THE WRITER MUST EAT -> patreon.com/trn1ty <-

| \    |   | blah!
|\ | `\|\  | the rantings and ravings
|/ |(_|| | * of a depraved lunatic

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2024-02-06

Read Herogasm (2010).
Read Highland Laddie (2011).

psychosecurity - relating to organizational or personal security against
                 psychic tampering (mind control & hypnosis, cognitoviruses
                 & memetics, ethereal processes, et cetera)

I want to proteinmax and get lots of muscle so I taste really good when I'm
killed and eaten. I'm at 7.5lbs on biceps curls but I think I might be close to
being able to move up to 10, though I think my form is wrong. I want a gym
membership.

Typing on the HHKB is still pure sex all these moons later.

I can't think of much to say, my life is a bit mundane lately.

Watching someone text and drive at the same time.

I got a sweater so now I can dress like Andy from The Coffin of Andy and
Leyley. Now I just need my hair dyed black. I swore that would be one of the
first things I'd do upon arriving to this new land but money ain't for nothing
and the chicks sure as hell ain't free.

serotonin softly stole
by postage acid-dipped and sold
lab made a buck
are your eyes wide enough
that you can see life unfold?

I think ESP is going to be an actual security issue within the next hundred
years but I wouldn't bet on it. I do think fringe ether stuff like that is
possible.

1346

"Wow, you're really tense."

Read Butcher, Baker, Candlestickmaker (2011).
Read Hanging Not Punishment Enough (1701).
Read The GNU Manifesto (2008).
Read Evil Maid Just Got Angrier (2013).
Read PRINCE - Modern Password Guessing Algorithm (2014).
Read Measuring Real-World Innacuracies and Biases in Modeling Password
	Guessability (2015).

Yeah I'm really fucking tense. I thought I heard something getting out of the
shower so I drew my (3 inch - pathetic) knife and cleared the corridor kitchen
and living room just like old times. Nothing of course. C'est ne rien.

I want so bad to fucking kill someone. Anyone. I miss the feeling of quickening
pulse beating against my palms and then its slowing and cessation. I come from
a land where gazelles grazed freely in the pairie, unaware their world could
end.

My memories of my former land blur together into one montage of death and life
and love and hell. I remember beating the shit out of- that's not believeable,
I don't believe it. I remember hotboxing my manager's car, habitually. Smoking
everyone else's weed. Being owed a thousand dollars by someone who tried to
strand me in Manhattan. Getting a PS2, giving it to people I thought I liked,
realizing. Getting a Gamecube, loving it, realizing I didn't have anyone with
which to play it, selling it for much less than for which I bought it. Getting
a Wii when I was very young, treasuring it, letting it collect dust as I moved
on to handheld pastures, finding it again, using ponyhax to homebrew it,
treasuring it, sending it along to someone I still think is cool.

I dislike most people I used to know, especially in hindsight. I can't believe
the things I did, nor can anyone else. I tried my damndest to not get any scars
because when I was done what I was doing I wanted to be Done - not marked by my
past. I wore a big, heavy jacket, and big, heavy pants, and big, heavy boots,
and they all got beat to shit really quickly but kept me alright in them. All I
have now are marks from old roadrash and a couple dozen burns on my arms from
work and play. And how did you get in so much trouble if you don't have any
scars...

Cryptanalysts have the upper hand.

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