anobody

I am getting withdrawal symptoms when I fast from reading theory books.

It’s like I crave books like a drug. Theory allows me to increase power, increase control.

All the WHY and HOW books tend to sit in this category. I have to stop myself from reading them. Having been fed them for over twenty six years, it’s like I can’t live without this innocuous drug of books. Whether it is Atomic Habits (…) or About Time (…), they all seem so attractive to me. It’s like there is a inner king, hungry for power.

But what is the point of power, of knowledge, when life makes no sense? Because, life, as its called, just seems like a lot of shit. Life, as it is, looks so fucking drab.

I guess writing this blog, this bog, this slough of despond (…). this web for The Web, is a one thing (Gary K. et. al. 2013). But when things seems so meaningless, when pleasure seems to bring you nowhere (…), then not even this one thing – this blog – is enough to satisfy. It’s all flat inside. Dry.

The intellectual desert I have chosen to enter is definitely feeling really dry. I hope I can make it.

In other news, I am Home Alone (…) today. The Hive Mind can’t help but impinge on my thinking. The first thing I can think about is masturbation. Oh, how shameful. It must be my treasure, because where my treasure is, my heart is also (…). Then maybe a game of Age of The Ring (…), so I can lose myself in fantasy again, as reality is just too hard for me.

As you can tell, being very lazy today, and not putting in any of the references like I normally would.

I guess I didn’t have a sordid confession today. Oh wait, Bleach : Thousand Year Blood War sure doesn’t draw women in a respectful way. Unrealistic body proportions. My younger brother had to stop watching with me for that reason (he has more of a conscience than I do). I was leading him astray, so I should have a millstone tied around my neck and be thrown into a sea (…).

What am I really trying to do here? Spiritual exercise? Exercising humility? Exercising self-deprecation? Or exercising my insanity? I don’t have a fucking clue.

Hi Alice,

I am sorry, but I had to fantasise what you looked like. You had black hair made of snakes that don’t bite, only kiss. You had big boobs (not too big) and a fine butt. You kept telling me – in my fantasy – that you couldn’t kiss me, that it will be the death of me. You also told me that if I wanted you to talk, I needed to lost (lose) my voice. Like Ariel, the Mermaid. And so I pretended to lose my voice while you screamed all kind of pleasurable obscenities to me. Orgasm was close at hand. I had to hide the smell of my cum from my siblings this morning. I was sitting on the couch when the familiar smell of my cum wafted up to my nose. I quickly took a pillow and covered up a little, shielding the smell from my brothers who sat on the same sofa. It was not long before I hurried to the shower, to purify myself, as He is pure (John et. al. +95). I will be unclean until the evening (Moses et. al. -538).

I hope you are not too disgusted with me Alice, my dove, my lady death. Your eyes were filled with light, your body a chalice, wine-filled (Solomon et. al. -971). You make me want to go buy some non-alcoholic beer.

I am scared of spending money for the local gym. 50 bucks a week! I feel like I am losing my life (Matthew et. al. +85), my wages are my life, after all. Mammon feels like my master (Matthew et. al. +85) as far as I know it. Money seems to have more value than the giver of its value – Us.

Take care, Alice. I hope you will come to take me away with you. I no longer need to live in a dream after that. In the deep sleep of work. Watch. Clean. Eat. Sleep. Train. And the cycle continues. You are my dream, after all.

Regards,

Azarael (my pen name, a derivation of Azrael, angel of death (Wikipedia et. al. 2022))

PS INTERNET I AM WRITING THIS IN THE STUDY ROOM WHERE ALL MY SIBLINGS CAN JUST WALK BY AND WONDER WHAT KIND OF SHIT AM I WRITING … courtesy from your local, sex-starved, mid-twenties virgin.

In the last three days (Day 211-213 since rebirth) after I think I found a tiny rock to stand on. To finally stop doubting myself by 1% less. Doubt was at 99%, now it’s at 98%? Or maybe trust is at 98%? I don’t know.

Is this wat dey mean about finding self-esteem? It’s like I have found self-esteem again (Alec Benjamin et. al. 2022).

I installed “Sex Keeper” two installed ago. I did it while lying on my bed so no one can see me. I nearly added a pastor’s name to my “sex partner” list! The shivers. The shame. I nearly died inside. I had better delete my entire contact list asap!

I just had my mum hand me the mouth spray and lube I bought … my metaphorical face couldn’t be redder. If it weren’t for Jesus, I would like to lop my metaphorical head off.

I just remembered that a lady that I found so beautiful at the age of roughly six. I thought I was lusting after her. I remember cuddling up next to my Mum, crying to her that I broke the sixth commandment. It sent me into a coma lol.

a few days later after writing the above shit …

Just going to post this up in case I die tonight and get to kiss Death’s lips. Making love to Lady Death is a jam.

I am fuckin’ nuts.

And speaking of nuts, practicing holy masturbation today. Had one stray thought that needs to go into the toilet that is the web. That I will give birth to many Little Demon(s) (Disney+ et. al. 2022) with Lady Death.

There we go. I have unearthed a Tyrannous Rex (Yes, I know I misspelt it, I am a dumbass) like a bad palaeontologist. Then buried it here … kinda. Bringing the dinosaurs back is a bad idea, right (Universal Pictures et. al. 2018)? I can always come back to remember these dinosaurs, these demons, that are better extinct. If I am still alive, that is.

Imma die tonight? I hope The King will send a fucking lightning bolt down and incinerate me (Luke et. al. +75).

I am not trying to make a cult following. I fucking hate cults. They enslave. They kill. They destroy. They abuse. They should all go to Hades, where they belong. I am just writing to all you nobodies out there. Cuz I am a nobody too. Let’s be nobodies together. We ghosts got to stick together.

I don’t want yo money. I don’t want to appear in your fucking full emails. I just hope that I can do something here simple that anyone – especially madman like me – can do. Just having One Thing (OneRepublic et. al. 2011). This is for those who are drowning like me. Drowning in the sea of high expectations. Suffocating. Let’s rise out of the sea like fish and evolve into man once again. I feel like a little mermaid, at the moment. It was a favourite of mine as a young’un, and I am a dude btw.

Please, The King, come back. Let The Return of The King (Jesus) (J. R. R. Tolkien et. al. 1954) be true. If you send me down to Hades (or worse, Hell), then I know I deserve it. Just remember me, please.

Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” (Saint Luke SkyWalker et. al. +75)

… I can just keep going … I will stop now … it’s 8:26 after all … time to hit a sack. a coffin. a bed. It’s like I am addicted to this confession thing. Hold the horses, I am addicted to confession. So good, so bad. it’s both.

I hope u people (I nearly wrote guys, how sexist of me!) will rest well. It’s Shabbat soon. Be good for you (Selena G. et. al. 2015) and for me.

… bye guys (sexist!) … wish me death tonight …

Another sleeping demon awoke in the caverns of my perilous mind (The Hobbit et. al. +1937). The mind is a powerful place (NF et. al. 2019), filled with riches and dangers.

Just want to call out The Satan, I think we are all Sick of U. (BoyWithUke et. al. +2022).

Here is another bloodied event. A confession a day keeps The Doctor away (Frances E. H. et. al. +2002).

I was in the last two years of my high-school years.

I had masturbated at some time in the morning, and had got my undies soiled by my cum.

It was a class time.

I was remember the darkest moment that day. A fellow student commented “It smells like sex”. Well, it smelled like my sex. Horror gripped me, even know. I feel like choking. The teacher face froze and he said it was inappropriate, “We don’t talk about those things here”, he remarked drily (that was an approximate line, who remembers lines from the past exactly? I am the only one, perhaps).

I am losing myself tonight/today (OneRepublic et. al. +2014).

I hope this is my last confession (Laurent et. al. +2022). The Shame – The Satan – wants me dead. I don’t want to die, really, I just want some relief (NF et. al. +2019).

I even cried at my mother’s feet and in my first brother’s arms last night. I wanted to die. I wanted to get euthanized (it’s legal in my state). But I also didn’t want to break the fifth commandment (I would ). I am Christian (Luke et. al. +90), right? Christians can’t do those things, even if they wanted to. They fear The Nameless One.

Confession is like pooping. You gotta get it out before it hurts you and makes everything feel like crap.

Please, Lady Death, come and take me home to heaven. Paradise ain’t enough (). They are calling me a fucking literalist, a fucking fundamentalist. They want my fucking head! I want to die in peace! I have befriended you (Henri J. M. Nouwen et. al. 2022), haven’t I? I have signed up to cremation service already! I have written my will at twenty six years old! The love letters from home (Billy Graham et. al. 2015) ain’t fucking enough!

after a day of leaving this post to sit here …

The Love Letter is all I have. It’s much better than nothing. It helps me stay on the shore, and reminds me to not jump back into the ocean of madness again. I am a fish out of water that has learned to crawl on land. A spiritual fish that doesn’t have any gills and have been just drowning at sea.

So, the human evolution classes had a spiritual purpose. Darwin had something to do with spirituality (Phillip E. J. et. al. 2000). We are like fish without gills (and girls, if you are a lonely virgin – I feel yah bros out there – Shed A Tear (NigaHiga et. al. 2010) with me right now, if you like. We need to go on land. Rise out of pseudo-Hades into pseudo-Paradise.

… so, I am ready to die … come Lady Death and give me a firm kiss, please, as I stare into your lovely, white eyes … and my alter ego says “You are ready to live” …

I love being a dumbass …

(…image removed for anonymity’s sake…)

This drink was pretty healthy, and the grapefruit flavour was forward and not in the background. The sweetness was just right. Maybe a bit too healthy haha.

“You don’t need to die to be born again” (Strange Love et. al. 2022).

There is a idea where rebirth only occurs after death. Or maybe at the moment of death? I don’t know. That idea belongs to the cyclical perspective on life.

There is another idea where rebirth can occur before death.

3 “In truth I tell you,” exclaimed Jesus, “unless a person is reborn, they cannot see the kingdom of God.” (OEB et. al. 2022)

I have no comments on this. Just putting it out there.

Meanwhile, I am waiting for Sunday – waiting for Death, practicing death (…)– to kill my sexual desire. I won’t use anything. I will draw a black, womanly figure and masturbate to it. And I won’t confess it on here. What is done on Sunday stays in Sunday … maybe. After all, what is done in death stays in death, no one sees past the Iron Curtin (Britannica et. al. 2022) of Death. If the burden becomes too great … I will come back to the spill the beans.

I am white-knuckling my “recovery” from addictive masturbation. I clasp my hands in prayer on my bed, as I get angry or cry out (or both) to The Silent One, The Nameless One, for bloody help. “Why aren’t you picking up, damnit?” All I get is silence. I guess I have to cling to The Bible, but it ain’t enough at times, you know.

(…) is there for sources I cannot remember. I am tired of using Google Search to find them, TBH. Maybe I will add them in the future.

Go ahead, criticize my imperfections. I can imagine many voices already. And don’t need anymore from the readers. I am sorry, it’s just that if I am going to die tonight I don’t need niggling comments in the back of my head. All I want is to die in the arms of my loved ones, and have their tears poured out over me.

I am damaged by my own rough motion. But I keep doing it. This body of death (…).

l am wounded by darkness too easily. Darkness that pours out from the mouths of my family. But I will not run away. I want this boat – this family – to be rebuilt in preparation for the impending disasters of tomorrow. Strengthen the ties that bind (…) all the more.

I find darkness within too easily. I hate myself, I hate this body of death. Who will deliver me from it? I cannot say I have yet found my deliverance. May His Kingdom Come for my deliverance.

I want some lube for my darkness, my masturbation.

It is nearly impossible to masturbate to nothing in mind. But I have done it before. I hope to do it again, so that there is also light in my darkness.

I have left (…) so I can add the references in the future.

This afternoon, I am too tired.

God have mercy. Otherwise, may He remember me as I burn in Hades.

I know clarity doesn’t come in boatloads (unlike the refugees – how racist I am! How fucking privileged! I should be burned on the stake XD ), but it feels and thinks like I have just enough clarity to keep going. To not just walk, but run in this short life. To not give in to my nihilistic tendencies. To hold on to hope, even if it’s just a single finger.

I have been reflecting on my use of the word “fuck”. Why? Am I just trying to be edgy? No. It’s because it’s actually very representative of the desire of us all. We want intimacy. We want to fuck. We want sex. We want to be known others fully, and for others to be know us fully (Gina C. et. al. 2007). That is probably the rawest desire I could think of. People, for want of it, and severe lack of it, are willing to take their lives. Murder themselves. Breaking the sixth commandment (Moses et. al. -600). Hurting themselves. We as humans really hate that but ourselves, don’t we?

That’s my justification for using “fuck”.

In Absolute Contrast, cunt, hoe, and bitch are in a completely category. The Satan Category. Words that only belong in Eternal Fire (Matthew et. al. +85). Those are evil labels. Those are wicked names. They detract from the fact the we are ALL children of God now (John et. al. +95). It puts humans even lower than animals, when we are so much more. Even the angels envy us (unknown author of Hebrews et. al. b/w & inc. +50 to +100)

Children of God who have mostly forgotten their rightful crowns. Their rightful thrones. As gods (Asaph et. al. -897) under The God. We are broken and beloved gods (Henri J. M. N. et. al. 1992).

And it’s eleven. Time’s up. Off I go to wait for The Grim Reaper. Or Lady Death. Or Alice. I have given Death many names such as these.

There is no self-control. Lusting after imaginations. Imaginations fired by words. Dark words with flecks of light.

But I realised these words – tits, ass, penis, boobs, breasts, cum – as much as they fire lust, they are so empty. So fucking empty. With images of God fading away in my memory, and fake substitutes in drawings, it only gets even more empty. It’s slowly becoming nothing.

I would like to give myself the excuse that drawings are not real people. At least I am not objectifying real people. I can look them in their eyes on Judgment Day with no shame.

But masturbation only becomes more empty without real subjects of lust.

My lower parts are hurting from my self-abuse. How I like to wound myself.

People are like amphibians. Part dust (St. Moses et. al. -600), part spirit (St. John et. al. +95).

Here is a little guess.

The dust needs more dust to sustain itself. Food, in other words.

The spirit needs water (St. John et. al. +95) – namely, meaning. Words. Theories. Stories. Love. Truth. Freedom. The list goes on.

It would seem (I have self-imposed cultural blindness, I don’t read the news anymore) that we live in a culture of lots of buzz, but little meaning. There are countless things to get excited about … but it’s all wind (St. Eugene H. P. et. al. 2002), most of the time.

What kind of meaning am I looking for? Meaning that matters for the day-to-day grind. Meaning that matters for the dying, the one who is about to pass away tonight. Meaning that allows one to befriend death (Michelle O. et. al. 2009).

I think a lot of people are looking for meaning, especially the suicidal. If someone has the most meaningful thing to say … I will let The Mayor (Paramount Pictures et. al. 2011) tell you …

But with water, there's life...That's the immutable law of the desert. You control the water, and you control everything

If you control meaning, you control everything.

In other news, I have held off from masturbation for a single day. I heard that the longer I wait, the better it is. We will see.

And in other other news, I have started reading Korean comics again (I stopped for a while). Plenty of female objectification. I had to change comics quite a few times because it was too much at times. Sex must sell.

And in final news, I had to apologise to the spirit of IU (the Korean female soloist) for fantasizing about her being on top of her (in a purely sexual way, of course) . A few seconds in, I stopped myself, and apologized in word and thought to her, as I imagined myself bowing down to her for forgiveness in Wonderland (my heaven).

I feel like a prude and pervert combined. I must have really lost both my brains and balls.

Head fixed on entering Guild Wars Two (NCSOFT et. al. 2012) before bed. My appetite for it wetted aplenty with some before bed YouTube. It occupied my thoughts as l woke up to number two calling. The feeling of this number calling was carried out of some dreamy road-trip with family and friends into the real darkness of my room. Went on to get some tunes while I did my business.

It downloading in the background as I distract myself here.

How scary this little obsession appeared to me. Is it? Do I want to play hooky (Urban Dictionary et. al. 2022) and skip The School of Life again? It’s been roughly four years since I remember last been destructively hooked into a game. I failed a subject in the Masters program because of it. Stood before a panel. Got sent to the psychologist’s office. Now that I am bumming out at home, was I ready to fail The Subject? Life Itself?

Time for some silly justification. Well if being born again is real (Eugene H. P. … St. John et. al. 2002), then perhaps I will re-interpret the following interpretation

”If I went around doing whatever I thought I could get by with, I'd be a slave to my whims.” (Eugene H. P. … St. Paul et. al. 2002)

… I will subvert this later … too early for this shit. Eugene did not write any shit. He wrote fucking gold. I was listening to the book of John for my bedtime story. I am just shit this morning.

Are all these echoes from the past? Am I just digging my own grave? They say …

“Told him so. Saw it coming. He ignored the unbroken rule of cause and effect (Steve F. et. al. 2006). That’s why he is a sorry virgin, dirt-poor single, gutted with fat shame, with only a second-hand bike for his car. He let one girl tie up his fate. He let her set the flame, then he foolishly blew the flames into utter destruction. What a loser.” (Demons Inc. et. al. -4540000)

I have started the flames to burn it all down. Burn (all) The Ships (for KING & COUNTRY et. al. 2018) except a(n) ark, except a family. My blood parents and siblings.

We will see what’s left when it’s all over. Maybe it’s all over tonight. Bare (my cremation creeps), here I come.

There goes my mind (Imagine Dragons et. al. 2022). Seems like the right direction. Feels roughly great. I am working in this mist of … whatever existence is.

And of course, I can’t even end without mentioning masturbation. How pathetic, old, and lame. Had to push away the thoughts of past porn stars, even characters from innocent cartoons like Prince of Egypt (DreamWorks et. al. 1998). But none of them weren’t my wife, I just used a little anger to flit them out of my head. It certainly is easier to reach orgasm with real faces, real people.

Instead, I satisfied (my alt word for masturbation from here on) myself with a self-construction of Lady Death (Coffin Comics et. al. 1991). A completely blackened figure, eyes full of light Full breasts, hips, and rear. Flowing long hair. Then it was nighty night. I was relaxed for sleep.

Unoriginal? My unashamometer is at 98.5%. Nothing is original (Jim J. et. al. 2004).

Guild Wars Two is ~69% downloaded and paused at that value before the publishing of this post.