CryptoKids...

Lets face it, life is hard and nothing makes it harder than being a parent. In all honesty, raising kids isn't even all that much fun a lot of the time, and it's become so expensive that it seems impossible to ever even afford to put a valuable effort into it given how many horrific hours you have to work for such pathetic pay and how exhausted you are as a result of all that hard work. To make things even more exasperating, your kids never seem to understand why your latest free trial of EphemeralGreens doesn't seem to pep you up enough to enjoy a game of running around in circles after them like an Ouroboros-Phoenix hybrid on designer amphetamines after another day of burning yourself from both ends at your hellfire horror show of a job which only affords you the opportunity to keep spinning around the ever-increasingly abysmal core of what your existence has become as all your ambitions and dreams swirl down the drain in front of your eternal downward spiral into nothingness and evaporates any existential equilibrium from your soul as well. They also fail to comprehend why there isn't an infinite money tree growing out of that latest lump you found the other day and couldn't afford to have checked out by a doctor eve if it actually did turn out to be a mystical and infinite money tree. Often times you probably feel so unappreciated by those little bundles of self-centered cells you were so certain would bring your life infinitely more fulfillment when you'd decided not to go through with an abortion that your head spins and aggravates that spinal injury which only appeared as a result of straining yourself to carry them around instead of hearing them scream about how tired they were that one time...

You've certainly stared at the ceiling on one of those sleepless nights of either their loud shrieks or your own silent sobs and wondered wearily why there isn't a better way. Well Guess What Shoulder Slumping Parents- NOW THERE IS- With CRYPTO KIDS!!! 

What is Crypto Kids?

Crypto Kids is a revolutionary crowd sourced scheme platform which allows you to truly invest in your future as well as your child's! Think of it as a Crypto-derivatives based exchange tied to a fantasy sports gambling booking type of format where your kids are optioned as NFT style equity assets. But don't be discouraged if this sounds too complicated, we're making it easy- or at least easier than raising your kids on your own. Not only that, but you don't even have to be a parent to capitalize on our revolutionary platforms unlimited profitability potential. AND ITS SOOOO MUCH FUN TOO.

How it Works...

Parents can abandon invest their kids into our private institutional systems which function more or less like schools and orphanages in exchange for crypto credit-tokens. Our faculty of former lion-tamers, disgraced priests, tin-foil hat enthusiasts, and other desperate vagrants will work for equally valuable crypto tokens to raise your children for you in no less of a futile attempt to ensure they don't end up as sociopathic scammers and predators devoid of the slightest shred of a soul or overly empathetic, de-anthropomorphized, hyper-color plush-covered, pseudo-marsupial gendered, psycho-sexual fur-things. Each child will be given a market-evaluation and put up for auction as an NFT tracked and profiled on our proprietary block-chain. Their value will be updated periodically based on their scholastic performance, job market prospect-projections, and any assets which may be attached to them in the form of things like inheritance, grow-fund-me donations, and other assets associated with them. You will be able to bet on every aspect of your child's life as well as any of our other Crypto Kids. Just like fantasy sports, you can place crypto-token bets on what scores they will get on their next exams, how many points they might score in the next little league game, or what scholarships they'll be offered upon graduating from our profitable institutions. You can add, trade, and sell Crypto Kids from your roster and pit them against other Crypto Kids rosters to make bank on their every trivial achievement. Then you can invest the earnings back into their future, use them to purchase other NFTs, bet on other Crypto Kids challenges, or cash out at any time and maybe even go on a deeply discounted cruise on one of our sewer sea sailing vessels.

Call To Action.

Giving birth doesn't have to be a painful and financially compromising event that marks an end to your own personal and professional aspirations anymore! Raising kids doesn't have to be a burden either, thanks to Crypto Kids. Thanks to our expert team of reptilian inbred lobbyists with secret society ties to the global cannibal and adrenochrome addicted elite, it isn't even technically illegal anymore either. You can actually sell your kids souls into the same world of profitability and performance based exploitation as they will inevitably be slaughtered anyway- without any conflict of conscience and in a way that may actually profit you as well. Sound too good to be true? Then you are the perfect parent to join our platform. Sell your kids futures today, and find out what your own soul is worth at the same time! Visit cryptokids.moloch.biz today, and start making fictional fortunes crypto cash today! 

Legal Obligatory Statement

CryptoKids will not be held legally liable for anything ever under any circumstances other than those involving the claims of Satan himself as previously agreed upon in accordance with the sell of  the souls of this company's founders in exchange for certain undisclosed crypto-crap. When the world is left in the ashes of all the fraud, greed, stupidity, sloth, wrath, and other abominations of this current cultural collapse, CryptoKids can assure you only that it will have no association with any force aligned with any god, code of ethics, or human decency as is standard operating procedures of all fiduciary institutions. Should you lose your soul, savings, future, humanity, and anything or everything else as a result of investing in CryptoKids, you will be on your own entirely, and should not expect the empathy or understanding of any omnipotent deity, including Satan himself. 

Giving In...

I should have given up by now

That's what the dark voices all say,

snickering in the shadows of my soul

They give me excuses to just quit

They've got reasons why its ok

They tell me I'd be better off

if I just cut my many loses,

forgot my absurd ambitions,

and accepted the inevitability

of entropy and failure

They tell me it's time

to just give in...

I could easily listen to them

They do make plenty of sense

If I were to just figure all the facts

and look at my life like an inventory

I'm sure I would be more wealthy

I'd be more respected and admired

I'd be closer to all the many things

that everyone is supposed to aspire

I'd be a much better statistic

than I 've been at being- me

I could easily accept this as truth

I really could just give in...

I would do it too

I really would give in

If I hadn't already given myself up

and signed my life away to these dreams 

that make life feel as if it were alive and lived

I truly would give in to anything else

if there really were anything else

but I already learned that lesson

I already gave in to all that before

I know what waits out there

in that world of facts and figures

I know what it considers truth

and I know I can't surrender 

what little illumination 

I sometimes find

to that dimness

I can't do that

-just give in

Not to that

Not yet

Never?

Never

-say never?

I'll say it now

I'll say it again

-Never, -Never

I've already given in

It's too late not to live

It's never too late to refuse

to give in to what gives nothing back

There will always be more time to give in

once there's nothing left for time to steal away

That's the best thing I think I could ever take

That's the only thing that it won't take away

The only life you can keep from death

is the life you live without giving in,

the life you force it to try and take

and laugh when it finally does

only to clutch at nothing

and scowl back at you

as your grave laughs

and the stone above

envies how you

refused to just

give in...

An Endnote Excerpt...

 101. I imagine DaVinci being reincarnated as if his profile had been saved and stuffed back into one of these false flesh platforms of the present age. At first, I find him binge watching all the historical, cultural, and engineering documentaries he can consume in hyper-real holographic detail to bring himself up to speed with this distant era. Then I see him setting up a plethora of profiles across an almost infinite array of media platforms so he can establish himself as an active avatar and solicit his services to the masses of the metaverse. I see him struggle to gain traction on Tweexer without being suspended, and consulting experts to increase his followships across all platforms after having posted several impossibly brilliant pics of completely new and astounding artworks which fail to trend at all. Then I see him suddenly gaining subscribers after designing a revolutionary new hyper-phallic shaped skyship which successfully launches a few brazen bazillionaires into low earth orbit and landing autonomously. I see him go on to establish himself as an influencer and produce podcasts where he greets guests who’s only talent is to manipulate the algorithms responsible for filtering traffic to increase their followships. I see him sitting with these open-mouth-breathers around a special new set which looks like some abhorrently inartistic adult-treehouse decked out in décor discovered resting atop a random heap of rubbish left next to a dumpster or a collection of contraband once held in conjunction with Ed Gein’s case, which actually is an upgrade from the previous set which looked like an over lit storage container disguised only by a back drop of cheap curtains with a neon-light-logo centered over a few unfunctional figments of furniture for them to cloister themselves into a clearly uncomfortable proximity to each other before beginning the show by passing bong hits of ayahuasca to each other or injecting heroic doses of NPD into the bases of their skulls. I see them settle in to discuss the details of the latest Corvid88 pandemic as it relates to the bubonic plague, their own preferences regarding diet and excrement regimens, the latest insipid news regarding in-identity politics, and all the bewildering behind the scenes stuff that comes with being such an important and visionary influencer and entertainer, with a few sporadic sidetracks interspersed throughout which demand a persona-free producer promptly pull up accompanying images using their expertise which all such impersonal producers accumulate over their years of dedication to the dark arts of GooGuile searches, basic microphone and camera management and placements, and essential social media manipulation tactics. Although, I predominantly see the former face of ingenuity reading promotional scripts as required by sponsors to promote their latest products which invariably promise to solve some problem which doesn’t even exist like undergarments designed specifically to keep genitals from dissolving in an unexpected downpour of acid rain or supplying some service which no one would ever want like an independent investigations service which provides psychological profiles on AI therapist to ensure your mental health is being properly manipulated by companies like BetterBrains. Several hours later, I see DaVinci, who has rebranded himself more succinctly as DeeVee, DahVeeCee, or something equally as embarrassing yet effective, -finally dissolving this session down into some penultimate pseudo-psychotic philosophical diatribe of incoherent stammering pleas for all of humanity to put peace and partying above all of our other misplaced ideals as a species. I see him tagging the end of this podcast with a redundant reminder to share, like, subscribe, and support all his other platforms and sponsors which of course include his paywalled OnlyCams, PornClub, and PayTreeGong accounts. In one final scene, I see him waiting for the analytic response to this latest podcast after having uploaded it into the void of YouzView’s ever expanding and irrelevant content cluttered kingdom where braindead dullards will wirehead-in to kill time and accent the ambience that is their own abysmal lives while perhaps cleaning their own overpriced and closet sized living compartments, or milling around aimlessly in the futility of some inane place of employment, or just gazing obliviously into the all-encompassing abyss which swells and swallows everything around them. At this point I have to look away from my own dark imaginings to avoid asking myself what they reveal about my own essence and world views, although I’d imagine they could be interpreted with equal satirical scrutiny.

A World In Need Of Such Attention...

 

The crickets and cicadas

Stridulate & serenade us

The coyotes & the owl

Their ethereal echoes howl 

The stars flickering at night

Pronounced against the dying light

Everything so far away and hiding

Each thing begging where residing

In dreams or delusions, still presiding

The sound of every need confiding

A whole world in desperate need

of attentions not received

This world cries out alone

in at least a trillion deafened tones

Each face searching to be seen

while staring blindly at some scene

Every product on every shelf

Born to draw all eyes and wealth

Every ad on every surface

Designed to distract unto one purpose

Are you hungry, could you eat

Don't even answer, buy a treat

Are you lonely or in need

Pay the price or wait and bleed

There's a world of objects screaming

To be seen and keep you dreaming

They all need someone to own

And they too seem so, all alone

Do you hear this drone of dollars

Will you answer the horrid hollers

 

See each profile, site, and post

Each pleading to be your host

Will you like, subscribe, and share

Won't you at least pretend to care

Every click on every page

Is this really how we engage

Are the responses ever sufficient

Are we to be present or omniscient

The world is in such need of attention

As if that's become the only mission

Can anything relax at all

Must everything sound a call

Have you ever been blissfully ignored

And left alone to your own accord

Have you ever attended to being alone

Leaving the world to plead on its own

Hear the world in all its screaming

See the desperate signals pleading

Does your silence seem anemic

Is your absence any less scenic

Or does the world go on unchanged

As if nothing's ever been rearranged

 

In your silence and this shade

Are new illuminations conveyed

Are you compelled to attend to life

And forget the pettiness of your strife

Do you seek to sooth those screaming

Do you wish to witness greater dreaming

Has this captured your attention

Do you have a newfound mission

 

Do worlds all remains the same

Do all desires feed one flame

Till the fires burn up everything

As we breathe the smoke in deep

And shelter souls we care to keep

Every scream against the void

Every whispering humanoid

Unto gods, consumers, & all others

Mothers, Fathers, Sisters, Brothers

We beg the heavens, hells, & earth

To see us here for what it's worth

Praying we might live forever

Or wishing we were just more clever

All we speak, pray, think, or are

In words that only go so far

Even with all eyes upon us

It all seems so, so, superfluous

Is the void which screams within

Or embedded everywhere we've been

Surely it can't be in all things

Crying out against their endings

That would warrant such attention

To too many things to ever mention

Where would we begin to focus

Could there be some starting locus

All these things in our dimension

A world in need of such attention

What is it we pay our mind to

What life-force do we attend to

In this world which cries eternal

Are eyes or tears more sempiternal

A world in need of such attention

Far beyond all comprehension

Screams of ancient competition

All declare their own contention

Why their cries deserve ascension

Into the empyrean of some mention

Above the clouds of all convention

Is there a realm without this pension

Or a world in need of such attention

Mah Bludthurstee Mowth Iz Dreye...

Mah bludthurstee mowth iz dreye
Gottz ah nead, butt ane't noe wie
I'ma blayme dis un' ohn dat der skeye
Kuzz datz da playce da piggs'll flie

Tuk ah meatyoright
Ta mah skole tahnyte
Lyke ah kosmic joeke waz wayged
Ala dat ole boi, ah- Finneeyus Gayje
Iz ah ayleeann stickd uhp inn mah brane
Or'd I jus' git nocked ah bitt ensane
Allz I noez iz, I ghotz ah thurst nowe
Datz gon' breeng mee ta mah wurst nowe

Mah mowth bee gettin' sow dayng dri
I'z gonna keel sume blud filld gize
An' drink da blud lyke ah ghlass o' myllk
Or ah bugg trappd uhp en spyder'z cylk
I'z loozin' ahll mah erthly whil
I juz' gotz ta, gotz ta, gotz ta keel

I spose I maya bin ah lil bitt dronke

Win dat spase-rok gayv mah skole ah thumbp

Tha dayng thang iz, et doughn't nott leeve noe lumbp

Et jus leeve mah hare strype lyke ah skonk

I rekon I mayha myssd mah meadz

butt dat doughn't 'splane mah stryped hed

orr wie fokes ceem ta mee ta nede bee ded

I tel ya, I ane't jus mayken stuhf uhp

Az I youse yer skole az ah cippee kup

Mah thurst steale gitten wurse an wurse

Bekuze ah dis unwholee kurse

Mah bludthurstee mowth iz sow dayng dri

Aht dis poynt et doghn't nott madder wie

Da poelice dunn ghone ahn klosed en ohn mee

Dey ane't tu smhart, sow dey'll bee sahrree

Kuzz win dey putt dem kuffs upp ohn mee

Mah meatyoright gon mayke mee onnree

Ahd nunn dem piggs gon bee noewayr forr et

Win I cend dem fleye'n enta orbitt

Mah bludthurstee mowth iz dreye

Et whern't dat wey wen I waz hye

Ahnd stairen uhp aht dat der skeye

Nowe dem der piggs I mayked ta fleye

Bee ranein blud frum uhp sow hye

Ta quinch mah thurst llyord, buye ahn buye

Wud breeng souch joi-us teers ta mah blud sowkd iyez

Butt, mah bludthurstee mowth iz stil sow dreye

Distance...

See the shadow

See the light

See the whole world

Suspended in-between

Caught-up in the distance

An owl's eyes 

A mouse's whiskers

One frozen in focus

One flinching & fidgety

Hunger and fear

Gazing across oblivion

Glaring against the distance

Dreams behind blind eyes

Memories of photographs

A foreign face 

flat and fleshless 

stares from the surface

of a muddled mirror

This idea of who I am,

Who I've become,

Who I'm becoming,

Whoever I ever/never was,

Who I wish I...

My true unknowable self

All somewhere else now

Always somewhere else

Somewhere in some distance

Between latest facts

and eternal truths

Between understanding

and wisdom

Between the dream

and the waking

Across the oblivion

of all we ignore and forget

Unto the oblivion

of all we grasp 

until it all slips away

There is a distance

From failure

To triumph

From victory

To defeat

As the mind wanders

As the soul wonders

As we are stranded

As we escape

As we feast

As we starve

As we lay dying alone, 

or in loving arms,

or in strangleholds

As we struggle

As we surrender

As we remember,

or forget, or imagine

Past, Present, Future

There is distance

From life being given

To learning how to live

From every fatal fear

To every inspired ideal

From darkest nightmeres

To most illuminating dreams

From whatever it is we call, now

To effemoral efforts to truly be here,

and from here to the ends of eternity

In moments of perpetual passing

or times of transcendent timelessness

There is always a distance

All these places

keeping us going,

being burried behind us,

burring us beneath them

Places awaiting our arrival,

preparing our exile,

or just waiting all the while

As we seek to traverse

the vast expanse,

find our fateful place,

& explore the deeper depths

of all we can endure

All within the distance

The Date...

It's so hard to find someone special. It's even harder to find someone who reciprocates; has similar interests, comparable world views, and thinks you're special too. I've tried putting myself out there, going to bars and buying drinks, trying to spark off a conversation at grocery stores, handing out compliments and contact info. Nothing. Nothing ever came from it. It was like being a homeless hooker in the arctic- Nothing but sub-zeros that went nowhere. 

So, I broke down and started trying the dreaded online dating thing. I swiped away and texted with a few prospects, but none of it ever amounted to any truly viable matches. I kinda gave up for a while there, and tried to prepare myself for long lonely life of solitude. If I’d been religious I'd have probably become a monk, or nun/priest (depending on denominational gender rules and my level of commitment/aptitude). Without any faith to invest myself in, I lost faith in myself instead. I stopped worrying about my appearance altogether. I mean, I let my diet go to hell, munching down junk food on the couch, and absolutely engorging myself on fast food at almost every mealtime. I stopped going to the gym or even thinking about exercising, and just waddled around in sweat pants and old t-shirts all the time. I didn't even worry about brushing my teeth, wearing deodorant, and I hate to admit this, but I didn’t even bother showering half the time. I mean, I was just kinda wallowing around hopelessly and running out the clock to be honest.

Then one day I’d decided to delete the last of my online dating profiles, and on the very last one I’d noticed a new match had recently come through, which surprised me that I hadn’t seen any prompts on my phone until I remembered that I had turned off all my notifications since they only made me feel lonelier and more annoyed. I was actually rather hesitant to even respond at first, but then I figured, what the hell. I decided to message my match that I was in a bit of a slump lately, but was willing to meet up if they were still into it. I’d figured that this would pretty much filter out anyone just looking for a casual hookup, and pretty much expected not to hear anything back. To my surprise, I did get a reply asking to meet-up anyway just to roll the dice, as it could still be fun to just hang-out even if I were some kind of trolling cryptid, and we could easily just ghost each other or run away screaming in terror in a worst-case scenario. What can I say, not everyone shares my sense of humor. So, I was in.

We decided to do the whole metaverse/avatar meeting thing first, since it was new and all the reviews were pretty positive. I mean, what the hell, it seemed like an easy enough way to just kinda test the waters and break the ice. Ya know? Anyway, after a few of these meta-meets, we both decided to just go ahead and meet offline. By then I had actually pulled myself back into pretty decent shape again, and I’d started taking better care of myself. I was pretty confident that things would at least be, I don’t know, interesting or different, I guess. 

So, I won't bore you with the whole awkward hello, or what we had for dinner, where we went after that, and all the kinda who else but you could care kinda stuff. Instead, let’s just suffice to say that we pretty much hit it off right away. By the end of the night, we both knew it was one of those rare my place or yours kinda thing. As it turned out, my place was closer. So that settled it, we left the bar in an oobboorree and got to my place in no time. 

As soon as we got inside, I went straight to the kitchen to get us a couple more drinks, and let my date chill-out in my living room. I yelled from the kitchen to go ahead and pick out some kinda movie or something just for atmosphere and get comfortable. Then I snuck into my bedroom to retrieve a little before grabbing the drinks and joining my date on the couch. 

My date had brought along this nifty little backpack, and I’d suddenly realized that I hadn't even asked about yet. So, when I did ask, my date said something about not wanting to sound too forward but thought it would be best to be prepared in case things went well. That had me rather intrigued, so I hinted that maybe I’d snuck away to get a little something before coming into the living room. We both decided to reveal our little secret stash at the count of three. 

On three, we both pulled out our respective fully automated electro-erotic dongles which as it turns out, were made by the same company, so it was super easy to pair them! After we both agreed to the terms and conditions of our relationship upgrade status and signed online consent forms, we sat back on the couch to watch whole pornographic product show. After a while we even decided to spice things up a little more and synced up our profile avatars on the holographic projector for an even steamier scene. That really got us going, I mean, it was so incredible! There was even this moment where our avatars had their fingers crossed together in all the action, and the resolution on the holographic projector was insane!

I’m not sure how late we stayed up watching this amazing sexual spectacle before we both ended up falling asleep on the couch. What I do know is that our dongles and avatars were still going strong when we both woke up in the morning. Unfortunately, we both had to go to work, so we had to separate our gear in order to recharge them separately and all. I don’t want to sound overconfident or anything, but I'm pretty sure this isn’t going to end up being just a one off kinda thing. I mean, I hate to jinx it, but I've got a really crazy feeling that this could actually be the one. Who knows, we might even have to experiment a bit more and try sharing a virtual avatar baby somewhere down the road, and I don’t meant to get ahead of myself, but if that goes well, one day we could even find ourselves merging our social media accounts. So, if you’re out there feeling lonely like I was, who knows what could happen one day. Just hang in there. Anyway, fingers crossed on this one!

The Pronoun Reassignment Specialist...

 

PLEASE HEED THIS WARNING. If you are sensitive to certain kinds of speech, thought experiments, or other ideations which could be considered offensive, controversial, or otherwise unsettling please consider refraining from reading beyond this point. Sooner or later your kind of eyes will encounter certain information which you may not want to know, deem triggering, or find psychologically/spiritually traumatizing. Some of the adverse effects associated with these kinds of hazardous bits of information may include existential anxiety, moral terror, dreadful dreams, and a fervid yet futile desire to completely purge all knowledge and meta-knowledge obtained as a result of reading this book. Of course, the author assumes no legal or other liability in conjunction with any negative experiences, effects, or aftermath; and any further act of reading this text shall be done at the reader’s own risk. Furthermore, any attempt to provide negative reviews or reactions to this book, incite actions against its author, or in any way refute the ideas, intentions, and illuminations of these pages will be done at your own risk of other negative outcomes which the author also hereby waves any culpability. For all intents and purposes, you are entirely on your own, and no one can spare you from the consequences of your own actions as a result of reading and reacting to this book or anything else for that matter...

FADE IN TO OPENING SCENE...

(See door marked Pronoun Therapy and Consulting. Show face of engineer irritated at having to wait in lobby with gun pointed at him by robot enforcement drone. Door opens. A peacock with some humanoid features exits. Then Therapist enters frame of doorway and reads number of Engineer which matches tattoo on his forehead. Engineer gets up and walks into the room with gun remaining on his back, drone pushes him inside door seals shut automatically. Cut to interior where Therapist and Engineer stand opposite each other.)

 

T: Why don’t you make yourself comfortable? You can undress to your level of comfort, choose to be seated, lay down, or whatever makes you feel at ease.

 (Engineer sits down with arms crossed, robot barrels from corners trace his move with cameras trained on him as well.)

 T: As you may already know, I’m a pronoun reassignment specialist. We don’t need names in here, but my pronouns are Pseudoscientif-a-rific and Selfi-Smart, but enough about me. Let’s talk about you. What do you feel right now? Be honest.

 E: I feel like a biological man with a simple penis to predefine my pronouns and a degree in engineering, who is surrounded by a bunch of lunatics like you, who insist that I placate their delusions and automatically intuit what sorcery of nonsense syllables they prefer to be addressed by as if I can just conjure up some spell of shared delusions, and never offend the shattered dreams they insist on using to define themselves.

T: Ok I see. So, you don’t feel as if you belong in the social body you’ve been assigned?

E: No. I wasn’t assigned anything. I was just trying to apply for a job here, since I recently graduated with an engineering degree and all the insurmountable debt that comes with it, and thought I’d try this place since it is the only company the government allows to hire engineers. What doesn’t fit, in my opinion, is this clown-shit ideology being force-fucked into the same space where brains are supposed to be but end up being shoved out the side of the skull to make room for this horseshit.

 (Cut to application with entry space for PREFERRED PRONOUNS which has been left blank)

T: You seem agitated. Don’t you think this negative energy you seem to have toward those who identify differently could be the result of your own unresolved pronoun issues which you project outwardly?

E: No. I have a brain, a penis, a pair of perfectly functional testicles and eyes, the latter of which can clearly see what bullshit and delusions look like. Adopting some psychotic set of pronouns to differentiate myself in conversation isn’t going to do anything to improve personal relations, speed conversation along, or anything else but support the spread of these damned delusions.

T: AH, I see then. So, you don’t want to accept yourself or others on a deeper level and prefer to present yourself as the archaic curmudgeon type. That’s perfectly acceptable. Let me just have you mark yourself down as a THEY/THOSE, and we can be done here.

(Cameras zoom in and guns slide closer.)

E: No. I’m one fucking person and not a conglomerate group of synchronized assholes or some dip-shit with multiple personality delusions.

T: I see. First of all, its called an associative identity awareness condition, and not MPD. Secondly, there’s no reason to be upset. I can assure you that before you leave here today I will resolve your pronoun issues. I take my job very seriously and have many accreditations. (Show degrees on wall with crayon lettering and macaroni painting construction) Perhaps we should put you down as a provisional HE-SHE/HER-HE so you can explore your pronouns more openly.

E: Again, I’m one fucking person with a single fucking penis, and relabeling doesn’t change what I am- it only perpetuates this bat-shit crazy shit-show that’s destroying society.

T: I think you should consider refraining from using insensitive conspiracist slurs to blame societies problems on the latest outbreak of batCoronaVirus91, and tone down your toxic masculine penis pride. That being said, it seems to me that if these pronouns don’t matter, then perhaps I can put you down as a TODDLER-DIDDLER/RAPE-FEIND.

 E: I’m not one of those.

T: But it doesn’t matter, Right?

E: You really are an idiot. I don’t diddle toddlers or rape, so I don’t want to be referred to as someone who does. Those things are deplorable. I’m a decent, normal human male.

(Therapist cringes psychotically at the word normal and screams)

T: Ok, I think I’ve heard just about enough of your hate speech! The N word is the only word we don’t allow in this room! Maybe I should just register you as a HE/HIM then.  What do you think about that?

(Guns move to point blank range. Red record light on camera glows bright and swells)

E: I know what you’re trying to do. I’m not playing this game.

T: And what game do you think this is?

E: You’re trying to justify a way to have me sent away to one of those camps where they turn you into something… ELSE.

T: I don’t know what you’re talking about. Those camps are just conspiracy theories. I mean, there aren’t even any pronouns to refer to them. How can they exist without having properly assigned pronouns?

(Engineer’s face turns pale, eyes take notice of guns, cameras, and Therapist’s facial ques)

E: Yeah, makes total sense. I don’t know what I was thinking. Hey I have an idea, since I clearly have a lot of personal issues to work-out, hows about you put me down provisionally as a generic YOU/YOUS?

(Therapist grins and walks over to engineer menacingly. An assistant bot is summoned as Therapist snaps fingers, and places a cart with several torture tools laid out ready on top of it)

T: That might work out alright. For now though, I’m going to need you to bend over this way and scream out 500 Hail Satan’s facing the flag while I penetrate you to initiate your new pronoun adjustment therapy.

E: On second thought, maybe I’ll just have one of those cyanide pills. That’s still an option, right?

(Therapist smiles and disrobes before perusing its fingers over the set of tools and grabbing a particularly menacing one which buzzes.)

T: I’m afraid that option has been discontinued. Too many of our most productive workers were choosing that option, and cyanide supple couldn’t meet the demand. Plus the overall productivity levels were suffering as well. Now, are you ready for your pronoun reassignment treatment?

(Tool buzzes loudly, Engineer looks terrified and frozen in horrific disbelief, Therapist tuns Engineer over to position bent over bench/couch and facing flag)

E: I thought…

T: No, you didn’t. Alright you sissy De-Gender-ate. It’s time to adjust your pronouns.

E: What am I going to end up as?

(Tool buzzes as Therapist secures Engineer in place with restraints)

T: Your pronouns are going to be EMPLOYEE/OBIDI-ANT

(Engineer’s tears stream down face, then a look of acceptance settles over him OBIDI-ANT)

E: I suppose I’ll learn to live with that.

(Saw sounds and flesh cutting ensues with screams of pain and maniacal laughter. Therapist holds up mutilated nondescript genitals and throws them at a trash can which is overflowing with biological waste, part of the thrown bits bounces off of the pile onto the floor.)

T: Well, not everyone can fit in here.

Agathokakological...

How much hell

Is worth being right

Such a wicked spell to

Sanctify your fight

With venom in your voice

Hellfire and brimstone

You clench your fists

Grandstanding on mass graves

Ranting and raving of all this saves

Obstinate to the end of days

Whatever hell you’ll have to raise

Leave nothing spared for gawdly praise

With venom in your voice

Hellfire and brimstone

You raise your fists

Shame the souls of all you know

Never keep your voice down low

All you hear in your own echoes

Rage ruthlessly and come to blows

Lose all love to thumb your nose

With venom in your voice

Hellfire and brimstone

You stain your fists

Righteousness is what you claim

Obeying rules however insane

As life is lost to play this game

Rejoice in all your virtue’s pain

With venom in your voice

Hellfire and brimstone

You rinse your fists

Come to terms when it’s too late

Realize righteousness was only hate

You’ll blame it all on heaven or fate

With venom in your voice

Heart failure and then some

You stare at your fists

WokeAssManlyLess...

I met a millennial 

From a patriarchal land

Who said, 

"Many more than two genders exist in this platform's profile settings"

Near them, in the notifications 

His eyes sunk

On a shrunken Visage icon

Who's hyper colored hair, many piercings, and simper of dull demand

Tell that it's owner 

Well those Marxist slogans read

Which yet survive

Stamped on this limp-lipped thing

The eyes glazed over the expression vacant 

And on a recent post these words appear 

"I am anti-masculinity, supporter of minorities, look upon your privileges and despair"

No useful comments appear

Round the reactions of this virtue signal declared

Boundless and everywhere

The incessant click bait ads 

Scroll far away

What Force Is This Which Wakes Us...

Is it the anxiety of the alarm

sabotaging slumber in mechanistic machinations 

Is it the delight of a new dawn

illuminating the paths toward earthly aspirations

Is it the dynamic dream drawing-on

itself discontent to dream in discontinuations

What force is this which wakes us

The sun's cyclical rise and fall

like the Atlas Stone set ablaze

The tidewaters swell and stall

invading and retreating 

in and out of phase

The moon caught between it all

revolving and reflecting

known by night, ignored by days

What force is this which wakes us

As eyes open toward some vital vision

As ears perk to the tune of some transmission

As nostrils sniff to seek some essence

As tongues twist round sounds in conversations

As fingers fret to feel for some presiding presence

Is there some sense beyond core contemplations

What force is this which wakes us

Is the force which brought us to our birth

the same that exiles souls from earth

What makes the butterfly dream itself a king

and the king a butterfly adrift while dreaming

Do we simply shift from dream to dream

from this life to realms more or less extreme

What force is this which wakes us

Is it my mind which guides these eyes

or some force beyond celestial skies

Is there truth beyond all our perceiving

or is everything either confused or deceiving

Have I been waking while I've wondered

or slumbering as my life's been squandered

Is free-will something ever offered

or are we puppets playing roles as proffered

What force is this which wakes us

At times it's clear as I awaken

that dreams are not to be forsaken

that it's not dreams that come from us

that we come from dreams which lead to us

awakened to a realm beyond all dreaming

awake within some much grander scheming

I'm left to live as dreams remain awaiting us

to come to terms with what force this is which wakes us

The Tragedy Of The Page...

When it's empty
It could become anything

But it has to wait on everything

Perhaps even forever

Being empty...

Being nothing...

What is it waiting for

The odds are aweful

Most likely it will be used poorly

To hold scratches, scribbles, scawls

Of some nacent notion, or numbing notes

Left in lines so all too soon forgotten

Resting there unrefined and unimportant

Until dissolving in decay

Or being crinckled up and tossed as trash

Having been of little or no use at all

The page could find other fates

It may hold something to be preserved

For post-dated purposes

And become stuffed in a drawer

It could become a surrogate surface

To help some pre-conceived idea

Become born in a more fleshed-out form

On rare ocassions the page transcends

It's flat face takes on the form of something deep

As it's imbued with inspired images or insights

Which eyes may gaze upon with wonder

And wish to save forever

Or as long as the page can be preserved

What tragedies await the page

What fate awaits so final and forever

One entangled or emblematic of my own

Or one beyond my bumbling blabber

Are we mere pages unto fates

The surfaces of some higher hand

At work or play unto some scribbling

I pray with hands that mock and mimic

As they scrawl upon this page

Unto that higher hand unseen

Inscribing upon the surface of my soul

That these marks we leave

May mean something, somehow

And that there be more than smears

Upon this otherwise empty plane

Here as well as here, the soul as the page

Even now this page seems oblivious

Of every mark I've made

Am I so senselessly unknowing

Of unseen lines upon me now

The tragedy of the page

Is the tragedy of all empty waiting things

Being nothing

Waiting for anything

To make them something

More than just a flat oblivious thing

I leave these words here

So that I may move beyond them

And make my marks elsewhere

Somewhere they may do more 

Than stain the surface of a page

Unseen, unfelt, unread, unknown

So that the tragedy of the page

May not touch some surface

Be it but here, or well beyond