26 January 2019, 7:15am; You know it, I know it. Today is the colonisation of Terra Australis or Terra Nullius… depending on who you’re asking. Aye, cogita! You are right. Thanks for your support…
See… this is the stuff that just FREAKS ME THE FUCK OUT! Like… I don’t ‘hear voices’ or anything. I also don’t see things that are not really there. I mean… I have experienced that before, those are called hallucinations. But I do not hallucinate, nor do I partake in any substances that may cause hallucinations.
Hahaha, like fuck dude. My whole life is just…. me… doing this shit. I tend to cause more hallucinations than I actually experience. LOLOLOLTROLAOLOLLALALA
SMURFIN TIME. LA LA L AL ALALALA LA LALA LALA.
Hmm… Let’s see what memes I’ve already uploaded (and not fucking deleted?!) here on my wordpress media library… (I’m am totes mcgoats just going to click and stuff. and I will pick a random picture and then that can be our shared vision)
Okay, the time is 7:22am, and I am wearing Carmen Sandiego! Because I can’t remember who said it… but someone… one of you guys (Jack? Potatohead? Robertok? sAndreas? Umm… frikken SOMEBODY?!) said something about A HAT. OMG like… totally a hat. I only wear figurative hats because I have a super dooper giant boxhead, with corners and everything… (feels like horns, baby. but… let’s not shave my head. I like pretending to be Natalie Portman, but I’m not taking her place in V for Vendetta. I am NOT EVE. There is no V in my name, but V is part of me… slightly skewed… For I might appear to be a vigilante, but I only just… fucking… I turn up in a lot of weird places, okay?
I hope no allegiances…. because I am selfish and wily and a mighty fine fricknuckle-sandwich press & maker. Really. I make really good sandwiches. I never worked at subway, but their ‘subs’ are pathetic. They do not deserve to call themselves sandwich artists.
I wear a shit ton of red (holy frick, haha, I am wearing a red dress right now! I’ll take a pic and show you the print, and put it at the end, don’t want to lose my marbles on this high-speed thoughtrain), have olive/tan skin, wear a lot of red (but my wardrobe does consist of other colours too, like black, navy, pink, orange or grey clothes), I love shoes (even if Odin destroyed a ton of them. Fucking dog…) and… I’m a woman. A femme-cis-male? Like… I’m not trans, or gender dysmorphic, nor any of those new species dysmorphic thingys?? I am a woman, a female, a lady, a girl. whatever.
I AM PRIVILEGED TO have the genitals and reproductive system which correspond to the gender identity I was assigned at my birth. WOOT! WHOOT! I’m a wise owl.. but I’m not just looking one way, I always check both sides before crossing the street. And then friggen everyone just has to make some fucking joke or whatever shizknittle about my motivations?!
IN FABLE, I UNLOCKED THE CHICKEN KICKER ACHIEVEMENT! I had no idea that was a think? I just do whatever for funsies. BTW it is also possible to pretend all the NPC’s have an orgy with you. I did that in that game, too. Just wanted to see what would happen if I did whatever stuff. It’s funny. For me. Infuriating for anyone who takes any of their stuff too seriously.
Umm… yeah… shit… 582 words! FA-CARK! Rooster just laid an egg, and it’s rolling down my mountainside… which side will be impacted by the fucking avalanche of rocks and stuff (skulls, they’re a bunch of skulls and other bones) at the foot of my mountain?! WATCH OUT! I CAN SEE THEM ALL COMING FOR YOU!.
Hahahaha. Oh shit… I can’t even make jokes anymore because legit… They are associated with people’s NAMES and… uuuugggghhhh. I need to explain the names… the origins…. fudge it.
Look, I said I was going to cut open the Pink Princess, but I’m in a good mood right now… I dunno.
Oh yeah, so. the title of this blog post? Explaining it? It’s about me clicking “publish” on a bunch of posts that I privatised. SO… yeah. I’ll leave them up for a little while before I probably take them down again. Turn it into a fucking book or something.
I dunno. I guess in the next post I write today, I’ll make a list of links? I totally republished them to demonstrate that I’ve said it all before… My… predictions.. My… song choices… My words… Like… FOR FLIPSAKE. We’ve done this over and over and over again.
I like dancing with you, I really do. But the songs have changed, and the dance style changes… and so does the mood or ambiance of the theatre… We swap roles and partners and characters and costumes all the time.
Like.. Right now. I’m Kalliope. The Chief Muse Official. And I chose to go by this name because people love Greek and Roman history. Seem to think they hold the secrets to the universe because they talked and wrote down a whole heap of shit.
That’s the problem with this world:
- They over value the scientists.
- They deify the artists.
- All while undermining the labourers.
- And crucify anyone who fucking tries to call them out on their fucking bullshit.
I’m not crucified. I’m nailed to my own cross, so I don’t need Jzdogies. Not into incest, he’s my brother from another mother type of thing. EW. YUCK. NO.
In another lifetime, in another world, we were twins. There were the 3 of us. Daddy, me, and my bro. The chicky-girl protected on both sides by the men in her life. LOL Maybe. I mean, these were the times of mythological legend and shit. We could’ve been fucking if that’s your fantasy? But that’s your fantasy, not my memory. Please remember that.
But when being flanked by my family wasn’t the first time I’d visited. The time before that, when I came alone, you mother fuckers burned me. And now that I have awoken my mimer man, I am doing well to ensure that I fucking forget-you-not.
I tie this red string to my finger, to remind me, to come back for you (is it to cut you? or to tie you? or untie you?)
I am remaining here at this domain. Return again so I may taunt you another time.
Oh hyenas, it is 8:10 am. Kookaburras, blow your horns. I wanna hear them scream, maybe in joy or rage, but the masses should be calling for me. Calling my name. Looking for me. Today is colonoscopy day.
Cooee. (echo echo ee ee ee ee)
Caw! Struth, almighty. Would ya look at that muddled up mixy up bunny? (Fuck you, I’m not a bunny. Even if I’m pink. Mock my colour again and I will cryptozoomorphicalise into a FUCKING BUNYIP AND EAT / KILL THE SHIT OUT OF YOU.)
Bunnies are but one of my symbols. They represent only a part of me.
8:14 in the morning.