- Continue with Hinge
- Continue “shoring” on Seeking Arrangement. Pay girls to rub my back and fuck them when my muscles make them horny. One starts liking me.
- Quit job, walk around, talk to people
- Increase online fame, get more women DMing me until one of them actually lives in Los Angeles instead of just wanting my brilliant attention from 3,000 miles away
- Switch jobs, work at place with women such as a retail environment
- Meet a woman in Al-Anon- impossible, they’re all proud of how they stay married to a guy who beats them
- Be pen pals with one of these stupid egirls and manipulate them into moving in with me
- Commit mass shooting, get a girl who mails me panties in for conjugal visits once she turns of legal age
- Seduce Sophie the checkout girl who works at the grocery store 36 hours a week and goes to Pasadena City College
- Go to Pasadena City College. Take either creative writing classes or Spanish or something, meet girls there- that’s a good one.
- Start hanging out with people that are friends with attractive women. Abandon current friends who consort with old fat ugly people.
- Go to Africa. Last place without Tinder. Impregnate 1400 women like that French guy. Less time pressure than with Asia where the girls can all read and are turning American, they’ll never be tamed.
- Go to France, get book translated into French, become famous in France, marry Vietnamese who’s not “hot” but still gets you hard like Houellebecq
- Pick up desperate AA newcomers in withdrawal- how the fuck do people do this. Only ugly women in AA. No one gets sober when guys give them free coke.
- Join a gang
- Get famous by becoming white nationalist e-personality. Become subject of FBI investigation, attract secret dark money from weird rich people. Somehow use it to have sex.
- Get famous by becoming Reaganite right wing e-personality. Date one of the heavily styled women who get rich complaining their Patreon is censored. Conservative scam woman who should be doing traffic and weather on small market TV, reading the farm report while five old guys in Indiana jerk off at 5AM- get one of those. Get a Filipina one that looks like Michelle Malkin. Could I lay pipe in actual Michelle Malkin. What would that take. Is there such a thing as think tank pussy.
- Get famous by becoming “reformed PUA.” TV appearances. Or become racist then ”reformed racist” like that Chris Picciolini guy. Get on MSNBC. Sell a line of antiracism skin care supplements or whateverthefuck these people do- the problem is I’ve never been racist. To start hating Jews now would be apres-garde.
- Get woman addicted to drugs
- Go to a therapist, resolve my issues with the concept that I’m unworthy of love because I’m not rich. Not famous, not handsome. Don’t have a big dick and tight compact symmetrical nuts, will probably die of cancer leaving her to raise a child alone. I fuck whores. I’m undesirable because I’ve fucked 300 women and some of them were fat. Even though I get a full STD panel twice a year and never have STDs, some part of her always thinks I have AIDS. That’s what you think when you fuck someone unattractive. Go to a therapist to get over this concept that I’m a “tweener” man. Can’t provide alpha fucks or beta bucks. No longer confident don’t give a fuck exciting cocaine addicted fake Bukowski. But don’t own a home and can’t pay for college. Middle aged middle class down the middle gray man unappealing to anybody. I’m the mid budget adult drama that nobody in America wants to see. They want $20,000 Paranormal Activity or $300 million Avengers 10 with the big purple roided out bottom wearing cosmic rainbow bracelets- how is the world so gay.
- Go to a witch and cast a spell on Sophie the 19 year old grocery bagger. Also cast a spell to have her bulk up and do squats and deadlifts to expand her ass, maybe grow a top lip.
- Go to church, hold hands with wheatfield tier white woman. But they’re all fucking the Ovation guitar playing preacher who murmurs healing words over her.
- Go gay. Date the Thai transsexual I was messaging on OKCupid. Just saw her in a small penis humiliation JOI video aimed at Asians on Xhamster. She’d had facial feminization surgery. I love big white cock- your little Asian dick could never make me cum. Eat his white cum out of my pussy. How much did she get paid for this. Could I be gay. Less shy now about porn with 14 inch black hogs spewing loads like they’ve eaten a dump truck of celery and not jacked off since 1989. But it’s more about fertility. My other porn, a pregnant redhead faking contractions. Pregnancy JOI. Impregnate me, you impregnated me, this other guy impregnated me, I want n*gger cum to impregnate me, etc. etc. No men, I want a kid.
- Trust God and let it go. Surrender to His plan.
- Strap explosive vest to self. Surrender to oblivion.
- Learn to code, create sex robot
- Learn to code CRISPR, genetically engineer sentient sex monkey
- Get plastic surgery to have my nose straightened, shrunk. Ears pinned back, scrotum trimmed, penis fattened. Quads plumped, calves inflated, baby hands expanded, chin- my chin is fine. Spider veins removed from eyeballs. Hairline resculpted so it’s less like Count Chocula. Femurs shattered and pinned apart until an extra inch or two brings me to six foot three. By the time I recover the requirement will be six foot five. Maybe use neck rings like Karen tribeswomen. Take roids and lift two hours a day until I’m built like He-Man, then what. Still not meeting women.
- Purchase Guatemalan or Filipina infant. Raise in Kim Jong Un type propaganda environment where I’m a living authoritarian god, begin sex at LEGAL AGE.
- Squirrel GF- date a squirrel
- Go back to Palawan Philippines and date Joy, the character from my book who entraps the guy into working for ISIS. In fact she’s a nice hot chick who works in a hotel and would date me. The problem is these Filipina girls get pregnant with some local’s baby if you turn your back for a week.
- Find a Mexican. 66% of people in my congressional district are Hispanic. The median household income is $46,583. I make 120 grand and have 6 inches on every Mexican man. Still, they drunk drive and kill people. Can’t compete with that. Gangbangers and their uncle are plowing these girls since they’re 12 and they’re all SJW too.
- Find astrology poem writing prostitute on Seeking Arrangement. Make her fall in love with me. I keep trying this. They either want a black guy or a guy with more money. The “tweener” problem again. Also the one I tried dating was an idiot. I love and care for her, but unmistakably an idiot. Don’t read this if it’s about you.
- Travel to visit Twitter DM whores- Jesus Christ, will I ever be that desperate
- Go to Sex Addicts Anonyous- no, it’s all guys
- SSRI Bumble women- never. I’d sooner date a man.
- Stop trying. Die alone. Become white bearded skeleton. House crushed in landslide. River forms over eons. Mineral rich silt fossilizes bones. Recovered by future reptilian species. Placed in museum. They have that kind of autistic woman they do occasional BBC specials on who marries a bridge, who’s in love with a fence, etc. She sees my fossil. Becomes my GF.
- The problem is I have to stop trying. Chasing women goes nowhere. The women I loved chased me. Made the first move. I worked with them or they just liked my OKCupid. When I initiated it always failed. I felt nothing. Even if I dated them for years. They have to find me. So what do I do. Aging infertile women like to use this bird metaphor. To explain why the man must do all the work. The male bird does his display, his dance. He demonstrates his resources, they say. His health, his peacock tail, his bower of twigs. He makes himself extra puffy and colorful. Risks getting noticed and eaten so he can then work his whole life to build the nest for his woman, bring her insects et cetera. This man-bird you should aspire to is tough, fearless, beautiful. Works diligently to give her free house and money. They say it’s natural that the male should display but fuckstick I’m out here doing my display. It’s pretty fucking good and no women are looking. The fucking female bird still has to fly around and look at dudes and pick one, stupid. What the fuck does the female bird do all day. The female bird still has an instinct to find a mate. Bitch I’m lifting weights and busting my ass, cooking steaks writing books getting famous stacking cash I’m using fucking bespoke moisturizer under my eyes and being careful with my haircut what the fuck more do you need. I’m doing my god damn dance. But also you have to enjoy it, they say. You have to stop trying. You have to do it instinctually without expecting anything. Without being mad at them for being fat brown camouflaged blobs who see it as their life’s purpose to fucking sit there waiting for me to shake my bright plumage in front of panthers to impress you, you whore, while you date- not even some other guy- NO ONE. While you date NO ONE. GET FUCKED.
- Find the girl who was counting endangered Macaws in the rain forest. Who I was too scared to talk to. Go back to the rain forest. Wait a hundred years for another hot woman interested in macaws. The problem is she needs a guy who knows even more about macaws. An 8 inch dick ornithologist.
- Do a podcast- no, fuck off
- Date one of the age appropriate women who come up to me twice a year after AA meetings. Keep in mind I’m 43, this is casting your seed on the pitiless stones. Never Asian either and they want to be asked out, clearly. Yet they don’t say hey you’re a handsome genius please fuck my ass. If one of them says this maybe I’ll take it.
- Do I leave LA. Move to Texas. If I go there, I better be dating Angela. And she fucking hates me. She’d murder me.
- Do I leave LA and go impregnate a young woman in the Philippines- it rains too much
- Track down Tricia my 23 year old ex with a gigantic ass who Cuba Gooding Junior tried to fuck. Did I maximize my time with her ass. Would like to bob for apples in her filthy summer ass crack now. Why can’t I find her on Facebook- she changed her fucking name. She’s married. Jesus Christ.
- Dig tiger pit with some horseshit women like as bait- stupid apps, SSRIs, I don’t even know what girls like. Horse posters. Dogs. Just get a dog and have it be my GF. Oh shit a dog. Fuck a dog. Dog pussy.
- Give up. Guys like me are who they should draft into wars. Not 18 year olds but me. The French Foreign Legion, something. Imagine if they said hey Tacos you can stop paying bills. Waiting on hold to haggle with wailing Sephardim over the cost of a garage door opener. You can stop having the to do item of getting your car bumper reattached to your 2014 CPO Subaru Legacy be the last thing tethering you to the Earth. Boat to the Seychelles. Machine gun some ooga booga types. Take a teenage wife and eat bush pig while banging her and her cousins. If I don’t pray this morning there’s a non-negligible chance that I will- not kill people. But heft up the decorative conference room brass plant pot pedestals. Smash them through windows that don’t open. Ninja star my Microsoft Surface Pro and my twin Acer 36” 1080p touchscreen monitors and my HP combination printer/ copier/ fax- launch all these tools of productivity four floors down onto the sidewalk by the neighboring medical center onto child cancer victims and the wheelchairbound elderly. If I don’t pray this will happen. If I do pray I’ll still feel it every morning. But I’ll just keep eating it like a good soldier. Just keep eating it and eating it until they find something in my colonoscopy.
- Imaginary GF. Jumanji-like scenario where I read a magic book about a GF, and she appears
- Get into the furry community- no, again, this shit is all dudes. Every subculture is all dudes. The laundromat is all dudes. What do women do all day.
- Get better clothes
- What I’m gonna do is go pray. Make peace with God. And if I got a girl I wouldn’t want her. But I want a girl to not want. Going to a therapist who helps people give up their dreams. $225 for the hour. Her office is her $2 million house. Dead dreams here like oil to the Saudis. I want to not want it. Need to get over something but don’t know what. Something about how a girl has to be 8/10 genius 20 years younger than me to be 1% more interesting than Nintendo. Let it go. Let her find you. It’ll happen. It’ll happen real soon.
delicioustacos 
There is Tinder in many parts of Africa, if the power stays on long enough to charge your phone.
Everyone’s talking about getting a girlfriend lately, like it’s 1998 and there are still girlfriends. Perhaps it’s because my peer group is turning 40 and getting sick of the hussle. Decided the same thing and went the Pinay GF option myself, but I’m moving soon for work. Also, she’s 30. By the time I’m 60 she’ll be 50. Her ex was 67.
I love how you said like it’s 1998, I was not in my find a gf age by that time. Maybe we never knew what a gf was to begin with, I don’t know what’s what anymore.
SSRI Bumble girls 29-43 are a nightmare. Do Spanish class and visit Colombia that shit is next level, my god the women there are proof there may actually be a god. Seriously, take Spanish, take it seriously , and visit Colombia. To bad you quit coke, then you would move there.
Are you serious about Texas at all? Might be a good move for you. Definitely one of my favorite states, and arguably the best-looking women in the US.
51. Become a trans woman. Can’t find a girlfriend? Become your own girlfriend. Start crossdressing to develop and nurture an autogynephilic paraphilia. Put on a wig and makeup, gaze into a mirror, and say “Would you fuck me? I’d fuck me. I’d fuck me hard.” Embrace Erotic Target Identity Inversion.
What do women do all day, indeed. I actually thought hard about this pretty recently. There are (statistically speaking of course) only 3 things: muh career, muh fitness, muh travel. (They have to eat? They get groceries or food delivered, or if they go out somewhere they are with their hen gaggle and shuffled comfortably away from men like me).
In order:
1) Career. Nothing more can be said about this than what is already on delicioustacos.com
2) Fitness. Seems like majority of girls go to classes of some kind, frequently in oddball places that don’t seem to tailor their marketing to the general public. Even if you find these places and get good enough at the weird stretchy power cardio or whatever they’re doing, there’s a catch: you’re spending the whole time being a follower and getting bossed around! Like a rock concert, the girls are attracted to the frontman, not fan or class participant #244. Solution: start a fitness cult yourself (but watch out for #metoo).
I’ve actually had an idea or two here but I don’t have the maniac ambition required to pull it off. #51 on the list should be “obtain psychiatric disorder that puts you in a state of hypomania at virtually all times”.
3) Travel. Muh travel has become the weirdest thing. Who has ever cared about how many countries’ flags are in someone’s Bumble profile? It would be one thing if someone was really into a particular culture, or had some hobby or business that required traveling, but this is something else.
Whatever. My take is that big part of travel now is wasteful status ritual which shows you have a level of money time & social skills. But I get it, life is dreary and anomic in the US for everybody and there’s still the “escape” aspect. Basically, if one wants to have sex with an American girl, it seems that one must go to the same places in the same foreign countries she goes to and shake his plumage there. Consult Instagram for details, I suppose.
When I was single I found that yoga classes could work OK if you look good with your shirt off and don’t give off a vibe that you’re there to meet women. That was around ten years ago though.
52. Become shitty DJ or avant-garde (i.e. low effort) electronic musician
53. Actual Mexican? That needs visa, hates nacos more than average Trump voter.
54. Order dozens of sketchy nootropics and research chemicals from China and Russia in the hopes that one of them will improve psychological issues
55. Induce visions with characters from my dreams in the hopes that they will guide me to improving psychological issues
56. Start dealing drugs
58. Time machine
59. Roblox? There was some meme about some guy getting a gf on Roblox.
52. Become shitty DJ or avant-garde i.e. low-effort electronic musician
53. Actual Mexican? That needs visa, hates nacos more than average Trump voter
54. Order dozens of sketchy nootropics and research chemicals from China and Russia in the hopes that one of them will improve psychological issues
55. Induce visions with characters from dreams in the hopes that the characters will improve psychological issues
56. Start dealing drugs
57. Build rural compound, actively market to city girls
58. Time machine
59. Roblox? There was some meme about some guy getting a gf on Roblox.
Finally, A New Post. Finally, Some Good News.
Pls impregnate me
Why do you still hold out hope for some bullshit deity. If it does exist and was as awesome as the sheep believe, this world, and your individual life, wouldn’t be awash with so much misery and frustration. And if I’m wrong in my feelings and get sent to hell, well… probably more hot ass down there than heaven anyway.
There such a thing as think tank pussy.
“I must not coom. Cooming is the mind-killer. Cooming is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my horniness. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the boner has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”
Dune approved.
> Get into the furry community- no, again, this shit is all dudes. Every subculture is all dudes. The laundromat is all dudes. What do women do all day.
Pole dancing class. It will literally destroy your elbows, but I went to one and it was one guy (me) and 12 girls in their 20s, only 2 of whom were fat. And 50% of them were Asian in a town where only 10% of the population is Asian.
thing is, yeah you’ll be in a class with 99% women, but it looks gay as fuck if you’re a man and do something feminine like pole dancing or yoga:
uphill battle. that person in the video ended up with a hapa-looking older woman with greying hair. keep in mind there were other very hot women who attended the same pole-dancing studio as him, if you check other vids in that channel. point is, being in situations where you’re surrounded by hot girls doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll end up in a healthy relationship with one of them. you might bang a few of them, but then again you can do that by just going to bars/clubs.
Hey Tacos just wrote a short prose piece and I wanted to know what you think of it
https://triflessphoramassacre.wordpress.com/2019/11/21/scene-1-laughing-gas/
Just be less of a pussy.
Christ.
Is it a white Ovation
Hey tacos, I hate to be “that guy” but your recent defense of “judaism” on your blog and twitter has got me thinking one thing: I am glad I did not purchase your books. Very dumb move on your part to continue down the bluepill path. But hey, to each their own. Good luck to you. You’ll need it.
Eat shiet “Anony-fucking-mous”, the jews control the world and there’s nothing you can do about it. Mazel Tov!
No Such Thing As Broken Ch. 24 Tour Diary
While they were breaking down, Adam was feeling horny for a fight. Especially combative.
“What makes you feel you can use women as props in your art?”
“Excuse me?”
“I hate people like you. I can tell your weak.
You wouldn’t have anything if you weren’t cannibalizing someone else.”
“I don’t know what the fuck your issue is, man but I’m not certain you have enough information on who I am to be making that kind of assessment.”
I stared at him. He was wrapping a cord around his hands and he paused, looked at it. Then drove the top of the microphone into my face. I was jarred. And teary eyed. I looked at him for a moment. Raised my fist and brought it peacefully next to my face. “I don’t want to do this man, this isn’t why I lift.” And I drove it thru his face–the impact wasn’t painful until the end, when an awareness came over me, the punch felt weak initially but like I’d bitten a brick after. Started the motion from my hips thrust thru, my fist was a whip clenched at the end, released on follow thru. Everything rational that I needed to sustain/contain: we haven’t even played yet. I was tired and vulnerable, I was especially. Anger is fuel for a lot of positive action in my life. I store it up–and I find myself my most industrious. It preserves you in times of emergency.
The thing about anger, maybe I’ve talked about this already, is that it’s a secondary emotion. The primary/instinctual response is fear. The other intellectual/psychological response is that it’s a guttural retaliation to a perceived injustice. What was my logic. I got as far as “you hit me, I hit you back.” Be unrelenting. See I used to get called a faggot all the time in my village. To my face. From the windows of raised trucks. Suburban kids with gold teeth and fitted caps w/ Monster Energy Drink® embroidered into them, pitching full water bottles or empty cans of Rockstar® at underweight uptight white kids dressed to the nines. I’ve always been poor but Ima dress like a yuppie, never let them know who you are. I’m always dressed in Sunday’s best. Represent yourself the best as possible. No matter how hardworking or pissed off you are look well adjusted and wealthy. The anonymity of the normie. But still. I’m 6’ tall. I’m beautiful. I’m a noticeable beauty. A character. A pretty boy is always begging to get his ass beat. Men hate the pretty boy. His face is a mark of permanent character. They must deface him as a faggot. Here’s my issue with ‘faggot’…oppositely girls can’t keep their hands off of him. Happily and without permission, without qualms, grabbing his dick, groping his toned ass if the circle won’t hurt her for it. Then as degrading as faggot. Here’s my issue with ‘faggot:’ faggot itself doesn’t offend me. Nothing offends me. What’s the point? See, faggot doesn’t bother me–what you say is unimportant. It’s the underlying intent. The expression. The desire to degrad, dominate, and isolate. To control and alienate. To invite abuse from the dominant culture’s milieu. To create a bloodlust in the normies for a rail thin white kid. Chum for the sharks. The ape to ape.
And it works…you become the “faggot.” and the village feels good to join in on the violence. Paint the picture for them give them just enough information and they’ll fill in the blanks. It’s tempting to turn the other cheek. Because this is what God teaches us. This is the right thing to do. The Martin Luther King thing to do. Because ignoring it is the emotionally mature thing to do. But how often does emotional maturity let people get away with murder socially? Emotional maturity allows people to get away with murder. I react. I am always willing to turn the knife and I’ve found joy in it. I am always willing to fight back. To spit at the redneck in a raised truck. To flip off the redneck. To spit on his windshield. To be passive aggressive and say, “Yeah?! I’m a huge fuckin’ faggot, you want me to suck yr dick?” And the burning hatred of my voice in the black hot night of streetlights, crosswalks, junkies as an audience to my heated response. I’m an animal after all. What about my face makes the world feel it can treat me however it would like and that my only response is to be more compliant. Fear is too sensible. So I see a redneck in Adam and I drive my fist thru his face. And I think, “We’re so fucked. We haven’t even played yet. My bands still the new guy here. I’m so tired. It’s only our second show.” That’s when he drove the wrapped microphone cord back into my teeth. I was so worried when my jaw locked together my weak teeth were going to be knocked out.
“Listen you fucking ingrate!” I screamed. My face was a snake’s–neck extended, jaw wide open–I pressed my forehead into his forehead. “You have no idea who the fuck I am. It’s not about art anymore. You want to sublimate some kind of fucked up personal shit? You gutless fuckin’ scrub.” I stared into his eyes. My heart had me shaking for a moment–then I felt the shame and anger transfer–Adam had never heard someone get that loud that close to him, ever. We demonstrate–and that’s the most terrifying form of protest. Our emotions, our egos, they’re valid but is that what we’re responding to? It feels authentic to fight back. It feels like a religious experience. As if liberating the legions of us just less likely to act out, he swung again. I caught his fist in my palm and managed him into my other fist swinging. Then something happened in that moment. Most rageaholics make the excuse that they ‘lose control’ when angry but we know that isn’t true. Wife beaters and baseball players making the same excuse. For me–I found myself enlightened. God gave me a halo. I felt the release of my anger as an angelic pleasure–and an erotic jolt of joy shot thru me from the center of my chest, a light in my heart and swelling into my mouth. A bubble of water and pressure and lucid cool-heat. I moved into the body and out of my own. I felt flesh press against itself, as if my spirit wished to escape my body and began to strike–blow after blow—unending the way his face felt breathing under my fist, my arms sped, cracking like whips–the strike of a snake with each blow, the fangs of my knuckles draining him, poisoning him to weakness, and he collapsed, how savage I looked, red–each muscle tensed, flexed, stone and alive somehow, bent over Adam’s weak body like a fanged demon, my cradled jaw slack–I have the face of a brilliant stoner–the face of a poet–the face of an actor–this is my great drama.
My bones dropped into his flesh and it began to feel safe to start screaming. I heard a cymbal drop–set up stopped and his band gathered. Four thin white bodies–the show could hear me over the weak soundtrack, the DJ playing something safe like Ty Segall. Like a garage band. I love Ty Segall but not tonight. [Imaginary Person Plays.*] Shouting in the background. The prohibited kind. Shouts to stop–or something. I can’t hear–the way a car sounds driving past your windows, a single occupied honk, like a parents gesture, a weak concern. Then the shouting got louder and they leaped in, Ratchet, and tried pulling me off of Adam but they couldn’t. I think I could hear him crying, muffled by spit, which he was choking on…finally the fists rained down, someone grabbed me by my collar and start slamming me into the wall, a wooden pillar/banister by the private entrance of the stage, became the prop for a three man assault against me.
I start to feel my head hanging loosely, while being rung up against the splintering wooden walls, the splinters entering my back, my chest being pound in by a mob of horny strangers–too pretty to be so willing to join in and where was my band? My tribe was somewhere enjoying themselves. Being dragged up the walls like laundry up a washboard–my face was swollen my arms started to go limp despite the face I had them prying at the big, oversized, hands like an ape’s–but I would have been glad to see an ape. It would be an honor to be mauled by wild animals. ~A. Severino Tweets. Instead, I was a human and they were a man, even tho I didn’t want to see it, because all I thought of was myself and how–the image of yourself being torn apart by a gang, by a band–sometimes you’re just on the wrong side of it–you’re the ashtray–submit to the wood of the hairline trigger–a blonde started kneeing me which is when I saw in the corner of my eye as my head dragged, dropped limp from the weak. Thank God Austin lifts. His arms came shooting thru three huge heads, and started prying the bodies apart, enough strength to force the other hand in, and jostled, and pushed the bodies apart–I couldn’t imagine Austin this engaged, his voice blew over the crowd, who was suddenly quiet, and the music was louder, it was a Tame Impala song: adding insult to injury,
His hair it was bleached blonde, it had these…highlights, a pushback, every hair in it’s perfect place even as it fell apart, face reddening and I dropped to the hardwood limp. Such an idiot. They stopped beating me, I don’t know how he did it, I just watched the bodies readjust, he showed up and was panting, Adam, it’s like a dance the way bodies slowly separate as they disassemble from a beating. I found myself being pulled up by Zach, what an honest and beautiful face, a gentleness and somehow still non judgemental of me. There’s so much love in the way he reached out his hand, beaten, I felt stupid like a little kid for my decision and so much relies on me as the mouthpiece. Adam would have lost. I thought. A meaningless thought now. Our hands met, interlocking: he grabbed my wrist, upway of my of my arm and I grasped back, once someone told me, ‘this is the strongest hold you can have on someone.’ I wasn’t crying but my eyes were watering, in anger. In shame. I hate to lose. I just let my scene down. I just let my band down. How the fuck are we supposed to play like this? Security showed up too late looking around, they didn’t ask anyone questions, it had all already happened. That’s why I like dive bar bouncers better. They’re not some scrawny clueless drone who collects a fuckin’ paycheck. Or some fat out of shape airhead with no agency. Dive bar bouncers workout. They stop fights. They talk to the parties involved and don’t kick anyone out off the bat. They want to know what happened. A certain acceptance of violence. So then security’s just sort of ‘floating’ around looking at each other shrugging their without shrugging their shoulders–that stupid fucking walk, with no conviction. Like ducks shifting weight.
“It’s okay.” Zach Thiessen said. I guess it was all on my face, I felt soft. Everything was throbbing. I started nervously picking a splinter out of my back, a way of distracting me from the dignity and honesty of having stood up for myself. I was now pathetic…and focused on something. I pinched the piece of wood, which didn’t hurt until sliding out of my flesh. Zach looked away at the scene–no one was punished–and Ratchet packed up their shit, passed me by on their way out of the venue, I hope they aren’t arrogant enough to stay but that’s not how it works. Life doesn’t fucking work like that. You have to eat it. In the face of it. Uptight had no idea anything happened, they were…
No one knows what’s going on till it’s too late. Christine walks in hips-first thru the door, which is uncrowded. Everyone’s at the bar now, a clear path. I clench my teeth and walk towards the bar to grab a glass of ice water shivering now. A black girl with a shaved head and a bullring smiled at me. I thought about trying to smile back but…it would have been the same as using her body. A refuge from my storm of emotions. A sexual sublimation that fails us both. I don’t approach. Instead I scowl at her. An entire 16oz glass of water in one solid swallow. I dropped the glass and it rolled down the bar. People who use words like ‘appropriate’ and ‘rape culture’ glared at me. I’m sick of seeing so much black. I’m sick of seeing so many tattoos. I’m sick of the secret society. I’m sick of the fake poverty. I wanted a clean girl with a short haircut and a Patagonia® sweater at the appropriate weight to fall on and cry into. Nowhere to be seen. A Hawaiian shirt. A polo. Some rejection of society’s bullshit rejection of society. I deserved it but what the fuck? What the fuck do I do with all this responsibility? For my emotions. For my failure. There’s a spot in my ribs sawing at the part of me that keeps my heart safe from my desire to rip it apart. I’m not a huge fan of self hatred. Self pity. The need for sympathy. Use yr head. It’s all your fault. Nothing will ever change if you don’t. Another person stared at me for too long. He had a beard and surprise surprise, a bullring.
I tilted my head down, pushed it forward, shot my eyes directly up from under my eyebrows and bowed to them, my hand extended out to my side, a magician at the end of his trick, here’s my trick you fucking faggot and I spit, sustaining eye contact the entire time. Drawing one long glob out of the gap in my front teeth which oozed out slowly. He turned away and into his girlfriend like she was his momma. I was jealous. Uptight started playing.
I want to kill myself when I read your writing. Please push me over the edge
Four proven ways to get girlfriend:
1. be an athlete
2. be a musician
3. be wealthy
4. be a photographer….look up steven wetherbee for example 😉
(not in any particular order)