Two words to describe the reality of what this world is coming too.

Women used to like having sex with men. Not all women mind you, as some women truly hate men, but enough women to allow for some great sex between men and women.

Lately though, society is painting men as evil. Women say they want sex but then say they were assaulted. Power is what it is. The power of tits and vagina. Always has been a power and always will.

Though, that power is now being replicated by modern technology. You can now have a robot sex machine depicting all the male sexual parts or female. Choice.

Sound sick? You decide but for me, not unexpected. It is for sure humans enjoy sex. Billions of people exist as proof of what sex is for humanity.

I say, go for it people. Fuck machines until your Viagra wears off. Men can fuck until they pass out. Women too, can enjoy the machines and then later say they were assaulted and sue the sex doll manufacturer.

As a disclaimer to those who will never read this shit: Yes, sexual abuse exists. Rape exists. All the horror  sexuality exists just as it exists in every fucked up aspect of human emotions. But lately, sex is being used more and more as power-and-control and not for what it is, fucking.

Would I buy a sex robot? Absolutely not. Don’t need too. I’m too disgusted with the human species to even consider the thought. Thankfully though, there is a whole lot of good food on this shit hole planet, and fishing. Those two alone are better than any fuckfest that has ever existed. And it w-i-l-l be most wonderful when my prison sentence on this fucked up planet is over.

Now, saying all the obscene and offensive shit above, the fires today were most enjoyable and the air was sweet and wonderful.

It is good to roar. It is good to write and be.

It is good to eat good food, sleep good sleep, dream good dreams.

It is bad to hate others

It is bad to hurt others

It is bad to hurt or hate  good.

Happy birthday. Today. Yesterday. Tomorrow.

It is good to remember those days of increase and decrease.

And what is time?

Really nothing more than a footnote; chronological applications to describe a species frame of mind to understand life.

tendrils of fluted memories… listen now…

(silence of world gone mad)

the winded breeze blowing such sweet sounds… in the distance, rain drips from the eves. recorded songs of birds and times

tendrils of fluted memories… to listen for eternity.

breaking glass cleanly, along the seam of a diamond wheel. curving. following somewhat, a line. looking out the window. curving. following somewhat, a line

it will be nice though, to see all the pieces together. solid. one. then to look in the window, following somewhat, curving. a line.

Taking a ride on a cloud. Not high nor low or in between.

Watching the screen of rain backlit by day.

Drew some wonderful pictures today, on my brain.

Cheese and pears.

Payday.

There goes another piece of myself, now riding with the wind.

Placed by hand known as unknown, though with knowledge and craft. Stones rolled, carried, placed.

Why?

A rhythm of planned order and grace perhaps? Random chance? Driven emotions of explanations beyond demand?

It cared nothing for the whims of fancy those with trinkets worn about their bodies, as if this would give them meaning and understanding.

Time beyond measure though, used as if that was all that truly existed. But what would they do if gravity held no sway? No mass? If time was yesterday, today and tomorrow all rolled up into one and stacked…

Soldiers had passed between the pillars of carved Greek power. Cobbled stones laid by the labor of slaves and freeman provided the firmament needed to allow quickness of war.

Many wars and many soldiers flowed both ways along this path, and many citizens had watched as the shields and lance bearing warriors grow in numbers one way and return much fewer. Some citizens even profited immensely with the military in trade and flesh of whores.

Today, the face of the ruler on the stamped silver and gold were of the most current ruler, one of many

What is the title of ones self?

Some wear the prefix of Dr. Some, Sir. Some Mr. or Mrs. or Miss.

Royalty place great importance on title. Of position and rank.

Military salute officers all the way up to General, Politicians; titles all for all.

Even genders have title. Man/woman. Emotions have title. Love/hate.

Stories have title as if to  lead.

A question: Once this world is gone, past, deceased… what then, will the new title be?

Been studying people for a long time. Will continue studying people for long time. Very interesting study indeed.

During this life there have been two moments there was the feeling of love that intruded upon my studies. This was a most amazing feeling. It was exciting and refreshing. It was energy. And then, it became horrible and painful. But, definitely a high point of education into the human condition.

People are a strange lot. Playing games. Playing at being adults or children. Opinionated. Opportunistic. Creative. All-in-all, definitely worth studying.

Television is one window into other peoples lives be they fictional or fantasy. Work is another. Recreation, another. So many windows and views.

Lately been reading from an author that is interesting. Talk of love, of sex, of passions, of all that seems so wonderful. And yet, what will be the ending for such. Pain? Anger? Hurt? Happiness? Joy?

That is not for me to say as I’m as cold as ice and when ice is exposed to heat, it usually melts, but this shell around me only gets more cold, more thick, and this is not really what it should be, but it is.

To study or be studied, one in the same really. But, as the world turns, there is much to study, much to watch, and many emotions left to turn into a cold dagger of ice. It is, what it is.

However, thank God there is more than this world to be in and find comfort. It is in that world i call my world where there is warmth and peace. A place where humans are not allowed. A place i call, Home.

*

Tried a path so very well traveled, tripping over stone and way

Finding such amazing and wonderful energies

With laughter and smile

making what some say are,

friends.

In school to meet only to see them move away

Growing up and see them become other things

Such anger and hate covered with a thin veneer of self

Men fucking

Women fucking

calling such, love…

is love real?

It is

to me

and yet

for this wor4ld, just another illusion, another play, a story

where for now just another form of pain.