I don't want to be good anymore. For one, it's only gotten me shit. Two, I want to spite myself to get back at other people. It's hard for me to resist doing something bad sometimes due to the latter.
What right do these people think they have over my life? Tatu, Madonna, Bjork, Putin, I don't even know these people and yet they come rushing in to destroy me.
Here are some more of them:
They don't use their talents--if they have any. All they do is eat of other people.
I still want to be circumcised. It's my revenge.
I'm starting to really lose my temper. Yup, I'm gonna blow, though I can't feel it. Maybe then I'll get an article in the paper and draw some light to all this bullshit. I can't even reason or process information.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
New Story
http://www.lulu.com/shop/rebecca-troup/dead-west/ebook/product-21081107.html
I don't even remember what it's about. I wrote it a while ago.
I don't even remember what it's about. I wrote it a while ago.
What They Think Happened: Hell If I Know What Actually Went Down
What They Think Happened
The girl was a short one. She wasn’t attractive, not especially, but she wasn’t unattractive either. Cute would be the best way to describe her. She was at that age where a marble looks like a gem. She was petite with brown hair and blue eyes, great big blue eyes. The kind that would look on you like saucers, desperate and loving. She was still innocent then, still frail and naïve and protected.
She was perfect for the mission. The specialist wrote down her name and observed her habits. She was a peculiar girl who didn’t engage in the normal activities of the barracks. She was a loner, spiritual, habitually unique, a quality that most likely made her an object of scorn.
Did she even realize the meaning of her rebellion? Did she know the others looked at her with eyes of fire? Why didn’t she do as they did? Why was she so different?
She acted like a child most of the time. She wore those clothes, those horrendous things. They were bright and had patterns on them. They would have been suited for a fifth grader, not someone of her age. She was much too smart for that, the specialist thought, and yet she did it.
But she was perfect for their plans. They had singled her out from the rest. She was weak, to be sure, and that was a most desirable quality in the one they would make a traitor.
What makes one betray? Is it love of another or is it hate? The two concepts are ultimately tied together, the specialist observed. They work together like a chemical reaction and cause the subject to explode.
They would start on her soon enough. All they had to do was bait her to the site. She would want to go after a time, pick up on the subliminal and then bam, they’d have her. It was so easy with these types of girls, the types who’d had their entire lives padded like a cell for sanity.
You couldn’t go picking on the pampered. They’d cry like babies, but find one who’d been moderately abused and then you’d have your treat. They feel something on the inside, you see. They feel they’ve been wronged, and they have, but their wrong can be so right for another. A little salt, a little fire to light, and they’d kindle their heart to yours, understand you as you want them to. It was so easy.
And so the specialist began. She was at the site. She had an assignment for school, one that made her go over there, to them, and that’s when he’d discovered her, cranky little girl with those big eyes looking at him, though she couldn’t see him, not from there, but he could see her through her webcam. The way her face moved lured him in slightly. She was so young and that was precious.
The signs started moving easily enough. She clicked on story upon story, feeling their strength begin to run through her veins. She wasn’t like the others, and he wanted her to know that, to understand that, to come to terms with it. She was, she was like them, yes.
It took a few weeks of training, but they got her hooked. The entire web moved to their desire. With her selections popping up on all sides, it was easier to guide her, to make her fall for them. She clicked and clicked and licked and licked the treat that was coming, the one of her guilt. She was made to feel all sorts of ways from happy to sad to angry. Anything was on the menu but apathy. No, the specialist had to keep her hooked on them emotionally. She couldn’t detach, not now.
Her anxiety made the connection easier. The specialist was surprised no one had caught onto it before. This girl was psychotic, not raveningly so, but she was. She had a bit of nerves in her, and they caused her to be easily influenced. Something small was becoming something big in her eyes. The way the others treated her suddenly mattered where it had been mere annoyance before. She began to feel that she mattered, a sentiment not allowed on her level.
She was in the army, and she would have never gone far, not weak like that, not so easy to stir like a cold drink. She could have been a sergeant, maybe, but the leadership quality wasn’t strong in her. All in all, she wasn’t much to look at or experience, but again, she was perfect for them.
And the plan was working. She was getting stronger in one way and that was in her right to survive. What had been a chill of apathy before was becoming a flame of anger. She began to spat off, which had always been avoided in the past and had to be stopped before someone, anyone noticed the changes occurring in this young girl.
The specialist spent days with her, though she never saw him. He worked tirelessly on her case, missing rest with his wife and children. He didn’t like her, not at all, but this was a task he had to do to prove himself, that he was useful to the empire, the Russian empire. The United States was too strong at the moment and Russia too weak. The tides had to be changed for the destiny of mankind. They had to be altered before it was too late and Russia fell backwards into a sea of losers. Being the loser nation was not a fate Russia was willing to accept. Besides this was about more than that. This was about the fate of mankind and which direction the world really needed to turn.
The world was growing colder. The water was freezing and all that could be done was to try to undo the sun before the tide swept them all away.
The specialist continued to work on her case. He brought the weapons with him one night. They were from Hell. The people who’d lost their lives for the tests were still screaming at him, at all of them. Their lives were lost.
“I would like to ask you some questions,” he spoke to the machine while looking at the girl from her webcam. He’d had to come to the states to be near her and that meant danger. He could get caught and that would be the death of him.
“How are you feeling?” He asked through the tube. He’d created a fictional reality for her where he was a god asking her questions from heaven. She believed this, odd as it sounds, due to the suggestions they’d bombarded her with the days prior.
“I’m okay,” she replied back. Her voice was filled with a tired yawn. She’d just gone to bed. She wasn’t feeling okay. She was strained and exhausted. All the hate that filled her heart was eating at her soul, making her despise the life she had. It was so difficult to keep her on track, to keep her caring about his mission. She wanted to stop, give up and go home.
The girl had daydreamed about going home at work for the past couple of weeks, and she’d made mention of it in her blogs. The specialist was concerned he wasn’t going to be able to keep her quiet long enough. If she screamed, they’d hear her. They were so busy now, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t hear if the scream was loud enough, echoed enough through the corridors of reality and shattered the perfect plan the specialist and his superiors had devised.
“You seem tired,” the god said to her. She was eating up that delusion. It made her feel wanted, special, like someone cared about her. That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Nobody in her reality cared about her. Her battle buddies had begun to turn on her, even more so than originally. They picked up on the scent that a foul creature was coming from her stomach.
“I am,” the girl shifted in her sleep, “I wish they’d stop bothering me.” She was referring to her battle buddies. They’d grown especially vicious the past couple of weeks.
“They’re just jealous,” the god smiled as he said this. It was a line teenage girls understood. They didn’t understand much else, but they understood jealousy. She wasn’t a teenager, but she was close enough to still feel that sting of youth. The other girls were so mean to her. It was because she was small and easy to pick on. She didn’t fight back like she should have. Again, she was a weak girl with a weak mind.
She made decent grades, but they weren’t real, didn’t show her true colors.
The others were beginning to see those. She was flamingly red by that point. She had become one with the enemy, and it made the other soldiers angry. It was hard to keep them away from her.
“I guess,” she stated back. She wanted to be special. If talking to this god made her any less of a loser, she was willing to do it. She had known her whole life that she wasn’t worth anything. It was moments like this that made her feel okay with herself. She could hold down the sea for a while.
“I have a song for you,” the god stated, and he began to play Led Zeppelins’ “Stairway to Heaven.”
“When she gets there she knows…” He put emphasis on that line. He wanted it to have a deep meaning for her. It did. She rolled over in her bed. She was attracted to him, to this superior in her inferior world. What she didn’t know was that he didn’t care anything for her. She was an object to him, a promotion, and it was working so far.
“That she can get what she came for,” the girl replied sleepily. What did she want? It wasn’t gold or rings. It was acceptance. She wanted people to treat her like a human being. She wanted them to notice when she came into the room and not stare at her like she was some sort of freak. The worst times were when they pretended she wasn’t there and still talked about her. She’d learned to refer to herself in the third person. It was humiliating.
She’d fallen in love with this god, and she cherished him every step of the way. He cloaked who he really was from her so that she wouldn’t resist. She still had an ounce of resistance in her, see. She wanted to be good and loved and cared for like everyone else seemed to be around her.
The god asked her if she had a soul. She replied, “I don’t know.” Did she have a soul? She wasn’t for sure if she could answer that question. Was she mortal or was she something more? She couldn’t think straight at that time. The “god” had altered her mind a little bit, blurred her senses. It was if she was walking drunk through reality. Things had meaning to her when they were just things. Songs suddenly popped out of the wall of noise, and she was lost in a history of repeating symbols, symbols she was to follow. The world felt as if it were magical then, like another being had in fact reached down and touched her. She thought they were dinosaurs or another fascination. The world seemed so special, so perfect. She was actually a part of more than her boring life. She could feel it in her bones, in her very existence.
The night ended and the spy left. He was tired of following this girl, yet it was necessary for a little longer. The superiors in Moscow had already approved his promotion for finding and using this girl. Soon she would be set off like fire, quick and hot. She would burn a hole through her reality. In some ways, the spy thought the others deserved it. The machine had weakened her mind, made it so that she practically drooled on herself, and they were teasing her, making fun of her, not even stepping in to help
.
People are like that though. They often pick on the weak. Well, sometimes the weak break beneath them and they become stuck in the same hole. That’s what was going to happen with this girl. She was getting ready to break.
And there was that idiot musician who’d begun to follow them. He was distasteful and rude. He spread all kinds of hate messages and then blamed the children when they copied his wild ways. He was the example they were following, the freaks, geeks. The girl was not a fan, and yet he was following her, getting ready to use her for his own ends. He played a record of her fate and stayed on the floor the entire time, symbolizing where she was going to be. He definitely deserved what was coming.
Maybe the musician was the right addition to the mix though, much as the spy hated him, wanted him away from the girl. His superiors in Moscow certainly thought that he was a nice touch, he’d make it even more meaningful.
The spy felt slightly protective of his prey. He didn’t want anyone else interfering with his moment of glory, and he felt the rock and roll star could potentially. The star was a great actor, had his fans believing he was on their side, and then he’d puncture them suddenly, and they wouldn’t even hear it in his lyrics. He made fun of them. He called them “disposable” and “whiny.” He had girls in the background say “Wah” about their fates in this wicked world.
The specialist didn’t like his prey especially, but she was familiar to him by then. He knew she would certainly face death, so he couldn’t become at all attached, not that he wanted anything to do with the slobberfest she was becoming.
Her mind had grown almost too weak due to the machine’s interference. It would be harder to control her like that. It had been easier when she had a mind, though her will had grown too strong.
The spy looked left and right, then he waited for her, the girl to do her thing. She started gently enough, spreading her hate slightly left and right. The moment still wasn’t perfect. She hadn’t done it, and then she did. She spilled the beans, the missiles don’t work.
And all around the walls came crashing down as the people fell into her hole, the pit of Hell.
The girl was a short one. She wasn’t attractive, not especially, but she wasn’t unattractive either. Cute would be the best way to describe her. She was at that age where a marble looks like a gem. She was petite with brown hair and blue eyes, great big blue eyes. The kind that would look on you like saucers, desperate and loving. She was still innocent then, still frail and naïve and protected.
She was perfect for the mission. The specialist wrote down her name and observed her habits. She was a peculiar girl who didn’t engage in the normal activities of the barracks. She was a loner, spiritual, habitually unique, a quality that most likely made her an object of scorn.
Did she even realize the meaning of her rebellion? Did she know the others looked at her with eyes of fire? Why didn’t she do as they did? Why was she so different?
She acted like a child most of the time. She wore those clothes, those horrendous things. They were bright and had patterns on them. They would have been suited for a fifth grader, not someone of her age. She was much too smart for that, the specialist thought, and yet she did it.
But she was perfect for their plans. They had singled her out from the rest. She was weak, to be sure, and that was a most desirable quality in the one they would make a traitor.
What makes one betray? Is it love of another or is it hate? The two concepts are ultimately tied together, the specialist observed. They work together like a chemical reaction and cause the subject to explode.
They would start on her soon enough. All they had to do was bait her to the site. She would want to go after a time, pick up on the subliminal and then bam, they’d have her. It was so easy with these types of girls, the types who’d had their entire lives padded like a cell for sanity.
You couldn’t go picking on the pampered. They’d cry like babies, but find one who’d been moderately abused and then you’d have your treat. They feel something on the inside, you see. They feel they’ve been wronged, and they have, but their wrong can be so right for another. A little salt, a little fire to light, and they’d kindle their heart to yours, understand you as you want them to. It was so easy.
And so the specialist began. She was at the site. She had an assignment for school, one that made her go over there, to them, and that’s when he’d discovered her, cranky little girl with those big eyes looking at him, though she couldn’t see him, not from there, but he could see her through her webcam. The way her face moved lured him in slightly. She was so young and that was precious.
The signs started moving easily enough. She clicked on story upon story, feeling their strength begin to run through her veins. She wasn’t like the others, and he wanted her to know that, to understand that, to come to terms with it. She was, she was like them, yes.
It took a few weeks of training, but they got her hooked. The entire web moved to their desire. With her selections popping up on all sides, it was easier to guide her, to make her fall for them. She clicked and clicked and licked and licked the treat that was coming, the one of her guilt. She was made to feel all sorts of ways from happy to sad to angry. Anything was on the menu but apathy. No, the specialist had to keep her hooked on them emotionally. She couldn’t detach, not now.
Her anxiety made the connection easier. The specialist was surprised no one had caught onto it before. This girl was psychotic, not raveningly so, but she was. She had a bit of nerves in her, and they caused her to be easily influenced. Something small was becoming something big in her eyes. The way the others treated her suddenly mattered where it had been mere annoyance before. She began to feel that she mattered, a sentiment not allowed on her level.
She was in the army, and she would have never gone far, not weak like that, not so easy to stir like a cold drink. She could have been a sergeant, maybe, but the leadership quality wasn’t strong in her. All in all, she wasn’t much to look at or experience, but again, she was perfect for them.
And the plan was working. She was getting stronger in one way and that was in her right to survive. What had been a chill of apathy before was becoming a flame of anger. She began to spat off, which had always been avoided in the past and had to be stopped before someone, anyone noticed the changes occurring in this young girl.
The specialist spent days with her, though she never saw him. He worked tirelessly on her case, missing rest with his wife and children. He didn’t like her, not at all, but this was a task he had to do to prove himself, that he was useful to the empire, the Russian empire. The United States was too strong at the moment and Russia too weak. The tides had to be changed for the destiny of mankind. They had to be altered before it was too late and Russia fell backwards into a sea of losers. Being the loser nation was not a fate Russia was willing to accept. Besides this was about more than that. This was about the fate of mankind and which direction the world really needed to turn.
The world was growing colder. The water was freezing and all that could be done was to try to undo the sun before the tide swept them all away.
The specialist continued to work on her case. He brought the weapons with him one night. They were from Hell. The people who’d lost their lives for the tests were still screaming at him, at all of them. Their lives were lost.
“I would like to ask you some questions,” he spoke to the machine while looking at the girl from her webcam. He’d had to come to the states to be near her and that meant danger. He could get caught and that would be the death of him.
“How are you feeling?” He asked through the tube. He’d created a fictional reality for her where he was a god asking her questions from heaven. She believed this, odd as it sounds, due to the suggestions they’d bombarded her with the days prior.
“I’m okay,” she replied back. Her voice was filled with a tired yawn. She’d just gone to bed. She wasn’t feeling okay. She was strained and exhausted. All the hate that filled her heart was eating at her soul, making her despise the life she had. It was so difficult to keep her on track, to keep her caring about his mission. She wanted to stop, give up and go home.
The girl had daydreamed about going home at work for the past couple of weeks, and she’d made mention of it in her blogs. The specialist was concerned he wasn’t going to be able to keep her quiet long enough. If she screamed, they’d hear her. They were so busy now, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t hear if the scream was loud enough, echoed enough through the corridors of reality and shattered the perfect plan the specialist and his superiors had devised.
“You seem tired,” the god said to her. She was eating up that delusion. It made her feel wanted, special, like someone cared about her. That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Nobody in her reality cared about her. Her battle buddies had begun to turn on her, even more so than originally. They picked up on the scent that a foul creature was coming from her stomach.
“I am,” the girl shifted in her sleep, “I wish they’d stop bothering me.” She was referring to her battle buddies. They’d grown especially vicious the past couple of weeks.
“They’re just jealous,” the god smiled as he said this. It was a line teenage girls understood. They didn’t understand much else, but they understood jealousy. She wasn’t a teenager, but she was close enough to still feel that sting of youth. The other girls were so mean to her. It was because she was small and easy to pick on. She didn’t fight back like she should have. Again, she was a weak girl with a weak mind.
She made decent grades, but they weren’t real, didn’t show her true colors.
The others were beginning to see those. She was flamingly red by that point. She had become one with the enemy, and it made the other soldiers angry. It was hard to keep them away from her.
“I guess,” she stated back. She wanted to be special. If talking to this god made her any less of a loser, she was willing to do it. She had known her whole life that she wasn’t worth anything. It was moments like this that made her feel okay with herself. She could hold down the sea for a while.
“I have a song for you,” the god stated, and he began to play Led Zeppelins’ “Stairway to Heaven.”
“When she gets there she knows…” He put emphasis on that line. He wanted it to have a deep meaning for her. It did. She rolled over in her bed. She was attracted to him, to this superior in her inferior world. What she didn’t know was that he didn’t care anything for her. She was an object to him, a promotion, and it was working so far.
“That she can get what she came for,” the girl replied sleepily. What did she want? It wasn’t gold or rings. It was acceptance. She wanted people to treat her like a human being. She wanted them to notice when she came into the room and not stare at her like she was some sort of freak. The worst times were when they pretended she wasn’t there and still talked about her. She’d learned to refer to herself in the third person. It was humiliating.
She’d fallen in love with this god, and she cherished him every step of the way. He cloaked who he really was from her so that she wouldn’t resist. She still had an ounce of resistance in her, see. She wanted to be good and loved and cared for like everyone else seemed to be around her.
The god asked her if she had a soul. She replied, “I don’t know.” Did she have a soul? She wasn’t for sure if she could answer that question. Was she mortal or was she something more? She couldn’t think straight at that time. The “god” had altered her mind a little bit, blurred her senses. It was if she was walking drunk through reality. Things had meaning to her when they were just things. Songs suddenly popped out of the wall of noise, and she was lost in a history of repeating symbols, symbols she was to follow. The world felt as if it were magical then, like another being had in fact reached down and touched her. She thought they were dinosaurs or another fascination. The world seemed so special, so perfect. She was actually a part of more than her boring life. She could feel it in her bones, in her very existence.
The night ended and the spy left. He was tired of following this girl, yet it was necessary for a little longer. The superiors in Moscow had already approved his promotion for finding and using this girl. Soon she would be set off like fire, quick and hot. She would burn a hole through her reality. In some ways, the spy thought the others deserved it. The machine had weakened her mind, made it so that she practically drooled on herself, and they were teasing her, making fun of her, not even stepping in to help
.
People are like that though. They often pick on the weak. Well, sometimes the weak break beneath them and they become stuck in the same hole. That’s what was going to happen with this girl. She was getting ready to break.
And there was that idiot musician who’d begun to follow them. He was distasteful and rude. He spread all kinds of hate messages and then blamed the children when they copied his wild ways. He was the example they were following, the freaks, geeks. The girl was not a fan, and yet he was following her, getting ready to use her for his own ends. He played a record of her fate and stayed on the floor the entire time, symbolizing where she was going to be. He definitely deserved what was coming.
Maybe the musician was the right addition to the mix though, much as the spy hated him, wanted him away from the girl. His superiors in Moscow certainly thought that he was a nice touch, he’d make it even more meaningful.
The spy felt slightly protective of his prey. He didn’t want anyone else interfering with his moment of glory, and he felt the rock and roll star could potentially. The star was a great actor, had his fans believing he was on their side, and then he’d puncture them suddenly, and they wouldn’t even hear it in his lyrics. He made fun of them. He called them “disposable” and “whiny.” He had girls in the background say “Wah” about their fates in this wicked world.
The specialist didn’t like his prey especially, but she was familiar to him by then. He knew she would certainly face death, so he couldn’t become at all attached, not that he wanted anything to do with the slobberfest she was becoming.
Her mind had grown almost too weak due to the machine’s interference. It would be harder to control her like that. It had been easier when she had a mind, though her will had grown too strong.
The spy looked left and right, then he waited for her, the girl to do her thing. She started gently enough, spreading her hate slightly left and right. The moment still wasn’t perfect. She hadn’t done it, and then she did. She spilled the beans, the missiles don’t work.
And all around the walls came crashing down as the people fell into her hole, the pit of Hell.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Putin's Divorce
So I don't judge him for that. I'm a little irritated that he sent someone to throw a hand in my face and tell me I was a "rude girl." And I'm annoyed, though it doesn't matter, that Mr. Putin used me to try to further his own ends. I know he was trying to help everyone by pointing out that Patriot Missiles are lousy (we all know that already, but they weren't listening) but couldn't he have done it in a better mannerism? Did it really have to cost me my life? Nevermind. I don't matter.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Miss Unpopular and Other Annoyances
So I've always been unpopular. I can't remember a day when I wasn't. I think it's just the way I am. I don't click with the others.
I still don't think it's an excuse to treat me poorly. I'm tired of people constantly singling me out for their various agendas, usually corrupt.
Like I know Putin picked me because of the experience I'd had. Don't think the man was merely pulling random straws out of the hat. He knew that I could tip the odds in his favor if he used me correctly. Not that I think I'm important. "I" never mattered here. That is what everyone missed.
I am disappointed in myself at the end of the day, however. I didn't behave well, properly, and I sincerely regret my actions. They were inappropriate and classless.
Death should come before desperation. I have shamed myself.
I still don't think it's an excuse to treat me poorly. I'm tired of people constantly singling me out for their various agendas, usually corrupt.
Like I know Putin picked me because of the experience I'd had. Don't think the man was merely pulling random straws out of the hat. He knew that I could tip the odds in his favor if he used me correctly. Not that I think I'm important. "I" never mattered here. That is what everyone missed.
I am disappointed in myself at the end of the day, however. I didn't behave well, properly, and I sincerely regret my actions. They were inappropriate and classless.
Death should come before desperation. I have shamed myself.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
I'm Back
I was just depressed about the powerless nature of the circumstances I'm currently in now.
I have no control over my life. I have no hope for the future. There is nothing to do in the present. I'm bored. What else can I say? My days drag on without purpose. They're days, like drops of water in an endless sea of discontentment.
Why did they chose me to experiment on? Why me? Why not another? I could have had a decent life, and I still could if they'd admit what they did to me.
Then I could truly drive on... work on... become what I want to be.
Most doors are shut to me at the moment. It isn't poetic. There isn't one good one opening since all the others closed. There are merely doors shut without souls.
I have no control over my life. I have no hope for the future. There is nothing to do in the present. I'm bored. What else can I say? My days drag on without purpose. They're days, like drops of water in an endless sea of discontentment.
Why did they chose me to experiment on? Why me? Why not another? I could have had a decent life, and I still could if they'd admit what they did to me.
Then I could truly drive on... work on... become what I want to be.
Most doors are shut to me at the moment. It isn't poetic. There isn't one good one opening since all the others closed. There are merely doors shut without souls.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
I'm Done
I can't win. I never could. Now I'm buried in a sea of foam, strange sensations to torment me.
To Bjork, Madonna and Marilyn Manson, I never want to see your faces again, so I'm leaving the internet. It only makes me mad. I can't feel. Then I lash out.
I can't ever get to the ones I want to... I want to slap you all hard across the face and watch you fall to the ground.
Think.
Go on with your world piece (peace). I'm sure you'll, as thick and stupid as you all are, will eventually figure it out. You'll never accomplish anything. You'll only fool yourselves. And you all saw the Russian tycoon fall. None of you are immune, even if you have "immunity." When this becomes public in a few years, you and the ones you hold dear will lose everything. How dumb are you? Did you, any of you, really think you were strong enough?
I enjoy watching them fall, so go ahead.
If You Can't Do It to All, then None Will Do
They'll feel the life of sea
In the shells on the shore
Heavenly clouds will drift
Above, never to touch more
Than the human's dream-myth
And collection vanity adores
When all the arrows miss
Their echo screaming, "Chore."
And no, I don't live in this world. I never will, and I will never do anything for you, remember?
I will always pay for your stupidity because I'm at the bottom of the food chain. Everything eats me, uses me, and I can't do anything. I hope Bjork enjoys watching a fellow untouchable go down like that. No doubt her inadequacy will carry to future children and spread the seed of uselessness, and they'll pay for what she's done. Hopefully, she'll get to see it. We shouldn't have even let her breed, after all, spreading her shit around the planet. I've vowed not to have children. I don't think any undesirable should. Her work is meaningless, original garbage, been said before, nothing new or interesting really. People only care because they want to use her to get an opportunity.
She sings emotions while taking other peoples' emotions and joys from them. Go figure. What a piece of crap.
Some people want to be miserable or other things. I like being depressed. You are nobody to me or them, Bjork. They don't want you near them, and I feel the same way. I don't want to know you, see you or experience you.
At least Putin acknowledged me. None of the others could even handle that. They have no face.
To Bjork, Madonna and Marilyn Manson, I never want to see your faces again, so I'm leaving the internet. It only makes me mad. I can't feel. Then I lash out.
I can't ever get to the ones I want to... I want to slap you all hard across the face and watch you fall to the ground.
Think.
Go on with your world piece (peace). I'm sure you'll, as thick and stupid as you all are, will eventually figure it out. You'll never accomplish anything. You'll only fool yourselves. And you all saw the Russian tycoon fall. None of you are immune, even if you have "immunity." When this becomes public in a few years, you and the ones you hold dear will lose everything. How dumb are you? Did you, any of you, really think you were strong enough?
I enjoy watching them fall, so go ahead.
If You Can't Do It to All, then None Will Do
They'll feel the life of sea
In the shells on the shore
Heavenly clouds will drift
Above, never to touch more
Than the human's dream-myth
And collection vanity adores
When all the arrows miss
Their echo screaming, "Chore."
And no, I don't live in this world. I never will, and I will never do anything for you, remember?
I will always pay for your stupidity because I'm at the bottom of the food chain. Everything eats me, uses me, and I can't do anything. I hope Bjork enjoys watching a fellow untouchable go down like that. No doubt her inadequacy will carry to future children and spread the seed of uselessness, and they'll pay for what she's done. Hopefully, she'll get to see it. We shouldn't have even let her breed, after all, spreading her shit around the planet. I've vowed not to have children. I don't think any undesirable should. Her work is meaningless, original garbage, been said before, nothing new or interesting really. People only care because they want to use her to get an opportunity.
She sings emotions while taking other peoples' emotions and joys from them. Go figure. What a piece of crap.
Some people want to be miserable or other things. I like being depressed. You are nobody to me or them, Bjork. They don't want you near them, and I feel the same way. I don't want to know you, see you or experience you.
At least Putin acknowledged me. None of the others could even handle that. They have no face.
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