People Hurt My Feelings in a Major Way

Okay, "X" said that I'm welcome here... anytime. And "Y" doesn't say that. Doesn't want me there. Hmmm. He looked terrified of me. As if I were some type of disease that would never go away. Thanks, man. I feel wonderful. Yes, it's all a matter of perception, ain't it?

I said earlier, when I was crying, I said earlier that you are a very rare person, and there are few people who accept me as is, and you just took me in that way. And then he said, "Awh, there are many other people out there...." He said that, and man, that was like punching me in the stomach, whacking me in the face, throwing me in the gutter, basically consuming me like a killer whale shredding up and consuming a seal. Raw, live beef jerky. Bones and all. Fxck, I'm an overemotional, "overimplificational" female, dammit. How I interpret such a wise-xss comment is that (1) I am not selective with the human beings I choose to associate myself with (2) There are many fish in the sea, and that I'm just another one. Go find another, and (3) I'm sure there is a third point, but I can't think of it right now. I wrote in my godxm song "Humanity Anomalous" how I over the past two years have met and encountered hundreds of thousands of people, and then suddenly, there's this rabbit hole. Just one. That I... that I... can't just gloss over so easily. A rabbit hole I desire to mentally consume and envelop myself around. And just to flick me off as some other fxcking intelligent respectful person. Fxck that, fxck fxck fxck!!! I just want to scream. What a thoughtless comment. Is that what he thinks of himself? Why doesn't he know? Why didn't I show him out of my own sanity and survival, I created a fictitious character abstract concept in my head named "Buz." And then suddenly, in full-blown randomness, I find out that this abstract concept living in my head for like three years, can actually be a real-live tangible person?! Come on! It's like playing God! I designed a fictitious character, and suddenly, poke poke poke. Hey there, whoa. No way. You are real. I don't believe in God, but I'll be dammed this experience has been dxmmed close to a science fiction movie. Okay? A Michel Gondry mental trip. Okay? Pretty godxm close to God-ness. And look I'm even giving it a "capital G" this time.

Am I such an xss? I don't deserve to be treated that way. I feel like I'm a flicked off piece of shxt, though I'm sure that's not the intention, but well, he gave me that look, that terrifying look that S gave me a few years back, that B gave me a few years back. A terrification of my intelligence? What is it? Why don't I just destroy my brain and become a dumb-shxt slut bleach blond. Then people won't get scared of me. I'm tired of people being scared of me. I'm just tired. Milton Love was right. Intelligence in an innovative way is devastating in this society. They haven't created opportunities for you yet. People look at you strangely. Dxmmit I'm crying.

You know what? All I want, before I die is to finish and publish this godxm fxcking book. This Question Reality book. And this real life tangible Buz right in front of me. Who has shoved me off, for his own purposes. If I have a real Buz versus an abstract one in my brain, I can finish this book way faster than before. If he doesn't want to deal with me at a personal level, I'll just go professional. I'll pay stipend. One quarter. Two quarters. Be an agent. Philosophical consultant. Actor character consultant. I need your presence, your intrinsic character to finish this fxcking book. I'm desperate, dxmmit. I'm desperate for my life, dxmmit. You don't need to prove anything to me. Just be as is. A place to crash. Someone to bxtch to a little bit in the evenings once or twice a week or every other week. That's all I need. It's like "intellectual sex." It's what I live for. I get a total pleasure high interacting with the summation of elements in the world around me. And I just need to displace this just to one... real... Buz. No fake, imaginary one in my brain. I'm tired of that. I am SICK and I am TIRED.

Now I'm just being a flat out xsshole. At this point in space and time, my writing has frozen something true. I'm sure my perceptions will change tomorrow, or a few seconds from now, as my mind keeps evolving.

The ultimate truth comes down to what my mother says: (1) You are on your own. The only person you can control and change is yourself. (2) What other people say of you does not necessarily reflect who you are, but ultimately reflects them and their own internal perception of you. So I guess "Y" is revealing his fatal flaws, based on what he said earlier today. and (3) But godxmmit. Despite (1) and (2) I am a godxm eusocial mammal, and I need other Homo sapiens to survive, physically and mentally.

"Everything in moderation. Even moderation itself." But I suppose that's even beside the point right now.

I am an intellectual waif, dxmmit! I don’t belong to any school. Any institution. I belong to essence of CCS. I belong to my family. And I am an Earth Citizen. Out of survival. That’s it. But that’s beside the point as well.

Look, "Y" told me not to beat myself up about this. Huh. Funny. That's all I have been doing all day. Thanks. I'm mentally beating the shxt out of myself. Right now, I want to kill more than half of my brain. I just want to kill nearly every single male Homo sapiens in existence. Except for my dad, grandfather, few family members. My dad taught me nothing about how males work. He's no help. He's useless. He's left-handed. He's totally, utterly useless.

Then again, despite the evolutionary and ecological pain in the xss the male species has been to this planet (in my brain, and in this modern environment) if Earth entirely consisted of females with only a small sample of male bags of sperm (my father's invented 'experimental utopia'), then it would suck because females take the world too seriously all the time, and we need some jokester guy to just break the ice and keep things loose. Just a little bit. Not too much. I just want to dis-evolve. I totally set myself up for this. I am a total xss.

Dxmmit, "Y." You're not just a bag of sperm, like the rest of them. You are so much more than that. If only you knew it, and treated others that way. I guess I can write all this crxp because who in the hxll is reading this blog anyway? My thoughts are buried by the chaotic clutter of the rest of this internet.

DISCLAIMER. THIS BLOG ONLY HOLDS TRUE IN THE HOURS OF 10PM TO 11PM ON THE DAY OF SEPTEMBER 13, 2007, AND SINCE MY MIND EVOLVES QUICKLY, THESE WORDS SHALL BECOME OBSOLETE AND A DISTORTION FROM THE TRUTH WITHIN A FEW MINUTES.

Godxmmit, if you really are a "socialist." If you really want to be a socialist and do a socialist service to society, just please, please help me finish this book. Just be yourself and let me shoot the shxt with you once in a while, just a quarter, just a few months. Then I'll be out of your way, and you'll never see the likes of me again.

Just shut up, Victoria. Shut up.

Maybe my mind is rapidly going through the five stages of death and denial. Hmmm…