. 

By 13 I had looked death in the face, and maybe it was traumatic by millennial standards but death has always been a part of life, and by 13 I knew someday id have some small funeral of people pretending to care and I’d be put in the boggy mud and forgotten forever more.  It has shaped my life in ways you’ll never understand sans the experience. 

There is no god, there is no redemption, there is here and now, and there is gone, and dont let any Babylonian babble sway you, when you’re standing on that floating coffin you know then and there, god is a lie and there is no redemption.  I think, in private, I cried for that strangers water laden corpse more than I did for any of my loved ones, I regret not remembering his name. 

Mystics and schizophrenics find themselves in the same ocean, but the mystics swim whereas the schizophrenics drown.

R.D. Lang

(via

entheognosis

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