I have to stop blogging when I am horny and/or too tired to think of anything else.

Need work. But you get the idea.

God damn, do I need me some penis. I crave cock like it was oxygen. I’m so horny right now that I’d blow a hobo if he asked me.

And not, as usual, only out of politeness.

Would love me some of that sweet mouse butt too. First I would push my tongue in there to rim him to within an inch of his life anjd get him all slick and squirmy, then I would ride that ass like a cowboy, fucking him hard and deep till I made him spurt without him even touching his cock.

Then I would fill him with my cream, triumphantly.

My fantasies, like everything else from my imagination, are quite detailed.

Maybe I should just start writing porn. There’s money in it, unlike this strangle form of dabbling at it. And it would be the logical extension of expressing my sexuality by writing about it, with the added bonus of cha-ching.

But don’t worry, fair reader. If I start to do so, I will do it away from this blog.

I impose on you enough with this porn posts. To drag you along with my when I write full on erotica would be asking far too much.

Plus, if I write porn, it will include all my kinks, and not in the watered down version I have shown you so far.

And speaking of water….

Like I mentioned before, I am into piss. A pic like that makes me so very hot.

And thirsty. Oh, so thirsty.

But that one is mostly theoretical. I haven’t tried it in real life. The most I have done is sample my own, and while the flavour was actually pretty good, the saltiness of it made my stomach ache.

I suppose it’s an acquired taste. Like beer. Which it resembles.

In my fantasies, I drink straight from the tap, baby. Again… I am so damn oral. I would love to suck a pissing cock and drink that golden nectar like I was sucking in through a straw…. made of cock!

Which are a thing. Sorta.

And the nice thing is, the flavour is somewhat under your control. If you drink plenty of fluids and stay hydrated, your urine will be clear and flavour free.

Call it Pee Lite.

---

Well, that was enough to get me off, so that’s enough smut for a while.

Ordered sushi via Skip the Dishes last night. Basically the same order that our phone issues (which resolved themselves) kept me from getting last week.

As usual, I ordered enough for two meals. One I ate last night, and one I ate just now, for lunch. It’s always a mess o’ maki in one meal and a donburi and miso in the other.

I must not be totally allergic to or hate fish, because I loooooove miso soup. There is something so very soothing and delicious about it.

Maybe I am low on some vital nutrient that only seafood can provide and therefore miso is my only source for it because it’s literally the only seafood thing I eat.

I tried looking miso paste up on Amazon Canada but I could not make sense of the results. None of the product descriptions told me how much miso soup the package made, or how exactly you used it.

I am guessing you just add a small amount of paste to boiling water, and maybe stir it up a little, but I am not sure.

I know that it’s supposed to be one of the cheapest foods around, though, and that it only takes a tiny dollop to make a bowl because it’s so concentrated.

Maybe I will just look for it in the Chinese section of Pricesmart next time I am there.

Yeah, I know, miso’s Japanese, but it still might be there.

I suppose it might be in the “ethnic foods” section too.

This is me, forcing myself to stop talking about goddamned miso.

And I am NOT going back to porn, god damn it!

---

God, why am I so vacant lately.

I really feel mentally vacuous. Like I got nothin’ but air up there. I try to bring my thoughts together into something coherent, and all I get is a vast sucking sound like someone just opened the outer airlock without closing the inner airlock.

I am sure it will all come back to me when I get some decent sleep. My sleep has been even more disrupted than usual lately. I can’t sleep for more than an hour and a half, and that means I need to go back on the sleeping pills pronto.

Now if only I could find them.

I found some bupropion. And I had no idea why I had it. So I looked it up.

Silly me, I had forgotten that bupropion is the generic name for Wellbutrin, which I take every day with lunch already. So that’s definitely not a sleeping pill.

I know I have some mirtazapine around here somewhere. It is listed as an antidepressant. One of its side effects is sleepiness.

So I am figuring that it’s a matter of turning the negative into a positive. It makes people sleepy, you say? Then use it as a sleep aid, by Jove!

Plus, I am already on two antidepressants (Paxil and Wellbutrin), so it’s not like it will be adding anything new to my bloodstream.

It’s settled, then. When I go to bed tonight, I will take one of these tiny pills, and hopefully it will keep me asleep long enough to catch up on REMs.

Tomorrow’s Monday, and I have nothing going on Mondays, so I have no excuse to not take the damned thing and sleep as long as I need to sleep to catch up.

Might end up being a very sleepy Monday, but it will be worth it if I feel better after.

After all, I have a lot of dreaming to do….

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

So yeah. Gonna post more porn.

I mean, what the hell. Most of the time, I just end up frustrated when I try to jack off. My social anxiety precludes most forms of sex with others, not to mention the crippling conflict in my mind between my homosexuality and my childhood rape trauma making me kind of fall apart psychologically when I actually try sex.

I wonder if sex with a woman would have the same effect? Would be hilarious to find that the only way I can really have sex is to go with my non-preferred gender.

Anyhow, on with the smut.

Guess what? I just looked it up, and bestiality porn is legal in Canada!

Of course, if you’re a furry, bestiality is a slippery (and throbbing) subject. For all we know, Mister Unicorn With Dat Sweet Ass can talk and is as sentient as you or I, and is therefore a “person” and not an “animal” by the common definitions.

He just happens to be a “person” with four legs and hooves.

I mean, when you have all the bronies fapping over their fave My Little Pony character :

…then who is to say where the line is any more?

Me. And I say animals can be pretty god damned sexy and sentient or not, I can’t see any reason for human-critter sex to be illegal.

So yeah. I am into sex with animals.

And yet another of my perversions emerges from the depths of my unconscious!

Animals have always been people to me anyhow. Not in the same way an adult human being is a person – I am not saying we should give them the vote.

But they are conscious living critters with emotions and needs, and one of those needs is sex. It’s a need we share and I don’t see any reason why we can’t get together and share that special connection with them.

Beats nullifying their sexuality just to make them easier for us to deal with.

And when you combine the bestiality with my pee fetish, you get :

Insert your Budweiser and/or or “you don’y buy beer, you rent it” type jokes here.

Anyone got a stein? I’m real thirsty.

Another fave of mine? Rimming.

I love to eat butt. I see a sexy butt and I want to dive in face first with my tongue out.

I am so oral.

And don’t give me your grossed out looks. The anus is not inherently dirty. Like everything else, it can be cleaned, and that makes analingus at least as clean as, say, giving someone a blowjob.

Which I also enjoy almost as much.

I am such a greedy little bitch.

Well I guess that’s enough dirty filthy smut for now.

More after the break.

---

Okay, on with the smut.

In other words, I still have nothing in particular I feel the need to write about. I am sure that later, I will think of a ton of things to write about and then promptly forget them, leaving myself in the same state as I am in right now, namely tabula rasa.

I suppose it doesn’t have to be smut, though. I have tons of non-porn images too.

But smut is so much fun!

Check out the tiger keeping tabs on who is doing what with/to whom. I would totally be that guy at an orgy. The one who organized the whole thing, including a detailed round robin to make sure everyone tries everything with everyone else.

Sort of like sexual speed dating. Call it speed humping.

Ordered a bunch of sushi for dindins tonight. Dithered for way too long over what to order. I now remember why I have chosen my Saturday night meals based on the first thing I thought of in the past.

Beats all the fretting over it when I foolishly decide to think about it instead.

Western culture tends to assume that thinking things through logically is always better. As if the right answer can always be determined by logical analysis.

But what if you don’t have enough information? What then?

Does Burridan’s Ass starve to death, or do you start going with your gut?

Sometimes our guts are a lot smarter than the brains they support.

Here’s a funny little comic strip vignette :

Guess you’re doing to have to up your game if you want another five star fuck, boy.

I love how it conveys so much without words. I know that annoys some people, and I have been that kind of person when it is done poorly.

But when it is done well, it’s breathtaking in its elegant simplicity.

The wry little observation about human nature and is foibles is quite good too. People today are getting addicted to the feeling of power that comes from rating everything on Yelp, Amazon, eBay, and everything else.

But in the gig economy, customers get rated too. A vendor or service provider could, in theory, refuse to sell to you because you have a poor rating.

And that sounds great to me, to be honest. I am a huge fan of accountability, and think the world needs more of it.

Like, a LOT more of it.

But I know that such a system could be gamed into a form of bullying where people gang together to give low ratings to people they don’t like.

Not a problem if the sample size is big enough. If there’s like 1000 ratings, it doesn’t matter if 20 assholes rate you a 0 out of spite.

I feel like there is a warm lesson about humanity in that somewhere.

Maybe it’s that the horrible mean people are a tiny minority and if we all work together, we can take away all their power without having to engage them at all.

Yeah. Let’s go with that.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Let me set the scene.

We are in some kind of rubber room. Padded walls, ceiling, everything. In the center is a simple wooden desk with a wooden chair behind it and another in front of it. Both chairs are centered relative to the desk.

Behind the desk is the man you all know from the television, Doctor Ewell Montaigne. His attitude is is one of friendly neutrality, like he’s waiting at the airport for a distant relative he’s never met before.

I, your humble reporter, am seated in a dark corner of the room, outside the eyeline of either chair, so that as long as I am quiet, I will not easily be noticed.

And having been very sternly warned that if I make the slightest of sounds or otherwise intrude upon the proceedings in any way, i will be eternally banished, rest assured that I will be the quietest girl in church for the entire affair.

Our story begins when an individual, who you all have heard of but whom for legal reasons I can only refer to as Killer, is led into the room and his wrist and leg shackles are removed, as is his gag.

Killer :(massing his wrists) It’s all quite unnecessary, you know.

Doctor : What is?

Killer : All the supposed “security measures”. The shackles, the gag, the snipers with their sights trained on my heart outside. It’s all just political theater. There is no need for it at all. I have absolutely no desire to escape.

Doctor : There IS the small fact that you have confessed to six murders, three rapes, and dozens of cases of child molestation.

Killer : I suppose so. But I insist that I am no threat to anyone. I like it here. It’s quiet and calm and orderly, and I feel quite snug and safe. Why would I want to escape that?

Doctor : We are not here to discuss the minutiae of your living arrangements, Doctor…

I hear the sound of a guard’s stool scraping against the floor as he got up and a soft click suggesting he had drawn his weapon.

Killer merely smiled and held up a restraining finger.

Killer : Tsk tsk, Doctor. You know the rules.

Doctor : I mean…. uh… Killer. We are here to see if you are treatable. If you are, then you may remain here in this secure psychiatric facility. If not, you will be transferred to a maximum security prison. I assure you, you will not find it as comfortable.

Killer : Of course.

Doctor : Now, for the record, do you still remain unrepentant for your crimes?

Killer : That depends. Which ones?

Doctor : Any of them.

Killer : That’s impossible to answer. Some I repent and some I do not.

Doctor : The murders, then.

Killer : I feel guilty about two of them.

Doctor : Why only two?

Killer : Because those could have been avoided. I could have achieved the same thing by less violent means. And I can never forgive myself for that.

Doctor : But the other four….?

Killer : I regret that they had to be done. But I do not regret having done them.

---

Meh. Fuck whatever I had going there. I have lost the thread, lost the point, lost the narrative, and hence have lost interest.

It started with some really great dialogue I had going in my head when I was making lunch, but by the time I wrote all that superfluous setup, I had completely forgotten the dialogue and the result is that stiff sack o’ crap up yonder.

Sorry if you liked it and want more. If it makes you feel any better, I have learned my lesson. If I am going to take dialogue from my head and use it to launch a piece of fictio n, I need to write the dialogue down first and worry about setup etc later.

Consider my ass taught.

---

Been pondering generalizations again.

To recap, the question is, “what makes one person touch a hot stove and get burned and say ‘Boy, I better not do that again!’ and another says ‘I now hate kitchens forever.”

I mean, presumably, both are snapshot moments in which a lasting association is created by a traumatic event, but in one case the snapshot is ever so much larger.

Obviously, the smaller snapshot is the healthy one. It makes sense both emotionally and rationally to learn not to touch hot stoves again.

But I have seen, in myself and others, so many examples of the big snapshot that I have to wonder, like, WTF, dude.

Could it be that things like that simply bother some people more than others, and hence the emotional impression is that much more powerful?

Possibly. But I am wary of ever comparing emotions like that. It’s too nebulous and it leads to people playing “who has suffered more”.

And that’s just… sad.

I think it has some connection to the thing I just decided is called the “safety seeking personality”. Some people, for whatever reason (usually bad), have a personality that prioritizes safety to an almost fanatical level.

What makes it pathological is that enormous areas of life are made unavailable to the individual by their destructive over-generalization.

I mean, imagine how crippling a hatred of kitchens could be.

It could be that there is a relationship between having a safety-seeking personality (as opposed to novelty-seeking, pleasure-seeking, challenge-seeking, etc) and having these enormous categorical generalizations in one’s psyche.

Although which causes the other is anybody’s guess.

My own safety-seeking personality was formed by being raped when I was 4 years old. That permanently altered my sense of safety and taught me that the world was a cold and harsh place where terrible things can happen at any moment.

Being bullied only cemented that lesson. So I became one of the people I described whose need for safety is downright pathological.

How pathological? It’s kept me completely out of the world for my entire adult life.

It’s clearly insane (natch) to have so much fear of the world that it keeps you locked away in your bedroom most of the time.

And yet here I am, living vicariously through my computer, with all this potential locked behind a wall of depression and despair.

Kinda sad, ain’t it?

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

When you are a natural shapeshifter like myself, it confuses people.

To me, shifting the surface aspects of my personality to match someone I have just met is completely natural. I do my best to pick up their vibe and match it and thus “tune them in”, as the hippies used to say.

Being the person in the middle of it all, I know that I am still the exact same person on the outside. All that has changed is my surface attributes like vocabulary, tone, speed of speech, posture, and so on.

While some or all of those attributes may express who I am in some way, I don’t consider them to be a key part of the real me.

However, to someone who doesn’t know me very well and/or who lacks the sensitivity to perceive that I am the same person on the inside, it might well seem like I have become an entirely different person.

But I haven’t. I am the exact same person who is only shifting on the surface, and I am doing that with no intent to deceive, but rather with the intent to connect.

I have no problem trying to speak someone’s language to them, in the non-literal sense. Different people are on different frequencies, and if I can tune into theirs and make a connection with that person, it makes me very happy.

It’s an amazing feeling to see someone light up because they have found someone who is of their tribe and gets them.

I’m not always successful. To be honest, I am being generous to myself when I say I tend to bat around .333.

But that is more than enough to keep me trying.

Of course, depression gets in the way, like it gets in the way of everything else. I could be far better at connecting if it wasn’t gumming up the works.

Not only does depression get in the way of the subconscious calculations needed for this kind of adaptability, it also dulls my sensitivity and reduces how far and how fast I can shapeshift to match someone.

I would have much, much better social skills if the goddamned depression wasn’t there.

---

Had therapy today. Not the best session, but that was my fault because I was seriously barely keeping awake.

I have been sleepy during therapy before, but never this bad. I was falling asleep between sentences. I had to yank myself back to consciousness over and over again,l and that is stressful as fuck.

And I know why I was so sleepy.

It’s because the heat was on.

I have talked about this before. That when I go from a cold place to a warm place, I experience what I call “the Melt”, where the warmth makes me super sleepy.

Under the right circumstances, it can be quite nice. Some of the best sleep I have ever had came from this effect. It’s ever so nice to come in from a cold snowy winter day, take off the parka et. al, and curl up on the couch under a nice blanket and snooze.

But it’s a damned nuisance when you actually have stuff to do. Like therapy.

And I am not sure how to fight it. It would look pretty weird if I went around dressed for the summer in the winter just to keep myself cold enough to stay awake.

I suppose I could try deliberately triggering it when I have time to nap, and hope to somehow use it all up.

At the very least, that might be a way to improve my sleep quality.

The trick would be to hold back my rampaging neuroses long enough for it to work when I am doing it on purpose.

My conscious mind is not to be trusted in matters such as these. Left to its own devices, it will pick apart and destroy anything new just for something to do.

So I have to set my id up as the bouncer, keeping the neurosis at bay by sheer thudding mindless force of will.

Go home, you assholes. You’re not getting in. I don’t care what you say.

---

Time to pick a side

I was warned that eventually, I would have to pick a side in Pillars of Eternity 2.

That doesn’t make it any easier, though.

I have been carefully neutral up to this point. I talk with everybody, I get along with everybody, I work (takes quests from) everybody. I’ve fone my best not to make enemies unless they are clearly very evil.

Like those motherfucking slavers. I kill slavers. Period. Ever since the first time I played Fable and saw the slavers’ human-sized cages with skeletons in them, and something snapped inside of me, I kill all slavers in games, period.

Otherwise, though, I am my usual cautious outsider self. I don’t want to choose sides when there is no clear morally superior side. Sure, I would choose the side of the Goodly Elves And Such over Count Evil McEvil, but when it’s just a matter of a struggle for power between various parties, count me the fuck out.

So I was shocked when I went to turn in a quest to the Queen of Neketaka and she was all, “Thank you for this information. Now we KILL EVERYBODY!”.

Um, no thanks, crazy lady. I will go back to before I talked to your bugshit crazy ass, and try to figure out whether there is a side I actually want to join.

I get the feeling I will not, and then I will be in a pickle because I am pretty sure I have to join one in order to beat the game.

Well, there’s that crazy pirate chick. She might not be morally superior to any of the other forces at play, but at least she’s fun.

Plus she backed me against the slavers. And that counts for something.

God damn do I hate “politics”, in the interpersonal struggle for dominance sense.

Can’t we all just get along?

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Good lord, am I feeling scrambled right now.

More so than usual, I mean. Even on a good day, I am confused and disoriented by default, but for some reason it’s worse than usual today.

I mean, at one point, my plan was to make a meal for myself and eat it at my computer while blogging, like I normally would.

Eating while blogging is my standard mode.

Except that it’s Wednesday, which means I am going to comedy tonight, which means not only am i going to eat there and not here, I will be leaving at around 7 pm, so that would be a very bad time to start blogging.

Plus I have had to check the clock to reorient myself in time twice. As in I had literally no idea what time it was. Is it the afternoon already, or still morning? Have I eaten lunch, or is that what I am supposed to do next? Why are time hurts?

I swear, when it gets that bad, I am lucky if I can even remember what planet I am on.

Wait wait, don’t tell me…. it’s that blue one, right?

What blows my mind is that there are people in the world who never wake up feeling like an alien abductee, except without the fun butt stuff.

Dear Abducting Type Aliens : Please abduct me. You can do whatever you want to my butt. Just hold me afterwards.

`Oh well. It’s probably just a side effect of catching up on sleep and/or oxygen.

In other news, finally beat Borderlands 2 today. One hell of a good game. Fast, fun, and funny as fuck. The humor can be a tad dark, but as luck would have it, I am a dark and twisted son of a bitch in a way that matches their brand of humour perfectly.

This means (SPOILER ALERT) that I finally killed Handsome Jack, the main villain. He’s one of the best/worst villains I have ever experienced in anything ever because he is the ultimate magnificent bastard type villain.

That’s a villain who is extremely evil and yet also has a lot of non-moral male virtue, like charm, wit, personality, looks, and so on, so you end up hating him extra hard because, against your will, part of you also admires him.

It made him fun to hate, and finally clawing through all the bullshit to confront him, defeat his monster, then put a cap in his ass (or rather, shoot him in the head with a rocket launcher) was very, very satisfying.

Hmmm,. That might be where I lost my combobulation, though, because in order to beat the game, I played at a pretty high level of intensity for like four hours plus in a row.

And well past my usual bedtime too.

Yeah, that’s what probably did it. Used up a whole lot of brain energy, and now I am mentally fried like right after a tough exam.

And being the sack of loose infirmities that I am, it’s taking a while to recover.

More after the break.

---

Part II : The Partening

Comedy went fine. There was only three comedians -Dane, Chris, and Felicity. And absolutely nobody in the bar was paying attention to the acts except the comedians and their entourage (aka Chris’ girlfriend and me”.

But what the hell. This is the bottom rung, folks. It’s how all comedians start off. Doing terrible gigs where nobody is listening and you don’t even get paid.

These shows are the currency in which your dues are paid.

I keep on thinking of getting up there. Every time I go to this comedy night with Felicity, i get a little bit closer to having the nerve to get up there and do my thang.

Tonight, I had actual bits of mine running through my mind during the show and the urge to get up there was tugging gently on my sleeve.

I know I belong up there. I know I have it in me to be a great comedian. I know that starting off in comedy could make my whole world change.

But still, I am scared. It’s like I am on the high dive board and looking down at the water way, way down there.

In my head, I know I can jump.

But tell that to my vertigo and/or that terrible sucking feeling in the pit of my stomach and the base of my balls, like I swallowed a black hole.

So now picture me creeping very, very slowly forward on the high diving board. Getting closer and closer to the edge without actually committing to jumping at all.

Eventually, I will run out of room to go forward, and I will either have to admit I don’t have the nerve… or jump.

Well, might as well jump.

---

Was pondering advice I would give to your artists, writers, and other creatives.

I would definitely tell them “waiting till I am in the mood” to do their art is bullshit. Toxic, soul-destroying bullshit. You will never feel like it. Why? Because it will always be work. It will always take effort. It will always be unattractive compared to all the fun, easy, less scary stuff the internet puts at our fingertips.

So fuck waiting till you are “inspired”, or till you are “ready”, or till you “have a moment” or any of that galloping horseshit.

The only way to do it is to do it. Sounds like a tautology but you’d be amazed at how much creative potential is wasted by people who are positive they will do these things “some day” even though they are doing absolutely fuck all to make them happen.

It’s like they want to skip the hard part and go straight to the bit where they have done their art without having to do their art.

Also, do not expect instant gratification from what you make. Odds are, it will be terrible. That’s because the only way to get good anything is to keep doing it, and you haven’t done much of it yet.

Do not judge your future output by the quality of your current work.

It doesn’t work that way. The world is not divided into people with a magical thing called “talent”, for whom art is easy right from the get-go, and everyone else, who is “no good” at it and should just stop trying.

The real divider is persistence and persistence is a choice. You can choose to give up when things get hard, you can choose to keep going in order to see what comes next.

Lastly, the most important thing for you to remember is that if you are serious about your art, you will work on it. Not play at it. Not fool around with it. Not indulge in it,

WORK. As in, doing things you do not feel like doing. Your art is no longer a hobby, a game, a diversion, or a pastime.

It is work.

And it always will be.

Make peace with that and you might make it.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Probably unnecessary warning : what I am about to talk about might end up seeming like I am criticizing some people by implication. That’s not my intention, and I am not looking to hurt anyone, so if I offend you, know it is not intended and I am very sorry.

Alright, with that act of neurosis complete, let’s talk about attitude, karma, and how what we get back from others is often that which we are putting out without knowing it.

I just got back from my weekly bandage change. The good news is that the wound has almost completely closed and once it does it will only be two weeks after that before I can stop wearing the goddamned bandage and be able to take normal showers again.

Sponge baths suck!

In the process of getting said errand done, I had to ask the receptionist at the health clinic to call me a cab. She seemed all too happy to do so.

When I asked her, she said “Of course!” and then told me she’d take care of it and that I could just go wait at the back door.

I smiled and thanked her then went to wait.

As I was waiting, I got to thinking about the interaction I had just had with the receptionist. For me, that was a normal, pleasant interaction.

But it struck me that other people have a very different experience of the world, and I wondered why. The only answer I could think of was “attitude”, or maybe “vibe”.

I am a pleasant, polite person. That’s what I put out into the world. It’s both who I am and how I choose to be, and I take a fair bit of pride in it.

And that’s what I get back from the world, for the most part. I am pleasant and considerate and understanding, and so are the people I interact with. The fact that my interactions are pleasant helps keep me pleasant.

Someone else might not know they are putting out a harsh or difficult vibe, and find people are being harsh or difficult with them. This naturally puts them in a bad mood, and the cycle continues.

What makes it worse is that most people have a hard time seeing their own part in how others react to them,

The fact is that because people don’t want to take the “blame” for their problems, and so they cast themselves as innocent victims of the malfeasance of others and end up continuing negative patterns rather than focusing on the one part of it they can control, which is their own reactions.

So my advice, I suppose, is that you try to learn to put out a positive vibe.

If you can do so, either the people in your life will respond in kind or you can at least take comfort in knowing you are not the problem and, of course, enjoy the resulting feeling of smug moral superiority.

More after the break.

---

Wow, the previous section is exactly 500 words.

Wish I could say I did it on purpose.

Wait, no I don’t. That would be sad.

Anyhow, where was I? Oh right, attitude, your experience of life, karma, etc.

The theoretical underpinnings of my thoughts on this matterbegan when I first tried to figure out why, despite many years in customer service, I had no “asshole customer” stories to share.

One factor : all my service was in a small town in the Maritimes, and maybe people are a lot calmer in a sleepy little town than the big city.

Not as much population pressure.

But surely my home town had its fair share of cranky fussy demanding people, surly drunks, and raging arseholes, and yet I never seemed to encounter them.

The only logical explanation was that the missing factor was me. People who might well be difficult around others were less so around me, and whatever surliness they had left just rolled off my back due to my gentle and resilient nature.

It helps that I lack much of a competitive spirit, especially in terms of social competition. I am fairly blind to social competition, and it means that I have no problem letting the other person have the upper hand.

Odds are, I won’t even notice.

I have my own way of operating, and it does not require anyone to defer to me or treat me like I am special or anything.

Honestly, most of the time I am just happy to help.

And that’s another factor in my different customer service experience. My life has been such that I have not felt helpful, useful, or competent a lot.

I’m brilliant but also a spaz.

So when I was working customer service, I was one happy camper, because to me the job was a series of people who needed things from me that I was perfectly capable of doing for them, and that made me feel competent and needed and all the other good things I had not had a lot of in my life.

I can honestly say I loved doing customer service.

Isn’t that weird?

Honestly, I should look into getting some kind of customer service job just to pay the bills in my current life. Turnover is massive in customer service. Surely somewhere out there is desperate enough to hire someone who hasn’t worked in 25 years.

Preferably somewhere small. I would make a poor corporate drone. I would be much happier at a small business where I can have a personal connection with my bosses.

But I suppose working in a 7-11 or the like would do. Mainly, I don’t want to be a tiny cog in a huge big box type store.

Plus I can’t stay on my feet for any extended period of time, which is a problem in some highly unenlightened workplaces.

But whatever. It’s just a thought. No rush, and no reason to hold back either.

It would be a good way to get out of the doldrums and get my life started.

All I have to do is pull the trigger.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

One of the things I have realized about myself recently is that I really like to show off.

Not in a competive, superiority proving, “I’m awesome and you suck!” way. That whole way of thinking is alien to me.

But I really like to shine. I inherently and instinctively perform for people. I am always putting on a show.

So in that sense, I am never truly “myself”. I am always a performance of myself. That performance is not false and it’s not a role I play or a mask I wear.

Well, not entirely, anyhow.

It all flows directly from who I am. And I can’t imagine being any other way. I could never be “just some guy”. I could never blend in. I could never be happy staying in the background. I can’t stand to be ignored.

And yet, if I am wrapped up in a task, I really want to be left the fuck alone.

I’m a complicated guy.

But assuming I am interacting with others, I want to shine, shine, shine. I want people to think I am brilliant and funny and amazing. I want them to think how lucky they are to have had an encounter with me. I want them to leave saying “Wow, what a guy!”.

And if they happen to fall in love with me a little, all the better.

Now I know this sounds like raving egomania, and in some ways it is. Certainly from the point of view of someone a lot more modest than I, it must seem like all of those “wants” add up to a greedy, needy, slightly loony egomania.

And it’s certainly not something that one would normally associate with social anxiety.

Maybe the real problem with my social anxiety is that I put so much pressure on myself, though. i try way too hard and then beat myself up when I don’t meet my outrageously unrealistic ego standards.

That’s what comes out of acting out of extreme need.

Maybe I would be a lot better off if I was content to be “just some guy”. Just another person, just like everyone else. It’s a question I have asked myself many times.

Could I lead an entirely ordinary life? And would that make me happy?

I honestly can’t see how. For better and for worse, I am a strange and extremely entity, and I would have to cut off or violently suppress so much of myself in order to do it that I can’t see how that could possibly do anything but slaughter my soul.

I just have to be weird lil ol me. That’s been a constant in my life. I have been ferociously and uncompromisingly myself for as long as I can remember, and there is no point in wishing I was any other sort of person.

I’m not like them Never have been and never will be.

As with everything else, if I want a version of my life that works, I am going to have to invent it myself.

Sucks to be unique sometimes.

More after the break.

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I don’t like Mondays

Obligatory music link :

It’s cute how they made such a big deal about one little school shooting back then,

The reason I don’t like Mondays is that I keep getting so damned sleepy on them.

I have slept so much today, and my body and brain still want more. When I am finished with my blogging, odds are I will go right back to sleep and it’s bumming me out.

Then again, I have felt bummed out in general today anyway. I feel dark and bitter and angry. Like I want to grab the world by the shoulders and give it a shake, and maybe smack it around a little, just to show it who’s boss.

Like seriously. Fuck you, world. Fuck you. Fuck you till you die of it,.

Just back the fuck off

I have nuclear level sarcasm and I am not afraid to use it.

As usual (lately), this dark mood started with yet another failed attempt to masturbate. Once that energy is summoned and built up, failure to release takes a surprisingly large toll on a man’s psyche, and drags his mood into the gutter.

So ladies, if you have ever wondered why your man gets so cranky if you get him riled up then say no, trust me, it’s because he feels terrible, both mentally and physicall.

I know I don’t have to tell that to my fellow fags. They’re men too. They get it.

My one saving grace today is that at least I have been listening to my body when it tells me it wants more sleep instead of trying to fight it out of sheer reflexive stubbornness.

I may not like sleeping the day away, but if my body and brain need it, they can have it.

I really want to start taking my health more seriously.

Maybe even pretend it’s the health of someone I love.

Otherwise, though, it’s been a bummer. I feel very shadowy right now. Like I want to lurk in the shadows of an alleyway and watch the goings on of those who live in the the warmth and the light while feeling nothing but disbelief, envy, and contempt.

How can they be so unaware of the darkness that lurks around them at all times, waiting for an opportunity to ruin their lives forever?

What is the magic that seems to keep them safe?

What do they have that I do not?

Why the hell can’t I be happy like them.

Something is very broken in me, that’s clear. I’m trying so hard to fix it, but it’s hard to fix broken tools with broken tools.

And those are the only tools I got.

Somewhere in the galaxy, a toxic rain falls, with shame, on a reedy plain.

It’s made of my pain.

And I will be here again.

I will talk to you nuice people again tomorrow.

I’ve been reading Tales of Power by Carlos Castaneda, and wow.

It’s a book my friend Luke sent me, and I am so glad, because I have never read anything like it before and it is really opening my mind to new horizons.

Its combination of spirituality and philosophy presented as fictional dialogues really appeals to me, and I find myself astonished by the power of the form.

The main character’s discussions with don Juan are just what I need right now because they contain a view of reality that goes beyond reason without disregarding it.

The points are too powerful, deep, and clear for me to simply disregard as the sort of new age babble that the weak minded cling to because it gives them the feeling of deep thinking without the effort of doing the thinking themselves.

This is a long way from mere verbal flower arranging. This shit has substance.

And yet, it is not bounded by reason. It’s a much larger view of the world than that.

And as someone currently struggling to free his soul from an overactive superego’s “rational” rules and restrictions, I really appreciate that.

You cannot live life by reason alone. Trust me, I have tried it, and it sucks. It’s easy for a big brain type like myself to fall into the trap of thinking that they have conquered the rule with their reason and that there’s nothing in the world except for that which their powers of reason can understand, predict, and control.

It is a species of delusion to which the average person is not prone. On some level, they understand that there is a lot about the world they do not and cannot understand and in growing up, they find a way to deal with it.

But not me. I’m too “smart” for that. Lacking a frame of reference for my kind of gifts, I can only see them through the eyes of others, and from the point of view of the culture in which I was raised, I see and understand so much more than the average person that it seems like I must “know everything”.

The book is helping me build a better frame of reference than that. One that is not from the point of view of a person on the ground looking up at the mountaintop on which I have no real choice but to live.

Instead, it is a point of view that takes in the whole mountain, and everything around it.

In less mystical words, it’s a view that takes in all of life, not just that part of it that my powerful powers of reason can access and control.

So much of life takes place outside the bright white light of my mental macroscope. And for too long, I have been too scared of the dark to venture outside that circle of light.

But that’s where the love is. That’s where life is.

And most of all, I want to live. I want to feel truly alive.

The truth is out there.

And it will take a lot more than my mind to find it.

More after the break.

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Essentially, what I need is a stronger spirit.

I have this enormous overdevelped mind, but nowhere near the strength of spirit or will to wield it properly.

Like I’ve said before (I think), I am like the guy at the gym who spends all his time building up his muscles but never does his cardio.

So I have all this power but not the strength needed in order to drive it.

That’s one of the reasons I fear my own power so much. It seems so much bigger than me. It’s not even really about fear of harming others by misusing it, although that it also a factor in the fear.

No, it’s simpler and more primal than that. It’s the fear of the thing itself. It’s a fear tinged with awe, like the fear one might feel at the sight of some mighty and enormous predator looming over you.

And I know that sounds kind of weird, to be afraid of one’s own power. I mean, it’s my power. It responds only to my will. It can’t do anything I do not tell it to do. Right?

Yes and no. Yes, it’s my power. But no, it doesn’t only respond to my conscious control. It also responds to all my subconscious bullshit too.

Both the good, healthy parts of me and the bad, diseased parts of me have my mighty mental muscle to call upon in their struggle.

I’ve armed both sides.

I want to unleash my power. I want to let it run wild and free like a horse let loose for the first time after a long winter. I want to feel is flow and leap and sing, like a river. I want to feel the joy of living so strongly that I scream at the top of my lungs just to keep it from overwhelming me completely.

All that stands in my way is that lump of mindless fear blocking the exit of my cave. Which means that once that lump is gone, I will be free.

And to nine bloody hells with my option paralysis. The idea is not to do the “right” thing it’s to do something. To exit the passive observer stage of my life and get to a place where I am a part of things instead of watching life pass me by.

Who am I kidding? I don’t even watch.

I spend my days with my back turn against reality, burying myself in my video games in order to keep myself occupied while my life rots to pieces around me.

And like all addictions, it is its own deadly medication, because if I start feeling bad about spending all my time playing video games, I can always play video games in order to forget about it for a while.

That’s a lot easier than actually grappling with the problem. Fun too.

But sooner or later it has to stop. I have to get a grip on myself and use some of this power I have accumulated to make my life meet all of my needs, not just the ones that I can do on my own.

Sooner or later, I will have to face my biggest problem : other people.

And that’s a whole ball of wax unto itself.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

So my libido seems to be on the rise lately.

I am rather enjoying it. The libido is, of course, pure id, and hence it is full of life force and heat, and so it feels rather good to my frozen soul to have its heat around.

Whatever speeds the melting of the glacier around my heart is fine by me.

Makes me feel more alive and vital, too, and god knows I need all of THAT I can get. My little world is so cold and dark most of the time. The world can seem very far away and my connection to it can seem very tenuous indeed.

In service to my snake’s awakening, I am going to post some NSFW but completely legal images from my porn library.

Wouldn’t that be the most awesome library ever? Especially if it was super official. Like the Library of Congress, but for porn.

Some stuffed shirt type at the front desk: “Excuse me, but do you have Lesbians Rimmed By Ten Inch Tongues #45?”

“Yes, but it’s out right now. Want All Girl Anal Party #17 instead?”

Anyhow. Back to my own actual porn. Furry porn, of course.

Check out Extra Lucky Pierre in the final panel.

Oh my my. Can’t imagine I would last long like that.

I wish I had a man. Obviously. I want sex and cuddles and awesome conversation. If I had all of those from one man, I would marry the heck out of that dude.

I have the king sized bed! Now I just need the boys.

Anyone got a really good Groupon for male prostitutes? And do they accept 7-11 reward points in lieu of cash?

Of course, I could probably find a ‘hookup’ on any number of apps. Like Growlr, which is like Grindr (gay hookup app) but for bears and those who love us.

But I dunno. In a weird way I would prefer prostitutes. That way the whole thing is very very clearly just about recreational sex with no possibility of romance, and I could relax and just have fun exploring my sexuality.

Hookups are, ironically, too impersonal.

Gee Fru, are you into piss?

Yup. The other too. But it’s all theoretical. I have no idea what would happen if I tried it out in the real world.

Might get nauseous, might have the best fucking night of my life.

And the best night of fucking in my life.

I’m positive I would piss for, with, on, or into another man. The idea of someone drinking straight from my hose turns me on immensely.

And I would at least try theirs. The idea is very sexy to me but ideas do not have a flavour or an odour. But I would give it a shot.

As for the other, that will likely remain theoretical forever, unless it’s to provide for another. That I would do.

More after the break.

Great, now I’m really thirsty.

---

Well I wasn’t going to write till I had my ordered-in food for the night. But Skip the Dishes managed to completely fail at delivering my food, so now I have to order again.

Fuck it. I am ordering from the Kingwood Pub. They have never let me down.

Now where was I…. oh right, porn!

How could I have forgotten? Porn is so awesome!

Then again, not all of my images are about sex.

Some are about cuddles!

Those who know me online in my Fruvous fursona know that I am super cuddly and love snuggling up and being cuddly close more than damn near anything else.

So I love images like these. They make me feel warm and good. They make me feel like the world is not such a cold and dark place after all.

I think sometimes people get sick of my always wanting to cuddle. I admit it’s out of control in a very mild and adorable way.

Patient readers will remember my “thirsty dog” post. Well my constant craving for love and affection is definitely my thirsty dog. It’s a burning insatiable need that I can’t imagine not being there and it’s paradoxical because I desperately want to be close to people but also can’t stand to be close to them because I get scared.

Nobody ever said a person’s psyche had to make sense, I suppose.

My therapist said anxiety comes from inner conflict. Hmmm.

That is one lucky bear. Not only does he have awesome friends, clearly they all come… with benefits. So to speak.

There’s a party in my mouth and everyone’s coming!

Okay, I am done now.

You can tell that black bear is a bottom because his dream is just unlimited cocks and cum as far as the eye can see.

I can dig it. I;m flexible, but like I said before, deep down I am more bottom than top. I dream of a cock buffet just like this one, with more than enough manhood present to keep both ends stuffed all night long.

My food won’t be here until 9:46 pm. Fuck. I am tempted to just cancel everything and eat what I already have.

But I am irrationally stubborn and refuse to give up until I have MADE Skip the Dishes do the thing they should have done in the first place!

I am not crazy.

Well, not in the kooky in the coconut sense anyhow.

One more pic.

I love the candidness of the pose. Like we just happened to have caught him taking his tighty whities on or off.

I vote “off”. But I might be biased.

This conclused tonight’s sampling of the wide and wonderful world of gay furry porn. Or at least, the stuff I can post without getting in trouble.

Sucks to not be able to share all of me in the world but oppression.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

I am the usual sort of miserable right now.

More specifically, I am groggy and disoriented and all the rest because I just woke up and my sleep apnea is still untreated.

It’s on the list of what is probably going to kill me before I am fifty.

The signs are all there. I am always getting weird random pains in random parts of my body, but primarily my hands and feet. That’s a sure sign that my diabetes is killing the fuck out of my nervous system.

Just yesterday, I got this searing pain on the side of my thumb. And when I say “searing”, I am not describing the intensity of the pain.

I mean it literally felt like the area in question had been burned. Like someone had touched it with a lit cigarette.

I swore a bunch.

So yeah. Diabetic neuropathy, y’all.

It’s fucking with my circulation too. I’ve felt my veins clog and then unclog. That will give me a heart attack or a stroke or something similar eventually.

Plus there’s my untreated umbilical hernia, the untreated oozing spot on my scalp, the untreated damage to my knees, the wound on my leg that’s still oozing, oh and, of course, I’m still insane.

And that’s just a sampling of my problems. I am sure there’s a lot more.

And none of it is motivating me to do anything about it. Motivation dies in me before it ever has a chance to move me. The messages are there somewhere, but they are kept from my emotional core by the thick wall of ice around my heart.

Might as will be throwing pebbles at a battleship.

Most of the time, when we talk about depression killing people, it’s by suicide.

But it can kill you in so many ways, including, in my case, by making you unable to take care of yourself properly.

All of my health issues are treatable.

Few of them are actually being treated, and even then, only partly.

The only future I can see for myself is one where I end up in the hospital again and all the responsibility for my care goes to them and I once again have a life where I just have to go where I am told and do what I am told to do.

Would be nice to be relieved of the responsibilty for myself for a while. It’s a burden I clearly am not healthy enough to bear.

And I don’t really hate myself for that. I used to, but not any more. Now it just seems tragic. Here I am, brain the size of a planet, and massively gifted, and it doesn’t matter because I am too sick to do anything with it and am going to die young.

And all I can do is keep running down the clock playing video games and waiting for the Big Thing to happen that will either kill me or cripple me somehow.

Maybe then I will wake up and live.

Until then, I will sleepwalk to my grave.

More after the break.

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Been pondering innocence again.

Quick recap : I pooh-poohed the idea of innocence for a long time, telling myself it was just another word for ignorance and ignorance is nothing to value or preserve.

Sour grapes, all the way. Deep down I knew I had lost mine to a stranger’s cock when I was four years old, and tried to convince myself that I hadn’t lost anything valuable.

There is an element of tragic yet noble futility in that. Very Gallic.

I felt the same way about nostalgia for a long time. I figured that something that might cause me to think my rotten childhood were the best times of my life was suspect at best and a form of lunacy at worst.

And you know what? I still don’t miss my childhood. Not one bit. I have zero nostalgia for it. It was miserable and I spent most of it terrified, scared, or lonely.

Sometimes all three.

Nostagia, however, cannot be restrained by mere reason. So I have experience the emotion, sometimes with overwhelming force.

It just hasn’t changed my mind about those times. I see something from my childhood and I feel nostagia, but it doesn’t make me think things were better then.

Because they weren’t. And nothing can change that. I was an extremely unhappy child in total social isolation, with no friends, no support from the teachers, no support or attention at home either, and only TV and reading to keep me company.

It is an extremely bad way to grow up. I missed so many of the things that are supposed to spark emotional and social growth.

As a result, my development was highly unbalanced. It all went into my intellect. I fed my mind almost constantly, and hence, it grew to gargantuan size.

So big it frightens me, to be honest. So much power. So much responsibility.

But everything else is puny and underdeveloped. I am like one of those aliens with the huge brain and only vestigial bodies from science fiction.

Only without the badass mental superpowers.

That I know of.

No wonder I feel so weak sometimes. I have this enormous mind to support without having the spiritual and emotional resources I need to do so,.

No wonder it’s all I can do to make it through the day most of the time.

And it’s so frustrating. I want off this sad little island I call my “life”. I could be doing amazing things in the world and truly actualizing the fuck out of myself in the process if I was not trapped on this little island by my mental illness.

Somewhere in me, not too far from the surface, is an ambitious yet practical dreamer ready to take on the world and use his charm, his talent, and his big ol brain to conquer it and make it recognize just what a superb being he is.

All he wants is to escape this island prison of mine.

And he’s very tired of waiting.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.