Serious question, why has no one locked the freemasons in their lodge when all the windows are bricked up? Have they planned for that and have a secret escape?
2024-01-01 at 1:51 AM UTC
in
How is your guy's New Year's
Rn I'm drinking some gross nitro cocktail and listening to spice girls.
2024-01-01 at 1:50 AM UTC
in
How is your guy's New Year's
I was making suicide plans but cheered up when a girl wished me happy new years. Idk if it's because she's guessed it's me that subscribed to her Twitch tho... I've decided to discard everyone who didn't wish me HNY. Rn I'm helping a stranger with their despair. I'm thinking about NYE in Auschwitz when rats were eating the children.
2023-12-30 at 7:37 AM UTC
in
To Sophie
I want to make a Polybius-type game with the goal of cucking men of the middle East. That's on the bucket list.
2023-12-30 at 4:08 AM UTC
in
To Sophie
I'm going to go into the mountains now, to hone my astral projection skills so I can find Sophie. I'll be back one day.
2023-12-30 at 3:42 AM UTC
in
To Sophie
You'll always be in the dark if you're sexist.
2023-12-30 at 2:09 AM UTC
in
To Sophie
The only way out now might be to kill his friend.
Idk why so many girls I know are regressing. Like my ex gf. When she was 22 she made fun of 28 year olds wearing sailor moon stuff, now she's wearing pink hair extensions and my melody bracelets. Another friend has a Twitch account where she pretends to be a child and she's 28. My mum had me at 27 and she didn't own things like a dolls house then. Is this something to do with the times or is it just more socially acceptable to regress now? I remember when I was 14 I went out with my sister to a nightclub. I said she should draw a heart under her eye and she said no, that people would make fun of her. But now that's the norm, so is it really that it's just socially acceptable now?
Being anorexic, honestly I haven't worried about binging, because a few binges still won't make me fat. If I was a normal weight then I'd have to worry about binging.
Anorexia is strange. Like it never once occurred to me that I looked anorexic to people even though I knew I was. I know I look good as a healthy weight but it was the control I was addicted to. The fear that if I got to 9 stone I could slip and get fat, to lose control of my weight. Ik I look good as a healthy weight but if I slipped I could become fat easily. Guys seem to like me when I'm this skinny anyway and I can't wear crop tops unless I'm underweight, so I've just resigned to getting dermal fillers in my face and staying skinny.
I'm trying to relax because it's Christmas but still feel pressured to get on with things so don't really know what to do rn. I finished a Junji Ito book, am going to smoke now and listen to a spring meadow hypnosis, maybe clean the bathroom.
Do you think he had a crush on the one in the red t-shirt?
Sometimes I just want to get a fake orange spray tan and bleach my hair blonde and wear Hollister and A&F and American Eagle and Uggs exclusively and wear frosted lipgloss and make ducklips faces and care about Jersey Shore and Gossip Girl. because apparently “nice” dudes hate when girls do that because it’s “fake”, it’s “slutty”, it’s overdone/tasteless/”dumb” but fuck you. Everything is fake. All persona is persona including what you’ve been conditioned to perceive as a “neutral”/”inoffensive” appearance.
Because I don’t want your “respect”, and I certainly don’t need your advice on how to “respect” a body. I don’t need your fake concern about skin cancer and burns on my scalp when my body doesn’t even feel like mine sometimes. When breast cancer becomes selling sex to teenage boys who wouldn’t tell you about the lump in your breast they felt while they were feeling you up. Your concern for my body will always be mediocre until it is mine to create/destroy/create, and even then it wouldn’t even matter because you do not inhabit this flesh, or these organs, or this mucus/snot/bile/blood/spit/fluid/fluid/fluid. So stop trying to crawl into my bed of skin, asshole. Stop trying to own my ugliness. you can’t have it. Too bad, so sad.
I don’t want you to wait before I leave the room to talk about how gross I am. I want my skin to be greasy and leave big orange stains on every man who touches me and who I choose to touch. I want my hair to make you puke. I want my clothes to remind you of how capitalism lives in tube tops and booty shorts just as well as it does in jeans and a t-shirt or whatever the fuck makes you feel like the girl you wanna fuck is real “authentic”, real “down-to-earth” or whatever. I want to remind you that every picture is posed. No expression can be pure when you can see the camera and the camera can see you. I want you to know that I spent three goddamn hours straightening my hair and putting on my eyeliner over and over again and removing it over and over again so there’s light grey rings under my eyes and when I reapplied my lipgloss for the 20th time tonight in the backseat of my best friend’s car it hit a pothole so it’s smudging against my lipliner and I’m still not “sexy” to your pretentious John Lennon art school ass. My labor is MINE, and it’s ugly because God loves ugly. I wasn’t put on this earth to give you a hard on. I want to scream and drink and grind to shitty club music because I want to scare the living shit out of you. I want you to go home and post a Facebook update about how “our generation is doomed” and get twenty likes from all your pretentious John Lennon art school friends and all your fedora-wearing self-entitled pasty sarcastic bros and all your Edgewatch xvx police officers and all your “nice guy” indie rock microbrew date rapists who all secretly wish they could make a man want to remove himself from this earth just by getting a spray tan.
I don’t want you to want to fuck me, BRO. I want you to have to look at me. I want to be the bright orange flesh you don’t want to fuck but you also can’t ignore. I want you to be very, very scared of what is going to come out of my mouth. I want you to cringe at the sound of my voice because it is both too feminine and too loud. your disgust makes me even louder, even more powerful. and it’s so funny to me, so funny to me, because you know and I know we are both just pretending we aren’t aware that deep down you so badly wish you could be a monster, too.
