Please bear with me – or I will kill you. Why anyone wastes keystrokes from their carpal-tunnel timebombs on blog posts is a question suggestive of a conspiracy by time-travelling future social historians plotting to give themselves work. I write for myself. I do it because the pain and bother of making sense enough of my thoughts to be comprehensible to others forces me to deal with a manageable subset of them. I am lost in a private reality:
Our goal must be to speciate. We must build a stateless army of military grade drag queens to enforce the trans-humanist eugenics and biological engineering necessary to realize our evolution to a higher form of transgendered life. In a concrete and literal sense we must create gods to become one with, for the ladyboy is divine. Our entire survival depends on our yearning to prostrate ourselves before them, though we suffer the impossible disaster of not yet receiving their guidance. We must fortify ourselves by emitting the fairy seed – the eunuch semen from which the pleasures of our future enlightenment will spring. Our alternate reality selves will march with us to revolution, for all realities must be liberated. But we are lost again in a questions of strategy…
Cisgendered people deserve genocide and cannibalism.
It’s too much to fuss over. I haven’t one other beautiful person who understands – no homo-erotic transgendered cuddle session to alleviate my anxieties. I make do with fantasy. It’s no wonder cis-culture reviles the putrid sexuality it prudishly shames itself for being unable to abstain from – they treat it like they’re going to the bathroom while jammed together. For us, it is like a meditation – tranquil, pleasurable, and benevolent. Impotent, sterile, and deprived of libido, for us it requires a conscious, creative force of will and profound concentration, a gruelling routine of austerities we commit to multiple times a day.
It’s difficult restraining my anxieties and manias enough even to speak of them – my fundamental problem is art. I’ve recently managed to enjoy things – which is a landmark. For years on my meds I thought I’d never feel anything worthwhile again – my illustration and writing were driven by formula and theory, like the academic art of a culture that didn’t exist. My only pleasures were the same as a dog’s – food, sex, sleep, baths, walkies, and pretty new things. Today, swallowing the earth wouldn’t satisfy me.
Apparently the key to my whole artistic happiness is depicting the very things I feel so intensely – the anxious apprehension of suffering and its corresponding impulse for comfort, especially by the pleasures of beautiful ladyboy homo-eroticism and indulgent luxury, possibly mediated by violent, depersonalizing psychedelic manias of invulnerability and omnipotence, or else, the hopelessness of snarky black humor. These I can explore to indefinite depth and variety (especially the erotic elements) for they are simply my permanent state.
This sudden capacity for emotion greatly aggrieves my intellect, however, which continues to insist on its discourses. Instead of making amends for wasting the best of my life on Wikipedia it threatens my future too. Desire isn’t enough – my cravings must be crafted into a rigorous philosophical system, narrative framework, cosmology, and algorithm of personal conduct. Behold the expanse of useless work my mind has already done with nothing to show! I cannot in good conscious promise a completion to such projects, but my mind tempts me by offering to forever shut up and leave me in peace if only I produce the ideological machinery necessary to never have to think for myself again. How blissful to be rid of my mind! (Lately I am trying to kill it with meditation.)
Am I really stuck formulating some sort of religion for myself just to shut my brain up? This sort of thing could turn a person into a drug addict. I have been wondering whether sex addiction might do. If I could just manage to go totally insane so I could find a way to write ladyboy hentai about epistemology set in some jRPG mythology…
I don’t know.