Sunday, September 26, 2010

At least the masturbation is good

I have permanently damaged my brain. It's been several days since I got high and I am still suffering the effects of the intoxicants I took.  The intoxicants can kill on the first try.  I must have a death wish to try shit like that.

My brain is fucked.  I am slow and retarded now.  I barely function at work.  If I did not have 30 IQ points on the average person, I would not be able to function at all.

I won't go into what I did.  But let's just say it was stupid.  It was the stupidest thing I have ever done.

What I will tell you is that if you hoped I'd really become a serial killer (and stop fucking around with the literary pretensions of this blog) then you may be very pleased by what I have done to myself.

I have violent thoughts on occasion now.  Usually when I am masturbating.  I get very tingly all over and the high returns  with a powerful sensation whenever I think about sex.  Also whenever I touch myself.  Or whenever I see a woman in tight clothing.

I can watch VERY violent things on the internet and get very turned on now.  I mean VERY turned on.  I lose control.  I lose my voice from screaming along with at the TV or my computer monitor.

I am tingly as we speak even though it has been several days since I have had any intoxicants (other than double cheeseburgers) inside me.

I enjoy repetitive (I think it's called stereotypic behaviors.)  Grinding my teeth or tensing my body causes the euphoria to return to me.  I can taste metal on my tongue.

I have searched the internet for more information on the disturbing health effects  I have noticed.  There is virtually no information available.  This is surprising and alarming to me.  I am very good at finding things on the internet, so I know if there was more information out there I would have found it by now.

The few bits of information I have found suggest that the effects of the intoxicants I took could last days, weeks, even years.  I had no idea one simple exposure could cause such drastic health concerns to a person.

I am not stupid.  I new it was dangerous. I new I could die the first time I did it.  But I figured any drug could be used one time without long term effect.  I am wrong.

I feel high as I type.  The feeling is actually quite pleasant. I tingle and as my mouth fills with a copper taste. My penis is especially sensitive.  My masturbation sessions now run hours.  I have incredibly intense orgasms.  The strongest of my life.

I do get paranoid.  I had a bad panic attack last night.  So bad I woke a friend up and took a taxi to their apartment.  I stayed for a few hours and took another taxi home.  That is a waste of 25 dollars, but I was so scared that I actually called 9-1-1.

I hung up before they answered.  I then got a call on my cell from the Tempe Police asking if someone called them.  I lied and told them I miss dialed.  That's when I decided to call my friend.  I was sure I was going to have a heart attack.  I have a heart condition that I have been hospitalized before over and assumed my racing heart was going to spin out of control and cause me to die.

My breathing patterns are strange now.  I have trouble drawing deep breaths.  I breathe shallow.  My sense of balance (always poor) is now even worse.

The music that plays in my head is loud.  So loud that I have trouble hearing people speak to me.  I have to ask people to repeat themselves over and over again.

I am worried that I will hurt someone.

Caught up in a masturbation session I would expose my penis to passer bys.  I would think about attacking a lonely girl sitting outside my apartment.

The thought of such a girl has given rise to a great swelling of euphoria in my brain.  It makes typing difficult.  I find my head swaying back and forth.  Licking my lips, I close my eyes and give into the sensation for a minute.  Then the dark-side pulls me.  I imagine the feel of her vagina.  Her protests and screams only further my imagination.  I now know why psychopaths enjoy the protests from their victims so much.  I have never enjoyed the feeling of my penis more than stroking it to the thought of fuck punching a girl to death.

This is truly disturbing for me.

Like I said I don't think anything will happen.  I am still in control of the dark side.  Even when it pulls and I allow the feeling to come over me and I am straining with all my might and tugging at my penis with the strength of an elephant I know I am in control.  I can stop it.  I know it wrong to enjoy it. But I also know the dark side is not me.  It is just tempting me with pleasure.  But it is different.  It is brutal.  It is pure cackling evil.

But it does feel incredible. Powerful.  The sensation is unlike anything you mere mortals have experienced.  It feels God-like.

I feel god-like when I masturbate, but it is quite terrible to feel this good all the time.  The simple task of grasping a pen can send shivers down my spine. The constant surge of adrenaline wears on me.  Even pleasure after a while can hurt. Can you imagine the pleasure of almost coming dragged out over 3 to 7 hours in a day?  It can be both excruciating and wonderful at the same time.

I enjoy the sly looks of lust I see in women.

My powers of observation are improved in one area.  I can read the minds of young women when it comes to sex.  I notice when they wear short shorts and tug the seams past the  bottom of their asses.  They quickly flash skin at me under the guise of scratching an itch.  I am savvy now.  I notice cleavage and hair tosses and flickers of interest in your eyes that I have never seen before.  The rest of my brain has shut down.  But it has left open the door to allow me to concentrate on sex.

The fog in my brain is here to stay.

I am worried that it will never go away.  Yesterday was the worst/I could barely move or talk.  Today I am much better.  So much better I thought I would go drinking tomorrow.  But just before bed I decided to masturbate.  Just to test the waters.  As I suspected, the feeling came roaring back.  I began shaking, thrusting my hips.  I grabbed my penis with two hands and fucked myself raw.

I keep wanting to write this:

I woke up in the hospital.  I don't remember how I got there.

It was my last sane thought before the intoxicants over took me.  I was going to write a book.  but that dream is over.  My new dream is to be normal.  To breathe deep and not worry about irregular heart beats.

(Sometimes I have trouble finding my heart beat and that sends me into a panic/then I feel the heart beat start to race and skip and that feeds back into the panic loop.)

I'm not crazy yet.  But I wonder how long it will be before it happens.

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Watch the movie Sharktoctupus

A good friend of mine wrote the screen play.  You can watch the movie tonight on Sci-Fi Channel.  I refuse to call the network by it's new name.

Monday, September 06, 2010

You did not notice me ignoring you did you?

It has been for some time now that I have left you without knowledge of my circumstances, without tales of debauchery and the like that make the static days of your life seem to pop like a bag of microwaved popcorn.

My own head is like that bag of popcorn.  Though the serotonin  I have left in my brain is more like the dead kernels one finds at the bottom of the bag than the fluffy popcorn suitable for human consumption.

So it has been a while since we last spoke.  Do not think that it is some random time that has passed and we have not conversed.  On the contrary it was with great purpose that I have left you to your own devices.  To see you slither through the hallways of life with your head down and your arms protectively covering your books.

I, on the other hand, have been slowly sinking into an abyss that I will not quickly be rescued from.

I awoke this morning (and by this morning I mean afternoon) to a bedroom covered in the paraphernalia of my destruction.  A bottle of Raid insect repellent, (spilled: it's red juices now defacing my computer chair cushion), a 1 liter bottle of lighter fluid poured into a cristal glass, a Vick's inhaler, my computer screen stuck at, a package of extra polar ice gum, a bottle of lubricant for masturbation, the empty baggie where once was placed my final stash of ecstasy pills.

One would think I would wake to staggering headache.  I did not.  My head is fine except for a sluggishness of intellect which I expect you deal with naturally most everyday.  It goes unremarked by you, so let us cease to speak of my fogginess.  I have spell check to alleviate the most pernicious effects of the holes developing in my frontal cortex.  I have no idea what allows for you make it through the day, save God's grace that intelligence was not highly selected upon by evolution for survival.

I ran out of toliet paper four days ago.  I now fret before any bowel movement because of the added step of showering after releasing the putrid diarrhea dripping from my bowels.

What else have I been up to?

A few days ago I purchased 3 (24) packs of beer.  The beer cost me on $7.99 each 24 pack.  It was a great deal.  I got drunk enough on the beer.  Though not as drunk as the school aged skater boy that found himself in my apartment.  I have his skate board still.  The last I heard of him he was in the hospital.  I presume he is okay.  I left him on the side of the road and quickly disappeared.  Just so you know I called 9-11 for the poor boy, his eyes rolled back in his before he could thank me.

You see? I am not completely lost.

My latest million dollar idea is to develop a television show that purports to be a morally ambiguous  Twilight Zone.  But in reality I will use the fictional guise of the show to push my agenda of misanthropy.

The main character will be like the devil.  He will argue for the (incorrect?) position when it comes to things like suicide.

That would be the pilot episode.  A man considering suicide.  You will think of course that the Bill Bixby like loner character is there to save the suicider, but you will be wrong.  He will be there to offer support for suicide.  He will make elegant arguments about the meaninglessness of life.  He will set up straw man arguments for living.  He will demolish them.  He will show the ambiguity of the depressed person's life on others.

The case will be difficult.  It will not be obvious which choice should be made.  Perhaps we fade to black just as the gun's nozzle recoils.

Other shows will feature why being selfish is better than helping others.

Excuse me for not adding additional episodes.  Every time I swallow I get the delicious taste of lighter fluid nasal drip.  This causes an involuntary shudder that effects the tip of my penis is a strange manner.

Have you ever seen videos of ball crushing?  Women in high heels crush and step on the exposed genitalia of their cuckolded prey. Last night I understood for the first time the extreme pleasure that can be found in the crushing of one's penis.

I think that the Vick's inhaler gives special powers to my dick. As I feel no pain whatsoever, and the amount of abuse given to my penis is only matched by the damage to my pre-frontal cortex from huffing on whatever chemicals I could find last night.

Perhaps I should buy whippets as I hear they are less dangerous than gasoline.  But at this point do we care any longer?  Aren't you happy to see me go off the deep end finally?

My stomach is empty but I can not get out the gargled taste of lighter fluid from my mouth.  I think that means I will skip lunch.  A planned meal of two cheeseburgers and chips.  3 glasses of unsugared tea.

The cheese burgers are homemade. I am using frozen patties with a 73% fat content.  I have generic buns.  Tiny, they are made for children it seems.  Red onion, lettuce, mustard.  I am out of pickles.  The chips are strips of tortillas that I have deep fried.  I have no salsa.  I do have cheese wiz if the mood strikes.

I showered twice last night.  But it was not enough.  I am unclean.  The sticky mess of multiple shits is my life now.  I am traversing  this world without toilet paper, without so much as a sanitary napkin.

I am blowing my nose into the same towels that my roommate dries himself off with.  I am inserting assorted cooking utensils into various parts of my body to test the fecal content of my dishwasher.

Somehow I am still alive.  My ingrown toenail has long since moved to gangrene and the dead skin around it shrinks to a blackened hue.  The rest of the toes is swollen unnaturally from all the blood running to it.  Sometimes for fun I poke at it and watch as the blood drains into the shower.  It runs for for 5 minutes at a time.  I can poke it six or seven times before I get bored of watching the blood drip down.  Like Norman I see it all in black and white.