A Caution for Young Individual of Irreproachably Modest Character on Their First Day on the Internet

Do not go outside. It's raining bloggers out there. Gooey balls of confidence, almost an excessive dose of denatonium benzoate. They occassionally hug each other, a socially slimy and sticky bunch as they are.

But if in your boiling blood of youth enthusiasm you know you are destined to be the next budding social network superstar, then by all means go out and exhibit your inner spiritual pubic hair all the way beyond retardation. Be shameless. And be commercial.

The Pleasure of Common Bodily Dischargement

Due to the repellent nature of the subject, many tend to refrain from the public articulation on the matter of common bodily dischargement. This is unfortunate since it is both a fascinating object of curiosity and undeniably an endless source of personal diversion. Even the ejection of certain bodily fluid have long been considered to be the ultimate pleasure achievable, even the only chance for mortal to taste the teaser of kingdom come.

I mean folks, it feels good to piss, shit, fuck, and all that. Not to mention nose picking and earwax removal after a long bike ride in a freezing sand storm.

Now, that is the meaning of life, if there ever was one.

Solution to the World's Problem

Let us all just go out and piss together in sync.
Men standing hand in hand and all be brothers,
women squatting face to face and all be sisters,
in piss.

Why,
let everybody jump up and down and run around pissing.
It will be beyond fun.

Suicide

I don't know you but today you jumped to your violent death right in front of my eyes. It was a cloudy moment in the generally sunny day and I was going to trade some CDs in my favorite part of Shinjuku. I went there a lot and thanks to you I really don't feel like going there again.

You are not a bird, you know, you can't fly. In case you haven't heard you poor fuck, if you jump from 8th floor or so, you are going to die and it's not going to be a pretty sight to behold. But I reckon that you were not that eager to fly anyway for you were not exactly flapping your arms or something. You were just falling there solemnly posing like a doll. Funny, the moment I saw you falling, I really thought that you were a doll. A very heavy doll indeed for the next split second you made a thumping sound as if a very heavy sack of sand falling from 8th floor or something on the sidewalk. Funny, the moment I heard the sound, I really thought you were a sack of sand.

It was crowded. I wonder if you hit somebody down there. It was messy and all I did was turn away and ran like a coward I am, trembling and all. Should I thank you for not hitting me? I was so going that way. It is the exact building that I was going to. There is a CD trader there on the 4th floor. Good price and all. Maybe I should thank you. Maybe you saw me from afar and decided to jump ten meters or so before I got there. Well, thank you very fucking much for your kind consideration.

I am sorry, I couldn't make out your face clearly though. Were you grinning at me? I hope not but I can't help imagining that you were. It was your own fault you jumped on the shadowy side of the building. But I saw you all right. You were wearing brownish sort of jacket. You looked normal. You didn't have to look normal, you know. You were going to die anyway, there was no need for you to wear jacket even that it was a cold day. You could jump naked, you know. Naked.

You were taller than average. Were you about 175? You might be in your 30s, but I could be wrong. It was blurry. And you fell faster than I thought a man should fall. Really. I thought a man should fall slower than that. Neither did I see you down there in your full glory because thanks to my cowardly instinct I turned away just in time.

And boy, I never knew a man would make that much thumping noise. It really was a simple big thud, but thanks to your nice falling pose a millisecond before now I can hear your bones cracking and your flesh splatting.

Here you are as I saw you for a second or so.



For the last six hours or so I got myself a free replay of one second movie of you falling right in front of me. To tell you the truth, I don't know what to feel. I really don't. Maybe I am just dramatizing things as always. Honestly, other than watching the replays, I spent time wondering what I should say about this. Words come and words go. Maybe I don't need to say anything. After all there are over 30,000 suicides a year in Japan. At that rate I wonder if a suicide virgin such as myself is a minority. At one point or the other I even thought that I was privileged to witness the ultimate performance of Japanese dramatic art.

Maybe I was privileged. Thank you so very fucking much. But I wouldn't mind trading the one second experience for another long boring day any day. Even one long boring month, I don't know.

The Importance of Being Me

Of all the beings in the present world, I am obviously blessed with such a high degree of importance. Being such of an exquisite importance I am indeed be liable as to perpetuate my excellent existence to eternity if possible at all.

Nonetheless, as tempting as it might be, in no way I am at liberty to disclose such delicate matter to anybody. A careless public display of importance will only reveal the deplorable fact that those who are not me are of such an inferior level of importance.

Indeed, I have no other option but to let those who are not me to keep themselves imagining that they are at the same or even higher degree of importance. Evidently those who are not me are so fond of being of such an importance, that I am quite happy to maintain their somewhat grandeur illusion, and let them spend their otherwise lame existence obliviously ignorant of my superior importance.

Being unknowingly in the lesser degree of importance, those who are not me will be more easily submit themselves to the, essentially, perpetuation of my being in the highest of importance.

As I indicate beforehand, I am not going to admit all these talk of me being of such importance. Not in a blog. Not even to my very own important self.

What Is So Delicious About How Things Are

The problem with the world is definition. The problem with most people is the urge to define what is wrong and what is right to make things manageable. The problem with positive people is that they think that being negative is wrong. The problem with negative people is that they think that being positive is wrong.

It would be nice if we all can be depressively happy, hilariously bitter, proudly silly, right in being wrong, wrong in being right.I wouldn't mind at all the perfect ironic state of deliciously contradictive bliss, so that I can say to the genetically controlled chemicals running amok inside my head: 'Ha! I beat the crap out of you!'

The biggest problem of all is: there is no problem at all. We all just need to solve something.

Ha!

Masturbation

I like to write. Oooh.
I love to read what I wrote. Oooh.
Me and my crap.
Oooh. I think they are cute.

People too like to write. Oooh.
Everybody's a writer now. Oooh.
People too love to read what they wrote. Oooh.
People and their crap.
Oooh. I think they are the cutest thing.

Oooh. All these writings and readings.
I can't stand it anymore. Ooh.
These are all just too damn cute.

Useless orgasmic delights.

Life too is so.