Kate says the year has been like eating a raw egg everyday;
Peter says it's been like wearing a bag of rocks on your head;
Heather-Maria says it's been like a pack of wild dogs who have stumbled across an abandoned meat hangar;
and smiles because she clearly... is the winner.

HEAR ME.

In my pursuit of meaningful writing, one thing remains clear. I need to choose my words as others would choose how they solve algebra. With precision, with caution, and with the hands of an artisan. I need to melt words into one another. I need to stop, tilt my head, and listen to the echo of each sentence. I need to notice the paragraphs of emotional resonance or even, the perfectly tuned reverberations that come from freedom and pain and love and fear. Sound waves written down and answered by the influence of those who listen. Words are not just seen, they are not just letters sitting vacant, they are products of the individuals inner magic, buried until we create them with the intent to be heard.

callous disregard for youtube admirers

Today I finally checked my youtube mail, something I have come to believe is a very subtle type of torture. Not knowing what words I’m about to see, or if I have the willpower to disregard the negative ones. I hope that you, dear reader, are smart enough to gather that… today, I failed in the attempt. Hence the title of this post, which comes from yet another David. What is it with that name and the useless desire to try and tell me all about myself? No offense Dear David W, but I don’t owe you anything. Never have and never will. So call me evil, or disgusting, or exclusive… call me whatever the fuck you want actually, just don’t waste my time by writing it all out and pressing send. I am not one of those youtube super egos that replies to every comment or message left by a fan, no matter how admiring you might be. Ask some long time followers, even the ones in my “privileged little circle of beautiful people”. I fall off the radar easily, and don’t enjoy typing out the same answers to the same damn questions I’m asked over and over again. You are free to interpret that lack of action in whichever way your judgment-clouded mind sees fit… but you won’t be right. In thanks to your recent bout of assumption driven bullshit… you won’t ever get the chance to stumble across any sincere realization of the girl typing behind this screen, and by now, wouldn’t want to anyways. So either we’ve both just won, or we’ve both just lost. I’m not sure… but I am sure I don’t give enough of a fuck to wonder about it even one more second.

All my love,
Heartless bitch Heather-Maria.

TRUE love.

(A paragraph from my current novel)

For a minute it’s quiet, and his eyes are already half-closed. I’m so close that I can feel his breath quicken as the air slowly heats up around us. He reaches out and pushes a stray hair out of my face. His hands are soft. So soft I can barely feel his fingertips as our eyes meet. One hand wanders for a moment, briefly twining with his own before settling gently on his chest. I feel his heart beating faster as the line of no return continues to blur. I can almost smell his overwhelming desire taking hold of all rationality. The sweat from his arms meeting my skin. The nervous twitch of a foot. He's holding back, he’s trying not to give in, trying to hide how much he wants… but it's too late. Whatever reservations we had before have slipped quietly into the fiery power of this moment. The whole room seems fainter, and I’m reminded of that deceptive stillness before the hurricane I know is coming. And cum he does. Releasing himself completely with a guttural moan, his warm and salty juices tickling the roof of my mouth. I lick it all off like a good little girl, pushing the limits of his pleasure... and then lean back to watch his whole body shiver and sink deep into the sofa.

seriously WTF?

I made the mistake of meandering on over to some blogs in the self-proclaimed “philosophy” category… and suddenly feel a whole lot like a retard at an advanced physics lecture. What the fuck are these people really talking about?… and more importantly… why does philosophy seek to exclude anyone who hasn't memorized the entire dictionary? Below I’ve compiled a list of all the sentences I could find that are either (a) kind-of confusing or (b) completely fucked. Leaning heavily towards (c) incomprehensible, and in turn, transformed them into either (a) not-so confusing or (b) so fucking simple.

“Rational entitlement to comprehension is not generated solely by present experience, but by experience in conjunction with the prior metaphysical and experiential standing of the subject.”
a.k.a. Knowledge comes not only from what is happening now, but also from previous thoughts, experience and opinion.

“Experience is seen as analogous to a function or ‘argument schema’, such as modus ponens, which maps subjective views onto judgments.”
a.k.a. Experience is similar to the design of a simple if-then argument, when judgment is combined with only one side of the story. 

“The resulting theory aims to remain entirely neutral on ontological issues whilst enabling experience to make a rational contribution to knowledge despite its non-propositional structure.”
a.k.a. The result remains neutral on the existence of God, and at the same time relates experience to knowledge, despite the theories lack of proven truth.

Maybe it's a natural arrogance that comes with the subject, or maybe it's a way to try and avoid misinterpretation by creating new, impossibly complicated ways to twist simple ideas into a mess of the least used words in the average vocabulary, but whatever the reason... it's completely unnecessary. Makes a little more sense that the idiots of the world seem to stay idiots. No one smart enough to change their minds can speak the same language."Yes Billy Bob" says Mr. Philosopher "the adherence to questionable methodological principles seems to be motivated more by a desire for logical tidiness and consistency than phenomenological accuracy." I'm sure he knows exactly what you mean.

wonderland.

If only you could see me now. I wonder what you’d say, I wonder how you’d look at me… and I wonder if your mind would change. If you could see the tear stained sheets, and brimming balcony ashtray. Proof that I tried to smoke away the feeling that no one really cares. Pretended it didn’t matter. Convinced myself into apathetic delusions… because, of course, it does matter. It matters tonight, that I’m here... sitting at home. My good clothes tossed on the floor and replaced with boxers and a t-shirt. Here I am… writing to strangers who couldn’t make this go away even if they tried. Strangers that somehow feel closer then anyone I see everyday. I’d love to blame the not-friends that circle in and around my life, but it’s not the first time I’ve been left behind… it’s just the first time I let it matter so much. I wonder what’s changed. I wonder what I can do to make it easier. I wonder why I’m suddenly so afraid of the solitary confinement I once cherished. I wonder if it will all seem better tomorrow.