The Scenery of Tranquil Places

The phrase 'so it goes' was originally taken from the novel Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut. It was often used to signify the moment when a character in the novel dies, or when a kind of unfortunate moment happened. To me, it means we have to move on no matter what kind of worst thing might happen.

Although in this peculiar scenery, the usage was kind of distorted as a catchphrase for disturbing events included within the chapters.

Okay, delving into further detail, I'll include some of the reference. On the general idea, if you're familiar with Penguinz0 or Cr1tikal, a youtuber who's famous for his hilarious gameplay commentary, you will notice that I often referenced his jokes at many occasions because it's really funny. I don't really know where did I get those other absurdist ideas from, as I mostly just try mixing and matching it according to what I see fit.

Yeah, there's no logic at all I know. I didn't really even have any concept while starting out this story lol

For the further thing, I'll just put things out naturally as I go. Most of these references are the subtle ones mostly included to keep the story going without any significant meaning, but here it goes:

Scenery 1-1 : the first usage of the phrase 'so it goes', and it's really often used. I want the chapter to have a kind of dark and sinister imagery to sting the readers, yet at the same time able to deliver some fun within it, some absurdly illogical fun. If you also read the next chapters, you will notice that I had dropped the dark tone to some extent because I thought that writing this chapter was so depressing, I don't really want to write too much of this thing.

The chapter also introduces a quirky character, King Oozil. Truthfully, I didn't really place the character in some important role of anything, but after receiving a feedback from a certain reader, I might consider doing more parts including her in the future.

Scenery 1-2 : the reference to 'shemale elephant' was taken from my other story, Fuk Logic. This particular writing project also utilized the similar format of randomness that were established by Fuk Logic, only more disorganized without the concept of many narrators, multi-layered words, and a story that seems to loosely connected with each other. I just mostly want things to proceed naturally without thinking about how to connect the concepts in order.

Also that Roses are Red, Violets are Blue thingy.

Scenery 1-3 : about this chapter, it's actually the last one from my original set of stories. After I had written this, the story went into disarray and I had thought of completely abandoning it entirely, yet after some moments of thinking and pondering, I decided to keep the first three chapters and move onto the next one just like nothing much ever happened. The chapters that were supposed to be written, but were removed was the ones that I thought to be really depressing and renders me vulnerable – I didn't really like talking too much about it sorry.

Scenery 1-4 : it's the first chapter written in the new format, a bit short, with some experiments on wording. I just went mix and match with that one, and it turns out to be something pretty fun to write about.

Scenery 1-5 : there's a phrase 'we stick it to the places where sun doesn't shine', it's actually taken from the lyrics part of 'Firewater Burn' by Bloodhound Gang. The lyrics went like this:

I'm hung like planet Pluto hard to see with the naked eye
But if I crash into Uranus I will stick it where the sun don't shine.

So there you go, nothing special about it.

Scenery 1-6 : nothing much to add. Though just to say, I haven't played MMORPG's at all, not even once. I still thought of the concept as something really fun for a story, and that's the reason why I want to include it. A bit of normality and the slice of life addition just to spice things up.

Scenery 1-7 : well...how should I say, the ninja reference was taken from a certain manga all of you people had already known. I'd rather not mention the name here lol, sorry.

Scenery 1-8 : ain't no mountain high enough is a phrase I kind of remember from a gospel song. I wrote it while I was away, the first chapter I wrote while I was away from my place, secluded from the activities that I love, without any decent internet connection. The poem signifies the presence of seeking a secure refuge, I think. With the remainder of these being something completely random I had thought up on a whim.

Scenery 1-9 : the inspiration from this chapter actually comes while I was reading the novel Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami. The concept of alienation and the somewhat antisocial protagonist, along with many things else, had inspired me to write this chaper. If you had noticed, it's the first time I had added a narrator with a name, which is Derby. I probably will write him more in the future parts.

Scenery 1-10 to Scenery 1-12 : nothing much, just something random.

Scenery 1-13 : this chapter is dedicated to the lengthy journey I made from my relatives' place back to my own place. I don't really know what to make of it, I just poured down my feelings.

Scenery 1-14 : playing with spaces, that's just it.

Scenery 1-15 : it's actually written far earlier than all of the chapters here, far before this story thread was even made. I originally wrote it just as a method of writing practice, but really I find this one to be quite appopriate to include in this thread lol.

Scenery 1-16 : the first part was also written as a form of writing practice, and I added some bits just to make it a bit stacked, so it goes.

It was raining. Today, yesterday, and tomorrow – it will always be raining. There was once a day where the dirt patio around my backyard wasn't completely drenched. It was Wednesday. Back then, when it rained, all of the kids came down and cried; they couldn't play. It was the world where there's no Monday, the Wednesday was the moment where the rain in town stops pouring until the midnight lapses. Even so, the children were still afraid to come out towards the open to play.

There was no Monday to hate, though the adults are unhappy because they didn't have that accursed day in order to hurl all of their complaints. There's still one day on the place of that day which takes place after Sunday. It was proclaimed as King Oozil's day, to replace the past Monday. Of course, it was national holiday every week. Every citizen in this town, except the hermaphrodites, or those suffering from a mental dementia from watching too much silly porno – all of them were obliged to watch King Oozil masturbate for at least one hour.

Of course, King Oozil was a really cute hermaphrodite, and she's so hot that it was pretty much impossible to watch her doing that thing for about an hour without muttering something unpleasant about some random rainbows that popped under the cherry tree after being ran over by a woodchuck riding a trampoline. The children was reported to have grown portable titties on their eyes for the whole day. The elderly man had that sudden craving for artificial genitalia shaped like a genitalia. What about the others? At least all of us had known that it involves something known as 'fucking'.

When will the rain finally let out? Nobody knows for sure. My fertilizer won't be usable, unless it's mostly water insoluble. Until that fated time comes, I'll probably just wallow within my own angst by smacking my own face with portable titties made from cow udders after being subjected to genetic reprogramming. There was one time, when instead of usual droplets of water trickling, there was only nipples raining – only nipples. I wonder what the nipple god would think about this?

Maybe it wasn't right to ask the opinion of nipple god, it's probably the titty god's own doing by cutting of his billion nipples and throwing it down at his personal toilet bowl made from the skin of his own one hundred thousand gozillion titties. Once again, we had harvested the plentiful of nipples that fell down our homes; we could use it for a year's worth of food – it tasted like frankfurter sausage, not bad.

The size, by itself, was pretty much like a slicing of sausage, and it's also indomitably sterile, safe for eating, and absolutely healthy.

You can wait forevermore. Hope won't come, the one that outlast the moment where the rain still fell. I had given up all of the dreams of having a dry dirt patio, the ones where the kids could put sand into it. From these playground, sand castles of their imaginations shall be sculpted. But yeah, it's all no more. Still, on Wednesday, there's no one brave enough to come out – everybody was born a coward.

It was not until one day during the rain.

It was Tuesday.

The youngest boy amongst us couldn't hold the desire not to play outside any further.

He built the shelter overnight atop this dirt patio, so he could finally play at Wednesday.

In the end, he died from pneumonia at Wednesday. Such is Wednesday's fate.

No, we won't hold a funeral for him, nor cry for his foolish behavior. We all know that we should act like a coward for the rest of their lives. The person as foolish as that, was not worthy at all of being called a hero. It's too cliched for every person that died whilst doing something incredibly foolish, to be labeled as one. We would only have the generation of idiots who thought that being suicidal was cool.

Forget about it, these kind of people should be shunned and labeled as a criminal who corrupted our youth. Though in the end, we're all cowards. None of us had raised a word, not even me. Each one of us cried during the funeral. Whilst I cried because I just ate a wasabi, the boy beside me cried because he masturbated too much towards the thought of seeing that died boy's corpse.

The priest cried because he was too depressed of his job, sending people to heaven when he was busy thinking of committing the most glorious suicide. Yes I asked them all, the reason why all of them cried. It's just the moment where its appropriate for us to cry, according to the laws of society, that we actually cried. Not a single one of us felt remorse, because he's basically an illegitimate child from our father, whose mother was someone of ill-repute. Our own noble mother actually cried on the outside because 'he' was so happy on the inside – yes, our mother 'is' a man, and our father 'was' a woman.

There was one person who had felt remorse, it was one pedophile who had shockingly disturbing sexual attraction towards the boy. He offered himself to have sexual intercourse with the boy's corpse before we cremate or bury him. No, our immoral beliefs had led us into giving the boy's corpse to the man. Six days later, the man committed suicide due to his absence of artificial genitalia. The place where his genitalia should be was infected by scary ghouls who ate up his insides, starting from his balls – so it goes.

Still, the boy doesn't die in vain after all; each of us had wondered what it would be like if we all had died. I myself thought that the afterlife (hell, because you know that I won't be going to heaven) will be filled with horny hermaphrodites who would take good care of me like a little girl, while I by myself, in fact, 'was' a big guy with a black skin, and an afro which looks like a giant tortoise having sex down the beach with tadpoles. Now I'm just a little girl. I still wonder why the others are so stupid, they couldn't differentiate between my rectum and an elephant in mating season?

It was one Tuesday within one dinner where we ate the remainder of nipple sausages that fell down the skies long time ago. It was fantastic, until the dead boy's spirit had come to us – completely naked. He was performing the worst striptease we've had ever seen, then he vomited on each and every of our dish. Of course, none of these vomits ever managed to actually spill our dish. Even so, it made us lost our appetite.

There's one guy though, who actually preferred something with vomit drenched over it. It made myself thought, the world was a big place after all. I need to observe more rather than just being overly philosophical about things that actually didn't matter.

Anyway, the dead boy's spirit told one thing:

"I've met our divine creator." so he says.

Of course, all the others wondered what our divine creator was like to the boy. He simply gave no answer and disappeared all of sudden. I've had some ideas what the appearance might be : fluffy, cute, squishy. Got some perverted desires too. After all, our creator was probably an anime girl that likes to wrote a story, placing herself like a solemn deity. It was very cute.

I'm not that much of a sinister provocateur to give them weird ideas. I simply just waited and waited without saying anything. Went to sleep like usual in my comfy bed. Woke up, it was a c;ear Wednesday morning. I finally went downstairs after taking a bath and changing from my frilly dress into my casual outfits.

All of these people were dead : everyone, including father and mother. They all committed suicide by shoving their own genitalia with the nipple sausage. So it goes.

Was it sad? Was it lonely? Not really.

It was fun while it lasts. I'm going to miss them.

For now, let's liven my heart a little bit by doing a charity.

You see. I've invited every townspeople that would come and visit this god-forsaken shanty filled with wretched people having warped sense of morality. They asked first : why wasn't I dead yet. I just said to them : you people want to be dead instead?

I was holding a kitchen knife whilst saying this. I mean, it's just a kitchen knife, but these people stood silent, grudgingly terrified, some become so traumatized to the point they died on the spot whilst puking cockroaches. So it goes.

In the end, I paid no mind to the others who died. They just added the body count.

Here's what I said to them:

"Look, I'm really sorry for what my family and I had done to this village. We've been such terrible people, did terrible things without any regard to law and society, and furthermore, were able to push it aside without any redemption. This may not be much, but please accept our apology. Our wretched house – burn it down using your own holy flames."

I think, it's maybe our family who had caused the entire city to rain and suffer for the remainder of the days. So i left town completely naked with the smell of my own house burning behind me. Made clothes using the materials I found on the way. Later on, I found no such thing as the city raining everyday. Each day had become clear with the bright smiley sky just like Wednesday. Sometimes it rains, but the tears were no longer of sadness. It was joy and delightful fulfillment for the crops to grow fertile.

Maybe it won't be enough to atone for all the sins I've committed.

So I had become a prostitute for free, ultimately infecting every person who had sex with me with gangrene.

It was fun.

Goodness gracious. How nice was it, to have a shemale elephant down the patio where it urinates in turbulence, until it drenched the face of your unsightly neighbor? Maybe it turns out that, watersports ain't your thing, but your neighbor likes it. The exclamation mark won't be necessary, we all had them one after another within the house of legos, the same time where the adults had bought their sex toys from world's largest exporter of cucumber dildo. When will your dildo, became my dildo? Our dildos will invent the largest brotherhood of dildos in this world.

There would be the united nations of dildo. Within every cubicle, every people would use a phone shaped like a dildo. Just like their other phone models, but this time, the dildo phone was more streamline in order to reduce air resistance – it was the same thing around when you tried to hold your enema down the enema. Yeah yeah, you've always hated this stuff with passion, it's almost masochistic like being run over by tadpoles having massive orgy. Broken homes and broken mountains, refrigerator.

Please don't take my roses away, honey. The bees will stung my frozen genitalia and died from fluoroantimonic acid after being subjected to various mutation issues. Roses are red, violets are blue. My acid trousers stink, let me do you. Same kind of pain happening to my ass-cheeks while it rode down the trolley first thing within the evening. I was supposedly going to the nearest cemetery to receive the sleaziest blowjobs from a headless zombie. Fortunately, I ended up fucking the nearby headless corpse down the abandoned train station. It was a neglect play involving decapitation – so it goes.

How should I say it accordingly? That was really perverted. Some popsicle being shoved down the throat. From the nearby parallel universe, several mandibules had exploded from trying to re-enact the stunt made from one of the sappiest porno ever made. It was silly enough, that upon watching it, the genitalia would become even much more of a genitalia.

Skewer around, landwhales. I wished to reinvent the doctrine mutually used to reprogram the engineering which created artificial trees. Maybe tomorrow, not even today, shall we see, or thus we seek to reconcile with our dear elders. Most of them had issues with premature ejaculation, dry dreams and wet farts. Once again, everything had became an exclamation mark. People shout and fuss over every single damn thing within our close-minded universe.

I don't know what's up there, but maybe, people up there will start to wonder what it's like down there. You know, many people had been trying to have sex with corpses lately. What's the fun in it? You got gangrene, and your genitalia would be decapitated by the grim reaper - you'll get your balls cut off by an eggplant. If that weren't worse enough, just imagine having the balls getting shoved into your mouth along with a hundred thousand cockroaches.

Like the generic comment from various bitches after having their first sleazy fellatio sessions, it was mouthful. The worst thing happening since enema, and that neighbor down the hallway who likes to take a shit everywhere. That wasn't the worst thing, to be honest. His rectal excrement was shaped like tortilla chips. People came from across the world just to eat it straight from the rectal hole – so it goes.

You know.

Let's form the brotherhood of dildos.

I'm serious.

This is the dildoest situation like dildo before.

Also.

I just want to let you know one thing.
















My loldongs, is handsome.



It's been awhile since I last cleaned up my toilet bowl. The last time, I was afraid that, there will be some giant cockroach which came by from inside it to stab my butthole. Or even swordfishes which came to stab it, with its fish. Maybe it will be a butthole, stabbing another butthole? I call artificial insemination, please rectify the issue. You know, cleaning the toilet could be such a pain in my hole asses. The kind of pleasure where you might as well rub your nipples with the sandpaper while I masturbate to your silly munchumps while riding a scooter.

Mountain range, so it goes. Roses are red, violets are blue. My dick is hard, my loldongs are jabba jabba. The toilet bowl had been too much accustomed to letting my wiener be that much of some frisbee coming fresh out from a barbecue party. When you let them lose inside the ceremony, you will see me, coming out from the kindergarten – fucking. We will try re-enacting the solipsism by start reading books from the end to start. Because, after all, everything ends where it began. There you go, shall I tried to pulverize all that winky dinky at the moment where your hinky punk won't truly shine?

This is ridiculously absurd. I'm talking about things that would come from a toilet bowl. Oh my goodness. This is impossible, how am I supposed to do things when a giant cockroach came by to have sex with me? Show me the mercy, o plentiful god of titties. Let your titties perform the miracles once again by blasting the insipid vermin with your jugs of lactogenic protein. It was all the same when you try teaching a brown bear how to masturbate using his own claws. I have one word : sadomasochism at its finest. It was a two-way delivery, nonetheless.

Yeah, party hard. Nothing beats, like, a bunch of nicotine skewered up and shoved up into a crocodile's asshole while you muttered the stupidest things ever to a man on crack. In the end the plumbing apparatus was cleaned out. The story still played the same as usual, nothing new to follow. The song's already unsung, and lots of troubles had we've been through. It will never be the same momentary lapse, as that one when we tried dumping baby crocodiles down the toilet.

Are you happy, are you sad? I am happy, I am sad. Without shoes to walk on the murky roads, everything won't really stay the same without each and every.

From the start, everything was broken.

Hey, the denizens of ethereal darkness – hear me out. Whispering a pray towards the tugrid apocalypse, tonight we will dine in heaven – with pork chops and marinated salad. Brazen denizens of eternal heaven, what seek'th thou? It was unsightly, yet benightedly, in a manner which things seem to came and ultimately came undone. Within the fast-movement of in lieu lamb chops, there shall be no more, none trees. Parkdrive inside a cloverleaf hexagonal hyperdimension of nonsensical lobotomy.

It was an elliptical issue. That which enables us to re-enact or recreate what we're about to see. A story that was so tubular, unsettling, yet at the same time, able to diminish our absent-mindedness when we dine within the pork chops of lamb chops of the tiny morsels inside the evocated promontories. Let us rectify the issue, elucidate the matter, drown all the unsightly denizens of late, into the moment – there shall be late.

Poetries and prose and poem and also the stories told, they all came from the mouth of a drunk bard. Singing songs unheard, whispering a prayer – left unanswered. The same kind of elliptical thing might be procured from inside the elongated mammaries of a cardiovascular kind of creature. The mystified rectal excrement in which had transcended into another universe, meta-fictional, directive.

What would be made of your ninnyhammer? That was not very nice wasn't it, or perhaps shall I deposit the amount that reach zillions of dough – that was bloody. Might and magic came crashing down at my own flat. Penultimate struggle to find whichever carcasses had visceral intercourse at the brazen lofts. Inside the tissue, there will be no issue, you just call – trees. Inside the tissue, there would also be no intercourse, only inner course.

The same way when the shape of your pajamas hath pretty much made a benevolent rustle on my jimmies. Shall I made some unprevailed effort to verb apathetically, being nonchalantly verbose, yet not as that poignant, I ultimately made flowers out of these unsettling words of late? Thoroughly and thorough, it was natures' one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten-eleven and twelve and sixty-nine. Your own forty-two would be my own forty-six. It was hang-ten eleven, the early bird caught up the harlot.

There will eventually come the time when your pork chops will become my lamb chops, all of them being inanely asexual, born from artificial insemination. It was the same thing happening all at once when all heaven broke out loose into my titties. Then the hell would soon enough become my loldongs. Was it thoroughly patriotic? I don't think so.

Just trees. It was about three trees hanging out the corner. It was a groovy threesome of trees. So groovy that you might just want to smoke a lot of dope within the nearby valley when your pumapunku jabba jabba won't ever shine inside the toilet. Then you would just yell something within the nearby vestige such as 'goodness gracious'. Within the firestorm, a burning corpse was incarcerated. With lots of incineration, the burning corpse would soon make a nice ingredient for a timely festering boil. It was perfect, yet unsightly mutual.

In the end, that was the time when a brown bear stops fucking, nonetheless.




It was a beautiful day.

John was raped by his dog, and then his dead father.

And they lived happily ever after.

The end.

I don't know.

I don't know.

Yes I know.

What do you know?

I am here, listening. Sounds of footsteps echoing, feelings rummaging.

Patches of tweedle dee prowling. Our feelings were mutual.

I am affected by a bald patch. Inside my head, your head becomes a part of my head. It was called, giving head.

Both of us were giving head inside this bed. It was the same moment as having sex with a giant cockroach while we ourselves rode trees back in the day. The trees which show the feelings of affection. Was it the part of the grasses that were greener on the other side of bay? The feelings that cannot be conveyed. You and me, will we always be together? Will there come the time when we would finally part our ways?

You'll just never know.

Once again, I said, I don't know so many times.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

Scantily-clad trawlers, pudgy ear-beaves, puffy eardrums, dilapidated knee-socks, brokeback schoolwharf outfit; schools of beef and sausage ham and bacon and spam and sausage and spam. All that lies inside this tween peaks, a part of the scenery. Still we laid there in bed; our bodies touched, glistening within the sunlight. It was wacky. It was me. It was you. It was us.

We're meant to be together.

What will become, if times passed by?

When shall we go, where do we shall part?

I don't know. It was the question that I would never know the answer of. It was, basically, a question that couldn't be answered. Moments had passed, and your vision came to be. You look kinda translucent and livid. Surge of happiness echoed within my very insides, like it's about of explode. I'm happy, that once again, you're still here with me. You're a driving force, which gives me the meaning to live. It's only by you and yourself alone, that I'm able to find that I'm even worthy of breathing this life on the very earth we're in.

It keeps going on, without myself being able to give you the answers you desires. Maybe, the past would be filled with utter disappointments, that I'm unable to answer. There's no real answer to be made, to boot, and to discover. It was ultimately meaningless.

I know of one thing that matters.

Eggplant.

So please egg me, softly. Lasciviously, cucumberly, carrotly. Carrot kung fu uber ninja.

That was the thing which made me ran away from the patches of vasectomy when your tidbits ran over from the solitary hearth inside the webcomics. Gnawing cement. Swordfish. Cement block. Pork chops. Asphalt. Broken horses. Locomotive. Ricochet. Pow pow pow pew pew pew. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

It makes a difference. Another day in paradise, where the sunrise, sunlight, sunflowers go sunbathing below the sun inside another sun. I know what I like, and I like where I look. Could this be any better? Come on, I want us to fly higher down the sea, skies went by, and the opporculums won't die. Stoia. Stoia. Stoia. Jabba Jabba Wadda Wadda Baba. My feet doesn't stink today. The Axiom won't ever yield this way. Hurray, wadada wididi dudu dada dadadi.

Yes.

We will stick it into the places where the sun doesn't shine. Let's take a look; the grass is greener on the other side. So let's just break on through, to the other side. It was, by far, an elliptical issue. We're coming through, to reinvent the tissue. That was the time when your nipples had been skillful enough to solve a complicated puzzle cube autonomously. A directive solipsism to the nearby fro and then perhaps a letterman would come to my house, asking for sex. Anal fisting time within the hedgerow where i would solemnly use my piledriver to rip out the partition.

Everything seems to be broken, nobody knows, nobody ever cares. Just me and my nipples. The mutual sound rummaging across the windowsill, it holds no meaning. Only a broken clock, alone, it eventually split into two every time I tried rubbing my nipples with a sandpaper. That was a thick quicksand covered in nitroglycerin, when your nuclear wasteland would play within the nearest soap opera.

The jellyfish combo twintail aggressive heroine, she likes giving fellatio in the nearby dumpster whilst smoking crack. Admirable coincidence so omniscient, the utterly destructive combo making my wiener juice loose like an octopus being ran over by utterly massive tadpoles.

Damn poly rhythms a bit nonsensical. So don't miss, take a bang, and just do it. Let's bang in the bang office. Put on your bondage suit and lick your titties, using my titties. It was the time when you gave a toilet paper to the toilet. A marriage proposal, bitches. I recall the oppression happening in midst of broken time. It goes like this : boom boom, pow, pow, the derelict oxygen re-inventing oxymoron with the swapped cupcakes.

Or so it seems.



So it was, a wait inside the darkness. Something amiss is going there, upon our very souls. A feast from the fertilizer, plow and wallowing within our depths of malice. The wait won't come, the hands reaching out won't ever come. People just mostly don't care at all. This world is basically not equal. Selfish person all around, including me. Double standards, it seems to be. Nothing seems to care enough. Nobody really cares exactly what needs to be done. There's a terminal limit on how much this tolerance should be, even if the stock market crashes and whatnot, there's something much more important.

I want you to reach out your hands to me, dragging me out of this putrid abyss. Something was definitely broken inside, i don't know what or how it be. Broken staff, a derelict scaffolding, the sounds rummaging within the thunder staff. A harlequin cross, my domes doesn't regurgitate its own remains. Sincerely, Peter Peter. Inside my house I see you looking at me. Times inside coming undone, broken rickety rickets altogether be. Incandescent fluorescent lights, lit aglow inside the corner. Turning towards the hammocks shall we sleep. Within the helms deep that we kept inside.

The sound needs no reply, it was the voice that shall be unheard. Empty eyes looking at the blank walls; smiling. The rebellion was failed, it has taken its toll on me. Something that was apparently unbearable. The enjoyment has been lost, the future, is no more. There's nothing deserving such is appreciation, while trying to be yourself. Should I tried to be pretentious and phony?

That would be plausible. I am, basically, an odious hypocrite. Double standards my middle name. Everything is not equal, everything is basically unfair. Echoes rummaging from my house, scathing thunder sounds hurting the heart from the outside. People, screams at me, throwing rocks. I don't care anymore, they shall be dead. It was beautiful. It was filled with malice and damnation. It was me. That was the purgatory intended before all of us got sent towards the raging hell, when tonight shall we dine across this empty flesh.

Crying in the rain, the place where the sound doesn't ever shine. Are we really human? Are we monsters dressed in human flesh? It is we, that shall be killed. It is we, who shall suffer infernal damnation where the denizens of light, abominable hypocrites, shall be laughing at us. Their self-righteous promiscuity would only bring odious ruin to humanity with their double standards. It would become a place worse than hell itself. Truthfully, this is really unfair. Neither of us had a chance to fight back. It was the universe built with hate and bias, no longer there's any reason to pledge for equality.

Except all of those days when we suffer in futility once more. It was yesterday once again. A trip back to the past, with the timeline unchanged, mostly unfazed. History keeps repeating itself; the names and the characters are purely coincidental. I have changed the names and faces once again; still I can't change their personality. It's all becomes the fruit of futility amongst everything else.

Still, I'm at least happy, because I can always play with my bare nipples when things doesn't seem to turn out the way I wanted it to be.

The world is no more, only my nipples.

Even the sun itself wants me to rub its own nipple.

It's about that kind of stuff you first drink in the morning. You know : milk, tea, coffee – whatever your preference might be. It might just be a mineral water, or even nothing at all, since you mostly slept through the entire morning because you had overtime work, wanting to catch on a certain deadline, or simply went on gaming all night. Though in this case, let's just say, that you woke up early this time because you have something important to do. Going shopping during the afternoon, for example. You want to catch on that bus which leaves about 11 AM nearby your living place.

That is, in order to avoid traffic from going too late, and eventually got sandwiched by the waves from the rush hour. You want to go shopping in a mall that is pretty far from your place, yet it's the nearest place from your own. A simple plan to just go shopping for clothes, since you had so little of them, and your laundry stacks had been piling up – you simply had neglected those duty for oh so long, you forgot what it's like to go outside for once.

You woke up, heating some water, drinking some hot coffee – the powdery ones which came in sachets. It was a french vanilla flavor. Not so bitter, not so mild – it was just about right. You thought that it's too inconvenient to brew your own coffee from the beans and such, in addition of having your own coffee maker. All of those were too expensive for some student who's just been starting his way of living alone without any job – at least for now.

It was about 10 AM. You slept about 4 AM, after grinding to level 49 on your favorite MMORPG game. The enemies were scarce, and most of all, you're probably a bit cautious of high-leveled characters around the scenery, since it's also a PvP zone. Meaning, players can just kill each other, in order to attain the items and money you got. You need to join a guild fast, to avoid this kind of blasphemy. At least they could protect your items, and provide you with the teammates which would cover your back when its necessary.

The requirement was, for the guild to have a female character, preferably in a cute revealing outfit. The guild members were all female, mostly portrayed as young girls. It was, basically, a group filled with greasy old men pretending to be a young girl who pretends to be a little girl. You know this thing : there's no girls on the internet, at least not in this kind of game. From the start, you had been playing as a female rogue, so the first requirement has been fulfilled.

The main problem is:

You need to at least be at level 69, in order to join the guild. You know how hard it was, to level up that fast from your current situation. Then, you realized, that you really need to go out more, after you spent about 20 hours grinding from level 48 to 49.

The time spent on actually gaining experience was only about 30 minutes, the rest of them being meaninglessly strolling the entire city whilst flirting with every female character out there asking for a Yuri sex, I mean, cybering. Because you're basically lonely at the moment, and you need the warmth of another person depicted virtually as cute girls, in order to make you warm and fuzzy inside.

You had forgotten how the life it's like from the outside. That there's an actual real girls who would give you the warmth and pleasure you've always wanted. Though, from the many hours of sitting without stopping in front of your couch, on your computer, until the moment you've started to be afflicted with Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, you've started to pile up the pounds to the point you've become as stacked as a walrus. No need to worry, you've attended an online college, you had fast internet, you had a pretty spacious room and place to stroll away.

Yet, you still had the desire to go out. You could just buy the clothes online, with the size that would fit easily – just order the biggest one available, the one with so many 'X' inside. You probably just wanted a different experience, now that you had slimmed up a bit, and could at least go out with confidence. You want to at least, observe the surroundings, trying out a different scenery, wanting to know what it's like again, to live inside the actual reality, instead of virtual reality.

Drinking the cup of french vanilla, you inhaled the warm and greasy smell the cup had been giving. You took a stroll towards the fridge, taking out a box of pizza. It was filled with meat, a bit on the frozen cold side. It was an extra large portion containing 12 slices. It was a gift from your uncle from two days ago. He had been runing a pizza parlor specializing in exotic toppings. Tuna with marinated salad, exotically colored mushrooms with its poison removed. Lobster fillet, and even the fruits and vegetables you wouldn't expect being added in, would be added.

Now, it was just about 3 slices left. At yesterday, you went on using the pizza as a snack and a side dish. You simply had ordered the food you want through your own phone; it was the smartphone with detachable keypad and a touch screen. It had wi-fi capabilities, stylus, and also various applications for gaming. Yet you mostly used it for making calls and messages. You already had your own computer for the games, fully upgraded with lots of firepower, in addition of a fast internet connection to assault the next generation gaming and lifestyle – mostly web based.

Call it, cloud e-living. Everyday, we're connected to people around the world. We had sex with the help of bunch of sex and images alone. Or even through the virtual chatroom disguised as games where we bought out our own artificial genitalia capable of disrupting the flow of the universe.

When you ate, you just kinda freeze the game, temporarily logging off, turning out your character inside one isolated cubicle where no other person could disturb yourself. That was also the place where you could alter your appearance, wearing the kind of sleaziest, most revealing outfits you had in mind. Altering the reality in which we've all had seen. Probably, the only time you've had froze that game yesterday, was about that time when you want to take a shit, eat, sleep. No taking baths since you're basically being lazy as hell. When you wanted to pee, you could just wear diapers.

Oh wait, it's about time for you to get ready. Before you noticed it, the clock in your wall already shown the time : 10.45 AM. After waking up at 10 AM, you mostly spent the time drinking the french vanilla coffee, eating the pizza, taking a bath for the first time in ages. Getting ready to choose the appropriate clothes to adventure on the outside world for the first time. Farewell the cyber metropolis, it's time for you to journey overseas, in order to find the new you.

Not exactly overseas, but still, it was a journey towards a world you haven't been exploring much recently.

Off you go then.

You know, let's just write something common this time. I really felt like plagiarizing some of the most popular ideas out there. Let's just say, that there's a ninja village being thrown out to crisis by the army of portable titties. A young ninja warrior with premature ejaculation and a shemale elephant with twelve genitalia would soon come in to save the day. It was the battle against the army of warriors armed with sword-shaped vibrators.

Their faces were shaped like someone who had seen a sheep putting on a condom for the first time, it was great, and it was beneficial for the censoring activity to sever their precious genitalia and replaced it with a black bar containing the secrets of the universe. The shemale elephant started masturbating like a wooden ox being run over by a tentacle monster whilst putting on a quaint display. When it ejaculates, it started spraying rotten pineapples in the shape of a regular pineapple pretending to be a dilapidated scrotum pole.

The warriors had just experienced their first fellatio session. It was really great for them, to be able to taste that pineapple when their own pineapple won't really become that much of a pineapple. The pine cone which would re-elucidate a kung-fu session during the mating season of wicked armadillos. It would be during the night time, when Kamasutra would become a taboo subject in a peculiar country where even horses had one thousand titties within their entire body.

Basically, after a lengthy fight, the young ninja gets raped to death by the elephant – so it goes. Though, the next moment, he's revived again as a little girl with a giant phimosis and one hundred nipples on her face. It goes like this : at first, he was a he, then he becomes a she. In the end she becomes an it, and it becomes an abomination of nature. Even though people likes stroking pink nipples, mostly erect, when there's about one hundred of them in the wrong place, you could bet at the same moment, a young gorilla hermaphrodite in the nearby vasectomy zoo would get pregnant through artificial insemination.

Well, in fact, there's no ninja villages at all. There's only the Author, and the Author likes having sex with the thin air. It was, by far, a Deus ex Machina mechanism to end things as they are when everything starts to make less sense. That, by itself, is a contradiction. From the very beginning, it doesn't make sense at all. The only thing that makes sense is the statement about everything not making any sense. To put it simply, by not making any sense, the story began to make sense. Confused? Just fap to your favorite doujin and come back when you're near orgasm mode.

You know, that one, about two sweaty middle-aged man doing pushups together. Don't worry, it was just the big picture. The real picture was about two sweaty middle aged man pretending to be two cute little girls with big eyes, ridiculously colored hair, and bizaare body proportions making love to each other. Those little girls, in the end, acted like an old man. So it's mostly about two sweaty middle aged man drawing the doujin while pretending to be little girls in the story, and in the end, the little girls acted more like an old man, craving for the munchiest munch snack knickers they never had tasted in their lives.

Of course, it needs some special addition to bypass the law. You know that the government hates pedophiles, the same way that the government hates themselves, while in fact they still loved their money. In gold we trust, so they said. It was the gold which had moved the world. A sense of corruption turning humans into mere pigs. In the end, we're just a bunch of dirty pigs disguising our faces within a mask called morality.

Once again, who is the Author? Are you a doctor, are you a psychiatrist? Are we human, or are we prostitutes to society? Are we menial slaves, or just mere pretenders? In the face of your unsightly neighbor, you're probably just a tree waiting to be chopped down. Broken home and mountains, homie. Inside my face, I would just be a sitting duck, waiting for the time bomb to explode. It was a nuclear explosion, sabotaging the entire planet with nucleus oxide. The radioactive parley turning a genitalia into a mutant monster capable of impregnating a mere rectal excrement, so it would produce even more excrement.

On a brighter side, it means more fertilizer. Hurray for the green Earth.

On another note, it probably means you had smoked too much acid. By preventing global warming, you had to smoke more vegetables – wait, what? Guess it's the by-effect of watching too much news. That oxen parley...

Oxen parley, you say? The milk from the cow udders had already been poisoned by the radioactive materials. Still, the people drank it anyway, rather than eating giant cockroaches for breakfast. They rather have sex with the poor creature in order to be cured of venereal disease, and to achieve immortality and omniscience.

It was immortality, since they instantaneously had forgotten how its like to be human after having sex with cockroaches. Omniscience defined as knowing the true horrors of the world after one hundred thousand cockroaches had entered your rectal hole, and made yourself unable to fart for about one billion years. The remainder of your time being spent by feeling the same excruciating pain that you were unable to say the words other than 'FUGUO' and 'OE'. Of course, with the acknowledgment of pain, caused the beginning of pleasure. You pretty much had become the ultimate masochist.

Terminal velocity, motherfockers. Fornicated giant bees performing kung-fu whistle inside the parliament – oh what a beautiful farewell to this scenery! I like purple toads and truffles. Eggplants and whiskey onions, giant bombs containing whiskers and catnips. Inside my broken home, I ate diapers, peed in my pants, shit myself, then ate all my shit without the diapers. That was just like the taste of heaven – similar to putting all of the aborted fetuses in this country into a giant blender, then drank a mineral water.

Surely it was heaven after experiencing the myriads of moments pertaining dead babies being made for mutilation entertainment – so it goes. Many people came from miles around just to laugh at the misfortunes of people, you might say, Schadenfreude at its finest. Boom baby boom, and upsy daisy, pop goes the weasel. Incendiary tidbits from the funnel hole – now that's what I call entertainment. The pleasure from making a two-way intersection, it was both AC and DC voltage combined – an inner civil war.

That was the moment when your artificial genitalia would become a baseball bat. Go take a vacation inside the donkey's rectum, armadillos. It would be the pivotal time for you to have an intercourse with the alligator's mammaries. Drink your bozos inside another drinking bozos when your drinking bozos would might as well become another more like another another drinking bozos bozos bobo baba dadada. I'm an ass man. I like peanuts. This is me. I'm an elephant, then I'm a monkey, and in the end, I'm a nobody.

I have no body, but I like every body. It was a good moment for feast pertaining cannibalism, starting from the nearby burnt corpses – it calls for a barbecue party. No, don't be a such insipid hypocrite, you ate burnt corpses each time you ate cooked meat, you bloody blokes. For me, I like pizza, dressed in baby fat and their flesh, with their neocortex served as side dishes – so it goes.




Let's just speculate on who the Author is. Maybe he's just a vermin with no brains at all, only malice. With blank faces staring at the window while masturbating to a silly porno. The hobbies include : staring at a blank wall, thinking that a pair of giant titties might appear from inside it. He would just shoot the titties using his own titties, when the nipple juice would just spray a livid bazooka grenade using an incendiary tissue. It is a mountain, a versatile delivery to the fleeback. Or was it hunchback? I've had forgotten.

We ate pussy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It tasted like heaven. We literally died – so it goes. Our souls didn't went to heaven, it nearly stopped at the nearby prostitution when one person had monged themselves to death with sleeping pills, so it goes. We had sex with the body, using our ghoulish tentacles. It felt good, like being smothered by a whipped cream after our genitalia had been decapitated with a pencil, yeah.

We still don't know who the Author is.

We had already died, so it goes.

The story still remains the same.

It was a message from me to you – I swear it's sincerely true. From the deepest recess of heart, beckons a mutual understanding. Ain't no mountain high enough, for time do us part. Nobody could stop us on becoming who we really are. Ain't no valleys steep to climb, let's go home – everybody's waiting for us to keep. The valleys, where they are? I like to make yourself mine – it's yours to mine. And when this water shall drink deep, shall I carry you towards the myriads of open sea? The sounds of seashells within the undulating waters of late. I swore to you both my words and actions are of utmost sincerity, without a single debris of malice within.

Maybe it's just an exaggeration on my part, and maybe I'm not that worthy of a person to you. For all of my times and days, I've been struggling to chase you – within the accord of my own greed. Mystified by your beauty, enticed by the possession of you, the power whom I thought I deserved to keep – in fact you're on your own for all eternity. Belonging to no one, you're the one that's solely independent, yet us foolish humans still yearned for you like it's our own birthright. You are no one's right; we couldn't still understand how we're not just cut out to reach out to you and seek your benevolence.

Like the wise men said : ain't no mountain high enough.

Ain't no valleys steep to prowl.
Ain't no waters too deep.
No such thing as getting in too deep.
When this water shall be drank upon these lively feast.
You and I shall know that we've earned our keep.
Ain't no mountain high enough.
To reach out for things protecting our sleep.
That sincere feelings all of us reside.
Undue words whom shall we recite.
These unwritten graphs inside our mind.
It's the unruly time when we went deeper.
Much deeper, deeper, and deeper.
Until we've completely lost
and we couldn't even say "Why?"
Was it that waters of menial greed
or even a struggle for omnipotence, omniscience,
and immortality?
One thing that stands was our immorality.
It was by far an ominous thing.

It was one time when our neighbor Jim was inflicted with festering boils all over his body. The neighbors had thought that Our Lord Heavenly hath smitten him with syphilis because he simply acted naughty during last Christmas. Obquitiously omnipresent, the Santa Claus came down to his wine cellar and had sexual intercourse with him. Giving blowjobs instead of molten charcoal down his own dunghole, because charcoals had been getting too mainstream – we need a paradoxical change of paradigm.

The broken homes inside the mountainous region had been craving for an affected venereal disease involving molten caterpillars being arduously wrecked inside the ship – it truly sails. The Lord Almighty might have facepalmed so hard at this misogyny because the neighbors next door won't just stop being a klondike.

The fruit cups inside the fruit stand, when someone will become even more of a fruit – it was a juicy suspense involving molten fruitcakes and bananas and peeled pistachios inside your own machiato. Damn fettuchini pomegrantes inside my own vinegar – it boils down perfectly you'll never know when will the molten wax be if it weren't that much of a shoddy looking humble abode – goodness gracious. Right on, it skewers. The duck liver was a French breakfast – now it was sent to England to drink the finest tea recommended in many anime series as an inside advertisement.

We knew that we like to drink that tea whilst pretending to be a certain anime character with a manly eyepatch, with his butler, wait, does he have a butler? Right, it's all but a devil and a butler, smothered in butter, gnawing for better, and as the better becomes bitter, you know that you need to titter and tatter before something gets hither.

I like tomatoes with a banana, that banana that would become much of a banana. Would your banana, play with my banana? My loldongs is truly handsome. Obtiquitiously incorrect. Wholly approximate shilling matches with the ghastly cart-wagons down the moorish plains. The sherry bush won't truly shine, and the pickles won't really cost a pint during the next few weeks inside an Indian summer during a winter that's pretending to be a summer, that also pretends to be a winter.

I feverishly need an antique selection of Absurdist Fiction while I have sex using a pineapple with a pineapple. That same feeling when you woke up realizing that you're a hermaphrodite, and the next moment you realize that your complete set of genitalia had been pregnant with each other's babies, and the next moment, you actually find that both of them had gone – being sent to an absolutely safe capsule where you find your own decapitated head down the drain. So it goes.

Where are you now? Oh, you're finally inside the consciousness of Genetic Control.

You shall finally be born as an eggplant – end of story.

The story still goes on. This time, as an eggplant, you'll become much more of an egg than a plant. You were born after your mother, a hen, had been sitting on a pineapple tree. So you're basically an egg, that was born in a tree. It was basically an egg-plant. But you're more like, how should we put it?

An egg-tree.

Now that was a coinable term for the dictionary. It was more like a slang, though. It's just some informal slang that could be made up in a whim. The same way that happens when you want to have sexual intercourse on a boat in midst of deep marshes filled with horny crocodiles, and you just call it : marsh-mallow. Anyways, in this benign yet deep yet somber yet splendor yet filled with festering boils, you could just call the trees for a threesome, and it will be more like the bloodiest sex with a garage door. I like to perform the most irrational drudgery to a mailman by the time he turns into a milkman giving maid to a milk.

From inside the rectal excrement ejaculated by a countertop, I had just realized the primal secrets of the universe. It was deep, it was drunk, it was solidly translucent. It was by far, a thing in which the eliptical orbits won't shine forevermore. Therefore, you shuold just take a hike and sober up. Bogging up and down inside a scantily-clad gillywaters brownback the beer, hollobunkers. Bring the hollaback girl, bring the hollaback girl, yo mofos dun'cha spits on your momma and the drama llama in the mudda and the judda and the springa.



A present for the Christmas time, so it will be. So it goes, and so it shall prevail down the Monastery in this Winter Time a Traveler Might Come'th to See the Night in Glastonbury. The roses, well, you don't just simply took them away whenever you'd like to or not. I just want to make sure that nobody ever does screw up, or even screw down inside your own screwhole when you took a screw, drink it, sip on it, and in the end, you ate it with marshmallows down your bellow. I'll simply just put a frying pan on the stove and boil it – a juicy suspense down your fruitcake, simply consisting of a fruit being smothered by a pound of juicy suspense inside the cake.

The cake simply was a lie. There was only marblecake.

Also, the game.

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You know.

I like giving heads to rhinoceros. At that one time, I was just giving the head of a pineapple for their sleaziest blowjob sessions. Maybe things will get more boring as the time goes, without anything much to do. It's basically a vacation under the name of house arrest.

Still, there's no mountain high enough to make us high – unlike weed.

When someone speaks, you listen to them. When someone has something – a message to convey, you will hear their message, rather than just moving on like there's nothing of significance happening in this Earth. For myself, I know of one virtue which made me felt truly alive. It was by giving the things that were left of me, that I managed to fill myself up with joy.

Maybe, and just maybe, people won't truly notice my presence at all.

That's okay, it's not like I'm the one to appreciate and to notice the significance of others around me – I'm mostly self-centered, that's all. Double standards didn't actually work, and when you want to force that kind of drudgery around people, you'll only be making your life much harder than what its supposed to be. Yet, I think, no matter which paths should you take, just stick close to these truth you hold dear until the time of your death. In the end, you'd probably felt like there's a juicy pancake on your throat – it tasted like watermelons on a chocolate.

I had stuck into these truth, and it kept me alive until now when I didn't feel like living at all. Filling my mind with incomprehensible questions, yielding no answers. What was left, these empty places, voices unheard, the songs unsung. The empty space, revealer. Homes and mountains ransacked, all yielding no premises to live within anymore. One must went on a journey to find themselves. Within my heart, I see malice tearing apart my own truth. It was fundamentally indivisible, yet, it could still be swayed, twisted, and corrupted.

These empty places, purveyor of empty dreams.



I just kind of sat there in the park bench. Up front, there's a huge water fountain. Actually, it's not that huge, but from my own perspective as an outsider merely looking at this tranquil scenery, with various people able to blend in perfectly - it feels exactly like I was looking at a big, moving picture right up close from my living room.

The ground was covered in cobblestones around the places people walk by. There was also the box-like formations of meadowy ground in which the trees are placed strategically. Adequate sunlight and the cover from it. Needless to say – it was just like an ordinary park, except with me being here. An outsider, just recently started living in this quiet town.

I had come very far, a long arduous way, just to get here. With my stern expression and weird getup that doesn't seem to belong within these area, I understand why does people stay away from me. Basically, I've had no friends, belonging in no social circles, having no full-time job. Living in a solemn apartment not so far from here, usually browsing through the books in the library nearby. At times I was forcibly being thrown out by the librarian for being a shady character who scares the peaceful readers.

There I thought - they must be new here.

Apart from reading, and remembering to return the books on time always, I also had a part-time job of being a teacher. I may not look like it, but people whom I had taught actually had find me to be a gentle, kind, and humorous person despite my actual appearance. Still, apart from that, I couldn't feel any sort of emotional attachment from them. Deep inside, I felt so empty, no matter how many sort of happiness I've had experienced from these events.

Yeah. I've been waiting for someone to sat there beside me and listen to my story. Within these scenery of tranquil places, to find my own peace of mind. I just let my mind wander around a bit, maybe let my thoughts drift away by the wind. Would it matter? I had found so many things that didn't matter through experience, and a few things to learn on a regular basis.

A young lady sat beside me. It was the turning point of my life, and that's also the reason why I decided to write about my own experience. She wore an office blouse, with her blond hair tied back, slightly blown away by the warm breeze – it's the afternoon, and I'm just munching some potato chips with a can of chilled coffee, watching the children play on that sand dunes, and various people – mostly cute girls.

Their sweaty flesh glistens beautifully in the afternoon sunlight. I saw their white tank-tops exposed with their undergarments visible, drenched in their sweats, after they had been roller-skating around the area for a while – I was watching since moments ago, and it felt good for my young soul. You know, that feel when you just stared at their voluptuous bodies and their peachy-puff bosoms jiggling about.

Seen that a couple of times already yeah, but as for meeting up with the young woman over there who claims to be one of my colleagues – it's my first time. I don't know what kind of things made such a fair lady to meet up with someone so rough-looking as I am. She just smiled at me like I'm her old friend or something, and we've just met for the first time after been through so many twists and turns in life – somewhat.

I wasn't that bright of a teacher, and I actually had just dropped out from my higher education during my second year because I've got into a fight with one of the pesky classmates. I gave him a good walloping, and now I got thrown out to jail for about six months prior to it. That one arrogant lad was the son of a rich person, and I've got no proof to show that he actually instigated this incident. No, I think after all, it was wrong for me to let my anger loose at this current occasion.

Still, it wasn't the fight which made me unable to continue my studies again. I actually was fed up, with the current education system. About the heartless, cold, and competitive atmosphere which turns people like me, who couldn't make friends at all, into a rut. People in there always suck up to each other, even to the professors who couldn't really teach in a way I could understand at all. They made it thoroughly clear and so obvious that no matter how smart you are, and no matter how hard you studied, it's about the grades that counts – only that alone.

And I'm sick of it, sick of being whittled away by the currents. I just want to find my freedom once more, just like these fun times in high school where I could just freely have fun as i am alone. Maybe it was just a selfish and weak reason to quit, because I didn't feel like doing it, but that's the truth I want to pursue. I've had enough of being in a system where the outcasts got humiliated to no end.

The rest of my education being spent in a library. The subject I taught? It was science, particularly Chemistry and Biology. Maybe it wasn't my kind of thing, but I actually liked the subject. The major I applied to didn't have that scientific stuffs at all. My parents forced me to take that field of study just because the graduates had the big chance to get a high-paying job. Meanwhile I just kind of applied to it because it gives me my freedom, and I think I could just take it easy since there's no one to pester me around.

It turns out that I was completely wrong, but that's a whole different story.

Meanwhile, I just want to take it easy and enjoy the life as I see fit.



"I haven't seen you in such a long time, how have you been?" so the young lady asked me, and I have no idea who she is. I asked her to tell about it, and it appears that she was one of my old high-school friend. I wasn't especially popular though, except for my delinquency. When she mentioned her name and gave me a brief detail about her background, I just remembered – she was the class rep at my senior year of high school.

Figures. It was her job, or it was just her class-rep personality which made her quite nosy to guys like me. Still, I kind of wondered how on earth, did a person like me ever got a take on becoming a part-time teacher? It was at a nearby cram school, the students are basically trying to get on various high-schools. I'm not essentially bright, in fact I'm a bit of a slow learner and I mostly self-taught myself since I couldn't understand what the teachers are talking about at all.

Though I know one thing for sure, that I'm able to present the material in a way that even people who had disadvantages at learning could still understand. I didn't know how to write a proper curriculum vitae while I just applied on the job. So I just merely sent my application in some unorthodox way, and write honestly about what I've been experiencing thus far. Few days later, I was called to the cram school for a job interview.

I nearly jumped. You know, the reason why I applied as a teacher was because I'm desperate for money – like everyone else who wants to apply for a job. Though after being onto it for a brief moment, I realize that money wasn't the most important thing – it's about giving your all and putting your best effort. Money would come by itself.

After dropping out of my education, I was kicked out of my home, with nothing to rely on but myself on this cruel, harsh society. Luckily I've met quite a few good friends on the way, and they helped me to get where I am. Still I couldn't find any emotional connections since we're mostly just easy come, easy go.

It wasn't that I like being alone. Nobody likes being alone. It's just, yeah, I wasn't really forcing myself to make any friends. Forcing out something only yields to disappointments. That's what I thought after experiencing the myriads of disappointing things in life. Even though it made myself stronger, I know all too well that all of these disappointments weren't the ones that I should look up to. Except if I'm actually a masochist in denial. Let's just hope that it was not.

Meanwhile, the conversation continues.

She said to me, "Well, you've certainly been through a lot, huh? I could see it by the way you taught everyone. It certainly does seem like you're teaching science like telling things from your personal experience, like you're speaking about your hardships. Like, there's something beneath the materials. I just got there after checking out the classes at random, and boy – sure I am impressed." she ended this up with a slight chuckle.

"If you even had a singular hint of sarcasm, this conversation is over, ma'am." I quickly rose to my feet. My audible hoarse shout attracts the attention of few people around, and honestly, it didn't feel that great being the object of spectation.

"Now...now.....Mr. Derby, that kind of attitude was the thing which made you unable to make friends since high school, you know." that smile she gave once again sparks my irritation even more.

"And that nosy attitude was the thing which made many people hate you, Ms. Wannabe Psychologist."

Her expression simply stood still. Breaking out into an even broader smile, as in acclaiming a triumph, she added, "How so? Many of my students like it when I act like that. It's just you who's an oddball, and that's how I tend to like you, and find you to be a very interesting individual"

"Tch, whatever." I decided to ignore her for awhile and just downed the entire can of chilled coffee in one gulp.

She mentioned the name "Derby" while we're talking. It wasn't my actual name, really. I didn't feel that comfortable mentioning my name in this writing, along all of the characters present, so I mostly just refer to them in pseudonyms. Or, if the people didn't really have a significance, I usually just use a simple pronoun or things similar to depict themselves.

What was the turning point, you ask? This was just the starting point of our conversation, and I things actually escalated much quicker after that.

It all begins with one ordinary question that kind of slipped outta my mouth nonchalantly:

"Say, why do you like me? It didn't seem that you will find me interesting just for my rough exterior. I mean, there's many delinquents who were far more helpless, and I just find it odd." I was somehow indifferent to the situation while I asked this, paying attention to the surroundings more.

Heck, I haven't really stared at her eyes the moment I talked to her. It wasn't really my habit to look at people while I talk, and that's probably the reason I wasn't able to made any friends. That wasn't really much of a problem since I mostly like to keep my own time to myself, basking in this quaint, peaceful scenery.

With a very curious look on her face, she replied:

"Because you're the kind of person who have dreams and ideals, a strong one on top of that. It was the thing in you which made me fascinated." that genuine tone of voice in which she spoke while I wasn't really paying attention – it really had caught me off guard. If at that time I was gulping a can of coffee, there's a slight chance that I would spat my drink, making things rather awkward.

Regardless of that, I'm able to keep my indifferent composure, somewhat. A bit fazed by her charm, but that's it.

"You sure had your own way of flattering someone." once again, I didn't look at her face, I'm mostly staring at the scenery when two cute girls are kissing each other beside the water fountain. That was pretty normal, I think.

"Do you like it?"

"Truth to be told, I'm not the ones who liked flattery."

"Yeah, I know."

I even had a part-time job where most of the employees are futanari. Basically girls with both female and male genitalia – they are very cute and I'm really tempted to do perverted things. They were also known for their perversion too. Still, I've managed to escape from these pheromone trap and moved away in a short notice. The biggest paying job I had was at the host club – I didn't really enjoy it though since I kind of dislike alcohol.

Many middle aged woman in here: lonely housewives and career woman on stress. They all craved for my loldongs. I still rejected the offer. You see, I want my first time to be with someone special. Luckily they seem to be okay with it.

There was one time where a really cute girl urged me to have sex with her. It turns out that she's really seductive. With a maid outfit, cat ears, and a pink ponytail hair, and adorable expression that beats the charm of most girls, we kind of did a run-in at the dressing room in the host club. You know it's really embarrassing to say, but yeah, we did a french kiss. I stuck my tongue in her face, and hers in mine. I reached to her panties, and found a really huge boner.

Her chest was also really flat too, when I fondled her chest, she twitched like she's about to spasm at any moment. Though the bottom line is, it's merely just a padding. This is a host club on the first place too, all of the hosts are male. Meanwhile, as I spent few seconds rubbing more and more of her genitalia, I realized that there's also a big sack, and yeah, no that thing which the futanari had. I also realized...

My first kiss was with a guy.

"Are you thinking about perverted things again?"

"I don't know." that's all I could say.

After nearly got raped by several crossdressing guys at my own host club, I simply quit the job and traveled away with the sum of money I've got. As I mostly stayed in a hotel and spent a lot of things during my travels, the money ran out faster than I had previously imagined. In the end, I ended up in this place. A peaceful town where I could be myself, and also a town where I could find the new me that I've been looking for since the day I've decided to settle for the better things in life.

Now it's just two grown-ups, man and woman, sitting on a park bench, gazing at the water fountain.



"Hey."

It wasn't like myself to start up a conversation, but I just felt like I had something I must say to her no matter what. She quickly turned her face in a bit of surprise, knowing it was me, the one person unlikely to do that.

I simply continued before she could even reply:

"You said before that, it was due to my idealism, that you found me interesting. Yeah, you weren't completely wrong about that. In fact, I used to be a kind of idealist in the past. Living solely for me and myself alone. Now, I find that what I truly wanted, and what I needed were mostly polar opposites. I found out, that the company of an understanding friend was the thing which made me truly alive. It's just me that's mostly unable to be honest. You see – I still find it hard to find someone whom I can trust my genuine feelings to."

She simply chuckled.

"Just what I thought. You simply had the eyes of a lonely puppy from the first moment I met you. In the end, you haven't changed a bit. It's just you know, every person, each of them had the light which shines even brighter when they had found themselves, and able to express their feelings in the most genuine way possible. At first, you had that kind of bright light, but your light at that time during high school wasn't that bright and interesting enough."

"Judging from your personality, you probably want to give me a hand, probably."

"Derby, I'm not that kind of a person you know. In a way, I'm just very similar to you, I would only open myself to whoever person that's worthy of my secrets. Different from you, I'm unable to be honest with myself from the start – I have to put on a friendly mask, while you could just freely bare your fangs to someone you find unsettling. I kind of envy that kind of rebellious attitude. Still, as much as I had seen a spark of my reflection inside you. It's still not strong enough to break me free out of my own pretentious shell."

"I couldn't really picture you as a delinquent girl, honestly. So you must had strong reasons why you must put on a mask to pretend. Either way, me from the way back would probably refuse your approach and hurt you. Even for me back then, that cold exterior was also a mask, just like the ones you put, a mask to protect myself from the truth – that I'm unable to act honest."

"it's just as you say – family politics. I had come from some family of good upbringing, but they were completely filled with the personalities that were rotten on the inside. You know, I've been losing myself in despair a few times – even wanting to try committing suicide."

That was the first time a statement in which I heard up close and personal actually sends shivers across my spine. We talked in a low voice, and there's nobody nearby to hear us. Her expression was as straight as ever, it made me realize about how painful it might be, to make herself able to say such things with a straight face like that.

"Carol..." simply feeling guilty by her sudden outburst of feelings, I muttered her name for the first time in ages.

"Don't worry." so she said, turning her eyes away from me. At times before, she always tried to stare directly at my eyes while I was just turning my face away from her.

Tears begun to well up from the corner of her eyes, but she tried her best to make it like she's wiping off the dust from her face.

Cold as I am, I'm still unable to let a woman cry in front of me, on public places on top of that. Don't get me wrong, but I didn't like for the nearby bypassers to get the wrong idea. So yeah, the words came out almost too naturally from my mouth:

"My apartment is near here. Go there and take a shelter, seems the sky would be raining. Don't worry, I'm not someone to take advantage of girls like that."

She simply nodded. It was also a coincidence – the sky started raining by the moment we decided to go back to my place.

I still didn't really understand what's going on really.

But this might be the first time in ages, that I began to feel an actual warmth seeping through me.

I crave for delicious eggs. Yolk and white, so it seems. My egg would become your egg in some indivisible communion, I'll be gentle, I'll be gentle, I'll be gentle – just kidding. Home in the mountains, basking my head in the ocean – looking at your titties. Inside the house filled with one hundred thousand nipples, I see you, I look at you, smile at your titties. I stuck out your tongue inside my nipples. I was your nipple and shall I also be my nipple? It was the bald patch filled with nipples, thus the nipple screwing will be filled with myriads of random screwhole inside my dung and your ding dong. Not especially my loldongs, but whatever.

Everywhere, I find fun. Fin in the fan and the fun shall be, whatever it may be, it always will be. As I craved for your eggs, I cut off your ballsacks and barbecue your genitals inside my genitals with your genitals and as much as my genitals starts pretending to be your genitals, you will know inasmuch as me wanted to perform a genitalia inside a genitalia. This is fun, like lobster being barbecued with marinated salad, garlic, chives, tomato tartines, and might as well – your titties. Our homes was affected with your nipples, so one hundred thousand of it will make a barbecue salad lactate boulders, which in turn would lactate your titties once again within a repercussion.

It was an infinite loop, until one of them could say - the game.

Resulting in both of them losing the game, me and you, and also the Author, also loses the game. What kind of game, exactly? Was it a game which involves playing a silly pingpong using your titties? Was it that kind of game in which you should masturbate before someone in this planet yells out the battletoads national anthem? Nobody knows exactly what kind of game it is. One just kind of shouts 'the game' and it all ends just like that. The game was ended before it was even started, a contradiction, a reductio et absurdum at its finest.

That might involve the same kind of mechanism which made the Schrodinger's cat masturbate inside a box, and then come out at the nearby washroom wearing nothing but your titties. When you opened the box, there will be nothing but a hermaphrodite catgirl furiously lactating nipples. If you're horny enough, you might as well have sex with it, and judging by what I will tell you next, you definitely need to have the sleaziest intercourse with it.

What I'm about to tell you : the catgirl, is not so furry, but you know that thing with completely human bodies, and just some cat ears and tails – yeah, something like that. When you want some fur, you could just dunk on your fur couch and masturbate on top of it. Better than having to commit a necrophilia bestiality inside the nearby cemetery while the sun was still bright – unless you want to instill the new kind of exhibitionism by pulling out lots of pranks involving buying eleven sets of rocket dildos and blew them up inside the neighbor's own ass cheeks.

Regardless of your will and actual gender, the Author made you had sex with the catgirl as a lonely fat middle-aged man wearing thick-framed glasses, and when you ejaculate inside the catgirl's titties, you suddenly turned into a giant cactus. The catgirl, being mostly hermaphrodite, and the rest being necrophiliac sadist, had sex with your body, being a giant cactus, from the morning 'til evening, without even bleeding a single bit from her loldongs.

Since you first had sex with her in the middle of a farmland, the scenery also looks kinda out of place, but well whatever, it's the Author's own fault – I'm just here as a mere narrator.



Originally, there was supposed to be a giant cactus exploding into a giant cockroach. The giant cockroach will soon enough have sex with the hermaphrodite catgirl, until eleven titties start popping out on her body. Few moments later, both the giant cockroach and the hermaphrodite catgirl would have feast together, cooking these eleven titties on a barbecue party. These titties came off as soon as the catgirl was given a fellatio by the giant cockroach, as simple as that. The titties were so afraid of the prospect of a bizarre creature giving head, so yeah, it died of shock and came out of the ground.

As the titties were barbecued, it soon enough turned into a pineapple, and the pineapple turned into a grilled meat. There was a lot. There was plenty. A lot of people being invited to join the party as there's a lot of meat left. Nobody ever knew the heritage of the meat being a former pineapple, a former titty who had been shocked by a giant cockroach giving blowjobs. The giant cockroach turned again into you, a middle aged man with a loose vagina. Hey, did I ever told you that a middle aged man definitely has a penis? Oh wait, I didn't take note of that.

Just assume that the Author gives the first middle aged man a penis, then the second one a vagina. The third one gives a head. No, not a fellatio sessions, it's just, it was there with a decapitated head to give – so it goes.

By the way, the meat cooked from a former pineapple, a former titty – it wasn't an ordinary meat. No, not just by its heritage, also by its side effect too. As the innocent bystanders ate the meat, it exploded inside their throats, turning their heads into a pineapple, and their dildos into a dildo. How about the catgirl? Well, it stays as a hermaphrodite catgirl with the genitalia about eleven inches long.

The catgirl masturbates at the grotesque scenery when you were basically worried about what kind of outrageous thing might came outside your own vagina. You saw your own head coming out of your own vagina, saying 'hi' and goes back in thereafter. You put both of your hands inside it, and clapped furiously. It was loose enough for yourself to be able to clap inside. Suddenly, alerted by your shenanigans inside this somewhat chaotic place where everybody's heads turned into a pineapple, someone pulled a zipper-thingy enclosing your vagina.

You reflexively pulled your hand out, and on your vagina, there was a sign '404 Not Found'. Of course you can't just see it right away without a mirror. So you went outside to the bathroom. Oh wait, you're already outside. Regardless of that, let's just assume that, you're going outside of 'outside' or whatever. After seeing a 404 Not Found sign on your vagina, the Author made you shot your own vagina using a chainsaw right on the 404 Not Found sign.

Still 404 Not Found, nothing happens.

A giant cockroach sprang from inside the toilet in your bathroom, and both of you had the hottest threesome sex with the chainsaw. The three of you lived happily ever after.

It was the happiest ending ever conceived.

Lots of time, nothing much to do. Snow falling deep, drenching the murky waters. It all formed a glacier deep within our hearts: nobody knows, nobody cares. There doesn't seem to be anybody who cares enough to just stop by and have sex with the garage door while I just quietly watch them by and masturbate. What would the snow be, when the icicle scrotum pole down the igloo house just whitewashed everything with tin cans? I like the tidbits, nifty tidbits floating down the sky like a Leprechaun on krack. The gnomes, the ultraviolet marshes, green and solid.

Everything's one element, one note. A samba comprised in one note only, just to keep on my trigger fingers on a rhythm. Dance dance motherfockers, it's that samba to perform solipsism inside the valley that cries unheard. Show your bitch ass dance moves now, upper hand outside a kung-fu valley when someone whispers hello to your scrotum. Immediately you kicked them out with a giant ballsack anthem on your viagra. When you juggled home right after your vasectomy, you just might heard something and many something incredibly outlandish and yet outlasting.

A rectal excrement baby. Down down bitch ass moves inside when you performed a bitch slap down the nearby whore on krack inside outside out. Someone begs for an anal fisting inside the nearby tunnel when someone high on krack usually came up here to masturbate for about twelve hours, seriously. Maybe she will, or she does, there she goes again. I want it in my butt, she said. You don't know that she had twelve vaginas. Eleven of them being an artificial one.

She's basically a futanari having lots of cock sleeves or artificial vagina when she's lonely. When I just came to her asking for sex, not knowing that she's actually had a special delicious extra just waiting for someone else, not me, I mainly just walked by curious. I asked, where did she get that big junk from? That was a really unexpected thing which made myself erect, seeing as that adorable girl from earlier who looks frail and more like a loli, actually had such thing down her sleeve. Not exactly sleeve anyway, but you got the idea.

She then said to me that she got there after she had the sleaziest blowjob sessions with another girl who smoked from a pipe. It was the same thing being shoved by a durian up the ass when another girl gave you a handjob using nothing but your bare nipples. The third girl masturbates with a porcupine after fucking a woodchuck to death with a teaspoon – so it goes.

One hundred thousand vibrators were shipped overseas every year from the largest exporter of cucumber dildo. The brotherhood of dildos were born, and one million condoms were signed with a cucumber after being subjected with one thousand vibrations from the dildo using nothing but a dildo. There's even the dildos for parrot until it could say nothing but dildo using a dildo. Confused eh? Don't think, just use a dildo to say your dildo.

Lots of people went to that whorehouse, have sex, then came back home as an intelligent, sentient nipple who lives in a mousepad and masturbates at another planet. The nipple was shaped like a nipple, only it had another breed of rocket turbo boosters and uranium-238 powered plutonium beams with the power which would make the entire earth ejaculate mighty sausages in a juicy suspense involving a molten fruitcake.

Within our own home planet, we just refer to that as anal frustration. You became frustrated so much you soon enough crave for anal sex involving nothing but fucking your nipples using a pineapple and a dead woodchuck, so it goes.



It was cold, it was dull. Cold snowflake, grey atmosphere. Everywhere you went, smells like frozen nipples on a thin ice. Cubes and hemispheres, little girls doing cute things, playing with bulldogs and molten cupcakes, random shenanigans. The homes weren't as much as broken possible, but things that were indistinguishable were deemed absolutely possible. The die is cast, until the moment where the words were misconstrued once again forevermore.

Blank faces having sex with each other. A surreal scenery, so to speak. The words unspoken, unwritten, as to decipher this incomprehensible scenery – mostly harmless. It spoke to my heart like a caterpillar down the drain when you munched down your munchumps. Guitar songs strumming about like the times when you rode down the Cadillac with my refrigerator. Would the words rhyme anymore? Will it shone upon this timely waters when both of us had bananas with a pineapple? This promise would be made once again, a pinky swear – with words 'I promise thee'.

Spiral out, keep going on. We keep marching on according to the 5/4 beat, it's take five baby, yeah. Munching on your Jalapeno, the fires keep on bursting forth like the mouth of a dragon. Wounding swift and sound, unsightly manner, the dark matter, everything doesn't seem to matter anyhow. Just take a pebble, and cast it to my nipples. Words made a fervor, take a sip of the french vanilla. My grandeous whisper, shall cast thee to the wind. Whispers and goodbyes, all along this tuscany.

So it seems to me, poignantly, your dildo brothers – inside my coven – undoubtedly spread out. My sign was not broken, so do your best not to fix it.

Within this place, my loldongs will find fulfillment.

This time, I shall take a bow, shoot my arrows across the field. There I shall find what I've been looking for ever since it goes dark. Within the darkness, the arrow of light pierces through it all. Something warm echoes inside this somewhat cold yet grey atmosphere, what is it?

Is it me, is it you? Neither of us seem to whisper on a clue.

We just kept on being silent until the time do us part.

The eyes, there were blurry, unable to learn from the outside world anyhow. The mind is filled with fear, it does not know peace. Where the fear had all but gone, it all comes to an understanding that the primal fear comes within the mind and mind only. The time has come where men finally came to outwit the ghosts of fear and claim supremacy unlike any other. The fear itself hath begun to fear him.

He was the man who had conquered it all, standing above all others, though high the position, he does not succumb to arrogance, and that's how every others came to respect him. Sure there's the one who hated him and wants to overthrow him in whichever way possible – they were basically powerless, and whatever they do, it only serves to make the man even stronger, to the point it made them very very helpless. The sun melted by, and it turns into pure vapor. It was the vapor which ultimately turned the cold snowflake of grey atmosphere into a warmth valley of colorful scenery.

It becomes the scenery of warmth, where people could happily have sex.



The time finally comes when people first had experienced their own very summer. The scenery of sun setting high within the mountainous regions, and the first feelings of warmth inside their very hearts as they bathe inside the morning sunlight. Long shadows cast away on their once-shabby figures, now the sun made their posture erect – just like their nipples. What was once a region sheltered by eternal snow, now able to experience the joy of four seasons. The ice age hath all gone, so to speak.

No dark sarcasm inside that ski resort spa anymore. People start planting cherry trees, naming it the cherry hill when the guys and girls go there to pop some cherry with a cherry. Bushes started to sprout, and here we go again, sprouting some more bushes with various fruits and vegetables inside. The decoration of greenery inside the greenhouse, the farmer smiling brightly at naked girls while he masturbates to a giant cactus. The greatest tentacle sex ever, bitches. Inside my own parley, shall I go within the next dimensional valley to illicit your photograph?

My phonograph doesn't seem to work anymore, whatever. Nonetheless, it's all peace and green now, nothing to worry about. Not even the erectile dysfunction I had, unless I performed the tantric necrophilia near a graveyard or even go to the nearby farmland to conduct bestiality sessions. At long last, here we go again, partying hard all day, doing drugs, dancing naked day and night inside our own empty valley. No sign inside a parking lot – oh the irony, go fetch some iron and iron this stuff.

Our neighbors tried recommending cupcakes, but to no avail, there's nobody on earth did hear everything he ever said. Only rough sex every day, night, and early morning, with french toast as the side dish and frankfurter hotdogs as the main course. As the dessert, there still a whipped cream with molten cupcakes and blueberry waffles. After the meal, there's also a second serving of another waffles and even strawberry steak cup with marinated salad and blueberry cakes with a choco-chip topping.

Prawns and sugar, an oriental dish made easy with grilled seaweed. Some cowboys made a bison steak with it, they said, and ate it to restore the remaining intake of carbs. Excess protein made his muscles packed, more than six-pack thingy, it seems. The amount of muscles to make a piledriver lactate the driver, laying a pile down the driver, it becomes a piledriver again. The pineapple dunghole practicing kung-fu with a ninja elephant, it turns into a comedy sketch featuring our nearby bleeding walrus as the sarcastic commenter.

Meanwhile, I might just sit there and watch some television while I wait for my pizza delivery to come. My house was made out of calcium, but at least it has a decent internet connection for me to watch porn while I have sex with a rhinoceros.

In short, it was a marblecake.

Look at the eyes as you see me, look at your heartbeat – what did you see? The jazzy beats sprang out to the open as you watched people come and go, they went by as you see fit. The times went by, how many things concerned? Was it me, was it you, was it everybody? Those questions won't seem to end, you see me as I see you – we've seen each other for myriads of times already. Have you been indulging yourselves in the times of fear, the times of fright? I sure am, do as you must.

Heartbeat, it was a dinghy beat, flustered, frustrated, relocated to the intensity of musical instruments. You plugged the guitar into the amp, strumming it with such force and power to digress the entire universe with rock and roll, baby. The homes weren't there, was it broken? It wasn't me I swear. We're the 20th Century Boys, and I want to be your dearest baby. The edge of century comes forth like a waterfall, and the falling waters came pouring down swift like rain – it was quicker than rain. Fight like a butterfly, sting like a coconut. Inside your choco, there will be my choco. We say it like coco nuts.

Hypertension, a time for dilation, ridiculously stronger than friction. Objection, the same thing happening one time after another again, thing doesn't seem to be the same. Yo momma drama screaming for tonight, the time for us to plight, doesn't get it really, my ego's been sent to ecstasy. Righty-o, left-y-o, center middle into the pussy, the niggas don't whack a mole daddy-o daddy-o and your momma mothafucka dun'cha get ya springa then ya'll scump deepa deepa into a big dilemma.

The hypertension's in da house yo.



Relocating the anti-gravity matters into the succulent surface. The sky is green, and the broken mountains stacked high across the entire scenery. The mountain with the shape similar to some ass-cheeks being sneezed over by a friggin' trampoline. Observe all this dipshit, you son of a bitch, we've all been here to masturbate inside a material in which all of us lies – the giant nipple – belonging to an even bigger titty inside another titty, and that titty doesn't even produce milk – only another titty.

Show your dance moves aww shit nigga. I only see that naked gorilla doing striptease while the horny porcupine masturbates on the backstage. The gorilla's ass cheeks seem to be one of a peculiar kind after being raped by a shemale elephant when the neighbor's watched Super Bowl inside a rice bowl. What a friggin' waste of space and time, you said. It's really omniscient, you know, that trampoline doing a trampoline with another trampoline inasmuch you don't even want to buy a trampoline.

Give me your best shot when you just want to confirm that you've already wasted another titty inside your titty. When everything was broken, it doesn't need to be fixed again, as together forever we're a bunch of lazy people who basically loves doing nothing. Sitting on the couch, watching silly porno about two naked man fisting each other with a ham sandwich. The witch herself masturbates in the sand while her dick was having some fun with portable titties amidst the sexually-frustrated sun.

You know, it's that one time one after another when you just want to rub your nipples with a sandpaper over and over again, in order to produce static electricity. You will use these electricity to send another shock down your neighbor's nipple, until it managed to produce another nipple inside a nipple.

Yeah, it's as simple as that. You want to run a pogo stick inside a vagina until it's able to produce another vagina inside a vagina, like that event within a quantum mechanism when someone travels back in time to have sex with himself, kill the person, then have sex with it until he also dies. What's that genre called? Selfcest gore necrophilia vanilla rape tentacles dildo. Where's the tentacle? Right there, on the man's pubic hair. The genitalia being artificial after it being forcibly removed by an automaton after it mistook his wiener for a wiener.

The current artificial genitalia being the one able to fire blast energy rifles at the distance of eleven astronomical units. When it ejaculates, the speed approximately set at one hundred kilograms or to be frankly speaking, five kilometers each time a gorilla baby went pregnant by a shouting couple on krack.

When you think about it. The thing tasted like heaven when you tried doing something that you like, and when you think about how hellish the other times were, the sensation becomes even better. It's just like an addiction like no other. Wants to smoother up, gooble things up, take a hike, sip a vacation, get drunk with mineral water. In the end, it's all about normalizing the vector with a bunch of pencil, paper, and ruler. It was love, which set things crazy apart. The same kind of thingy resurrecting someone when they were basically being torn apart by the daily life.

A psychedelic report 101, folks. The evil space temple differential machine, the programmer who had just learned kung fu inside a seminal videogame made to educate baby toddlers how to take a dump properly. The food is a virtue, always eat at least four times a day. Three normal meals, and one evening snack consisting of meat soup, cornflakes, and molten sausage. No need to wax the asphalt, just drink the contents like a beer, and you shall be fine enough.

Alcohol's not my thing, tried that once, twice, and thrice and I didn't think that it kinda suits my physiology. I kinda felt wasted after downing an entire bottle in one serving. That was, by far, one of the positive byproducts since it made my wallet tad unhealthy. The prices escalating more than I could count how many times I masturbate. An awkward, stupefied response to a parental dilation. Not to mention, I don't want to take that as a surprise. Basically, the assholes won't really come to take a dump right on this mess – not this time.



What I really want to do right now – cleaning up the bubblegum squirts that I left when I ejaculate inside a broken condom and to clean my own toilet bowl when my toilet wants to take a shit down the shitter. My wiener juice cut off loose inside the promontory when all of the porn I've downloaded thus far had disappeared all of sudden inside your very titties. The hearty bosom that indulges in a molten earthquake, swing and swing bitches don't really know or neither of those would care anyway.

I really need the strength to carry on, the strength to fight the power of uncertainty within my mind when all hell seem to be breaking out loose right at the afternoon. The sunset, at the sundown, it all breaks through the infirmary when nothingness occurs in reality. All of it does so maybe and things that maybe seem opulent, would subjugate themselves into the grey matter inside your own antimatter.

Are you afraid? Tell me that you're basically not alone in this kind of scenery. The scenery when all and each and every thing seem to be falling into leaves, cutting loose, right onto the branches and trees and shady bushes rigidity. There's another shadow beckoning yourself. The shadow to re-enact upon your weakness, as the ultimate truth lies within it. You need to crawl, to act like a baby, to shed all of the cold exterior, bringing in the warm interior and love and affection to your fellow people.

It's that kind of weakness which creates the unbreakable bond which definitely won't shatter for all eternity. When everything turns out to be happy, you will know that both me and you will be filled with happiness for all eternity. The bonds that were formed, the strength bounded into twigs and leaves and then into one full-grown tree up until the gargantuan size itching on the salve start spouting out words – unchanging, unchanging.

I for myself liked french toast filled with marinated sugar, it's best to be served chilled first thing in the morning, and around the evening I shall go onwards to find the piece of mind that I desired furthermore as the fruits of my labor. What kind of things shall be found unsettling, and those who would be found as fulfilling and meaningful? The same question could be asked and said : on why the cavemen had invented the wheel, knowing that they could just perform tribadism inside the cave and simply made the world go around with the force of this rigidity pertaining sexual intercourse.

One would might as well illicit some sexual gratification using a pineapple. The fruit cup and the fruit stand go go fucking bitches on the sandy beaches. Son of a btich – so you shouted out loud – sky high, until the gorillas had pretty much formed a nipple inside your nipple when your titties shot and plow through haphazard, though at the other times the direction whom your bosoms plow were pretty much straightforward. Back water alley brawl, the water shall drink deep inside the deep echoes in the forlorn house. When you're in somebody's house, you're in somebody else's home. To be said, a house is not always a home.

What things could be referred to as a home? Step one, a place where you could clench your nipples with a piece of stationery in front of the station. The station was, in fact, more stationary than the stationery. You can move – let's just say, the pencil. You can also move your nipples to a certain extent - but you can't move the station. The station still remains stationary, while the stationery could just plow through haphazardly. A chore to make your nipples frozen cold and solid, a workaholic propaganda, the D-day for another Hypertension dogma.

When I see your eyes, and I see your face, dressed in the lump of my nipples, I felt like each and every of my troubles would be sundered clear – a clear sundering just like picking up tomato tartines at some nearby Italian restaurant. You don't simply order a pizza and have sex with the nearby delivery man with that genitalia hung like a horse – basically sleeping. You need the heavy-duty viagra causing your massive penis to bleed, regurgitate nitrogen, and to ejaculate Uranium-238, in addition of depositing lots of radioactive materials inside your body in order for it to produce radioactive titties.

All of those basically starts from hypertension – bitches.

The rain finally let out. The trucks, the railways, and the ship – all of them came abroad nonchalantly. I stood there, admiring this quaint, tranquil scenery where people seem to come and go without a single care – to what's going to happen next. Maybe a miracle or a disaster – everybody else seems to be minding their own business like the entire fate of the world actually rests on their hands.

Yeah, I think it's true, in some aspects. As I reminisce against this peaceful wind, gusts of it blowing across my face, I inhaled the scent of the salty air. It was the docks, and the weather was hot enough for the gerbils to lactate their own titties where I just watch them have their own inane bestiality sessions with a random truck driver. What was the deal or the reason why we all should deal with the banks of cartoon pornography? I like viewing the photographs from a distance – a two way ticket to the vascular intersection – copy that.

The town where you live, it's not the place where I held living dear. The air was clear, yet it feels so stale. It's better to harbor my voyage inside this polluted city, where the air was filled with vitality and disturbance – oh so absurdity rummaging within every nook and cranny outlasts. Was it truly outlandish or not? Never mind, nobody knows for sure.

Only thing I know was to lick your titties using a sandpaper while I drove my truck into the nearby pitfall towards hell – hermaphrodite demons came crashing by and when they masturbate themselves I'll just came by and say hi – daddy wants some – so I nonchalantly said. The grasses would be greener on the other side, still, there's nothing as much as to live in this empty valley that cries unheard. The town was lonely, it needs more activity, yet it deserves nothing more than the desolation it happens right at this moment – for whom the bell tolls.

A big city, with bustling activity, such immorality crawling amidst the very murky waters – a kind of city that's pleasant to live and fro – to plow against the currents, and to actualize oneself amidst the seminal house of dildos. The insipid vermin would take a hike when you first had sex with that giant cockroach when you rode three-sixties with the lightning storm – it eventually came out at number sixty-nine and you were forced to perform both fellatio and enema at the same time.

Your rectal hole turns into a kind of sewer to misogyny. Never again you're going to wear those ball gags and juggle home from your own vasectomy – it's just that thing which never was, and never will be again. A journey towards the excavation sites. You simply took a rest across the border, looking at the boulder, slowly and surely start getting bolder you simply stuck your penis onto the keyholder. Mountains and magic, the dragon themselves being immortalized in the shape of a naughty dildo.

Pouring rain, it's the Wednesday's fate. Sunday, Monday, and Saturday – we shall meet again. Whenever we may cry, the outlasting fever will heat up the rice – there shall we ate the rice porridge. Although the taste stood out unpleasant, nothing complacent worth of issue that we must rectify. Sometimes the pain in your ass cheeks would be so great, your anus would soon open up a theatre for it to sing somberly clod ballads, still, that won't be true at this time – at least not for today, not even yesterday.

It's not yesterday where the everyday rain was pouring down the dirt patio, and we've heard King Oozil singing the most perverted songs using that language filled with grunting, grumbling, moaning, and lots of lascivious gestures. Nevertheless, many people seem to like those which would brought about them a wealth of sexual gratification, to the point even the sexual intercourse won't be enough to satisfy. We like to fantasize having sex with imaginary beings, just like that one tentacle rape sessions with a giant cactus, and a threesome with that giant cockroach down the nearby laundromat.

Oh well.



Everyday I heard someone vomiting candid cameras all down the drain, with our septic tank unable to create something worthwhile out of these outlandish shenanigans. That was that kind of fun going on our town, where the hermaphrodite mammals want to have sex with the nearby pump action shotgun – they simply shot their dick off until it came out – eventually it ends up being used as the nearby baseball bat and reusable dildo, or the worst case scenario – they have to ate it well done in their thanksgiving anniversary.

When someone asks : where the fuck did all of their thanks to give went, you could just simply answer – they were out giving head instead of thanks. No decapitated heads of course, it was allegedly forbidden by the supreme court to abuse the usage of slangs and idioms. We simply refer to it as an official term : plowing dough inside a rectal insemination waiting for the personal elevator to reimburse.

It was necessary, since fellatio and blowjob was now official as the description of how the vacuum cleaner works everyday instead the nearby toilet stall when someone practically turn sperm into a giant cockroach waiting to rape the nearest old man until their rectal excrement finally withdrew the same amount as the length of their loldongs. I need to rectify the issue once again, working on some math problem while I masturbate.

Somewhere I tend to miss you, but more often than not, I just find myself forgetting you. I prefer this freedom more than anything else – a freedom to break free from the chains of hypocrisy that has been blinding me forthnight and forbore me onto generations and generations to come – it's already eons passing through the territory. What do I want? Where do I need to go, and where to achieve what I sought? It all starts right at this point, a terminal virtue where the converging point resides furthermore.

I desire the freedom to express the rigidity and the solipsism, the evocation for my own suffrage about what rules. All that gives, still leaving me through with economical surrogatory. Still I need all those cold hard cash just to breathe, and forever I also would feel helpless amongst this pouring rain and the fate of Wednesday. Will there be Sundays anymore, and would there be Mondays to work? Nobody knows for sure. It all leaves the decision to be free, and it's not safe to become a free man and a free thinker.

The society hates us. Yet, in this town we lived in, we met our kind anywhere. You stay in your hometown any longer, the desire to become suicidal keeps on engorging – I knew about that for sure. We are of the same kind, yet you're able to wear such thick mask – deceiving everyone, and everything. You won't be able to deceive me though, we've already known each other so much, and so close, but at the same time we want to stay away from each other.

Was it strings of fate? Someday I'll be missing you, but the time we met again won't be no more, it was somehow things that practically were unheard. As someone who fought for freedom, it was really hard to keep. It was really hard to fight against the scenery, this tranquil order suffocates me. I want to be as quirky and insidious as I want, without harming the people around – yet, all of those swirling images keep coming out from all directions; breaking all hell loose into my turnip when I came and threw out my loldongs into the caravan water.

It wasn't really some parting ways, but both me and you had understood it all too well that each parting brought about a new meeting.

That's how both you and me practically met during one certain day, one that I supposedly forgot, but as the wafting moments passed by, the impression on me got even stronger and stronger. Like the friction of bellowing wind, and the abhorrence to living a normal cemetery has – it was the same reason why all of us someday will cease our own existence through our hands, and our hands only.

Writing the words that couldn't be understood – in the end all of it ends up with a rope – you simply went with rope jumping in order to vent out stress. If you have those strong wings to fly and the strength to live by yourself everywhere you want, I know for sure that you will take this once in a lifetime opportunity. Until the moment comes, let's just drink our glass of wine in our respective places, hoping for a much brighter future in store for us.

The sky was pink, and the pouring rain was no more. It's now a time where lost things are eventually found.

There's simply nothing more to read, only silence.
















Silence.










........and more silence.











Let this silence be your guide to outlast the entire eternity with glee.














I walked through this path, yet it yields no avail.









There's just you and me, with this silence beckoning us.









All of this silence, signified by spaces, made ourselves mystified regardless of the little things we've reading thus far.










Why the things should stay the same as it were, when the new and exciting things could beg to differ?









Why must we stay the same, the old dull boring days like usual, when we could just metamorphose to something much different – something essentially bigger than our own original self?





This contemplative question still stands until the end of time.







....or until the end of this chapter, so it seems.




Ahem.












Let's just say that I'm bored with nothing to talk about.








...so we're probably just playing with spaces now.










Let the things flow smooth and tranquil, with the engorgement of paragraph spacing.









There can never be things too wide, we obviously need to go wider – alright?











Yes, do tell me that everything I choose is alright.











I am alive.




















This place is so spacious.














.......and so does the relaxation theraphy sessions that await.











Do you feel me, as I do feel you?











Yeah, you certainly do.






It was me, it was you.







We're basically together.











We've been together since the edge of time.













Across this scenery, our love blooms as the passing moment occurs.









You and me, our love – was mutual.









Even though the spacing between the paragraphs seem to distance us, it all only serves to make this bond grew even stronger.









.......stronger and stronger as the time goes, and the time persists.





So does our perseverance.











Now let's end this thing with another tranquil time to think, it will be a short one.
















































Clear your mind.
















































Clear your mind further.




































Take a deep breath.


























Slowly.....


























Slowly.......














































Do you feel better now?




























Right.




















You find yourself feeling more calm.


















Calm.










Inner peace.













Tranquility.







Inside a place of tranquil scenery.



















Nevertheless.















Let me say this again.












Thank you for reading.

It's time to move on towards a new beginning, the times where the birds would not be further unsung in this unsettling thing. Unless you want to make a comical presumptuous assumption about things that went on winding like this and that, for sure or not? We will not falter, not disobey the thing that never was, or never will be. Only the democracy issues keep on appearing throughout the ages as the blinding lights kept on plowing through the bay of meticulous recourse.

The blinding light, the city, the putrid fantasy benightingly. What shall we do, or what shall we fulfill. The rectal abiogenesis might as well rectify the issue, the mundruff tissue, a low celluloid diet, trapped and be trapped inside for all eternity, until it all ends up doing things that weren't supposed to be. Are you afraid of the past, afraid of changing?

Sure we all are. In spite of all the recursive happenings at the beginning of time, we probably would made ourselves a grandeous feast from the beginning. It's a very beginning, the same moment purveyed down the firepits as of late – there's little to no progress to be made. Succulent watery skies might drink deep towards the flaccid turns of time, it was very unsettling changes of manner.

Seasons change, and so can I. It's time for me to move on towards the time when there's nothing that old fetched within my memories. Even though it's all brand new, you could say that I hereby enjoyed it through the very fullest. Outlasting each and every single thing out there, and what's left to be, what's all through to fulfill.

Time to forget it all, sever the ties – it was a brand new Indian summer. Tissues that were obliged to fall upwards the seasonal cemetery, a dividental communion – I'll be gentle, this I promise. A new recourse to move towards the setting sun, where sunsets fall, it had been told like that since the last time and the time before that. A lot of practice needed to shelter the boundaries between the storytelling and storywriting in due recourse. How much had you practiced as of late, and how much of an issue do you have in this unsettling manner, where everything else grim and frostbitten might have to undulate the frozen changes of time inside this very manner, benightingly?

I felt the tinge of my stomach pulsating. The hedgerow bouncing throughout, and throughout the ages. I'm afraid that, at the very finest bidding, I'll improve towards the extent that there's no place for me to compete again. The very first thing I want to reimburse was that, it's all up to me in order to terminate upon the sightings of the momentary lapse of reason – shall I fulfill the ages, or shall I douse the fire from the tap water into the pultaceous tip until you already screamed onto the slaughter?

We're going into the mausoleum, digging graves, rummaging gillywaters down the goblinhood. An awkward sighting, it seems. This shall drink deep, the well is. We're not going to stand tall when someone was up to call names, in order to douse the proximity of things concerning the monastery or debauchery of all things nothingness, nonetheless. Brokeback mountain, broken horses.

Inability to rectify the issue any longer, it's time to forget, and forgive. Broken mountain, everlasting the peace and time, the pieces, there will be no more imminent. Everyday we outlast our single work within the nick of time, it was by far, where my true audience lies. We wrote a single story within ourselves, creating the concept of the universe, and in the end, forgetting everything else. I had forgotten, what it's like to start fresh anew, what it's like to myself wanting to forget something, but still end up never knowing it was there, to be forgotten.

I'm unable to forgive myself any further down, that I'm still here, struggling to make ends meet any further. Without people to relinquish my past desires, I ended up hating every single living soul out there nearby, and distant far away. It was chaotic, yet at the same time – utterly comical. I have been treating myself like a delusional clown – it's very putrid. Look, there might be giants out there, if you didn't watch out. Sprang their heads toward you, klunked their bedsides and slam you upwards. Do you think you can hide from the direness of this momentum. Everything that was there, will always be here, so does free will, and the desire to keep on living to the fullest.

Further down, I've been wallowing in denial, yet it was necessary for me to clear things up and to keep moving on without any regrets. Yeah, I've been making so many things regretful. Why? I think it's because there's nothing to congratulate within my past achievements. Yeah, what I probably need right now is the message of congratulation, and appreciation from people around me – one to lend me an understanding mind to help.

At first, I think it's probably pathetic that I solely learned my value from the appreciation of the people around me. Where the angels fear to tread, there you shall found me drinking deep within the depths. It's the fear as to follow. When everything else seem to outlast the bursting moment, endling hath come unsung, may forth the forthcoming and four by two reckoning inside the depths of gillywater.

Inside my own empty valley cries unheard, there shall began anew a cherry petal filled with blossoms. Pain, pain – shall you fly away down inside the recess of time. When the comfy moments regurgitate the outlasting peace inside one's own scenery. Would we fulfill, or would we rather beckons the outlasting peace that severs time? It won't be long until the dividends came and roam free, the moment still on, a moment to outlast the peace of time, the moment reigning supremacy throughout the ages when things doesn't really matter anymore, but that was pretty much the thing which made everything else seem to matter. A mundane ricochet, a still life, a purgatory, the Utopian scenery that was somehow dysfunctional.

More like, maybe we should harbor no more feelings in a kind of dystopian world reigning the backwater alleys pungent smell, crazy hicks, down the valley of suburban twists of late. Was there a time in midst of my own seas, the rigidity which harbors incident and marvelous rigidity inside the recurring moments. We'll see, and we will gain ourselves a new breed of eternity ending throughout any fruitful regeneration of colossus. Why must we speak about it so colloquially? Inside these depths of water, the reign shall be no more. It has already broken up into pieces, more than what I could possibly endure.

I really need to move on from something, and that desire brings me closer to what I refer to be an upheaval of things. Maybe this kind of pain and despair was the one urging me to propel myself forward onto a better place, until the day where we will belong. Inside my mind, the mystified buildings probably might perform some idle banter until we probably entered the mythical issue of this very moment – I shall delve deeper onto the nick of time, a very moment where the hourglass of summer already had died down.

Yeah, it was the moment that created something new outta the flesh sentinel. When life by itself often shows you some empty facade, you'll know at the same moment that you'll be sorry for the rest of your lives. Things will come and go, and the leaves will come unsung. What's with the rest of my lives that has been falling through and through. It's just like there's no more room for me to tread.

What should I do, why should I procure something? What's going to happen next within my own future? There might not be giants anymore, only a bunch of people with their own daily lives. Sometimes you might just want to stop and think – what's going to happen within your own future. What kind of things would make the daily lives been better onto and without the things that might be? You need fast internet connection, a better standard of living, and moving towards the pathways of success in order to drive you forward into living meaningful lives. Though you must know that not all of these will come gradually, there will come a time when things will be left to say and done without any preparations. In that case, just brace yourself; everything will be fine like it's always be.

Living inside my heart, shall there be no excuse to have? Inside the mind, there's only undulating doubts that won't really seem to make a difference into the world we live in, the way our heart beats, something inside ourselves we may seem to forget, and no longer had any kind of bravery to take a further step forward. I'm running towards the nick of time, just like being chased by a rabid monster that's trying to take things up into the most inhumanly way possible, I must succeed no matter what.

Succeed, but what can I do? This is absolutely barbaric. I haven't been trained to answer such hefty decisions precisely and profusely! It was bloody hell, a kind of disjointed dystopian society into the undulating scenery! Man, what should I do? The monsters are chasing me, but still I haven't been able to do anything. Should I stood there and fight them? I don't know, but all that I know is, they're going to chase me wherever I go, so all that I have to do was just to run away until the point will come where I could face them head on and it will eventually end with my own victory.

In spite the dilations of the water. We probably will proceed by delving at it by randomness. The songs we still, and the other ones which did really matter. A fast-paced life, tripping hazard, shall we phone home in order to see each and every thing has been happening throughout the ages, inside of me? I can see you, and you can see me wallowing in the depths of depression without ever looking back.

Maybe later, maybe not so elegant. It was the moment when all of us shall fall within the starlight. Shall we begin our songs of love still unsaid? Minimum pain shall it be, and through all the rivers of our rickety time we shall see. Infinitesimally clear, without anything to misconstrue. My dollars kept on falling, dimly lit within the shadows. Light and shade intersecting each other – it was an intercourse of nations deserving of a golden fleece.

Was it the kind of progeny created from mass conquest? An outlying derelict – vehemently shining down across the steps. A stupa, incarcerated by stupor. Somewhat delirious, or maybe was it a result of mundruff alienation? Maybe so, or rather, it may seem to be something of ill-will. Nothing outlasts the palatial resurgence made of ill-repute. The bottom line is, I need something to calm myself down.

An outlasting call everlasting eternity. The trump of time fell down, inside the truth shall follow. Crying in the rain, the dark side of the moon. My own eclipse sheltered within this very brain damage – it was palatial. What would you call again when you tried procuring this progeny? Just take one step at one time – slow down the place, there it goes – steady as a cornflake snow willowing in the white bollocks. Frankly I shall strive myself to be such a hallowen clown inside the nifty pumpkin of late.

Endling themes, myriads of gillywaters sung. Middle schoolers do not accept literary nonsense to be misconstrued. It was beneficial, yet at the same time, nothing of benefit would come from wallowing the literary nonsense up its own rectal tissue, under its own very excremental abiogenesis. No need to rectify the issue any further, commander, sir. It's already been dealt thrice and in quadruplets of time – no longer necessary to keep the booty up in the trees of Pumapunku. Let's just use that kind of widespread vocabulary vocational tissue down the experimentally elementary condemnation. It was filled with sacrilege pertaining vulgarity.

Or so does it seem. Does it really matter anyway, my baba want the muda in the juda to be baba down the dada shish kebab. I like it calm, slow, sleazy, and yet poignant. Play it slow and easy, without any intensity. Throat of winter, shall we dance? It was nothing sort of charming like when one tried dancing with Death, but it sounds more like a sexual intercourse rather than those BDSM sessions where the Death tried tying you up with a pineapple – pretty much looks like when you imagine bollocks being shoved by a bloody hell of a raccoon dog whilst being penetrated by a woodchuck.

One more time here we go. Are you excited enough? Me sure does. Do you want me to deliver another shish kebab, down your shish kebab? It wasn't that strong enough for the progeny to outlast the entire homosexuality ravaging the universe – it's just enough, for the progeny to invade the rectal tissue of a hippopotamus. You know what they say is true – when a male hippopotamus got pregnant – signifies that the gods must be freaking filled with insanity from watching too much silly porno. The hell with all of these pornographic materials outlasting the entire sensibility when you could just use a woodchuck to masturbate the nearby cactus.

Dilapidated times; my arms your hearse. It shall begin once again, yesterday once more. Inside a confined valley, there she goes again. I've dreamed of all the magic things inside a volcano, where you will stay beside me, thinking about all the things we would went through if it weren't for all the love we had today, or even yesterday.

My goodness. It was not once or twice or even thrice, did I remember myself to shelter upon the benightingly grudgingly meticulously poignant hourse d'euvres. Whenever you go, or whatever things you may come or do, please just tell me that you're ready to love me whenever I go. Bronze etchings undulate the stirlings of time, whenever you may come and go, things come undone. Unsightly trance ambiguous manner of late, cruising with billy and jimmy and dildoes.

My dildo shall be your dildo, excruciatingly painful and brownish-teen. Within the shrubbery and shall will be, things pandemonium with blackberry pandemonic things unsightly free. My dildo shall be your mother. That's for sure to be known and to be realized later and further on when all of the other things had begun to take toll for the lesser notes of timely manner.

Something was missing in the air : was it love? Was it me? It was neither one simple thing to make a succulent progress down at the promontory. Greenish liquid, still life. Organic beaumont palatials. We all had been there in one way or another, ugle oggle gargle gargle. Broccoli, pepperoni, mint, chives, tartines, bananas, leaves with marinated salad, gargantia.

My verses would have mad rhythms, playa. Mah homie wants to scratch the rap a ba di dup dap pa ba di dap bup bup bop pop pop. Inside my own scenery, it was a brand new greenery. Would it amount to anything less or more, or to keep myself further insecure. Would I be trapped inside my own solitary confinement inside your own diamond rings. Inside my own shell, the consequences to make myself everything brand new.

October, November, and December – it's all Winter. Ever since we fell downwards towards the next generation of examination, we'll actually try to induce many kinds of terrifying creatures down the windowsill. Excruciatingly painful mark we've slapped across our very cheeks. The thermostat while this is happening was pretty dire and amusing. Maleficent, even.

Ever since it got dark, people would turn the world upside down in this sleazy little town. I probably remember everything happened since, it was about the time of September 13th. People started to come and glock by, throughout the years there shall be nothing unsightly happening. Alones, begrudgingly tempered whetstone, withered down the hallowed armaments inside my own vibraphone. Broken horses, refrigerator. Examining the androgyny that unfurls, should we enticingly browse the recurring moments inside my own valentine?

It's probably a part of my own stupidity to unravel the tales inside my own musings. My turn would be appreciated by a single shot of everything that would be going throughout the succulent ages when the brimstone of that manner would be sufficient. Shall I placed down this beautiful armaments inside your own very store? The kind of manner which the angels would flew down the barnyards, into your very house where the flowers bloom, and curtains sang? It was a narrow song, filled with loopholes, although in every other recurrence, flower petals lit aglow inside it.

Please tell me, whether I'm really happy or not. Things won't really do the same as it was before. Within the arms we ever had, the mystified raging waters of late do not try to re-introduce all of our sightings. Please do not wallow in these depression anymore.

Other than that, I still like titties.

It was inevitable. A certain upbringing which transcends the dilation of time. What was unsightly, was pretty much derogatory. A certain skin has been shed. Undoing the reciprocation that is polluting. These words doesn't ring any bell, nor it does reimburse the current opportune moments as the Rose of May follows. It was something particularly demystified from every production of evanescent bulbs. Broken horses, broken homes; everything was broken. A narrow solvent, incapable of destroying every incapable fervor thus carried away the turgid rigidity.

Welcome us to the Orient, o holy one. The moment has come for us to part ways, in order for us to stay alive. Inside, outside, we stood still. Moments came by in which they passed, only to come again in the times when momentary lapse won't matter. Empty eyes divide these empty places, the empty places upholding empty dreams. Whispering upon this divine grace, I prowled forward incandescent. Something ardent aglowing this forever distilled hearth. Shall I prance forward throughout? Trudging between the empty windowsills? Won't it truly matter, what this words would convey, would that shall follow? Nothing else matters.

I don't know what will be or should be done. Inside and out, outside and in. Dancing madly backwards, dancing on the sea. Dancing on the sea, inside my own sea. Self destruct. How this livid progeny might have something to do with my own backyardigans. Inside the bandwagon filled with putrid biochemical eggplants of the eggplants or some other egg-plantern bandwagon lobotomy vasectomy.

It was something which happened within the garden of heaven. It goes like this :

Poo-tee-weet?

Are you there? Will it always be you, would it always be me? I'm scared and I can't even say why this is happening. Leaving me alone this still. Time seems to flew by so quickly, so much time left to work, and so little time to play, no more opportunities to enjoy the life in the slightest bit – that's for sure. I don't really know something that's been missing out, but really, I think many things had been continuously neglected one after another, and I see myself falling apart without something to hold on dearly.

The business keeps on robbing the people out of their freedom, a freedom outlasting the myriads of trouble we went through. We were forced to do things we dislike just for us to survive the remainder of the day, searching for food. Back when we were just little kids, we had freedom, although it was very limited. Yet, when we grew up to be a full-fledged adult – all of these matters were dismayed with the kind of responsibility we didn't even want to take.

Really, why the life as an adult so boring and meaningless? Why should there be lots of adversity which held to no avail at all? Sometimes I wish the roads we traveled by would be pleasant, and never ever again we would tread upon this hopeless path once more.

So yeah, I think this advice I've heard once before really helps. When you have to do something, just do you really love doing, and If in any case you're stuck with things unpleasant that was necessary, just make it so it will be one of the most pleasant things you'd be doing. Within the times of living, I didn't always get what I want, it's only after I've struggled through the days bearing things and going on with the flow, that I finally be able to get what I truly need.

The journey into sunset, through the end of the day by picking up the best effort left to seize the moment. Our enemies will prowl by into the cemetery, but regardless of that, I just want to make sure that nobody will ever stop us.

It's just....well, you won't get anything you wanted if you just stayed in one place. That's what I've learned thus far after taking so much adversaries which ultimately leads me into the depths of breakdown. So, from this point on, let's just try doing something different – shall we?

Maybe, doing something different, and taking journey towards an unknown world would be really painful, but believe me, there's nothing worse off than staying in one place and let yourself be defeated by boredom and negativity. Thus, the new journey into sunset has just begun.

Once again, I took a sip of this mineral water and cast it upon the lonely sea.

At one certain day, a dog barks. It was midnight, so to speak. The house was decorated like the usual barn house - hay stacked on the rooftops, and the walls had the same scent as a dog poo, the grasses around bearing the smell of something foul burning. Inside the house, a farmer - an old man with white beard reaching down to his chest - he was drinking his usual beer whilst looking at his collection of moose heads he had looted from his previous hunting sessions and many more before that.

The house pretty much had become a patronized museum of moose heads. A bitter scent of formalin wafted across the room, and the moose head on the wall kind of stared at the man with dead eyes. It was certainly dead, just like beating a dead horse - it doesn't kick you back. The man pats his dog slowly, the dog's name was Spot.

They talked a lot about the previous hunting session. How Spot had saved the man quite a plentiful of trouble by locating the scent of various animals hidden down the greenery that is grasses and bushes and trees and ferns. Far beyond the reach of the blurry eyes the man could see, that a dog's scent could purvey.

Here, a pound of steak for the hunt, I also have plentiful of animal bones for you, good dog, good dog - so the man said. The dog ate the meat joyfully, wagged his tails a few times to the man. He soon broke to a whimper since the meat was kind of hard. It was recovered from an old moose - they should have aimed for the young ones.

But the old ones sacrificed their lives as a cannon fodder so the younger ones could live on. They do not die in vain - just to act as a mechanism to make the dog whimper during the midnight. The younger ones simply did not think of anything about their predecessors - living without a care - not knowing that one day they would be old and also serve as a cannon fodder for their children, who basically didn't care about them one bit.

"It happens when it happens."

"There's nothing that you can do to avert this situation. Good and bad, be as it may, it was the best thing that could happen."

"Just as they say, don't screw up with things that were already perfect. Accept your fate as it is, and move along freely just like the wind. You will become a free man."

The place of tranquil scenery. Everyday was quiet and peaceful. Nothing to do, nothing to do, and nothing more to do. You just sat there whilst watching the times changing for the better and for worse, never have to do anything, just moving on where your heart takes you. Through pain and pleasure, and through all this suffering, all of it adds up to the scenery you've had seen within each and every morning. What was written, was something meant to be written – without any reason.

It's just, the things that were written at the moment was the things that were supposed to be written, like you had been following a grand scenario. Do not fret or falter, do not try to fight anything, do not even try to rebel against the circumstances. Take your shoes off and dance against it completely barefoot. That was the first turning point towards your own first breed of fresh air to inhale within each and every morning. Clear your thoughts of that has yet to come, and live just for today.

If I were to die for today, I had decided to give the decision of what's best to the skies up above, those who had possessed infinite wisdom. Guide me with their hands for me to take this right path amidst this uncertainty, because of my lack of clarity, wisdom and knowledge. As the years I've lived and the experience I've garnered alone was far too insufficient to make my own decision – forever I have to rely on this divine grace – the protection of the spirit beckons me.

Call it whispering upon a prayer, as you will. A kind of prayer of hope fills me with serenity. There's nothing more to be done, regardless of what I'm currently striving. What I want, was to give myself entirely to the flow which governs my entire living. Bind me through this chains, for me to know nothing but a straight path, walking a straight line, breathing the divine air filled with clarity. I would have never known which path would be straight, and which one crooked, as I'm just a mere human with various disabilities. Yet, it's one last hope I could pursue, to reach out for a divine clarity, in order to see everything of importance in past, present, and future.

Three dots and waypoints converged in one moment, a recollection. Inside this lonely room, I have contemplated for quite a lengthy amount of time, still I can't find the words to say, or the goals I've decided. Not even a single decision to make. Prolonging my meaningless stay, you could say I've been drifting and wavering through this sea of pleasant nothingness, running away from everything, losing my entire grip on reality. For a long while, I've always been running away.

Without knowing what kind of things to do, I kept moving forward, being completely lost about what's happening. All I can do now is just to trust myself onto this fate and accept the worst that might happen. It's the same kind of time of waiting like that one, and the one before that.

"Still, you can't change what's already happened. Nothing could, and all that's left was to left it as it was."

Time stood still, we must move forward no matter what. For a long time then, I always thought that I'm the one who knows the must about myself. About my dreams, goals and whatnot. It ends up to be the ones which let myself into a state of blindness the most. Unable to think straight at all, and as a result, I've become completely lost about who I am, and what kind of things I truly want to strive to become. The path has been completely painted within this ethereal darkness. Not knowing where to go, and what kind of paths will unravel in the future. I'm completely lost, and I couldn't even say why.

What is right, and what is wrong? I don't know for sure. Either way, no matter how hard do I strive to unravel the ultimate truth, it only yields to more confusion. The truth is always right there. It's not something to pursue, wait, learn, or something else. It just happens when it happens. Like the exact moment where an event proceeds based upon a certain scenario where the curtain raises and falls. The same thing either way, when it's time to die, I shall die. If not, I shall live on until that moment finally came.

There's no longer any point on striving for greatness it seems. It's just me following my inherent calling, on where to go next, and what paths to follow. Not based on my very limited wisdom, knowledge, and intelligence – only the willingness to follow the path that's been set for me. I don't know whether I've strayed from this path all along, or whether I've been correctly following what's best for me by striving to learn the truth about myself, and about the world around me.

In the end, all of it might be utterly meaningless. With the sense of free will given as the tool to mock ourselves for our own arrogance. The ability to think, only to wreak havoc on everything that's supposed to be perfect. Maybe it was the part of fate too, the part of futility in which we all lived just to repeat the history. As a minuscule pawn on a magnanimous game of chess, we paced forward without looking back, what kind of things are wrong. Might we just mere dancers and puppet, for those up above, controlling us, without us knowing that within our own freedom – we've just been controlled all along?

"The die has been cast, and it's your turn to move forward. Opportunities might follow, but remember there's both good things with bad implications, and bad things with good implications. All of it becomes so ambiguous, that each path taken might be all wrong and flawed, or just a matter of perfection. It all becomes a point where the darkness and light blended to its ultimate balance – a grey area which all of us prowl about."

Was our will to challenge fate, were actually a part of the fate itself? Might we ourselves actually be mere puppets to the circumstances? The same moment when we decided to fight against it? If so, amidst all of this futility, will true happiness finally come, from being a mere puppet? All of us might be born as a mere puppet then. With the free will that's completely fake altogether.

It maybe just me, someone who had become completely powerless, regardless of all that's been happening. It's a tool to escape reality once again, but well whatever. It's just me and myself wanting this life to be much easier without a burden. Unknown things might come and go, and the best thing I can do is just to live with it, as it is.

"Are we human, or are we dancers?"

It depends on which path you choose. For the time being, it might not be so bad being a mere puppet instead, if I could attain the kind of serenity and freedom I've always wanted, in exchange for everything momentary.

Once again, the time flows around, and so it goes.

We've been treading upon this path for awhile now, without stopping at all. Our hands tired, our brains weary – with our feet unable to walk any further. Still, it's your stubborness which ultimately made us go this far. At least take a glass of water, will ya? We sometimes need to rest and laze around and slack off from the path we've been taking on, in order to follow it through perfectly until completion.

Beware of all the shadow of distraught from monotonous and strenuous travel. We need to take a rest, right now, no need to be so serious – our luck won't be leaving anytime soon – at least not for this moment we held hands together and tread upon the same path. The value of time hath left you still, been filled with regret of taking a different choice. Now you find yourself alone, without any shoulder to rely on. You must man up and go alone, to the place where nobody's waiting, nobody's coming. The prize will be yours only to take.

Within this solitary shell, you find yourself being utterly weak – yet it's your adversaries which made you a lot stronger than anyone else you'd ever met. Journey to the depths of hell with your mind, taking on the horrors of the world head on. Difficult questions yielding difficult answers – all of them will be simplified once you've been through this turbulence in one way or another. A very uncomfortable feeling it was – you didn't even want to experience it again – yet, after all of this happened, these theories had all been reduced into practical principles, nothing worth confusing about.

You walked again, taking on another stage of pain. No pain no gain, it was. With every pain you've experienced, you've created another leverage for yourself to leap forward. Using a dead end as a way, and using a relatively narrow path as the entranceway towards a very broad area. The kind of personality who finds himself on utterly difficult situations, yet only sees opportunity even in the most hopeless of situations. The kind of confidence so boisterous, it didn't even need solid proof to back it out.

You might want to call it as some cumbersome, bothersome faith whatsoever – it didn't even matter how you call it. This kind of confidence brought up the utmost weirdness upon the illogical recourse to our main problems. Was it the curse of time which made your will to rush forward so indomitable? No, I think that's not exactly it. You just want to take away all this pain and reach out for the ultimate pleasure you always desired. It's that one wish to escape things unpleasant, just like that one quote – we're addicted to something which takes the pain away.

Maybe you'll find that after beating through all these pain and adversaries single-handedly, and easily, you've already took everything you ever wanted for the rest of your lives. Will it be meaningless? I think not, there's still the infinity of time to finally start enjoying the infinity of things you have and always will have. Nobody has the right to stop yoo from treading upon your very truth. That time still hasn't come yet. It will come later, but for now you kept on pondering about many things – some of them pretty much unnecessary.

When will be tomorrow, if we're not here today? How can we live for tomorrow, if we can't just live for this day? This moment skipped by so meaninglessly, upon your relentless treading. The steps felt awkward and strenuous. You're not enjoying life in the slightest, are you? Within this momentary lapse of time, we really need to take a rest, and enjoy the view. No need to worry about anything else, not even your past failures. Just take it out as some leverage to propel yourself forward – just like what you've always done from yesterday and the day before that.

It's easy to lose your ground just like that, but you can always go back up from the very bottom, and become an even stronger person each time you fell down the drain. As long as you're still alive, it will suffice. Opportunities doesn't matter, since you're the one who makes your own opportunity. It was you, who determines your own fate, and which paths shall you tread. I only serve as your mere companion, assisting you whether you're feeling weary with all the troubles swirling inside your head. So please, listen to me, before you finally wear yourself out to death.

It's no good to tread upon the path of excess. The excessive thing which ultimately made you hate all the things you like. Given the amount, you need a correct amount, too little made you go crazy, and too much would also made you insane nonetheless. Regardless of that, once in a while you need to slack around from your path as you strive for your dreams. I believe that, within each one of us, the desire to walk a crooked path and fool around, even when the path is right there – straight ahead towards your dreams – it's always been omnipresent.

The need and craving to stray from the path, doing something stupid just for the sake of blowing some steam outta the way – of course. One time or another, you'd probably just want to say.

"Why so serious?"

When we can have both fun and seriousness while at the same time being lax enough to make room for us to breathe, trust me, it will be the best endeavor ever to be taken by the human race. This maybe an exaggeration, but in this case between you and me – there can never be something exaggerated.



Yeah, I think I have come towards an understanding that no matter what happens, you just want to get what you want, with any means necessary. Within your abilities and motivation, you will strive in a way many others can't even see. Still, beneath the thick layers of your own ambition, there lies this kind of immaturity, and to some extent, a degree of illogical insanity. Something that can't be understood started creeping out from your heart, and reaches out to your consciousness, taking over you.

That's why in one times or another, you had begun neglecting everything else, because that kind of insanity was too much to bear. You want to fight so much, but the desire to run away grew even stronger – you peculiarly did not want anything more to be taken away from. You grew lost in thought, of all the feelings of regret which tore you apart within each and every Sunday morning. It isn't as easy as the regular Sunday morning for most people. In your case, it's a blue Sunday. Where you felt the blues and the stressful feeling being pent up into the Monday morning where things had started out yet agian.

It was the kind of insanity which made things really unbearable. You thought that it would be much better if you could go visit a mental hospital instead, in order for you to attain the tranquilty you've always desired. The insanity had become a part of you, and always will be. It's the thing which made yourself willing to live, but at the same time, it's also the same thing which made you truly hate life.

As ambiguous as it seems, you seem okay with it. I will live with all of my insanity without ever looking back – even if you might misconstrue your words and actually look back towards that painful past again. The guitar songs keep playing on the background, and you just want to pick up your guitar in order to prepare for the judgment day. You hoped the day would never come, because you'd never actually get the things that you deem to be the most important. Even though all that you need is a little bravery, there's nothing even more enchanting and tempting than a sense of definiteness.

You just want things that is definite, because you've already been fed up with all of these disappointments – it made you lose faith in everything. The hope has just been given away, what left was this illogical delusion that all the things will be alright. It's just serves as the emergency system to protect oneself from completely breaking apart from this world which knows no understanding. Sometimes you've thought that it's better if the painful life could end right here and now, still you can't do it, because the reason to live is still there.

Deep down, you know that the hope is still there, waiting forever for you to come. The rest of the time will best be spent on waiting, and waiting, for the best that's yet to come. Probably you just want every unpleasant things to perish, but fear not, all of it will perish the moment you finally decide to calm down. So just take it easy, don't be weary, just take it slow, and take it even slower – be patient, whether the things you want will come or not.

Don't be so serious.

Either or not you will reach that goal, you could still enjoy life as it is.

Well okay, now I kinda felt incredulously bored for all of these uninspired moments of wanting to kill random dead babies in the shower by flushing them into the toilet, when every occasions concerned, hearing the news of some random people ramming their genitalia towards a gigantic cactus, contemplating about the obviously obvious blasphemy that by ramming your ding dong into a cactus you will experience the greatest tentacle sex you had in your life.

That's pretty much a true nonsense, why would someone wanted to experience tentacle rape by ramming their genitals to a cactus? Aren't that the same as having the greatest moment of pain, because tentacle rape was actually very very painful and many of these often ended with a lulzy death?

As far as I'm concerned, in all of these kinky adventures where you will mostly endanger yourself and your overall sexual health, the safest venture available was to indulge in Necrophilia, since your partner will just kinda lay there, and if you truly have the guts not to puke on the way and you enjoy doing things clean not to mention able to wear the right protection at the same places, it will definitely be a rewarding experience!

Oh well, participating in the event that made me write so many words in a day that I usually do only two times a week, plus the occasional diary entries. The inspiration level had been taking its toll on me and I currently do not have any sound ideas to implement on the random dumps like this story. To top it off, it made me lose all of the motivation to concentrate on my own projects as I felt like abandoning them for the remainder of this month if I really wanted to survive this writing marathon.

I'm seriously losing my edge on how to write, possibly because I'm using the wrong methods of augmenting the words with tons of lengthy descriptions and such. Not to mention I had not one bit of concept inside the actual story rather than complaining about my life, ridiculous things, and even the story itself. I sure like to complain a lot and that's I think, what makes me feel much better for the remainder of the day, able to complain to my hearts' content as much as I want. And probably the story title might have to be changed into ''Absurd Rant Logic' because it contains so many rants with the side dishes of absurdity made by yours truly.

I sure love to complain a lot about why things in my life never got right. And I could, for example, write a lengthy essay about why my whole life is a wreck rather than focusing how to patch them up. Leaving things into rock bottom, watching things crash and burn had all but become one of my frequent sightings while venturing towards the daily life I'd like to complain of.

And thus while ranting a whole damn lot, leaving my mind out in the open for the realistic side, I surely lost the edge my inspiration towards imaginative things. Sure I am possibly getting my personality developed through a somewhat realistic character development when I, in turn will always came out with a boring personality like that of busy, serious adults....and no hard-working part since I think I will always be a lazy ass when I'm not complaining about how my life absolutely sucks on my writings.

This chapter would also be a perfect example on how a boring, dull, and meaningless daily life could inspire myself to create an even meaningless output that will generally waste the time of others upon reading this piece. As they would smack their forehead with their palms, a.k.a facepalm, and starting to wonder how the hell did they manage to read this far into the chapters?

They must be absolutely masochistic for sure who likes to make themselves miserable by trying their hardest to enjoy terrible writings such as this, and wanting to create as many logical assumptions on things that absolutely made no sense at all, another good example was also this story.

Or these kind of people were sick fucks who enjoys a poorly written sex scene about the Protagonist shagging a corpse or plainly reading it just to enjoy the randomness aspect of it, well it somehow makes sense why people even bother to read it if this one suits their tastes no matter how terrible it is while being subjected towards the minds of the majority of people who ate salty, spicy krackers and potato chips.

And speaking about having no readers, I'm the one who enjoys the most complaining about how I have no readers, and how I got absolutely no talent as an author, on how I often dream about ridiculous things, having an absurd self-insert in each and every story that I wrote. Well not really, getting little to no readers during my first years starting out as an author who submitted his stories on the net were pretty much getting myself through many tough times.

But as for now, I could actually care less since I've been through worse and recently I had people who reads my works on a regular basis no matter how terrible it is. Some offer compliment and words of support, and some others offer constructive criticism which in turn would greatly inspire me to become even more dedicated towards my future attempts.

Speaking about constructive criticisms, to tell you the truth, I felt most of it comes like a devastating comment that kind of discourages me to post more of my writings. I agreed with most of their opinions, which in turn made me sunk deeper into the seas of despair, I soon enough came to have little to no confidence about what kind of things to write next as I often ponder in hopelessness on my inability to satisfy people and giving them whatever I want. Although the answer is pretty obvious since I'm mostly writing for myself since there's little to no readers who would like to comment on how they would like for the story to be.

Though I could honestly say, even if these honest criticisms were somehow discourages me a lot and I felt like hating myself for writing these terrible works that made people gave me a harsh criticism. At least I could be proud for being able to write an attempt at all during my fresh start as an author, even if it might be a really bad outcome that somehow made me felt so embarrassed whilst thinking about it. At one occasion I kind of start hating the critics because they didn't at least acknowledge the tons of effort I kept putting on upon working on my stories, though I couldn't blame them for it since they were only speaking their honest opinions, and I respect them for it.

Continuing on about critics, I could say that I've been into that field for a minuscule amount of time, dedicating myself to give my honest thoughts upon reading a piece of work. Though in all things concerned, it sure made me feel really bad while doing so because it made myself felt really regretful for every harsh things I've said, and looking back at what I've said earlier, I should have made the decision to break the story down using much nicer words so they won't be offended at all with all that I said earlier.

That to be said, it's much harder to soften things up rather than being as brutally honest as possible, and that makes me felt really bored while trying to read things for the sake of giving them a critique. Most of the reasons was because I have little to no interest in the concept of the story as I had set a certain standard on the stories I'm really interested in, and I felt really lazy on trying to explore the boundaries in which these people usually explore.

I find many of these works to have a pretty generic plotline with not much going on, but I can't really diss them as I'm not even a good author myself, in fact I could honestly say that I'm actually terrible as an author and severely lacking in the talent department. So I guess it's not that right to criticize others on what they did, even more when they actually like what they were doing.

And so, to surmise it all up, I won't take up an offer to write a brutally honest criticism anymore, and even though people didn't show their anger to me after hearing my critique, I'd rather not to it regardless of that because it made me feel really really bad by saying such mean things. Especially since I thought that I'm actually critiquing people that were actually much better than me in that aspect, so yeah...there you have it. And all that I can do right now is probably about becoming as patient as possible while browsing through the stories in the forums which I frequent, and tell them honestly what I think, whilst keeping my mannerisms of giving my opinions in a somewhat ethical manners so neither sides will feel bad upon reading the conveyed message.

That's all that I want to say for now regarding the itty bits of my minuscule amount of experience, and so on let's move to the next topic which will conclude this chapter.



At some point in the past I've written a story for a certain event on the forums which I joined, and that was the same forum I had started my writing career of submitting my chapters on the internet. To be said, I really enjoyed writing in this peculiar story and I felt like it's going to be the masterpiece amongst the previous attempts that I had so far. Though the reality would say otherwise, because upon the completion of it and all of the mediocre scores the story was getting, I began to have a gist about the truth about myself and my own capabilities.

It's the first time that I began to acknowledge my shortcomings, before I wrote that story I felt my head being high up in the clouds, being completely immersed in arrogance that I could write whatever I want and still produce a decent story that will appeal to anybody who will be reading it. But it soon turns out that my assumptions were just totally naive and delusional, and to think about it, that was the first time that I thanked the school of hard knocks for showing me the true way I should pursue my storywriting career.

I soon become really disgusted in this attempt on mine which were only churned out within 2 weeks because of the limitations of time available during my attempts on writing it. The story might be much better if I intended it to be just a one-shot, but I probably won't be able to grow this much during the past years if I didn't have any courage to undergo such attempts on writing my mind out, even though it's going to be absolutely terrible.

To sum it up, I both felt really grateful and at the same time, disgusted on how I could came up with such a story with many of the aspects that's commonly hate in fiction works. The self-glorification thingy by making many ot the characters almost seem totally perfect without any flaws, the weak narration, poor grammar, not to mention the plot itself seem really weak with not much things going out. But what really struck me down was about the characters and the terrible character development along the story, it did really came to me that I'm severely lacking in the aspect of developing my own characters.

And from that point, after undergoing the attempts of writing that story which I will eventually diss from the start to finish, and after receiving bad reviews about it, in which it totally changes my paradigm on how should I take the direction of my storywriting, I eventually started to focus on the characters and the aspect of character development, since developing the plot and concept weren't my strong points at all.

In fact, even now I had serious troubles dealing with how to advance the plot when the actual story had a concept and scenario, and that's the way I came up with this kind of writing attempt which you were reading right now. Because I didn't have to worry much about how to advance the story in the next chapters, and instead I could only focus on writing to my hearts' content about random and absurd things that doesn't make any sense at all, I find myself basking in the air of freedom on being able to write to my hearts' content, and that's how I started to enjoy writing a lot more than recently.

My lack of ability to develop a plot and even to write in a way that makes sense, might as well become my main limitations on writing things outside my comfortable genres, the light-hearted and happy ones with the minimal amount of conflict and plot development, with the emphasis on the characters instead of the story, using a simple writing style to make things easier to write and for many people to read it.

Even though these kinds of story might pretty much be unpopular in many places, I didn't feel the inclination to march beyond my areas which I become to accustomed off, for the sake making things to be popular, because I didn't primarily write for many people and appeal to the masses, that's what I always think upon writing, so I will just accept that people won't like my story, I didn't write this especially for them at all.

Still, the reason why I kept writing on and on was probably because I felt really lonely and depressed without anyone to support me on the way, giving me push when it comes to shove, and to have someone to talk to me whenever there's the things going on which makes me want to vent out all my thoughts.

It totally feels like talking to people who will listen to all of my thoughts, just like having a close friend who will listen to everything that I say, no matter how pointless it might be. But the truth might seem to appear that I'm just blurting things out to strangers who would absolutely care less reading the rants of people they don't even know one bit, and I would continue on confessing things that would made me even more embarrassed and if these kinds of writings will eventually get exposed, I might won't have any confidence anymore to appear in public.

But as a wise man said, playing things safe was probably the most risky thing to do in this ever-changing world, in each day drastic changes happening and you won't even know where to place your footing anymore. The whole novel would be like a risky game I'm willing to play for the sake of creating breakthroughs in my entire life, to elevate my entire living by daring to venture through the unknown and finally be freed from this shackles which in turn would imprison the minds of the majority of people living in this planet.

Probably you could say this as an attempt of freeing myself from the limitations which also binds my mind, so I could finally attain a broader look on how I could change my entire paradigm, which in turn will shape the world that I live in, by just doing a simple thing like writing this chapter.

There's quite a lot more to come in this life, I guess..

Put your asshole in my titties when inasmuch be your titties and my titties will be your titties. Our very titties will rule the universe forevermore and onto this focus herewith thereupon came crashing down like velvet. I shall bestow upon you a hearty meal for the moment, something to feast upon and something to left within the soil of madness. Will I settle down within the confined waters? Not knowing that there's an aim need to be given and the needs to fulfill forevermore.

I do not know anything for sure, be as it may, that as aimless I am, I still had my own goals to fulfill. Something to pursue, and something to die for, somewhat like that travesty to indulge in each and every thing happening within the mark and the nick of time. The subjugation to every little things which made things completely alright. Ever since it got dark, I was there, advocating dark clothes for the usage of thermal medicines inside the incendiary factory.

Somewhat lackluster description of the middle ages, and every bits and buts we've been going on for quite lackadaisical moments it shall be weighed down upon this perjury when the time stood fall. It was a falling star onto the myriads of unkempt memory. Would you be there every time I need you? Would you be there each and every time I tried to call my name ever since?

The secret of there's no importance onto the sacred time, when the time shall tell itself to shut up, and to listen whenever there's nothing in there that was ready to go. Something in your mind tells me that you grew weary of such long wait. What kind of things shall we pursue, when we want our dreams to finally come true.

Come on, focus, and keep on focusing upon the lonely waters, to finally take notice of the situation that you're finally here, that you're finally here with me on this morning, amidst this morning and evening where the bell tolls through.

When the seashells and something else awaits at the end of the road, you will pursue the distances and unravel all of the things unsightly and even satisfactory, not to mention being utmostly derogatory. I like it when things had become completely insoluble, being put out to the sea like the sea of frozen coloid down the drain, and inasmuch you would like for this fruit to bear its contents, you just want for the dung to have a want some element entrenched inside the lonely backyardigans.

The faith and fate entwined by each other, I'd like to make sure that every seasons went by, and every momentary lapse of time when our reviews got even much darker and darker, we shall pull out from this misery within this forthcoming night. We need to focus on the current tasks at hand, alright? The testimony to how the goals being played out one after another again, so does our own feelings will never change no matter what – it should stay the same within the days where our patriotism will stood out solemnly and gallantly. I feared the day when each and every of us will become exposed, but fear not, everything we held dear shall be true that is.

The books we've read, and the certainty we instill within this moment, I'd like to reimburse. Our future is right there, where our hands were made to keep ourselves knee-locked down the drain when every great things shall we fulfill. Down inside my munchumps shall we go, and shall we perform the infinite moment of the dark matter. The pleasant shade of gray awaits us, and within that matter and that matter only we shall try to fulfill the kind of greenery this grass awaits.

It's all happening at once, all that's ever existed is happening right at the moment where our scenery intertwines with each other. It was a firm grip, a solitary role to incite solipsism with all means necessary, and with that momentary lapse alone we won't ever be judged forevermore. I don't think we need to rely on the other people for ours to keep. It was some dire unruly thing to go, and to hinder our own progress further, we need to stay calm, lick our very titties, and die through the seduction of nosebleed within our own damaged vasectomy.

You felt like you're deliriously angry at nothing, but at what reason do all of these feelings keep on ensuing? I do not know whether all of us actually had what it takes to succeed. We've been coming down to this place one after another, yielding no avail. No dark sarcasm please, we would not like to break down our own moments of hospitality.

When our moments were fulfilled, I don't think that many people seem to understand what exactly was going on. Neither of them will be, or at least will try to understand. What can you understand from what all of these bickerings? I'm completely lost on these moments inside my own restraint and I can't even say why, but fear not, things won't really be as bad as I want it to be.

Inside the homes where my edges are broken, we would like to bring about something inside, something we really like to know forevermore. In this forthright moment, we shall finally make a good use of our own very time, in order to make up for all of the times that had been lost. How good it was, if all the time spent could finally be used in order to create something beneficial.

I don't like when people went ballistic and stare at dark sarcasms. The only thing acceptable to me was about me making fun of myself, just to make sure that people won't be made fun of. It was nice, being able to fulfill myself using the company of nice people for myself to boot.

No matter what kind of time persists, there should be at least one or two things this nonsense should achieve. Brisking in this timely waters, a lovely brisk shall be procured, and be fulfilled within the moments we might as well try to divulge upon the manner in which all of us like to equivocate.

We would need to pursue our own fears and take one step further, one at a time. We would like to instill our own very opportune moments when each of us shall be confident to meditate upon your briskly waters of time. I do not think that many of us would like to reimburse the things we should fulfill - we just like to discover the things naturally.

We need to perform a kind of legendary act for ourselves to keep. Was it something notable or whatever? I do not think it will suffice. But all of these regrets and whatnot, it shall deliver myself onto the point I like my own pizza with the toppings of a peanut.

Some things unsightly, and some other things we also would like to instill within the waters that were murky enough for us to tread in. Something like a misgiving thread, it was somewhat misconstrued whenever someone steps inside a footbullet, just for ourselves trying to explode and explode.

The steps poached by, like that kind of poached salmon down the drain when you'd like to perform a timely weasel down the drain. You do not realize that the fame and fortune equals nothing, and that the work of art was unable to make money at all.

The work of art should as well be something to incite and instill prosperity. Unfortunately, it does not yield anything in one way or another for the ones who have failed. Are we human, oh are we dancers? I do not think, that we need to fret and falter. It might be just the case that I am too serious about something. I took things in life too seriously.

I would like to incite the broken homes and broken places inside the empty places, purveyor of our own very dreams. We do not really live today, are we? Like broken horses struggling to make ends met, we just marched down upon the morning sunset where everything seems to stay the same.

Like a bird flying free in the sky, endlessly soaring between the time and space, sorrow and joy, between the sheeps we made love. It was that girl on girl on girl on girl on guy on sheep thing, you will like it – I'm sure of it. It was something especially written just for you, just to make you smile, just to admonish all the thirst that must be quenched with the forms of writing and writing alone – it was just the scenery when we all wrote things just for fun, but at the same time we actually did it for a certain amount of chore.

You know one thing after another when we'd like to perform the burglary inside a certain house. It was dark, it was damp, and it was naughty. The velvet room filled with prostitutes and portable titties in such timely matter that has been wasted throughout these forthcoming nights when all of us made love into the morning, into the wild, into the scenery throughout and throughout when all of us had been dealing with one or two things in one way or another.

I finally got my share of shame and things that seem to bother me quite a lot of times. Will I finally be able to gather my own belongings and move forward towards a better future – a much better one where all of us would be able to live in peace? I do not know the things I had in common – but one thing for sure – I love you, I really do. I really need to love to love you, and the pigs will fly. The flying pigs and ponies, it was both pigs and ponies baby. The power to distill the unfathomable resurgence that every pigs go and every pigs went by.

You know the power of the flying pigs. The ace in the hole had been driven out the drain, and we can't even say why to our predecessors on how do this kind of failure still went on as the time goes. We all know the source of our own scenery, and all of these futility beckoning us. You felt so alone, without any other to come by, and any other in which we may prosper and fulfill.

Within my moments of glee, I shall continue treading upon the waters of late without thinking about any other possibilities to turn back, and only you and you only shall I keep on treading until we find ourselves bleeding until the next moment shall we die once again.

It was the thing which made us die once again, and forever more we shall kept on dying and dying. It was the fear to treasure, and it was something else to fulfill within the scalps of fate. You'd think everybody hates you, and everybody hates every inch of anything we might try to subjugate and fulfill – that doesn't really matter anyhow.

If what you said is true then, we have nothing much to do, and nothing more to fulfill. The times kept on progressing as we see fit. Might as well be instilled upon this very memory that I myself will tread upon, and thereupon shall we tread and keep on treading until the moment all of us shall die. You don't know the things that we find unsettling are particularly omniscient, and the omnipresent things we shall be, and shall we procure, we shall in the end tread upon this lonely desert one more time and even time before that shall we fulfill the ending themes we all used to tread upon.

What kind of indirect solipsism shall we fulfill, and shall we fathom the denizens of late about what things should we try. I do not know whether our own means would be necessary in order to keep ourselves sane and whatnot. Our own experiences might vary but nonetheless it all stood against the raging waters of time herewith, unchanging, and yet still unchanging and unhinged amidst this succulent streams and oceans, and everything that is blue or flaccid. You call ad hominem and turgid apocalypse, but the calypso band kept on prancing throughout the times as the undistilled moment went by across the palatial estates.

You know one thing or another, and we shall obtain our own very crevices upon the scenery when the moment shall pass by and fro and throughout the myriads of water we might like to ensue the scenery when all of us like to play soccer with each other. I do not like to conform myself within the abyss of common sense. All of it might be lost at the time when the denizens of dark shall try to amuse myself by bringing upon me a kind of sordid scenery when we would sort our own tarot cards and whatnot – I do not like to interest myself in such sort of thing might we fulfill.

Once upon a time, there was a hermaphrodite king, the end. Shall I proclaim things in which might be deemed plausible? I do not care, for I already get what I truly need forevermore. All of my needs already been fulfilled, and all the necessary bits had been satisfied – thus I need nothing more.

Because I'm a sick fuck who likes to fap to anime characters, especially those having a male genitalia about 1 kilometers long that it manages to become a drill that pierces the heavens. Let me tell you something about what kind of things made me really turned on by them so much, I don't find real porn that exciting anymore.

It's called the moe factor, the kind of things which will make some people HNNNGGG so much. It kind of differs between each people, that's why the moe factor by itself is kinda subjective. But let me tell you about my self-righteous standards of what's totally moe and what's not.

By the popular standards, the degree of moe-ness might be particularly described by the quality of artwork shown to portray the characters, and the personality that's depicted in the actual anime show, or even the original manga or light novel.

But the latter standard might be the ones more acceptable for me, I find the characters to be really moe if their personality was really adorable it made me wanna cuddle them tightly in addition of developing pedophiliac tendencies towards them even though they're actually over 18 years of age already.

For the personality, many anime series had the archetype of personalities that's been so popular in application especially in various works such dating simulations, or Visual Novels, for people who's already used to the otaku culture. It usually go by the slang of 'deres', you know...just like dat 'tsundere' thingy who will say 'baka' at every sentences to every character in the series, even though these people were actually smarter than her in some occasions.

Yes I refer the chara as 'her' because the archetype of moe personalities were only developed much on the female characters, or maybe some occasional male characters that underwent some crossdressing venture or even gender-bending subject. Oh well...anime thingy does really made you confused about your actual sexuality but everything's alright even though you actually fapped to a guy who looks really cute, wearing a sailor uniform and sexy knee-socks.

Moe has become a business that's been selling like hotcakes, particularly exploited a bit too much in a certain genre that might become too familiar to the ears of otakus, including myself. We call that genre 'ecchi'. Since many years ago, the ecchi genre had become an oasis to help many lonely people to overcome hardships, and combining them with the moe factor and a strong flavor of fresh comedy, it was a foolproof potion for reducing the suicide rates in the most depressing countries ever.

And it definitely gives the glimmering rays of hope to the lonely otakus along the world....even with some money on our pockets we could even buy the merchandises that will make our beloved 2D characters felt really close to us. You name it, the collection of figurines, posters, mousepad, and even the doujins, or an otaku slang of a tribute work by the fans, usually by the form of a short manga.

Though I've read that the term doujin might refer towards a broader scope, its more like an independent group, by the meaning that it's not officially signed in as a company, having few members, usually referred to a 'doujin circle'. And 'doujin' would particularly refer to the products which the circle produced, the mostly popular thingy known was about the fanworks to pay tribute for the works of their favorite artists, in form which was popularly called 'doujinshi', I refer to that term while talking about fan-made manga of some sort.

Nowadays I've read about the progression which the independent groups called the doujin circles going, they managed to produce many excellent things such as music videos, music albums, and even an anime by themselves, not to mention lots of fun games, such as the Visual Novels for example.

Particularly for the Visual Novels thingy, I heard from one of my buddies that a giant Visual Novel company such as Type-Sun, who produced blockbuster VNs such as Moon Princess and the Feto series, started out as a doujin group selling their product at the events that's popularly referred to as 'Comic Market'.

Not just Type-Sun, I've also heard of one group which name I kinda forgot, they just recently released a really successful Visual Novel called the Monster Queen Adventure, and I really loved that game alot, I was truly engaged by the masterful storytelling and engaging gameplay, the characters were so relatable and likeable.

That group also started out as a doujin circle while on the development of the first incarnation of Monster Queen Adventure series. As the sales of the first product skyrockets like hotcakes, the project leader, who had done almost everything by himself during the making of the first title, with the profit gathered from the sells, he finally manages to hire quality talents across the country, so he could finally focus on his forte, which is the storytelling, and let others do the hard work while he could concentrate on working his best on the field that he loved the most.

And the result was astounding; in the second title of the series, I deemed it to be a masterpiece of some such after I finished playing it. As much as I loved the first one, the second series got me really got me hooked, and the ending gives me such a feeling of cliffhanger that made me can't wait for the release of the third, and originally planned to be the concluding title towards the entire series.

Ahem, so that's how the success stories of a few doujin groups explained by me.

The Comic Market stuff made me understand a bit on how the doujin circles becomes so popular with astonishing degrees of growth within each passing time. So here's a short writeup about how the event works, people from the circles gathered in the assigned stands, selling their doujin works. And since it's the only occasion where you could sell your fanmade works without having to worry about the copyright issue, and there will be so many people out there looking to buy your works, that's why it's one of the golden incentives given towards the circles to rack some profits.

And yeah, I heard that many doujin artists who's usually lazy on doing things, suddenly got fired up when they were about to sell their works on the Comic Market.

Though I don't really know the details on how the selection process of these doujin circles work. As there's only limited amount of stands available and so many people from the doujin group striving to claim one of the stands, there might be some auditioning stuff in order to decide the best groups eligible to enter the Comic Market, but I'm not sure about that. All that I know, the line forming up on the event was popularly known to be incredulously long, not to mention the risk sunburn due to the insanely hot weather during the event.

Comic Market wasn't as pleasant as people thought it to be, it might be a good way for farming some quick money, but behind all that, based on hearing experiences from my friends who attended the event as a buyer, there's so many sacrifices need to be made, both in physical fitness and financial health.

Hearing all of these unpleasant experiences as someone who haven't attended these events by myself at all, it made me felt a bit resigned to do so. I didn't even attend the Anime Convention that's been recently held in my country because I'm too lazy to go out. Not to mention I haven't got any money to spend on these events, which I heard will cost much of my savings. Things got really pricy when it finally comes to these kind of stuff. I'd rather save things up for the stuff I really needed, and I prefer listening to music all day in my place rather than being basked in unpleasant fatigue down the streets.

And yeah you know, the traffic levels in the city I am living in were totally disastrous at times, and that made me felt that it's mandatory to be able to commute between the most important places just by walking. But recently I felt that even walking would be a bother by myself because I hate being around many people, so I prefer walking around when it's dead quiet especially in the early morning, whilst breathing the fresh air around that time which in turn will invigorate myself for the remainder of the day.

Hahahaha...all of this nonsensical talks just now had made me lost track of time. It's really entertaining for me to add some touch of humor deep within my thoughts while writing this peculiar chapter.

I think that's all which I want to say for this occasion, please do look forward to the next time we'll meet again.

It begins with a silly dream, manifesting itself to reality, beginning from a blank sheet of paper and a little boy who's all alone in his own house. Both of his parents were out working and at that time he's the only child who had no one to play with. And so he scribbled random things, and thought of the most incredible thing his mind would muster, and by doing so he could entertain himself for hours just by walking back and forth, with his own imagination as the vehicle to guide him towards the magical land filled with glorious things yet to come.

Though on the way, the reality had struck him so hard, he soon forgot all of the fun things he used to do in the past, losing the spirit of his inner child inside him as he grew up, attended middle school and high school, and until the time he started entering the university, he was still completely lost about what he's going to do for his own future. It was all the limited set of choices forced upon him by the people and the visible circumstances around him, which made him felt that his fate was already set in shackles.

He had nothing better to do than just giving in towards the flow aorund him, and soon enough this man would live a life that's completely meaningless until the time he will be truly depressed that he wanted to kill himself so much. He wanted to express his anger and madness so much but nothing would come out at all, it always a really tough thing for him to be able to express his feelings to people around him. He wants to scream so much but he was afraid, he wants to cry so much but he couldn't, due to the same fear he had. It was the intense fear to what people and society would think of him in general, which made him really isolated even to his own heart, along with the people around him whom he's yearning for acceptance for.

During the worst times of his depression when nothing's going right at all, he finally gathered his resolve and jumped from his apartments' rooftop.

And then he died, just like that, in such a young age.

With nothing to keep him, only mundane people around him which wouldn't think him more than a pawn or a task machine to be exploited for their own benefit. The deceased man was one of these people who wouldn't dare to question anything because of this morbid shackles which this cruel society had given him.

There I thought, it might exactly been my fate if only I didn't start out writing when I felt really depressed about this life.

And because dying just like that was too cruel, let's give this man an alternate ending.

Let's just say...this man, along the way he discovered the joy of writing all of his thoughts and feelings, soon realized so many things that haven't even crossed his mind at all, which in turn made him question everything which was taught upon him. This hobby of his made him to become somewhat rebellious to the people around him, and soon he felt truly alienated from the people who once thought as his close friends.

It was the change of paradigm, a complete destruction of things we used to know. Bringing forth unknown personalities that might be acceptable or even despised by society in general. But for some groups of people, no matter how hard the system tried to bend their will, the truth within the oppresed will always prevail itself.

As the saying goes 'you can try to hide a fact, but you can't truly erase its existence."

During his times of alienation and isolation, which made him bask in delirious thoughts. It soon came to him a resolve to keep on writing to his hearts' content until he finally found the meaning of life he was searching for.

Until now, he's still searching for the things he truly desired.

But I'm confident that in the end this man would eventually find what he's truly searching for.

Until then, I'll try my best to keep hanging on.



Thoughts in the wind, flowing through the courtyard of the moist rain. Where I stand tall trying to be strong. But this heart, is filled with immense burden. Why pretend to be perfect? Why don't you just loosen the chains that imprison yourself?

I realized that I couldn't run away from the present, the more I tried to run away the more it tortures me mercilessly. I had no choice but to stay strong and face the truth. All the problems that lie before me, I must face it with my own unique ways.

Even more, because time doesn't turn back.

If there was a time where I could make all my wishes come true, it's the present - It's a gift. I don't know if this was true or not, or what's going to happen. What will come before me, all things will remain unpredictable.

Sometimes I stumbled into exciting things that color my gray world which is full of boring things I can't stand. Most of the time, I felt like walking in circles. Unable to convey my thoughts properly, unable to realize what I really wanted.

What do I always wanted?

Being happy is enough for me, I think. But there's another question.

What do I always wanted in life in order to live happily?

When I think about it, those answers differ in each moments of my life. It all changes unpredictably, there's no definite things I did that always made me happy.

Too much doing something results in my boredom, after that is just a waste of time. Doing things too little creates no effect at all.

What do you want most in your life that you will sacrifice everything you have to get it?

Once upon a time, I had that kind of dream. It was shared with a person that were really close to me. You could think of us as close friends, we're both were around the same age. We used to talk a lot about things, he's pretty thoughtful so I had many things to talk about.

Unlike me he was a hard working and talented person, a dream he had was so high that I was fascinated with it. Since I had none, I made that my dream.

"Let's reach our dreams together." I said, but it was 'his dream'

But that was no more, that person had left. And he never....ever come back again no matter how much I said I hate him for leaving me alone to continue that dream.

No matter how hard I pray, he will never come back. Abandoning all hopes and dreams he had, I keep myself absorbed contemplating about the truth of my life, like asking myself the questions above.

Maybe I could find the answer before my time of death comes, if I'm lucky.

Been pondering about this question for a while really. In the end I have come upon this answer:

It's utterly meaningless.

Still, as much as meaningless my life is, I think it's much better if I would live a meaningless life along with getting everything I always wanted, rather than living without anything of significance.

Once upon a time in the morning, I was there inside the place where many of the super high school basketball players had ever set their feet. Breathing in the same air as the star players which now populated the National High School League has been truly a honorable feeling, although I couldn't really be proud of it, since I'm just someone who goes to practice for the sake of practicing – that's what I used to think.

Well, I like basketball, and I enjoy each and every bit of moment while I'm playing it, but well - things might get a little hectic over there as I tried to practice the basic exercises. The coach never thought much about me or even thinking of placing me inside the main team even though I did pretty good in the last few matches, I didn't really know what's his problem really, but his authoritarian attitude sure pisses me off big time.

Well that aside, I'm glad that the board decides to replace him, but it seems I won't be seeing the star players like OOO, +++, and AAA any time soon. It's been such a pleasure playing with them especially as I managed to block one of the killer passes from the super point guard rookie +++, and I'm just at the same year as him.

People say it's more or less about my level of discipline that makes the difference whether I am selected or not. But it seems that I, who had been playing quite a lot of basketball games in the past, and even practicing the games and basic techniques such as dribbling and shooting; a bit more of an emphasis towards passing and guarding during the actual training; the basic exercises such as push-ups, sit-ups and even the stretching ones – I'm still highly suffering at them and it made me look pathetic in front of the girls.

"Hey, WTF. If you're going to be serious about being inside the main team, please strongly reconsider focusing on the basic exercises."

It was one of my close friends AAA, he's a really big person and he's one of the star players of the team. His skills used to be far below me and it's easy enough to get past him while we're getting into one on one duels, but now he's a powerful center with about 194 cm of height while I'm just about 185 centimeters. It sure was a huge difference because he's also really big and terrifying, though actually he's a nice fellow in person.

"Sorry there AAA, it seems that I couldn't really get used to that stuff, things might get really tedious and I didn't really see the point...OUCH...."

I think I twisted my knee just earlier after landing down upon finishing my slam dunk move.

"There I told you the importance of all these physical training. It makes you less injury prone you know."

Due to my injury, I was released from the obligation of coming to the club activities until my injury finally heals, and before the previous coach left, I finally got a letter from him regarding the daily physical training needed for me on being able to enter the main team. These training seem basic but the number of repetitions made my heart scream.

Well, I recently had the idea of entering the gym every time I had the summer holiday moments but I never managed to come regularly to exercise to my hearts content in order to improve my physical fitness. I'm pretty much absorbed on improving my dribbling skills during that summer, and I definitely want to improve my three-pointers so I could easily become the best shooter in the team.

Though I guess I'd follow up the coach's instruction, even though I used to hate him. Unfortunately, with the change of coaches in the next year, the powerful center AAA, my close friend, and the energetic point guard +++, who's also been the class clown in my class, a really funny guy, and lastly the captain in the last year, OOO – all of them changed schools to follow their coach - that which I don't really understand. These are the best three players which this school had!

Now I know the reason why they left, these guys were pretty much distracted with the cute members of the female basketball club on that year. Oh yeah, these big three pretty much dislikes women because of their questionable sexual orientation, and the next coach for the male basketball team was also a woman...no, a young girl on top of that.

"Nice to meet you WTF...kun, pleased to work with you. My name is Two Donkeys Fucking, please don't hesitate to chat about perverted things with me, okay?"

It seems the actual reason why the previous coach was fired - because he imposed a strict rule about the banning of lovey dovey relationships with all club members, and just you know, the headmaster was actually a sex maniac...you should all know too well because she's a futanari.

And furthermore, she's my cousin, she's only 26 years old but she's already had that much of power.

Well one of the reasons that I joined the basketball club was because the club weren't that perverted as the other clubs you know. It's also the only club, who explicitly disallow the futanari folks from joining, but you could clearly see that my big sis also revoked this rule since she couldn't stand the previous coach any longer, in addition of sacking him away – despite the previous racking of prestigious award which kept him being here regardless of the circumstances.

i don't know why but it seems that things won't work out so well this time of year around.



It was a coincidental meeting between me and a girl named Ten Thousand Dildos. I probably should pretend that I'm not here instead, taking the blue pill instead of the red pill. This was supposed to be just an ordinary day-off of me, That Giant Nipple, a 20 year old inventory manager at the industrial district of Purple Monkey Horseshoe. The pay's good and it might pretty much be a bogus premise on how I originally was placed inside this position.

My uncle said that my parents was killed during the last holy war. I thought he's definitely lying but my memories somehow failed me, I think someone's definitely tampered with it, and the last bits of my memory before it completely falls into oblivion at the moments I couldn't even began to describe with words. That certain moment contains the imagery of him smiling and telling me that I won't have much left a time to live in this world.

I'm scared.

The resolve needed to live was burned by my hands onward a contract with a cursed gun that comes by the name of My Loldongs, it has three holes in the gun instead of the usual two. Symbolizing the three dildos of the so-called notorious Banana Peel Sandwich towards the land of Twinky on the Yo Mama Likes Cooking Mythology.

We in the Land of Tadpoles Watching Television had adopted the Your Uncle's Banana Myth as our main source of folklore and urban legends, well actually it had been a part of our beliefs that our entire country had originally been saved from the upcoming Super Bowl within the reign of the prehistoric King Nice Weather Baby I Like to Make My Ham Sandwich the First, and the king himself gets a really cute androgynous physique after having a deal with the dragon god of apocalypse.

Lots of confusing things had been happening over there, upon meeting a loli looking green haired girl named I Just Watched A Movie Yesterday With a Giant Cockroach, and having a chance encounter with the big-breasted lustful succubus by the name of Twin Nipples Double Decker Plastic Vagina, which in turn nearly costs me my own life. It's really an eventful string of events when unexplainable nonsensical things started to appear one Nice Weather Baby I Like to Make My Ham Sandwich after another from the meeting with Daily Newspaper Donkey which misleads me into fighting one of the most perilous fight I had ever witnessed, to the reunion with my uncle, Planet Uranus in a Nutshell.

I don't remember much about what's happening out there beside of this first mission we experienced during that time and then suddenly everything seem to came into an abrupt end.

And there were none, only me and myself alone, just like we've all never met together at all. But all of these shortly brief memories of working together with them still lingers in my mind. It all ends up with me being transferred into another parallel universe when things hopefully will return as it was, and I hope that I could in time meet up with them again, this time we will probably lead a normal, peaceful life instead of these filled with tons of haphazard string of events.

One certain day, a man dressed in a shirt and jacket came into an office building to pay his psychiatrist a visit. His posture was tall and athletic. He took off from a good education, having a good paying job, a beautiful wife and promising kids – they sure had their share of potential.

The building was – well, to put it simply, it was really run-down. The psychiatrist office was located on the 3rd floor. The lobby was pretty quiet, with only a few people around. The reason being, this peculiar office tenement mostly houses the offices that had long been abandoned. Most of the people in this peculiar floor, for example, couldn't even afford to pay their own bills and committed suicide on top of that – so it goes.

Anyhow, the tall and athletic man came down to the office, staring at the dilapidated wall decorations and the squeaky floor that made quite a rickety sound when someone steps upon it. It was normal enough for someone to worry that the floor collapse at any given moment.

Someone might want to question the kind of logic this man has, being a wealthy man he is, to come into a run-down place just for some mental issues. Common sense told him to just keep his head high and walk into a better place instead. Yes, in fact, he had already been to various places – mostly expensive – still nobody could even manage to fix his problems right.

Nobody knows what kind of mental problems he actually had, he just said that – his life lacks something - a gaping hole with nothing to fill in – a void that would stay for all of his lifetime. Everyone else told him that he's fine, no problems, it's just him being utterly paranoid. Come on, you know. You're smart, have a beautiful wife and promising kids – why are you still unhappy and stressful? That's what they said.

Yet there's one man who had seem to found his peculiar problem. Both of them met on the street.The man he met was a certain psychiatrist dressed like a hobo – he was out to the Free Market in the nearest hippie district, looking for some free grub to eat, while he himself mostly wandered around, being downright stressful after being told the same thing by the psychiatrists about eleven times. He was really thinking about suing them for his money, and that all of their sessions proved to be fraudulent.

After seemingly convincing this bourgeois person, the hobo told him to come to this peculiar office anytime during the weekend – and there he was. Finding himself with no real alternatives to boot in addition of him being desperate, he accepted the invitation.

In front of him, there lies the ebony door, modestly polished but still elegant compared to the other dilapidated ones. There was a wooden plank nameplate hung on the peculiar rusty nail etched on the door with the name 'Twelve Dildos Sizzling' engraved on that plank. The writing was pretty gibberish, like it was spray painted - bits of miswriting there and there. Nonetheless, the overall text was still readable.

He turned on the doorknob; it made a squeaky sound. A bit hard to open, but after the man had exerted quite a bit of his power, the door finally sprang out, revealing the same hobo man – only that he's actually not a hobo right now. He's dressed in a suit like a businessman. Except he's not a businessman either – he's a psychiatrist, at least that's what he said. His face had a thick beard, and he's wearing a thick-framed glasses with a dark brown rim. Beneath the measureless vision goggle, his blue eyes shone upon the man, with looks piercing him up from all directions.

Like the rest of the office floor, it was also a bit rickety, but Mr. Twelve Dildos Sizzling – or so the man was named – told him to calm down and take a seat. Nothing will happen, at least not for now. The windows were open, bellowing plenty of fresh air from the morning scenery. Twelve Dildos Sizzling took a sip on his morning coffee in the office, while the man who came to see him took off his jacket, placing it on the hem of the chair he's sitting, and sat his own arse down the hard surface. He told himself a few times 'I'd be accustomed to it quickly, I hope' so he thought.

The atmosphere was pretty awkward, with both parties averting their eyes to one another. A moment of silence again, and the bathroom ambient hums across the place along with the faint sound of birds chirping, leaves swirling – not to forget, the rickety floor sound made from the man rhythmically tapping his feet down the floor. He wore his old beloved running shoes for the visit, neglecting his own formal shoes at home. He didn't even wore his tuxedo suit, only a common shirt with the sports jacket.

Within his surge of mistrust, the man does not want to appear to the common masses as someone with mental problems, only a simple person who's out for running in weird places – which ironically, was even weirder than all the previous alternative he had.

The office was, well, undescribable with common words, common sentences, and common paragraphs. To put things simply, imagine a room that seems to be abandoned, only to be visited by a really tardy men with absolute zero knowledge on hygiene. Yeah, just like that. It was a scenery that came through the vision like a flick from a low-budget splatter horror movie featuring a serial killer and his boyfriend – that's not the case for this one though.

Anyway, the man-----



The story was cut off because the Author was too lazy to continue the story. He decided to put this peculiar remake of his old work this way, and this way alone. Giving out the conclusion : this sort of story was too complex to be developed within due time. Remaking the stories completely seems to be too much of a hassle with no rewarding results. It would be better we use the interesting elements only to develop a revamp chapter for this story - it made things easier for a writeup.

By other word, it was also a way for the Author to compensate for all of his past failures. Maybe, this one's also a failure too, but at least he had learned something, so things will finally be much easier in the long run.

There's nothing in here, go away.

It was something utterly important for me to give. A feeling so mutual, although it's somewhat transgressive. A message from me to you was imprinted in a piece of paper. Albeit slow, it was something which came from the deepest recess of my heart. Within the moments of my own temptation, I'd like to view myself as someone who had undertook this journey. I sometimes thought about things which didn't seem to matter, but in the end, all of it actually matters alot. The message straight from the heart, the ones making our hearts undulate. Was it pretentious or not, I can't say for sure. I just know I had to say what i had in mind, the thoughts of yours truly that mostly absurd and nonsensical.

Can't I just be honest about everything? No, I don't think that I'm peculiarly honest about anything at all. I even lied about my own family, my own status, to the extent of lying even about the grub I just ate yesterday and the day before. Amidst the waters of spring, I stood there at the edge, stargazing within the midst of night. Right at the center of these raging waters, a whirlpool emerged, and the waters sprayed out to the skies above. None of it seem to pour upon me, albeit it actually pours down all directions, drenching every places out there. To places I just stood, eternity seem to pass by within a blink of minute, still I didn't seem to care, not even a minuscule bit foremost. Another whisper was made to the outcast within me. It was a message of alienation and seclusion, that which more or less had become a part of my personality.

I stood far away—far away from the crowd. The axles and torques belonging to the car—or so the beauty stills—won't really matter to eradicate all the exhaust system that's been bulging up. You'd like to pounce upon the words ad hominem, until you were hit back by someone imminent. Something strange was going through and fro inside this night of succulent stars. Whereas for now, can't say for sure—I am not certain—not in the slightest. I'd like my pizza with a pepperoni cheese topping, yet as for now, I'd prefer my burger with rice inside the slice of pizza with machiato, pepperoni cheese, lozenges, and a spoonful of cough syrup with the ballistic amounts of diet coke.

Where am I going? What am I doing? Can't say for sure—this feet just keeps on walking and walking—without knowing when to rest its own soles upon the hearty meadows. I dreamed of the place to call home, places where I could be myself. The raging sound of my shout thunders all around the twilight, yet there's no one turning their faces to me—not a response in the slightest. Even if the sun hath forsook me—forgotten even how my eyes swirl like an octopus, and my belly bellowing the funnel of the ground—it won't truly mater—I had found the salvation within the recesses of solitude.

Like a butterfly whispering upon a prayer, I masturbate.

When you did not know what to do, there's always this one answer : do what you can. Two paths converging into one point from the forest, both of them being similarly devoid of any passerby. A lone traveler stood within the intersection in which the two roads converged with each other. From that point on, there's only a straight path to walk on. The air was quite putrid, and the smell of something burning wafted across the distance. Nevertheless, the traveler just pulled out his lunch box from his rucksack and ate what was left from the morning snack.

Aborted fetuses, stir fried, well done. Frozen dildo inside our own very getup—the waters fled. I do not like to lick my titties using your titties inasmuch your very nipple would be my nipple. I fuck the one hundred dildo buildings within the next hour and then you will catapult the skyrocket into the next spectacular dimensional rhythm longschlong twinbucket. Fuck me, fuck you, let's fuck together baby. Carrot kung fu ninja inside the sixth dimension asking for kinky sex. Back then in my backyard, we always fuck each other using my fellatio with your fellatio. Sleazy dildo kneesocks ninja futanari boomstick ahegao inverted nipple grenade launcher ultra titties.

Tinder box lots of mutagenic sperm whale digging for glove in the nearest graveyard. With lots of titties swimming down the nearby whirlpool. You could see me, as I could see you—purple monkey horseshoe. My horseshoe won't be your horseshoe anymore, as you will just lick your titties and excrete thousands of pineapples down your very bosoms. The size was so pure like a durian on acid lactating gerbils, then I would just screw the naughty woodchuck inside the primal BDSM sessions until it finally bit my dick off with a chainsaw shaped like a dildo.

I love you, and you love me—set our titties free. The dildo titties inside your nipple, clusterfuck nipple sessions producing the hottest videographic porn inside another vintage museum. Here's one girl trying to masturbate a giant nipple inside another nipple, it was a time paradox when one goes back in time to fuck their past self whilst being fucked by his future self. Chemical bonanza frozen patch of titties, inside your aroma of molten acid—you see me, as I see you. Both of us together, fucking like skeletons on thin roof.

We're indeed, skeletons on thin roof. Our body was mutilated by eleven hundred titties. I placed my confusion upon you, lick my ultra titties, and explode into the patch of sperm whale swimming inside another sentient nipple in the planet filled with nipples. What becomes of one's own hairdryer when it soon enough turns into a dildo the next moment? No, there would be no asshole or vagina to stick it in, only inside the elephant's trunk shall you use it to be an ingenious lawnmower—fuck yeah.

It's your hardcore dildo, baby.

Beneath the pristine layers we all used to live, there was the ground where me and my dog fucking a stick. Whereas for tomorrow, can't really tell what might come. Yet, dwelling in the past, it makes everything seem to turn out into a blur. Can't say something for sure, but I know one or two things which would truly matter in the long run. A message from you to me, I swear to you sincerely.

I like my stick to be undulated with sour cream and onions. For whom the bell tolls, it shall be subjugated within all of these fortunate moments we seem to live on as the time passes. Whereas for now, can't say for sure whether or not we saw this coming. Nevertheless, all of the coincidences seem to converge at one point or another. We would like to instill the scenery about why one or two things kept on happening throughout the ages. It was a message from me to you, I swear it's sincerely true. My portable toilet won't fall down, and won't ever fall over, you know.

I don't know for sure, what do you know? I'm still here, trying to make ends meet. We're still here, and will always be there in one way or another. The scenery unfolds within us like a sheet of blank paper, waiting for something special to be written inside it. Still, there's nothing to be written since it must be special, but when errors could be freely made, everything will eventually turn out seamlessly. I know one or two things might we deliver, within the momentary lapse of time shall we practice. I'd like the tartines to look fat, and the gross profits turn out inside out and outside in our jurisdiction.

You do not need to wake up, rectify the issue, or drink the water from your toilet bowl – it's vehemently grassy with the patch of baldness entrenched. I like you, and you like me. I love you, but you don't love me. I hate you, but you want to have sex with me, so I love you. The patch of flying pigs all around the corner, prancing around, down and out in Paris and London. Paris and Rome, baby, here we come. Here we go, and there we go again. Now it seems to me a tragedy had taken its toll tomorrow morning – yesterday's calling.

When would be the fate of yesterday? It's a day in the life yeah, it was pointless, but it was something pointless that will always be remembered. For some reason, I always remembered the final chord struck around the five minute mark – it was diminished fifth, coincidentally. A diminished fifth alongside the fifth minute, was it strung during the exact time of five minutes and fifty five seconds? What's the number five supposed to mean?

It was a strange coincidence yeah, another coincidence arises when someone wants to take a shit or something, but couldn't hold it in regardless. My time won't be wasted for the sake of drinking my own portable toilet during the timely rain that fell down the drain. I laid there wasted, and I can't stop my love nor my cravings foremore. You know, each time the sighings of a crow resounds within the chapel, for some reason I felt a strange twinge within my very soul. It was something opulent, yet at the same time, it brought me tears of sadness, reminding me of the death of someone special.

Incidentally, there was crows at that time, the sound of crows sighing permeated the room, renders me with fear. Everyone was so busy – wait – was everyone this busy before? I don't know, and I probably don't want to know what happens next. What happens thereafter, I also don't want to know. Without ourselves playing an actual melody to the repercussion of these tunes, it shall make haste for ours to deliver. What kind of story it is? I don't know for sure. There's one thing I know of, and it was to love, it was a duty, nonetheless.

Was it a chore? You could say that. Within the times of loving, I'd like to reimburse upon all the past things I've regretted, and always have regretted. This life was filled with plentiful regrets, and I couldn't even say why to it. All of the times had been jumbled up within a predestined memory, looking for ourselves to keep, and ourselves to be much stronger as the time comes. The nightmare came and went by, still there's nothing happening – nothing would possibly happen – there's no hope outlasting this darkness.

It was the time, that sometimes when we touch, all of the fervor within comes to a turbulence. It wasn't something to make fun of, nor it was something you'd like to know regardless. I just like to view my bickerings within the pieces of paper, and I also like to know each and everything, the parts of your body that has become a wonderland of some sort. The clever monologues written, yet it only construes the unthinkable meanings – it was completely shrouded within a big mystery.

Just like the things played out at a detective movie. You need no references of some sort, just the passion and the courage. Tenderness and fatality, it seems. The marionette and the puppeteer do not want to reimburse all the past loss because they were busy with their own thingies. I by myself would like to know what kind of things that might seem to matter. I don't think any of those would really be beneficial. I have lived these wasteful lives forevermore, and the rigidity whereas the turgidity, the inner turbulence dispelling all the opulent scenery.

The place of tranquil scenery might seem truly condescending, but nevertheless, not a single one of these hatred will escape the exhaust system – it has been filtered with glee. I'd like for my stick to be filled with capricious nervousness. I'd like for my giant cockroach to be skewered with sour cream and kicked up with the notorious elegy within the gentlemen's systematics. You'd think you'd be lying about this in one way or another, but trust me, I know that you've certainly been telling the truth in one way or another – it was of utmost sincerity as we speak. Something must be quite disorganized, enough to instill ballsacks of blasphemy embedded within.

The kind of erotic departure to instill the subjugations within the third armament. I shall see you there within the days when all of shall decree the excrements within our own very house. You could say it was omniscient or whatever, but we might as well try to reimburse upon the surface that was unsightly benign. I'd bade my farewell until then.

I laid my body flustered down the drain. I like turtles, and the grainy waters did not stood tall or stood still amidst the raging river of time. Nonetheless, eleven dicks were found swimming across the water upstream, and then many more things were yet to be found fraudulent. I do not want to reimburse the currency, you maggots. The carrot kung fu uber ninja the ahegao master—shall punish you with eleven dildos and one mouthful round of tentacle rape—all rights reversed. I shall pound my wiener juice into your tentacle nipples—come here—come here—let the futility shall reign with the flock of titties swimming downstream.

We went towards the downtown, looking for the sleaziest sex scenes involving that hermaphrodite with another hermaphrodite. You call the number : sixty-nine. The position so delicious you might as well try to withstood the infinity of the moment—a perpetual washing machine bitches. The sons of bitches playing in the beach, and the beach ball thrown out right outside the window. I like my sexual intercourse creamy squid on the fraudulent liquid. The myriads of time and wind blowing south, soliciting oxygen supplies. Damn it, how would your shemale elephant be so aggressive to the point it starts raping your asshole with its asshole?

Please love you
As you love me
Then
We will
Set our titties free.

I was born outta broken condom. The incarcerated pigskin gorilla formed an ahegao by the time it looks at my baby dick, then she pretty much bit it off until what was left on my dick was just a giant pineapple being given the sleaziest fellatio by a giant cockroach. Also, in midst of the sound propagating from the waters in bloom, I see you fucking that pineapple—insinuating cupcakes dammit. You stuck your wiener inside a microwave to the point it was pretty much incarcerated with radioactive waves. You now have donkey's dildo on your dick, along with eleven other dicks on your forehead.

No, they definitely don't call you dickhead the first time. They only called you:

"What the hell?"

Now I have found you, thorny bush. Fuck you, and please fuck me too. Let's fuck each other just like horny skeletons down the thin roof. I like my wiener juice adorned with mayonnaise fluid when you just shove your dickhole inside a garage door. I'm not the very least happy when you sneezed on my titties using your titties. Your milk was rotten like a cow udder being slapped eleven hundred times by a solemn dildo pineapple ahegao horseshoe donkey peanut butter sour cream and onions.

Like soliciting tentacle sex within the murky wood, I woke up earlier than usual, sneeze on my titties, wiped my dick off using a molten chainsaw, then proceeds to masturbate my wiener until it reached about one billion kilometers long. My wiener had the best tentacle sex ever when it finally penetrated the core of the sun.

You could say that the remnants fell back into the top of my house straight from the sun at light speed. It was stir fried, well done, then I basically ate that one billion kilometer dick with my entire neighbors unti their dicks started lactating titties, and the titties would also lactate giant pineapples. From the giant pineapple, there would be a titty pudding inside waiting for us all to eat—for us all to eat, baby yeah.

Back then your titties weren't so noisy, but it's just like that—yeah--you know—the moment when an octopus bit its own nipple, you would might as well try to perform solipsism inside a house filled with tragic things.



Honey, please show your bang bang skit skit dance moves nigga in the bike sleazy peanuts down the silly munchumps. I like to whack your titties using a sandpaper, and your frozen dildos would be my cupcake. I had that one thousand cotton picking hands out of the pipe, and my hair dryer would also like to insinuate the derivative oxygen disorder and thus the solipsism shall begin again by performing the most erotically driven buttfucking session.

As much as you would try to accept the back door cloud processing, it doesn't mean that the clouds will ultimately raped the asshole of a giant purple dinosaur, not that, only a curious yellow sponge having the sleaziest lesbian sex with a kinky starfish down the drain—so it goes. What the fuck is this shit happening? Please call the emergency ration supplies for me to handle. It was fierce fuck man, the donkey's dildo would might as well deliver some rotten fellatio inside my own fellatio session. The therapeutic massage involving horny lubricants and fucking a giant cockroach inside a bull's dickhole.

When we touch together beside the moonlight sneezing from her titties, our bodies glisten so does our muscular body. It was the tranquil scenery of two bukly dinosaur having sex using an artificial genitalia. My goodness gracious, the insipid vermin artificial insemination succulent therapy dinosaur fraudulent the kind of Freudian massage and semantical dictionary. Something that was pretty systematic inside our own very odor, the smell of green onion on the sixteen armament. We shall try to instigate the matter, and we will also try to deliver our own timely waters down the drain of our homes, my homie.

The homeboy shall be slaughtered, and the recess insinuated. Are we really human, or are we just some patch of dildos being left outs by aliens so long—eventually we learned to be sentient anyway? I know nothing of some sort to this putrid mystery. All that's left to be unspoken, should be unspoken. The carrot ninja monkey horseshoe would like to have a chat inside the Sheriff's office, asking for a kinky sex involving jumping rope and burning cigars.You shall see the fruits of physical abuse and neglect play such as getting the enema down the enema inasmuch the enema shall be another enema.

Mmmm....the sounds of dripping molten wax beside the chandelier. Two hot bodied girls having sex together using a jump rope and another latex wrapping, such delicious delicacy beneath the delicatessen. I call it--tres bien. The vaginal penetration using a dinosaur dildo and the sleaziest enema with a giant cockroach to the point the greatest ahegao would be procured. The futanari dickhole would be electrocuted into the seminal carnal orgasm pleasurable sessions until the scatro meter erupted into the toilet bowl. Flush shall we go, and thus we would soon be driven towards the verge of orgasmic convulsions.

Some other things smothered by the face of velvet, and the saxophones ringing when both of us had sex last night. When will your fellatio, be my fellatio. Oh right, the cunnilingus sessions would be much more hotter when I smudged some yogurt on your titties and drink all the spilling juices from now on. Finally, it's safe to say—let's have another sexual intercourse for tonight.

The ideas were already there, it's just waiting to be written. Would you like to steal my idea and call it your own? Believe me, you wouldn't really find it enjoyable unless you've walked upon this trodden path like a solitary traveler. When things eventually went to disarray, you would know for sure, that your mind takes you into another unraveled path filled with hearty greeneries. It was the water, it was the river, and it also contains the gargantuan forest containing one of the biggest treasures yet known to man—the morning wood, a wood that blossoms wood in the morning.

Being a part of the scenery, sometimes you felt your life wasn't that meaningful at all. Life suddenly felt so meaningless—you wish you could die already. A lifetime without anything worthwhile to do, don't you think that there's no such thing as divine grace/ Would you like to shout to heavens above in scorn, that everything's basically unfair? No buts please, you probably just like to point out your middle finger and told everyone else to stay out your own precious life you've been throwing away. You felt utterly powerless against the current circumstances, and you couldn't even say why about it.

Please just shout in the dark—there shall you hear me masturbating in front of the toilet bowl—giving no regard to your bickerings. It was something sleazy enough to do within the retreat—a deliriously joyful feeling of solitude unlike any other—you began to find yourself swimming against the streams naturally, and inasmuch you would like to stand at the top from the bottom most part you were—the place you've been at the moment—neither at the top nor the bottom, felt so comfortable you just felt like taking a dump at any moment. It was at the nearby restroom—an irresistibly clean toilet—not even a single stain could even stain it, not even the big dump also, no matter how stainful it is.

You will soon be named as the legendary....Toilet Man.

Left down inside the philosophical adventure down the dumps, urinating on somebody's asshole, and getting penetrated in the asshole then you shat yourself on that certain pole that's been penetrating you down the drain. It was somewhat a masterpiece adventure when you laid there inconveniently still down the paths leading into infinite directions. You're completely lost without nothing much to do, and not much thing to fulfill before you finally kiss your ass goodbye.

With a baritone voice, you shouted to the nearest muscular man nearby, and you soon urinates in their asshole just like doing it normally inside another urinal. The asshole was so drenched with yellow-ish liquid it soon becomes more than enough to eat frozen solid spaghetti with it. You shat your ass with pineapple dildo coming out penetrating the certain pole that's been plunging your ass up. The turbulent feeling which incites the nearby moment of tentacle rape in the alternate universe when you were actually a girl who likes to eat bacon and peanuts first thing in the morning. The titties won't be free—you've actually had them on your back at all times. When you're deliriously bored, you could just use it as a hand grenade to instill a cataclysmic nuclear explosion.

Down the dumps, I am. Urinates on somebody's asshole once again—you were. It was just like the time when our dildo will become your dildo and our dildo also urinates on turbulence until the nearby gorilla in the zoo got pregnant with a baby walrus, the baby walrus was a mutant—it had about eleven dicks and one hundred titties—so it goes. Together we shall form the brotherhood of dildo inside of another dildo inasmuch your dildo will become my dildo. When our dildo was actually brothers, without the brotherhood, we strongly felt hesitant to fuck each other inside the bowels of a giant cockroach—it seems.

You prefer fucking a corpse yourself. A kind of disrespectful interpretation of the dead, until I finally figured out it was that dead cow you've fucked all day long until its own vagina eventually burst open and twelve pineapples came shooting out to your dick in revenge—but you miraculously dodged it. The first pineapple would might as well circle the entire universe first before going back inside your asshole, then it finally gets pregnant, and it eventually lactates tons of cockroaches from the rectal hole.

The second pineapple would also circle the entire universe, entering your asshole, had sex with the first pineapple, then from your body would emerge about eleven pineapple, and your nipple would turn into a blaster turret which fired pineapple juices about 270 kilometers per hour speed with the spread arc about 69 degrees. The remainder of pineapples eventually had sex with each other—a massive orgy using the boxes of viagra which stacks into the mountaintops up above.

With the usage of viagra too much, their bodies finally exploded and the remnants were then capsized as a pineapple juice—being drunk across the whole nation as the byproduct souvenir—an export contraband rivaling even the finest marijuana liquid made from grape juice mixed with a dead porcupine after being fucked eleven hundred times by a rabid woodchuck and being ran over by a tadpole on acid. What are you thinking? What am I doing? Yes, it's basically the anal sex sessions with the Toilet Man smoking weed and grasses with his cigars.

The cigars being imported from the southern seas, amidst the sea made of the corpse of the pirates, and with the concentration of salad bar, salt, and sulfuric acid more concentrated than the average toilet water recycled back at the septic tank. The plumbing system would might as well do some reincarnation, so the water would be even less sanitized, with more pollutants for the mutagenic bacteriologic research. It was a risky gamble if the mutagenic virus would spread out to the genitals of the researchers—though fear not, there's only one hundred thousand futanari young girls emerging from here, and we know of one definite country when the futanari girls are welcome.

A country with the fear of extinction, so stressful, lifeless, and devoid of any sex life. They worshiped their own imaginary futanari girls, and now we shall proceed right there to impregnate them by sending about one hundred thousand futanari girl resulted in the genetic mutation of our own research facility.

The toilet man wasn't so happy, hearing that his husband had also turned to a futanari by the mutagenic infection. Soon, several portions of the people in the country would also turn into a futanari, though it's safe to say that the rest of them afflicted would also serve as the variety of fetish quenching thirst like tentacle monsters, giant cockroaches, and the living zombies—yes, we know about five hundred million people—with open preferences to a cute loli zombie at barely legal age.

Viva la necrophilia, no such thing as pleasuring the dead this way, even more, when the enjoyment was mutual. Seriously, I think all of us are going to hell this way. Oh my goodness, that would be the last thing you've yelled at when you had thrown the entirety of your asshole to the toilet—the end.

My life is boring, nuff said. Everyday I went and do things I didn't like because the money is good. I am lifeless, filled with drudgery. Everything's about money these days, don't you agree. Even when I tried to breathe, I need to buy fresh oxygen. Don't worry though, I have lots of money, a bottomless pit of it indeed. I could buy everything with money, money, and money. It could buy me happiness, it could buy me love.

Why am I still living a boring life, you ask? Simply said, it's because I love to live a boring and lifeless life when things could be exciting, and I actually love to do the things I hate because I love security more than excitement which made me insecure. Could we have both security and excitement? Don't even try! It's not good to walk outside the line, it's filled with risk! At least that was what my fellow accountants told me.

I live a boring life, I am bored, I am lifeless, and I love it.

Remember the times when you felt completely lost down the path? You find yourself completely alone without anyone to give you any calling of help whatsoever. Suddenly, you find the life to be utterly meaningless, that you had no reason to live anymore, that every attempts you had from way back until then was pretty much a waste. Falter not, 'cause you had a goal to keep, a wish to fulfill, something which made this life truly worthwhile. No need to write it down, you just need to get back up again, every time you felt like your life was down the drain and you can't even say why about it.

The courage and strength to get back up, there's still some things we're unable to change, however, with the serenity provided and the perseverance to pull through against all odds, there's nothing impossible to achieve. The possibility would always be there. In this world, there is hope. Things that in a nutshell, were far beyond your reaches, in due time, it would suddenly be within your own palm of tiny hand.

I get up, I get down, I get up again. At times I wish to make myself taller, but then I realize that I'm already tall enough. In times of desperation, I would always want to make myself taller, but then I look at the mirror to see—that it was my face, and my heart that needs to be much taller. We need to go wider, broader into the unraveled horizons. The sea casting its tides away from the beaches, and the grand ship was ready to set sail towards the unknown. You ate my bread, and it's okay. You haven't had breakfast for today, just take mine. Providence will follow me and so do you, we will be best friends forever, that much is true.

Within every pain and adversary, there will always be an opportunity to become even stronger. Still, it's not something one would automatically wish to achieve. I also had my doubts whether someone with these masochistic tendencies who always seek pain in place of achievement, would actually be the most successful people out there. I don't know really. Some people lived their life being completely freed from troubles, living without a care in this world. What about me? I believe things should be peaceful, yet I couldn't really stand doing nothing all the time.

I placed my trust as I poured away all my thoughts. It was partly the reason why I'm alive, and why I'm still alive until this moment. Moments passed, still this activity would probably stay unchanged. It has become a part of my identity to write things as I see fit, whether or not people would understand me. Should there be a proper story instead? I guess not. Life by itself does not need lots of fragrances and exaggerations for it to be meaningful, at least that's for me. What I probably need was just something that speaks to me, in every form of things conceived.

I could hear its own voice from afar, the things in which guided my calling across. It doesn't need to be forced, nor it does need a discipline to fulfill. All it needs was just a heart open enough to accept the natural flow of changes. Once again, we need to go wider. My heart was an open road baby, lots of people tried to stomp afront, leaving me bleeding with hurt. Now my heart becomes a closed fortress, ready to open fire at any time, still I lost against the people, and now I'm terribly hurt inside.

Drenched in my own pool of blood, I started to question something. What was it, that I'm completely missing out? Why must them, why not me? Why must always me to take the short end of the stick? The answer lies in tomorrow, a false sense of hope, and a false sense of security. Would tomorrow always be a lie? There's always today within my existence, and the past as a thing to always forget. Living in the past, they said I am, while in fact, I tried to erase my past, to erase my entire existence and be completely reborn anew.

I had nothing more to prove. At times, I felt like my life was not worth living, and I lived most of my time within a moment of shame. There's no hope to be found, there's only despair. I'm deep in despair baby, so deep entrenched I can't say why. No one to understand, and no one to pay a heed. Still, there's still a place I must go before I finally kiss my ass goodbye. It was a place, where all my worries could finally rest easy. Times will always be peaceful enough, baby.

Without knowing that salvation won't even exist, and the lifetime of torture shall follow, I pranced thoughtlessly towards the setting sun, basking my head down the grassy terrain, and contemplating my entire journey within the clearings amidst the forest. When push comes to shove, I shall be ready take on anything that comes forth. When they say there;s no need to rush, and the things would always be peaceful, it will be the perfect time to strike back. Let my own wrath thunder across the entire ground in which they stand.

Shall I turn my entire back towards them? Rest easy folks, there's many way out there. I get up, and I get down, but in the end I'll always get up and always will get up again.

Maybe I should make myself taller, but then I realized that I'm already much taller than them. All that's left was to stand tall enough with confidence and finally walk forward without turning back.

A program.

It was roughly defined as:

"Something particularly made to produce specific results."

It could be anything.

A program has a specific waypoint it must follow, before producing specific results we want. We call it algorithm. It could be complex, and it could be simple depending who programs it, and it also depends on what kind of result the program must achieve. With many factors combined, programming could also defined as an artistic endeavor to a certain extent, yet, to be noted it also has a very limited error scope for it to be something boundless like art.

Even a single semicolon missing in a particular line would result in a catastrophe amongst the entire system. It was a profession needing a surgical level of precision, although it was much more tolerable than an actual surgical task, since you can just fix the problem right away when it came crashing down. Unlike humans, machines are replaceable, that's why we'd like to exploit machines more, after we've satisfied ourselves with completely exploiting our fellow humans in the past.

Needless to say, the exploitation of humans still goes on, and as for today, it has reached another level of extremity. We'd like to program our fellow humans so it could be an ideal servant just for us. Studies show that the humans had unlimited potential—they could become anything, unlike actual machines which had limited capabilities on what task they could actually perform. That was, one of the primal motives that was instigated through various educational boards just to create puppets with myriads amount of repertories for the society.

Though unlike machines, humans are dynamic; they do not adhere to the actual algorithm for doing things—their logic mostly absurd and nonsensical—driven by something amiss called 'feelings' and 'emotions', something like that yeah. Their method of instruction was given simply through the form of language, take this for example:

"Please give me a blow job, without using the vacuum cleaner."

"Please have sex with my lesbian twin sister with me."

"Buy eleven packs of dildo for our sex party."

"Go masturbate using that giant cockroach."

The list would go on endlessly, you name it. Their algorithm might be simple, might be very complex. It can be error prone, or it could also be foolproof, depending on the actual human, and the actual person giving them instructions. From the human instructional language, an actual concept of algorithm has been defined, in order to make something we could enslave for eternity without them complaining—at least not until the law of robotics has been implemented. Rest easy, machine slavedrivers, AI-controlled robots are still far away in the future.

No you perverts, there would be no cute androids to have sex with you. Instead, I will order an android shaped as a bulky muscular man to fist your asshole with a vacuum cleaner.

It's easier said than done, it seems, to actually able to make a machine that's able to do something we originally instructed. Yeah, there's an actual software we usually use to accomplish things—I'm talking about making them from the ground zero. There's no magic formula like telling a raw uncoded program to have sex with you, and it will have sex with you right away. It needs to be designed, it needs to be coded, yet, the code implemented would be very complex—because it was designed by smart people who did not want the less intelligent to mess up with their schemes.

Imagine what would happen if the less intelligent and the prude and the close-minded were able to use computers so easily? Meaning less people would be able to have their freedom on accessing pornographic sites, which is bad. I forgot that I had downloaded the sleaziest porn about two futanari girls fisting each other, and I want to fap to it at least one hundred thousand times a day, of course.

There's no telling what kind of secret society hidden message they actually hid inside their source codes, like, when you typed 666 on the search bar, a naked hippopotamus would sprang out of your monitor and rape you in the ass. That was just one example, no need to take things seriously. Or when you typed 1337, moot would come and say hi while he masturbates in your room—that's just one example too—hey don't ban me moot.

Because coding the programs right away is very complex, and the language in which the machines able to understand is much different than humans—based on the logic of the genius people with incomprehensible minds—there's one way to bridge the situation. We call it pseudocode; it was the hermaphrodite gateway—containing both the parts of actual machine language and actual human language.

It doesn't simply code the program, only appeals as a foolproof method to understand how a program works, and how it would be defined. From the pseudocode, an actual program code might be derived without trying to think about it from the scratch again, in addition of getting lots of errors just to do things right. Think about it as a draft to an actual story, and the story itself would contain various adjustments to make it understandable to the reader, as the program code derived from the pseudocode would made sense to the machine, so it's able to compile things without any errors.

What is an example to a pseudocode? First, try to define a simple goal for yourself to do, then write down the steps needed to complete the task, in the simplest manner possible. That is, a basic understanding of a pseudocode. However, machines have different logic, so you'd probably want to try to use the similar logic—think like a machine, the rest is the same as the aforementioned steps—have fun!

When your perseverance and determination pays in your study about programming, you might as well finally be able to make an android that would gladly have sex with you in any position you prefer. Should we say, necrophilia and bestiality? Yes, we all know that you love it as much as I do.

I don't always watch a soccer match, but when I do, I am expecting a bloodbath. I recall back then when I tried watching it straight from the television. You know, the water bottles being thrown out, laser beams fired at the goalkeeper, and supporters mutilating each other with a pogo stick. In addition of that, there's also a dildo being thrown out straight to the referee's mouth. Because of the incident of dildo throwing, the TV Station broadcasting the match was completely shut down due to its violation of prudeness, and the stadium were also closed to conform to the religious laws strictly enforced. The referee, by incident, had his entire tongue removed because of the contact with the dildo.

No one knows what kind of person might actually throw the dildo, but I know one thing for sure. If the person ever gets caught, he will be executed in addition of having his genitalia decapitated—oh my. That was the problem, incidentally. From where the spot where the dildo's been thrown out--figured by a certain famous investigator, there's no one present here. It wasn't a detective case, but you just know how absurd the rules and regulations this fictional country has.

Out of topic, there's one time where a dildo has been thrown by Mr. President to a certain journalist during a press conference. Still, nothing happens. Few days after the incident, there's a slogan that was anonymously posted on the internet, it goes like this:

Mr. President > The Author

The president did not make the laws, he just sits here like a boss whilst laughing at everyone below him in his own marvelous pride. Oh yeah, the journalist who had a dildo in his mouth also had his tongue completely removed too.

Now, back to the topic. If they ever figured out that it's actually Mr. President who threw out the dildo, what would be the case?

No, actually I'm the Mr. President, and the one throwing the dildo was my twin brother, He has the ability to turn invisible and erasing all the memories about himself and I have the super powers to override all rules and regulations imposed on me. Well, I think it's quite ironic how am I a president, when my abilities would make myself a great criminal.

Not quite ironic really, since my abilities does not protect myself from criminals—it only protected me from all of the abusive laws in the world. My twin brother, he's the one leading the most powerful crime syndicate in this country, and only I could see him, always remembering him and his evil plans. Yet, he has probably grown too powerful for me to stop him. Oh yeah, my twin brother is a futanari, so you could also call him a she, and she could also be my twin sister. How about me?

I'm asexual. My hair bald, and my face blank. I have no genitals, only loathsome feelings for the entire human race—and that was my sexual gratification. I have no actual gender, but you could always call me a vegetable. Both of us would strive to be the most notorious power on the entire nation, me and my futanari brother.



Today, my twin brother died due to masturbating too much. No one remembers him.

I am so very sad to the point I hanged myself in my office.

Everybody laughed when I died.

How did I know what happens, if I actually died?

It was simple. The Author told me, and I know full well that he's a liar.

Still, I believed it anyway, because he gave me candy, and my futanari brother is right here beside me.

It was just an usual day like always before. People got up from their bed first thing in the morning, took a bath, brushing their teeth off, changing their clothes, and with their shoes on and bags ready, packed with textbooks and stuff—they finally made their way to attend the morning classes.

On the way, they stopped at certain shops that sells the usual homely foods—all ready cooked, and some others prefer to go to convenience stores instead. Some ate it on the spot, some others prefer packing it up so they could eat it later on before or after class, they might also divide the portion to be eaten before and after class so they would be less hungry as they had spread out their portions of food in the right amount.

The others might go straight away without buying food at all, some could stand the starvation, some others slept all the way through so they could just ate at the cafeteria by the time the morning class is over—ending up by going home. So it's just started like this: going to class only to sleep, and eat at the cafeteria, ending up with going home straight after.

Not to worry about the tests and assignments though—at least they had friends. They could just copy on assignments and cheat on tests to get what they wanted, although at certain times the results did not go on according to their expectations, and the drawbacks would be quite fatal indeed. Oh right, there are some really smart students who were able to pass every courses out there with good results—either they had prepared for it and studied it before hand, or they also had just come without preparation regardless to fill up their required absence.

What about me, you ask? Well, most of the time I just felt kinda unwilling to go, but now I can't slack off and do so anymore. Still, if I were to do things seriously, I'd prefer for it to be fun. How it could be fun? Well, if I could make some story reference to it in one way or another, I think things would feel better. It's just like this somewhat boring life would be like those told in the story of fiction. I'd like to visit the library one time after another, but not always every time I tried my best to attend classes.

The book collections weren't that plentiful, and there's not a single book of my favorite absurdist authors here. Though for the other reference books regarding my current study, there's a lot of it present. Well, even with the plentiful of reference books, I always seem to go on through an entire week without even opening the book. I am quite lazy about reading, you see.

I do not know exactly how much it could differ if the reading material was actually a hentai doujin featuring the cutest loli girls masturbating each other in knee socks and garter belts—at least the book would most likely be stained with something else than my hands.

Well, as if the library provided hentai doujins anyway. Oh right, if I recall, there's about twenty of them in the spot, and all of them were about groups of muscular men groping each other. I don't know, there's a kind of philosophical title going on, but I felt so disturbed to the point I did not want to open the book. What was the title called?

Anal Sex Party With Cumbersome Fdgfdgfdg

What is Fdgfdgfdg? It sounds philosophical.

Enough of this nonsense about classes and hentai doujins anyway, let's move on towards a brighter topic.



Back then when it was about Summer Holiday, I tried helping someone out with making a comic book or something. I wrote the story, and he had drawn the characters and everything else. It was my first time writing a story for a comic book involving Chinese cartoons, even though the story was in English. Fortunately, I had watched quite of bit of Chinese cartoons and read a bit of the translated comic books, so I could come up with the appropriate Chinese name for the characters and the places.

I still did not know the language, so I just randomly named someone as 'Xia Tian' literally interpreted as 'Falling Sky', a protagonist who strikes someone so hard to the point they felt the sky would be falling, and 'Lao Yue' as the 'Old Moon' an old proprietress to the bar in which Xia Tian always visit-- she still retains her sensuality in her late age of about one hundred years. The names would might as well be a nickname, the true name of the characters would be hidden until late in the story when their past were uncovered.

Like many of the popular comic series, we would like to include the things including marvelous martial art battles, sake drinking competition, conspiracy, brotherhood, simple yet profound philosophy, family ties, reunion—all of it compiled in a single story. It was some kind of one-shot, and fitting all the theme in a single take won't be that easy. Still, after working for about one week, I finished the story draft.

The comic artist hanged himself approximately one month after the submission, leaving one page involving Xia Tian having sex with Lao Yue—and that scene wasn't even included on the draft. Still, it was a really nicely drawn picture. The actualy picture awarded him a posthumous fame and it was sold at the museum for about one million dollars. I still didn't get the share money at all, more like, and his family—particularly his uncle, whom I've first heard the news of his death—ultimately blamed me for his death.

Still the compensation money about one million dollars received from the museum, they said, was more than enough to ensure I will be free without any charges dealt.

That is the story why I am still living as a poor university student in my 20 years of living. Will continue on living a ridiculously boring life, rather than basking in excitement by becoming a storywriter for comic books for a change. The final blow was struck; it seems like I am wishing for something impossible to reach. Oh well, there's still a lot of things to do.



Three days after my last class session. It was the winter break. After the break, there will be the final test. My assignments, I had done all of them, albeit it doesn't produce good results. The mid-terms, yeah, my results were above average. If I did well in this final test, I am certain that I will at least pass all courses. In the term before, I had about two class to attend during this summer. So my point is, I am working on that comic project as a side dish to my own tedious school life during the summer.

That story, was more or less, also inspired by the tedious living I've been through. It's quite funny how such boring things could inspire me to create something that seems fun—to me at the very least. If this world actually was filled by exciting things all the time, there might be no need to write about this, at least to blow off some steam. At the very least, despite my own grief to the comic artist's death—he was my penpal and we became closer through the internet—and we even worked together—we still have to move forward.

He will be going to hell, and I'm going to graduate. Because there's a severe punishment for every person who attempted suicide out there, the most lenient by going to hell, and the most severe by becoming a reference to an actual blockbuster story to a Box Office movie. His life would probably become the object of Schadenfreude for the masses to empathy, if that was the case.

Seriously, all of the empathy issues aside, I still don't know what kind of things actually instigated him to commit suicide. Was it something about the text I have handwritten? My handwriting is bad, I know, but at that time, I tried my best to make the words readable, and he told me that he could understand it perfectly. I sent the handwritten copy, it was photocopied near my place. The place and the owner are still okay to the moment of this writing, nothing happens.

Why handwritten, when I could just type things out? He said, it was much easier to derive inspiration from handwritings. Inconvenience issues aside, I somehow agreed with him. Still, the reason why he committed suicide was still unclear to me. I tried reading the original copy, and the spare copy ones. Over and over again for the span of one week, still nothing happens, and the thought of hanging myself never occurred in the slightest.

About eleven days after my last class session, roughly eight days I have been reading and reading through my own handwritten story over and over, I got a call from the museum's curator—from the same museum which had bought the one page comic for about one million dollars. He said, the image attracts so many visitors, who came to view it to understand its own artistic value, not for the actual obscenity within it.

The background story about the artist's death was somehow exaggerated, that he had drawn it with a story written by the devil himself. The author's identity still remains in secrecy, though the exaggerated story by itself had pretty much became an urban legend. It was ridiculously absurd, so to say. Anyways, the museum curator told me about his interest on reading my actual story, and what evidently caused the artist to hang himself. He gave out the same price, about one million dollars, for my story.

I rejected his offer, though I did not mind to give it out for free. He was overjoyed. Strange though, when the time comes and I could bade my farewell as a poverty-ridden university student, I just went in and threw it away. You know, I probably think that money wasn't the most important thing in my life. I wrote the story for a comic that was originally intended to be published for non profit usage, and mostly for fun and to garner new experiences.

So yeah, I just sent the original handwritten story along with the spare copy towards the museum. I kept the remainder of the spare copy in my desk, with the backup still on my computer that was free to be viewed. Another backup of it was stored at one of the cloud storage sites—set to private viewing. The actual documents were supposed to arrive about that evening, since the call was made during late afternoon and I used express delivery. The museum's actually not that far away though for the delivery to be accomplished for as long as days' time.

The other day arrived very slowly, since I've been waiting in anticipation for the curator's opinion. I heard from him, that he already received the documents on the evening and he would like to form an opinion on my piece, additionally relating to how the comic artist who drew the story would even commit suicide. That was also a big question and a mystery, which his own family want to know too.

I mean, well...he only had read the photocopied script. The original and also the copy was with me earlier, it's later on been sent towards the museum for further study.

My seemingly long wait had not ended in vain. I got a call from the curator the day after.

"It was a nice story."

That's all he said, and he quickly hung up the phone.

Few days later, after spending my winter break in confusion, and also trying to study whilst anticipating the Christmas party and the New Years, I finally got a call again from the museum. Now it was the curator's assistant. She told me that the curator had hanged himself after reading the manuscript for a few days. It has caused quite a bit of shock, but fortunately I had made it as an anonymous delivery straight to the curator's office, so nobody would make a fuss over it.

I asked her, why did the curator hang himself. The assistant herself said, she doesn't know. One peculiar page from the original handwriting was left on the table, it was supposedly the last page he's been reading before he finally died. She tried examining the paper again, she told me on the phone. She said something about a certain mark—I didn't even know whether or not that mark was there the last time I checked my own original handwritten text and also the copy.

There was a high pitched scream coming out from her, followed by the sound of something falling down—probably the phone itself. The call hung up shortly after. It was the last call made from the curator's office to me. Why didn't I call the curator if I really want to know? The reason is simple, the phone was probably set not to receive any calls—since the curator is probably a busy person.

I heard from somewhere, that if one wants to speak with him so badly, they should follow the procedure, and even made appointments for a call on a peculiar exact time—if it passed through even one minute—maybe even seconds—the appointment would be void. Though it probably won't matter anyway, since the curator presumably had died—or so I was told.

By curiosity, I decided to check the spare copy of my written story manuscript that was inside my desk.

Inside it, there was the severed head of the curator.

I simply ate it, and flush the remnants into the toilet.

It was a beautiful day, so I thought.

The sky was dark; there's no people around. The falling snow drenched the streets, but it was not cold. The snow was actually warm like roasted marshmallows. What was left me in despair was the absence of people. The streets hallowed down, revealing nothing in sight, not even cars. Buildings in sight, with all the doors closed. Most of them being run down. Yet there's an apartment complex looking sturdy enough for oneself to live for the remainder of the winter.

It was the only place with the doors open; it was my home. A place to laid my withered body and heavy head down due to drowsiness. A place to take a hot shower during the times I felt my body cold and weary. To soak in a nice bubble bath, getting rid of each and every filth condensing whenever I took a stroll, a walk down the previously trodden path. It was quiet; nothing else of interest in here; still I kept on walking, desperately clinging for something I could place my hopes upon.

Back then, whenever the sky was so stunningly beautiful along with the warm falling snow, there's a motorcycle parked nearby the entrance. Now it was completely out of gas. There's actually a gas station nearby, with no cars. I once accidentally smoked a cigar, and it completely had blown away each and every bits of the gas station. Nah, luckily I did not brought the motorcycle with me, only a jerry can and a lengthy hose to fill. When did I smoked? I did not remember, and I also did not remember exactly what happens. What I know, the jerry can was gone, along with the gas station.

Why did people start to disappear so suddenly, you ask? I did not know. Back then, people still appears like everyday routines. It was just one day when they seem to gather around at the town square or something—it's clearly visible within the window of my own apartment room. I did not like to gather around with crowds, and I genuinely dislike being around people—so I mostly slept through the afternoon, with the windows completely closed. When I woke up, there's only silence. Not even the usual evening to night ambience down the streets.

I tried peeking through the window, only to see the corpses of people lying lifelessly down the street. They began to eat and mutilate each other. Ah okay, if I remembered correctly, they look like zombies. The electricity was still there, and I did not make a sound when I'm doing something. In fact, I always questioned my ability—why is it, that I always made no sound whilst doing something—why my presence couldn't even be detected in the slightest. Maybe, if I were to walk in between these hordes of zombies, I'll still escape, completely unscathed?

Better not risk it.

Everything was quiet, even when they actually had eaten each other with disgusting movements. There was no sound to be heard outside the window, which was odd. Was there even bits of air outside? With this apartment complex and the outside world was separated by a vacuum field, yielding no means of transfer between mediums? Along with the ground and the asphalt being sordidly covered in warm snowflakes, further desensitizing the sound waves' very reception.

There was a knock on my door; it was not that loud of a knock. I looked through the hatch on the door--only visible from inside. There I saw a delivery man with a head shaped like one giant titty with a grotesquely erect nipple. He was delivering pizza, it seems, but then he opened the pizza box and all I've seen was hordes of cockroach crawling outisde the pizza box—severely mutilating him like the patch of hungry detritivor to delicious corpses. Twelve of the cockroaches crawled inside my room; they died after walking past a densely trailed path formed by the insecticide chalk in which I trodded down right below the door.

Did it quickly enough, seeing as I always had the insecticide chalk with me nearby at all times. Once again, my life has been saved. I grabbed the broom and the dust shovel; quickly dispatching the cockroaches in one swift move and flushing them before they could resurrect again. It was quiet; it was tranquil; only me and myself in sight.

Once again, a knock resounds upon my door; it was my next door neighbor. He was loud and annoying. I mostly could care less about his own problems; I've got mine to deal with. As I grew tired, weary, and bored due to the short occurrences happening, I eventually picked upon a pump action shotgun from atop the box beside my desk where I usually put my collection of elephant dildo. I quickly opened the door in one swift moment, with my gun ready and fully cocked, to the point it could fit a cock inside.

It was bang, a direct shot to his head before he could even scream cowabunga. After I made his head explode with the bloody debris scattered around, I cooked it stir fried in the kitchen with eggs and roasted tomato. I threw the rest of his body outside of the window, but before that, I ripped his genitals apart with a chainsaw and put it atop my dick as a memento. I now have about eleven hundred dicks atop my own, I might as well become a tentacle monster.

Then I grew weary with the size and ultimately fell on top of a dry grinder with my dick along on front. After accidentally cutting off my dick along with the eleven hundred glued ones, I ultimately ended up in this dystopian world—end of story. Maybe, it's not exactly the people disappearing, but me and myself ceasing to exist because I accidentally cut my dick off by falling on top of the grinder. I woke up, and here I am now, inside the world with only me around, doing monotonous routines.

Accidentally there's enough people around. I ate cockroaches for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, which actually tasted like fried chicken—which is good.

In the end, I laid my naked body in the snowy streets and masturbated, regardless of me not having genitals at all. I simply put the dildo in my mouth and shove it as deep as possible until I vomited like blow dryer getting run over by a tadpole. Never I know that vomiting regularly would be so good, even more when I vomited a giant cockroach and he ended up raping me in the ass for about 69 days 69 hours 69 minutes and 69 seconds.

It tasted like heaven, which is like aborted fetuses. You know it's quite long a way before it's there, but you forced it apart anyway.

Even someone who likes to be adventurous also wants to live a routine life too. The same way when a pack of dildos being thrown out together down the drain. Please lick my titties with your nipple and we will fuck together inside a motorcycle when the exhaust system gets completely run down. One giant nipple tower clusterfuck enema session up and ready to go, and my eyesight will ultimately reign supreme within these clusters of blocks masturbating each other like an inverted nipple.

Fuck you, tadpoles. Fuck you too, let's fuck together, the sleaziest threesome enema orgy with a tadpole. We will drink lots of beer; vomiting on top of the giant tadpole. When we vomit, just remember to say 'cheese', because butter prices are currently expensive right now. You might as well try and find a rotten cheese being shoved upon your asskracks and all that you can do is just pull your nipple upon your asshole to listen towards the nearby radio station.

My nostrils spelunk acid baby yeah, the ninja monkeys performing slingshot dildos in the reigning supremacy of kings and queens, a novelty batch that somehow won't deliver anyhow. These random creatures kept on appearing during the last Tuesday when I was just taking a dump, then reminiscing about how the insides of a toilet felt like my asshole being stabbed by a swordfish—it tasted like jelly agar smothered with rotten doughnuts, being eaten whilst jumping lumber jackeys down the flash like the seashells on weed giving a stupid gorilla the fellatio from his own ass cheeks.

When I take a shit, I will always remember to take a picture, to see if the giant poop king shall make its own sudden appearance, being taken over by an infrared camera. There was one time during the news broadcast, that a certain museum wants to have the picture of that certain poop king with the face that looks like the curator's own dead nipple. Someone within the journalism board—it was during a press conference—he asked about the peculiar shape of the curator's dead nipple.

It was wet; it was filled with gin and whiskey; it had the smell of aborted fetuses being beaten down like a meat, and getting flushed down the toilet by feelings of glee. Somewhere within the septic tank, the dead nipple metamorphoses into a some kind of aborted fetus, continuing the evolution until it becomes the giant poop king. One small glance of him would make your nipples die, so the urban legends said.

Though as most urban legends, it will stay as an urban legend. When the truth gets uncovered, so does the profit from various business enterprises will go down the drain. It was just like that one time when I tried rubbing my own ass cheeks with a sandpaper and something funny just occurs at the bottom of the toilet. I slapped the toilet bowl with my own dick and then lots of severed head comes down flying from inside the toilet—mouths gaping open. I reflexively punched it using my fist, resulting the head to explode into millions of pieces.

How does that sound? It was fun, of course. The experience whilst playing that FPS game while you just torture zombies endlessly for fun using many kinds of things available on that level won't ever compare to witnessing it real time, and in real life. There's still this new and booming controller thingy which enables someone to rub his own nipples in the game, but meh, this thing I'm witnessing was much better. Go throw your ass cheeks down the window and fist your nipples with a cucumber, but still, this experience rocks.

Anyhow, the rest of the severed head, I sold them towards the nearest science lab when they just could mutate it, to the point it could also apply to a freak show in the circus. Little kids will come to the booth and masturbate to the sight of eleven dildos laughing at each other due to how silly the spectacle seems. At least, the life won't be that monotonous for the circus clowns who had to perform and practice the same tricks over and over again—they already got their own object of Schadenfreude by the arrival of the genetically mutated severed head.

No, only the first one flew straight to me; the rest simply hit the ceiling; ending up lifelessly down the floor. Of course when the first head flew to me, I backed down outside the bathroom and closed the door; it was a memory that lasts about a few seconds, with an impact which outlasts a certain episode of my favorite sitcom when the main character tried to eat his own wife, literally. The show was banned before that episode was even aired; luckily I had the leakage from a source you probably would better of not knowing—my dildo.

On a side note, the actor who played as the main character vomited to his death the morning after the ban, and that news deeply grieved me. I swore for the rest of my life, I won't ever watch the television or read newspaper again. Then I stopped the day after, while I was looking at a certain newspaper headline which caught my eyes:

"Tired of living a boring life? Me too. Being a newspaper editor isn't as fun as you think. Read the editorial part—one which you always missed, contrary to the various phone sex advertisements that were positioned quite obscurely."

The editorial goes like this, surmising it up. Mind that it was not how the editorial was exactly written; I'm just retelling it using my own words:

My nipple.

That's all.



After all these adventures, you just want to place your own head on your comfy bed and sleep—wanting each and all of this to last forever. This boring life has somehow become your safe haven for your entire life; a sanctuary to protect you from all the fears and uncertainties of this world. You want security; you want the feelings of tranquility outlasting the fear. Life won't be that boring; it won't be too excitng, and sometimes nightmarish either; only balance that persists.

Within your life, you had searched for the truth for so long—not knowing that all of it lies with balance. Yet, if you were to choose a certain extreme, you would like to choose something in which you could somehow lived it, and if possible, something pertaining towards the current world and current routines you lived in, and probably will always be living in. Was it somewhat tedious and filled with drudgery? Fear not, you've already learned to enjoy it anyhow, with these wicked and often nightmarish adventures you experienced willingly—rather than wallowing in the cheaper thrills endorsed.

It completely contrasts the feeling of serenity and tranquility in which your daily life holds. Once again, your adventures and your safe haven perfectly complements each other—making this routine supposed-to-be boring life equally balanced, to the point you just want to take a cup of coffee in ease first thing in the morning. You felt calm; you felt secure, and most importantly, you felt like you're in a complete control of your own life and your entire destiny—the future is right there, not going anywhere; it was the future for yourselves to keep--it's always been.

With not even a squander of excitement in the slightest, it doesn't mean that the days you're living would not have even a minuscule amount of magic. In fact, there's magic everywhere; only you can see it. That kind of miracle open for your eyes only to see. A bright new world unraveled upon, when many others could only see a grey world filled with dull, frozen cold snowflakes.

You smiled at your own reflection whilst brushing your teeth, before going to sleep just few hours before midnight. Sweet dreams await upon you.

Your eyes lit ablaze with burning desire to decimate each and everything treading upon your path; no one should ever dare to lay a finger or spout even a single phrase of disdain concerning you. Baring your fangs like a formidable wolf, you stood there unshaken by the trembling forces of moonlight. The shade of night crucifies your posture; your pose stiff, still you stood upright. Was that the desire to stand on top, far above people? Not really, you just want to crush the dreams of people you really hate.

Stole all their glory, and divert them from even reaching the barest hope they could muster. It was the maliciousness of a devil whom you possess. You desire not of glory out of your own personal interests, but shattering all these dreams, hopes, and feelings of peace for those who crossed you even once—your unforgiving heart bares its own deadly venom. Within the darkest abyss on the corner of your house, you devised a malicious plan for their endless suffering.

It was neither the hate, envy, nor jealousy. It's just your own joy and primal satisfaction to breathe upon chaos, while still remaining as a nonexistent part within their misfortunes, though in the end, it's somehow evident that you're the cause of it. You've had become the root of all evil, and through all of the evil you've breathed and the corruption you set ablaze, you felt thoroughly at home with all these weak, crippled people upon your very feet—being forced to be the very puppet of lifelessness.

The strange entity who craves chaos of the outside world, dream upon the ultimate serenity inside the ever-changing turbulence you've set loose upon. The contradictory trait all within a single name, which is you.

You bore the nickname of L.

No, it's not that other guy who carries the Death Note.

So, who are you again? I forgot, it seems.

Do the androids truly dream about electric sheep? It was a philosophical question to me. You are not an emotionless android; a killing machine. Either way, you're also not a devil. You're a human at its own worst and finest;-of utmost benevolence an malice; trudging upon the very path to set you free and actualize yourself towards its very fullest. You know something else which didn't really matter, yet you still pursued it anyway. The remembrance of an insignificant, meaningless life—a life holding no meaning at all—not that much apart from the weight of the names forborne.

Baring your fangs; decimating your enemies—set you free. The shackles no more, the weariness undistill. What was unsightly, was no longer. A long pause beckons the very earth you stood. Heightened walls aside, you tried jumping over the roof, climbing down the very stairs leading to the own fearsome attic filled with broken puppets and photographs of your childhood. Evidently bloodstained with shame and regret, still you embraced the fragments of past—the momentary lapse we all used to live, but soon learned to let go and leave.

You clutched down your past, restraining the future, embracing the present. All of the points in life all met up during the current moment you still breathe upon your usual fresh air; the way your heart beats still resound the same—yours is no disgrace.



Just a little pin prick and you'll be ready to go, beckoning the times where we used to keep our destinies clear. In one time after another, each predestined moments were forgotten until the time solely comes forth. The oracle wasn't lying, I told you. Still, you believed in yourself only, whether or not the future was clear or bleak. It's the kind of aspect in you that I like, and how the moments I had spent with you felt so memorable—the times I truly cherish.

Even when things were ultimately destined, and you coincidentally gets the short end of the stick, you've experienced through it all with the smile brighter than most. Sometimes it made us who got a much fortunate ground to stand, ultimately felt the feelings of intense envy towards you—who were supposedly the least fortunate, and normally—should be spending the eternity of your life within scornful mourns. Such unfairness of ours and the entirety of live we're standing in.

Though it all changes when our paths crossed together. You've had become my servant, while I am the master. It soon becomes evidently clear, that regardless of our standing, you shall be the master and I'm merely the one following. Your strength of personality, baring your fangs open and giving your all to me, it was a kind of relentless devotion worth its own place in heavens above—so my biased prejudice stood around.

With your strength and determination alone, it's very plausible to say, that you've definitely deserved the highest place of honor and glory—yet, there's a few other things you've been lacking; with your unfortunate upbringing which made you a creature born from hate, depression, and suicidal tendencies from the impoverished prolongedness. I wish to help you, stopping you from unnecessarily baring your fangs from the groups of people who were collectively out of your bounds to handle.

Still, I am even afraid of approaching you. Only able to left you inside your own very despair—all alone—clutching yourself into the gates of delirium. You deliriously muttered gibberish; your mouths trembling; your body posture so skinny, your skin pale. Still, regardless of your sturdy exterior, there's one complacent spot yielding for utmost love.

It was my duty, to fill out your void, so you'll finally be able to stand tall on your own. So I dressed you in the maid outfit you've always been so resigned to wear. With your beautiful waist length hair tied pack to a ponytail, I stroked your crippled skin, that was obscenely tormented by the pain of the years went by—even though you're still young—albeit you're now a young adult.

That one thing hasn't changed at all—your innermost beauty. Like a wounded animal clutching for its last breath, so does you desperately reaching out to me, highly turned on by your new clothes and the overall stimuli due to your body mechanism to release pent-up stress. We rubbed our genitals together, and you convulsed so much that your vagina had squirted quite nasty amounts of liquid. I drank it all—it tasted like the yogurt I bought at the nearby convenience store.

I stuck my stick into your hole and you screamed my name with such girlish moans that I'm unable to do anything else but to go deeper, deeper, and deeper, until you've reached countless orgasms at that early morning. You've shouted out lustfully so much and so loud, I bet the nearby gorilla would lactate.

Out of curiosity, I shoved eleven cockroaches into your vagina.

....and you finally died.

The aftermath of this shock ended with your corpse giving me blowjobs almost everyday. You're now my precious zombie girl—your skin even so smooth and you felt so happy to be with me. Never before I felt so grateful, that I ate the cockroach coming out of your vagina shortly after—it feels like eating that roasted popcorn five weeks ago.

Now please excuse me while I tried masturbating myself using a tentacle dildo shaped like a pineapple, and the shemale elephant shall be able to incite thoughtful protrusion's to your monster hole who could even handle a dragon dildo.

Goodnight and goodbye, tomorrow and forever, we will always meet again.

The stones had been cast away towards the rocks by the river. Little to nothing did I know where the stones would travel, and how long the rocks will stood still against the raging currents of the water. I was there down the forest; it wasn't deep, neither shallow. The formations of rainforest trees canopied the entire scenery, overshadowing the sky, and making the air seems a bit damp by the morning dew falling from the leaves sitting down the twigs of shade greeneries standing erect and tall.

Up front, the raging river streams aboard; the stones traveled by at the speed that was quite hard to follow with my own eyes. With streams this arduously violent, one cannot merely cross it whilst averting the deadly risk of being swept by the currents. Why am I throwing stones, you ask? It's simple, I just want to observe the nature after being copped up down my room within my house located at the outskirts of forest.

It was deep down the farmland—where the rummaging sounds where the berry bushes rustle and the sounds of cows and sheeps and goats and chickens and also shemale elephants having subtly horny sex out there. I was there, reading an erotic book while I masturbate my raw dildo using a plastic vagina. Now I'm trying to cool down my sexual arousement down the river because I'm still horny after convulsing several times to the point my room smelt like my own seed.

Meanwhile, as I tried not to think any dirty thoughts at all, there's some obscene visage appearing afront, and it caused my genitals to be rock hard like a cement block on the refinery.

On the other side of the river, I saw the ripe ass of a futanari elf bending her body down; her back fully exposed. I nonchalantly crossed the river, completely forgotten about the dire nature of the raging streams. Still, the nature of my lust had elevated my power levels to the point it becomes able to walk on water, just like it was made of saturated pubic hairs and frozen coconut on ballsacks.

I groped her bosoms from behind and she turned her back towards me, in anticipation for something interesting happening. She was completely naked with both of her nipples erect—shaped like a dildo about 30 kilometers long. Her bosoms being the same size of a tire for the monster's truck, and her genitalia sunk about as low as the ground floor from her thighs. It even stuck inside a certain hole in the ground which seems to span bottomless. Getting a fellatio from the mouth seems to have become particularly mainstream, yeah.

She turned towards me, her transparent lengthy hair stretching towards all directions like a medusa hair, with each strands quivering about—seems to me its been etching for the gratified tentacle sodomy. My asshole would pretty much rupture apart similar to a broken cubicle being sewaged by a nuclear power plant on diabetes. You know, it might be sweet, so I'll just play along—I probably didn't care if I actually die anyway. Let's just hope her dick won't turn into a giant cockroach and it will be the one raping my asshole instead.

The rest of the sexual intercourse activities had been omitted because I'm too horny at that time to the point my dick exploded twelve times inside her eyesockets and one hundred times inside her mouth, then one thousand more on top of her dead body.



You know, there's this one game which had a special mode where you play as the girls who tried to rape another girl down the train. It was a really special experience yielding a hands on approach, yet, by the same time I figured out that it was a cargo train transporting aborted fetuses—I got even hornier. Please lick my titties and slice my nipples using your nipple, baby. I got the porcupine having sex with my eyesockets—set it on fire please. I like to burn my eyes like the usual eye cancer being a dilapidated semen cumming buckets down the sidewalk.

When I masturbate, I always remember to put the proper penis into the mutant dilapidated vagina containing fruit flies and fish cakes. I'd like my wiener juice cut loose, and then the girl on girl experience would be the sleaziest thing I'd ever masturbate to, even more, when at one scene they will be fucking each other using the dead fetus as a medium.

In the end, the screen had been filled with blood—my penis had been cut off due to the furious masturbation, and it eventually becomes my broadband modem with the speed equaling your usual teraflops receiver on the various supercomputers ready to broadcast internal bestiality sessions around the world. My fetus juice would sold millions of dollars due to the subsequent demand of cannibalism around the continental areas, you know how it feels when you walked an extra mile down their udders and smack their titties using a floppy disk.

That aside, I still have eleven more penis, and all of them were artificially modified so it could grow back within hours by a radioactive isotope. If one of them came out, then I'll just cook it stir fried and use it as a substitute sausage for my neighbor to perfect his fellatio technique for him to make the hottest condom dildo for the mouth. You know, that thing which tasted like strawberries on one minute, then it would turn into a seminal eruption of bleeding cockroaches down your asscracks.

Holy peanuts. I like my peanuts stir fried, and with a lawnmower came crushing down deep and fat. The next big hit concerning the insipid vermin drinking acid and smoking weed with patch of dry grasses, a crystal dream and nightmare to spend for all eternity outlasting. My mask wasn't that fake anymore, and I daresay that my outlasting pride has been made clear—I'm shitting. The prince of shittng ballsacks covered in rotten vagina and these sun dried pistachios down the murky drain.

Whenever there's ballsacks nearby, Imma just call trees with my homie. Turbulence issues aside, I'd like my wiener juice getting used as a plastic container within the riverbed when the pineapples had sex with each other. One pineapple tried performing anal sex—it simply lactated, exploded, and simply died as a warrior of anal frustration. The badge of valor bewitching the armament of misogyny, because there's no sexuality present—only a patch of pineapples smurfing ahead of their time.

Within the ballast tanks, I masturbate, and I contemplate. How long the path should be weary enough? Inside outside out, outside and inside in. I like my turtles with vinegar, please madam I beg of you please don't take my roses away. I shat my pants with a dildo and your shitting sauce will reign supremacy over the mansion of ten thousand nipples. Where about ten thousand and one nipple present: more detailed description including five thousand dead nipple and one sentient nipple, the rest of them simply being a pair of nipples.



Are you scared? Yes I am. Nobody likes being alone, surfing against the streams, and even more, against powerful people at bay. Maybe it's just you who were stupid enough to assert your beliefs, but believe me, it's your stupidity which ultimately saves your entire life. You know, when you've become stupid enough to take action when everyone else seem to act like a puppet, following absolute orders—you might as well get a head start right along.

No? You're even more stupider than I thought. When everyone goes up to strive for their dreams, you've thrown away everything you cherished, even more, after you've had thrown away everything you actually had. I see that you finally understand, that dreams weren't that important. You're so stupid, but at the same time, you've been saved again by your stupidity. Don't worry, I like stupid people because I'm stupid myself.

You know what? Let me tell you a bitter story about someone similar to you. A man who strived for his dreams; making lots of enemies on the way; having no friends. In the end, he kept on pursuing his ideals like it's a definite proof that he definitely owns this entire world, and he kept going on until there's a dead end. Right on that dead end, he, who usually able to break through all the previous blocks easily like turning his palm back and forth—were unable to flinch in the slightest.

It was the kind of arrogance which destroys and degenerates the humanity. When someone strived for something, a burning desire, they made a pact with the devil. I know full well, because I used to be that person, and so you are. Little did we know that the road that we thought was the Stairway to Heaven was actually the Highway to Hell. The philosophical principles been taught to us was actually something we utterly misconstrued.

Something was right about this kind of road.

"Yes there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run, you still change the road you're on."

Two roads intersecting each other, one towards heaven and the other towards hell. All of us had been misled by the devil on the crossroads to perform a pact with him, on the form of burning desire and the instinct for personal greatness. In the end, I also walked that road alone, and before things got too late, I took a detour, and took the other road towards heaven. Yes, there's no flashy things out there, only a simple haven with people having no ambitions—only the notions of everlasting peace and tranquility.

It was another scenery of tranquil places. Inside this place, I finally found myself and who I really am. Still, the pressure are great and it's so most likely that I would walk the path towards hell again. The crossroads and intersections being too many, almost at every fork there's a desire to walk that other glimmering path of malice.

I had been so viciously corrupted, yet it was not too late for me to write this atonement. Yet that other man, whom I told you earlier--he was far beyond help. His soul has been completely tainted by the devil, and he was sent towards hell to suffer for all eternity within his own hatred and foolishness. Where you got the good ending yourself, because you were so lucky, you're a lucky person indeed.

At least for now, our souls will be free, with our minds not manipulated. Still, who knows the time when evil will come to taint our hearts again. We've gained such amount of power on the way by treading upon the path set by the devil, despite our very stupidity. Before that happens, let me tell you this:

"Throw away your dreams, but always keep your love and serenity alive. Without that, the only thing left in this life is to die."

We will soon meet again at the crossroads, and at that time, please just stay away from me and follow your own serenity.

Signed,

Lucifer.

Within these moments of contemplation inside your own tranquil scenery, you've had began to understand what it's like to feel the extreme amount of pain in seclusion. As a result, you had this indomitable tendency to surpass all others, because you're basically not moving forward—only staying in one place. You had decided, that it's finally the day you'll finally move forward.

Many things else, as it came to be, will soon come forth in order. Simply by making a sincere wish, you've been granted one thing, and ultimately losing the other thing which kept you in place. Now there's no reason to hold back, and to wallow within your encapsulated shell. Like a butterfly coming straight forth from a cocoon, you sprang forward onto the place you've ultimately desired.

You were basically free to go back into this place of tranquil scenery once again to redeem yourself from the turbulences of life, but you need no security—only achievements. This burning desire like intense hunger overwhelms you similar to an immolating fire. Little by little, the skin has been shed from your old personality—been reborn into a new skin; that's why many people doesn't seem to recognize you from the very start.

It was the water of life you've been basking—a water bringing forth a new and better life within the many-intersecting crossroads out there. You've decided that this will be the best road to take, although if the opportunity arose and you'll be able to attain a new level of elevation—you shall take it without hesitation. A wake up call, first thing in the morning. You got up from your comfy bed—full of energy.

The past does not equal the present and the future. You simply let go of all that's left, and use it as a leverage to propel yourself forward. Where to simply dwell? It was basically somewhere outside all time and place, within yourself, simply being, without desiring nor wanting. The mind was completely wiped off from the shade of fear, and the core of personality began to unravel clearly. Everything becomes clear; it was only a straight path out there in which you walk on.

Certain places and time, combined with eventful moments. All of them create a scenery around us; each of them being interpreted in various ways according to each people. What is your interpretation? What are you to observe, to think, and to contemplate about it? After all, it's just a tranquil scenery.

There's nothing out there; only complete, meaningless silence.