Ahhh, I finally struck a blow against bitchdom.

It feels good.

Sweet and delicious, like an orange tainted by sweet pain and agony from a thousand broken hearts.

When you find someone red handed, caught in the nth lie of their life, you stop seeing them as an ominous power, and more as the weak fools they are. And they will fail in their life over and over.

Then you see their friend, shattered, writhing in emotional turmoil. And you think "That's even better. Because karma is a bitch and it finally caught up with you."

By the way, eve. I saved the comments too. Because glory is only so rare. I think I might print them on t-shirts and sell them to other depressed souls across the USA.

Also, if you chose to follow some sort of action, then I guess I would have a valid case against Gem. She wrote several things where she indicted me directly.

So hey, your call.

At some point I had to think about the absolute direction of this blog. Originally the trajectories amounted to romantic fantasies and a warped agony, centralized by tangents all connected by fractioned sanity and geometric tears.

So it would be like everyone else. Today sucked. This is awesome. This is funny. And I just thought you might like to know as well.

There was little evolution and minute plagues of disinterest. And then I lost all drive completely, and let this virtual corner in quiet, thorned tranquility. Like peace wrapped red in fire and flame, but still glowing, pulsating, emitting signals to far off quasars.

Everyone does it - draws some line in the sand. Or concrete. Or maybe on a crab. I'm not sure which, I can't speak for other voices. This is my soapbox. I wrote my name on it and spit on the right edge. Then I pricked my hand with a knife and stained the top corner in crimson. Mine. Mine mine mine.

For reasons left undiscussed (a variety of reasons abound for which), there's little reason to continue on the same path. Dileneation. Deviation. Being lost. It all fits. Someone reading this and possessing the appropriate degrees and convictions might want me to take drugs. Or wear a tin foil hat. Or both. Tin foil pills ripping my teeth apart and electrifying my fillings.

So there's little use in debating the contrary, because the normalities you want to drape yourself in aren't really there. They're phantoms. Veils that don't exist in these planes. You wrest certain blades out of your back, and then you simply stare at those edges. There's deadly metal that I can't see or feel anymore. It rusted away in my spine and left a scar. The wound is slowly disappearing.

My friend Ilya. Fuck. My great friend Ilya. There are descriptors that need to be in place here. He has said a multitude of things to me over the years. Jokes. Jibberish. Any number of curse words and anathemas that are hanging in the air around me and drifting in and out of my ear in the past, present, and future. Audio chromosones running around. Familiar road. Familiar road stained with claw marks and tattered fleshes. But he's said some really great things, some of which I will repeat now with text.

I'm surprised we didn't all die.

And it's like kindergarten, all this shit. But at least then they gave you cookies every once and a while.

The two sides of my brain looked at each other and said It's dark in here, and we may die.

The last is a quote to one great Lewis Black.

But the quotes are all applicable.

I love the first two with immeasureable degree. I will attempt to explain part of this now. Notice my deft usage of transition.

Lately it seems like different assaults are placed on my being with dark and icy fingers. They've come from a variety of sources. Most of them are trivial and disintegrate entirely. I tend to have shields up impereable and cerulean, so several spears rot away upon entry.

Assuming a few choice people come to read this, know that you (and there is little reason for me to name) are not contributing negative vorpals my way. Hardly. I personally believe angels inhabit several skins and fingernails, and sometimes a few of them are in my vicinity. So some of you disregard the melancholies because you're not making deposits.

So Ilya said those things. And they make sense. Why didn't we die sooner? The "we" constitutes different variables, but they are all relationships. I assume that, again, different readers will know who I am referring to. But I'll at least skirt corners using different pseudonyms.

Ila, (not Ilya, the name is intentional), your defense mechanisms astound me. The barriers. The refusal. The denial. It's chaotic and chemical perfection. Part of this comes from outside reinforcement, miserable dregs of society that are embodiments, physical manifestations of nether-fashioned realms. You're so sure of yourself, and you have no honest reason to be. You'e just an immature kid. A child. Full of hopes stained with bile, green and acid. So willing to blame others for the faults you've created out of your weaknesses. The bottomline is that the end came from you and you alone. Justify it however you wish. Because you're too fragile at this point to take those weights. They'll crack your little spine and you'll fall. You'll fall on the concrete and cry and scream and beg others to reassure you. Then wraiths, dressed in certain skins I will name later, will pick you up and tell you it's all right.

But that weakness you have. That weakness you've exhibited twice already. That ability to deny, turn around, and be a cruel, self-serving shit. It's going to follow you for the rest of your life. For the rest of your life.

For the rest of your goddamn life.

And Ender. Poor poor Ender. How double standards rip souls apart and yet can't undo certain hearts. One day you'll have to explain to me how you can read an ancient text all your life and then choose to ignore whatever wisdoms your own life tried to teach you in vain.

Partisan, Exit (Ilya). Solitary loves augmentation. It's recursive, it calls itself over and over, and it multiplies in ways alien and biotic, micro and continuous. So thank you for breaking that cycle. Because you have. And I could repeat thanks over and over, but each wave periodic may feel forced or insincere. So I say this, with gravities infallible: thank you.

Neon, Caspin, and all the others: Thank you for prooving evolution wrong. How anyone, ANYONE, could honestly think the human being is remaking itself into a more perfect form, after meeting the riff raff brats I've seen, could STILL honestly tell themselves it's fact, is far beyond my tolerance for sadomasochism.

I realize some of these darts won't hit the necks I'm shooting them at. And that's ok. And even if they do and still fail to deliver the needed tranquilizers, then that's ok too.

One day you sit down and it comes to you - you can't convince anyone else of anything. They can always, always, always formulate defenses to combat the truth. Even in the face of definitive evidence, of calculated precision, unquestionable and infinite, people will still turn away and say otherwise. Sometimes 2 and 2 don't equal 4. Computer scientists love to tell you that.

I could outline all the criteria and factors and subsequently destroy every last soul I've run across. But what would be the point? Even on merely verbal levels, it would accomplish nothing. I'd gain no pleasure from ruining someone else. Besides, there are forces much stronger than me that will come around and inject miracle poisons straight into their arms. These people will wake up in ten years and weep.

When someone is blissfully unaware and also unable to acknowledge absolutes, you have to give up on them and let them hurt themselves over and over. One day they learn. A puppy, given an electric shock, eventually learns to stop pissing on your shoes. And a child, even one who is 21 years old, can be taught in the same way.

To these certain individuals: You're all worthless. You signify nothing redeemable for the human race, and you will all fail. You will all fail and live your life in miseries, little devils that will compound themselves with other portent demons until you finally can't take the pain anymore.

And then you will come back to me and realize I was right.

And I won't give a shit.