dick streams are somewhat entertaining.
Asuka: let's dialogue.
First question: do you know what I am doing?
Appropriate sideline query: do you think that if my objective was to gain "attention," it would make any sense whatsoever to engage in guerilla ontological warfare?
These Chicken/Andy
I'm not bored and lonely and looking for attention. I don't have a list. I am not checking it twice.
Nevertheless, it sure is your turn. You might not like this --and I don't either-- but that's how it has come to be. I didn't ask for this. Had I done so, I would have put you much higher, much closer, with a much more -emergent necessity- to DIRECTLY CONTACT your personage.
I never really had a reason to before, but, I guess I do now. And, as always, as a member of my league of acolytic sycophantic sonorific marsupial surrogates (just run with it), you are, of course, completely insulated from unwanted surveillance, monitoring, unwanted triangulations, dolphins carrying bombs, and last but not least, 3 fruits and a dumbbell.
I can actually do this, because I've done it before, and, it worked. It always works. Until someone fucks it up. So far, between you and I, no one has fucked it up. And, for my money, they are not likely to.
Now, before I HIT SUBMIT and go do something else and forget all about the surface of your Puny world, Asuka, I wanna make clear the following: there are very obviously, very critical, very crucial security issues affecting various... entanglements, let us say, in our, let us say,
general vicinity.
Now, while you chew on that, I'm gonna go back and -actually- read the post that I intentionally walked away from earlier. You probably know the one. You're a smart one, Asuka.
You always knew that I were dangerous -- because and I am. You know, guns are dangerous too, right? You like guns. Who doesn't like guns? Pfft! In any event, gun or not... I represent no harm here, to you, or actually to anyone... unless they, you know... uh.. poor pigs' blood on me, or... well, whatever.
Look, I'm actually really bored of all this shit, okay? I was -supposed- to get on a letter to Whitley Strieber, that's why. HOWEVER: that aspect of The Project has to be placed on hold.
BECAUSE: REASONS. Alright, now, I'm either gonna Joogle "IP2 streamers" and find out what that means, start writing to Whitley Strieber (and this is highly unlikely, #1, because I already did twice, and #2,
I don't fuckin' feel like it) about anything, anything at all, except various fruits, or, I will study arcane mysteries until I receive further guidance from Source.
That's it. That's all there is to it. I am real, that's really all I do. Now, gaze in wonder at what I have wrought. For I can do anything, everything, or even nothing at all.
Others have to do other things. And one of those 'other' things is now largely wholly surrounding the notion that after wantonly casting energies about myself and my life, everyone (mostly) doing so has sort of just... wandered off. Hrrm. That's interesting. It's very interesting.
I, of course, am not very interesting at all. Oh, my, Heavens no. There's nothing special about me at all.
Except, of course, for the longstanding, ongoing, and
thoroughly enchanting drama surrounding... My Mommy's Estate's Lawyer's House. My thought is that you wouldn't be very interested in that, as neither am I, and that is why, in fact, that
I have people for that kind of thing now.
But, they're not anyone else but here, just yet. Obviously, this place is not the only place on the Internet that I frequent. However, it is the sole place where I presently -publish.- This is relevant now because I obviously have to stop -publishing- as I have. It's ludicrous. It's monstrous. It's an unstoppable on-going slow-motion trainwreck and, honestly, I should have been stopped, not for my sake, but for the sake of all humanity,
months ago.
However, because I retain
The Advantage, none of that has worked out that way. I may not know how things have worked out, but, I do know that I don't have people bothering me with petty bullshit, forcing me to go to work, demanding that I pay my bills, insist that I comply with a bunch of arcane tax rules... I just don't have any of that going on right now.
I kinda wish I did, to tell you the truth. *sigh* Well, I do have the rare, exceptionally appreciated gift of an opportunity to spend a few moments alone with you, A. Langley. Naturally, one does not have to, and of course, while it is stereotypically assumed that I have only one reason for seeking out "attention" -- also referred to as "saying hello!" in
several civilized jurisdictions -- I can't tell you a whole lot more about what I am doing here writing to you here, than what I already have said.
But what I can say with authority is that someone is -jealous.- Of me. Of you. Jealous of me, talking to you, and jealous of you, surely, for in this brief window of time, you're getting my full attention. And now, I am spent.
Oh, no, wait, haha, I have shitloads of money. And a house. And a truck, a car... the list goes on. You get the idea.
But I guarantee you, what someone is most jealous of in this list, is of you, because like I said, you have my full attention. If only for a brief window in time. If you want a 5-year-window, well, I am actually not sure of what that would entail. I do know that someone screamed at me and carried on and make a big fuss and caused a big ruckus, this one time, when I simply made a simple joke about how it would be The Next Big Thing if I took off and went to elope with you.
Like, the noise. It was a sound that cut through happiness and left paper broken hearts to drift through the breeze blowing through the broken windows. It accompanied me laughing at the notion that someone could -ever- think that I would -ever- actually do that, and that if someone did, well, maybe they know something I do not.
Which, as it happens, turns out to be quite a lot. For example, I don't know who is overseeing the monitored block on my digital comms, nor do I possess clarity on the Authority over the whole Project at all. I mean, sure, yes, God, but the distribution of power descends from Command Authority towards myself, in a pattern I can only describe as, "virtual barb wire fencing for toddlers."
Like seriously, this bullshit is neverending. Thus, here I am, talking to you. I actually rather think I will be ignored, and in fact, I'm quite counting on it. If you had any idea how tired of this relentless tedium I have become, you would, perhaps, be empathetic, or maybe even sympathetic... and who knows? You might even give a shit.
And I am not seeking DIRECT CONTACT with *that* person. Oh no. I have plans, within plans, within plans. But enough about me: let's see what you do, and you've got about 15 minutes to do it. GO. (This reminds me of the time Grapefruit had an important deadline to make arrival at mode of transport for, and then, didn't tell me there was a deadline, nor what it was for, and then when she missed the deadline through no fault of her own --I neglected to pay the proper officials some form of bribe, I think, and the drawbridge at the front of the castle refused to open, et cetera, et cetera.
SO PISSED. Like, mad when she realized she was going to miss something, then mad at me because I very likely did make her miss her ride, but then she realized that she couldn't tell me that she had something she was looking to schedule, because she hadn't told me that at all, and then I watched as she was briefly forced to focus all her rage at the people in the world, as well as the world itself, for letting her down, as she realized... well, if she had just told me all that from the start, none of that would have been a problem for her, so... why did she not?
I happen to know, whatever the reason,
she doesn't know. Or she's deceiving herself, and thereby, the rest of the world.
Now, I do not know what this person is up to, but while I am
technically still married to her, it is a
technical issue, and should be handled...
technically.
I mean, it doesn't even -matter.- It's not -legal.- It's not -real.- Except, it is. A real situation that had real consequences, and then, all of sudden... someone imagined that none of those consequences were important enough to assign resources to the maintenance of their upkeep.
I would like to know, who these someones are. Just out of curiosity. I doubt that any of them will wish to converse with me, but they sure thought it was a good idea to converse with others
about me. I asked around, but I did not receive back the courtesy of a reply.
I also haven't seen some fat bad fuck named (PROT) and/or (PROT) who was rolling around, at times, pretending to be me. Now, why would someone do that? Well, I don't know, but it's not likely to be something that I am able to file a police report on, because that is not how I choose to deal with my dumb donut chowdown chinatown pillhound groundpounding phucked-off phoenix.
Right now, I choose to deal with that by writing this. "IP2 streamers." Hrrm. I'll have to ask someone about this later.
And, of course I am fucking sick of posting anything about this. What do you think I am, so high that I'll post about nothing but my absolutely self-annihilated sex life? Why, that's so much exactly like what I was not really plannning on everyone to do, but simply observed everyone doing as they danced and whirled about one another in this tornado of Jack's straw.
And all she would have had to do, was tell me the truth. Aww, shucks. LET'S TRIGGER ANOTHER DEEP CYCLE OF CONSEQUENCES... FOR KEYSER SOZE TO BE COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY UNFAZED BY. This is like that part in The Breakfast Club where the teacher is handing out more time to be served as punishment for arrogantly mouthing off.
I don't want another deep cycle. Who does? Potentially, no one, but each time a new set of lies are told, or broken, or whatever, it keeps building up. It's really tedious for me.
I can only imagine how tedious it is for you, Asuka, if I first tediously imagine what it was like to live in fear that I was going to receive hostile, verbal reprisals... for talking to, well, just about anyone, from a person who at one time, forbade me from giving attention to you.
I say "forbade" but it was really just an implementation of a strict zero tolerance policy towards incessant whining about inappropriate boundary settings. The upshot of it all was that I couldn't do before, what I am doing now: just writing to someone that I admire, in public, with no small amount of skill, talent, & flair, and this is all for you, Asuka.
If Grapefruit chokes on her own tongue from jealousy, I will do what I can to retrieve it as a trophy. However, I suspect my influence in this regard is quite limited. Also, her friends who have passed on from this mortal coil, right, you dig? They're starting to show up at my house, which is, in fact, an ancient Native American burial ground. 4.1 acres. It's comfy.
And there's a gun range, right over the hill. I have never been there. She said it was "too expensive." LOL, well, this post was too expensive as well, and here I am, totally writing it out. *BOOM*.
I can't believe I am allowed to do what I am doing, honestly, but: that is the power of the U.S. Constitution, and it's pretty goddam baller these days, let me tell you. Also, I don't understand why I am not being sued for slander and defamation, but that's probably because I didn't host my own website and fill it with slander and defamation, targeted to one single person, and then express callous indifference when that single person inquired as to... why?
I called her on the phone a lot. On the phone, she acted as though it did not matter that I was being defamed... but she ALSO acted as if it DID matter.. if I were talking to you. Asuka Langley. Boomtown Desperado. And someone getting a psyche eval, right about now, now has to account for these statements, and I am not really sure why.
I'm pretty sure it's because she called the police on her husband so many times that she won a free at-home electroconvulsive therapy kit. At least I hope so, because if she's gonna swallow her own tongue in a fit of epileptic jealousy at the thought of me writing to you, she might as well get those jumper cables attached to that cow, about to jump over the moon.
tl;dr: They didn't buy the story.
Scusi, mille regretie. Now as to what -the next- backup plan is, I am not worried about it, and neither should any of you, because I was given critical information recently, which I really ought not disclose. And I also can't, because, believe you me... I really just don't care about any of it any more.
I was supposed to have cats here. There are no cats here. There is only my self. And all who have dared approach, have nearly entirely... retreated in fear. Now, that is fuckin' fascinating to me.
It's like, I am a leper? No, actually, because people aren't seemingly afraid or uncomfortable with me, it's the situation. And you know what, I am pretty fucking uncomfortable with it too. Fancy that.
