brnggundottxt
Member
- Mar 12, 2022
- 48
I mean yes it is reasonable for a person to be devastated after someone's death. But my people are actively selling me out to crooks and cronies for whatever reason. I'd seriously be offended if they weren't getting paid and was doing this shit for free! Everyone seems ok with the whole undertaking and even actively gaslighting me as if I have a life or future left.
My point is I'd wish they would keep the same energy when I die or rather use that energy when I'm actually alive.... Then again, no. I don't want the attention. I was considering a public suicide on zoom or on discord or some stupid shit.. To die as clownishly as my life has turned out. But I don't think that terrorism is worth it.
I don't want anybody hurt, I want to disappear and be forgotten like everyone else. Please don't make a scene. Even if I'm lucky enough to provoke a hail of bullets. No scene please.
This was calculated. These hell bound corrupt NPCs already figured that if they took away all my prospects like unconventional employment that would get my foot through the door of a meaningful life and out of shithole purgatory, or the ability to educate myself undisturbed, the result would be suicide. They all know this. My family knows this on some level but refuse to do anything meaningful other than shower me with platitudes.
All my interpersonal relationships are now poisoned anyways.
I'm not even here, I'm already sailing into the vast and endless silence. Earth for me is just a simulation game you get bored of. The NPCs are glitching out and watching them betray themselves is the only way I can be distracted. I know some of them don't care at all and this is part of their eat-shit-breed routine. while some of them really want to take a swing at me, or pop a cap but just are forced to play their parts and poorly hide their contempt. It doesn't matter I'm already dead.
The only thing I have left is an eat-shit-drugs-hooker cycle. There's a life of self distraction and degeneracy. I can possibly help the odd person here and there, with sincerity, out of duty, instead of being a mongo stand hustler. But all my efforts are being bombarded by self serving sociopaths. It will be a life of mildly inconvenient turmoil. I will frantically be trying to feed a hungry ghost. I'd be living purely out of spite, like I already am.
This does not make me special. This seems to be part of modern life for a good percentage of people. That percentage is growing. NEETS and non-NEETS alike are isolated, They engage in numerous methods of self distraction, addictions in the form or porn or drugs, sex or the itching for the latest videogame or movie or they dive into work and go straight home. For some people weekends are for sleep comas, for others they're for drug fueled parties, cheap thrills and courting. All with people they feel no connection or affection for. People are falling through the cracks. Some of us are suffering through this silent plague. I think it's important that these invisible people, the silent suffering to get a voice too. Maybe someone in future might se it fit or at least profitable to remedy this. Even if it's for shallow reasons such as preserving the health and welfare of the workforce.
It's already begun. Thanks to COVID I could've been actively improving my life and bolstering the people around me by educating myself without leaving bed. That was one tiny positive I was willing to take. But even that they won't let me have. I used to look forward to classes, now I just wait for it to end. The only reason to partially finish now is to strengthen my spirt. I wanted to do this foe the longest time and now I'm here. I love the subject. I'd do it again if I had a second shot at life... or another swing around this mad carrousel.. if it's a carrousel at all.
I like to babble to strangers that I'll never meet or talk to in real life. Just like people on Facebook. Maybe we pat ourselves on the back the same way. Shill our agendas the same way, seek attention the same way. I'm just as big of a hypocrite. But for me trying to form and strengthen meaningful relationships is futile. all will be eventually poisoned.
I also like to check on old schoolmates watching them grow up still makes me happy. Me leaving a legacy of any sort will be and act of God. But it still at least makes me feel warm inside the thought that I'd eventually a vague memory to most people with details unclear. I'd wish the same thing for my family, so it'll be painless, so they can keep motoring on.
If you're caught in-between life and death, in a dissociative drift. There's still a chance for you to grow, to live a meaningful life, if unbothered. Whatever that 'meaningful life' is. I don't even know what it means entirely but I've been there briefly. It changes how you view your past. Everything you would see as past trauma would seem like nothing. You might enjoy some difficult tasks and incrementally moving towards a goal. It exists for some people.
I've wasted enough of my short life on this. Talk to you soon... or never again. I just hope you find peace in life or death.
bUK:
I am a panther shut up and bellowing in
cement walls, and I am angry at blue
evenings without ventilation
and I am angry with you, and it will come
like a rose
it will come like a man walking through fire
it will shine like an unseen trumpet in a trunk
the eyes will smell like sausages
the feet will have small propellers
and I will hold you in Bayonne and
the sailors will smile
my heart like something cut away from
cancer will feel and beat again feel
and beat again—but now
the blue evening is cinched like old
muskets and the dangling sex rope hangs
as the tree stands up and calls:
July. the dust of hope in the bottom of paper cups
along with small spiders that have names like ancient
European cities; spit and dross, heavy wheels;
oilwells stuck between fish and sucking up the grey gas
of love and the palms up on the cliff waving
waving in the warm yellow light
as I walk into a drugstore to buy toothpaste,
rubbers, photographs of frogs, a copy of the latest
Consumer Reports (50 cents) for I consume and
am consumed and would like to know
on this blue evening
just which razorblade it would be best for me
to use, or maybe I could get a station wagon or buy a
stereo or a movie camera, say 8mm, under $55
or an electric frying pan … like the silver head
of some god-thing after they drop the bomb BANG
and the grass gives up and love is a shadow
and love is a fishtail weaving through
threads that seem eyes but are only what's
left of me on the last blue evening after the bands
have suicided out, the carnival has left town and
they've blown up the Y.W.C.A. like a giant balloon and
sent it out to sea full of screaming lovely lonely
girls.
My point is I'd wish they would keep the same energy when I die or rather use that energy when I'm actually alive.... Then again, no. I don't want the attention. I was considering a public suicide on zoom or on discord or some stupid shit.. To die as clownishly as my life has turned out. But I don't think that terrorism is worth it.
I don't want anybody hurt, I want to disappear and be forgotten like everyone else. Please don't make a scene. Even if I'm lucky enough to provoke a hail of bullets. No scene please.
This was calculated. These hell bound corrupt NPCs already figured that if they took away all my prospects like unconventional employment that would get my foot through the door of a meaningful life and out of shithole purgatory, or the ability to educate myself undisturbed, the result would be suicide. They all know this. My family knows this on some level but refuse to do anything meaningful other than shower me with platitudes.
All my interpersonal relationships are now poisoned anyways.
I'm not even here, I'm already sailing into the vast and endless silence. Earth for me is just a simulation game you get bored of. The NPCs are glitching out and watching them betray themselves is the only way I can be distracted. I know some of them don't care at all and this is part of their eat-shit-breed routine. while some of them really want to take a swing at me, or pop a cap but just are forced to play their parts and poorly hide their contempt. It doesn't matter I'm already dead.
The only thing I have left is an eat-shit-drugs-hooker cycle. There's a life of self distraction and degeneracy. I can possibly help the odd person here and there, with sincerity, out of duty, instead of being a mongo stand hustler. But all my efforts are being bombarded by self serving sociopaths. It will be a life of mildly inconvenient turmoil. I will frantically be trying to feed a hungry ghost. I'd be living purely out of spite, like I already am.
This does not make me special. This seems to be part of modern life for a good percentage of people. That percentage is growing. NEETS and non-NEETS alike are isolated, They engage in numerous methods of self distraction, addictions in the form or porn or drugs, sex or the itching for the latest videogame or movie or they dive into work and go straight home. For some people weekends are for sleep comas, for others they're for drug fueled parties, cheap thrills and courting. All with people they feel no connection or affection for. People are falling through the cracks. Some of us are suffering through this silent plague. I think it's important that these invisible people, the silent suffering to get a voice too. Maybe someone in future might se it fit or at least profitable to remedy this. Even if it's for shallow reasons such as preserving the health and welfare of the workforce.
It's already begun. Thanks to COVID I could've been actively improving my life and bolstering the people around me by educating myself without leaving bed. That was one tiny positive I was willing to take. But even that they won't let me have. I used to look forward to classes, now I just wait for it to end. The only reason to partially finish now is to strengthen my spirt. I wanted to do this foe the longest time and now I'm here. I love the subject. I'd do it again if I had a second shot at life... or another swing around this mad carrousel.. if it's a carrousel at all.
I like to babble to strangers that I'll never meet or talk to in real life. Just like people on Facebook. Maybe we pat ourselves on the back the same way. Shill our agendas the same way, seek attention the same way. I'm just as big of a hypocrite. But for me trying to form and strengthen meaningful relationships is futile. all will be eventually poisoned.
I also like to check on old schoolmates watching them grow up still makes me happy. Me leaving a legacy of any sort will be and act of God. But it still at least makes me feel warm inside the thought that I'd eventually a vague memory to most people with details unclear. I'd wish the same thing for my family, so it'll be painless, so they can keep motoring on.
If you're caught in-between life and death, in a dissociative drift. There's still a chance for you to grow, to live a meaningful life, if unbothered. Whatever that 'meaningful life' is. I don't even know what it means entirely but I've been there briefly. It changes how you view your past. Everything you would see as past trauma would seem like nothing. You might enjoy some difficult tasks and incrementally moving towards a goal. It exists for some people.
I've wasted enough of my short life on this. Talk to you soon... or never again. I just hope you find peace in life or death.
bUK:
I am a panther shut up and bellowing in
cement walls, and I am angry at blue
evenings without ventilation
and I am angry with you, and it will come
like a rose
it will come like a man walking through fire
it will shine like an unseen trumpet in a trunk
the eyes will smell like sausages
the feet will have small propellers
and I will hold you in Bayonne and
the sailors will smile
my heart like something cut away from
cancer will feel and beat again feel
and beat again—but now
the blue evening is cinched like old
muskets and the dangling sex rope hangs
as the tree stands up and calls:
July. the dust of hope in the bottom of paper cups
along with small spiders that have names like ancient
European cities; spit and dross, heavy wheels;
oilwells stuck between fish and sucking up the grey gas
of love and the palms up on the cliff waving
waving in the warm yellow light
as I walk into a drugstore to buy toothpaste,
rubbers, photographs of frogs, a copy of the latest
Consumer Reports (50 cents) for I consume and
am consumed and would like to know
on this blue evening
just which razorblade it would be best for me
to use, or maybe I could get a station wagon or buy a
stereo or a movie camera, say 8mm, under $55
or an electric frying pan … like the silver head
of some god-thing after they drop the bomb BANG
and the grass gives up and love is a shadow
and love is a fishtail weaving through
threads that seem eyes but are only what's
left of me on the last blue evening after the bands
have suicided out, the carnival has left town and
they've blown up the Y.W.C.A. like a giant balloon and
sent it out to sea full of screaming lovely lonely
girls.
