also, one late night reminder

no matter what, no matter who we get around us at the end.

we all die alone.  no one else can go down that path with us.

in the end, we'll brave that path untraveled, and no-one will ever be able to help.  and when they reach that path, no one will help them.



this is just how reality is, so it's not worth getting upset over, but...it's worth keeping in mind for that time, right?

dear marcel b,

let's assume you're not just some rando crazy dude.

at which point in my "hi, my name's sammy, i'm a perv, and i live in hawaii.  my parents are of mixed hawaiian and japanese descent, and because my Bachan didn't speak much if any english, i kind of have a passing knowledge of japanese.  mostly things about how delicious her food was.  So So delicious."

anyway, if you thought that meant "totally fluent in...dutch? i guess?" you thought wrong.  i guess i could copy-paste into google and see what you said, but, like... why?

so, then you get this blog post, all to yourself.  where i kind of call you out for being kind of oblivious that not everyone is like you, and you might need to tune things a bit.

and yeah, i know, i'm an american, and we kind of shit all over the world for dumb reasons, so "shut up, bitch, stupid cunt bitch." (first, not anything marcel said for other people, but totally something i've heard before).

let's just everyone admit we're not perfect, right?  let's all just click on that link for Bachan, and listen to that song, and realize how horrible we are in real life to people who probably would be our friends if we'd just let them.  how much we could fix things if we just stopped shutting people out as being different.

ok, fine, i clicked the video so i could link it, and now i'm crying again, and it really has nothing to do with marcel, or anyone.  just a kind of permanent sadness about the world in general, and how much we could all fix shit, if we'd just work together for once in our stupid miserable lives.

and now i'm crying again, and this is totally your fault, marcel.  i could be blissfully un-observant of modern society but now i'm not, and it's because you made me think about things i hate to think about.


i'm going to go cry now, everybody.

thanks for being cool.

except you.  marcel.

<angry face>

new idea

everybody gets mac and cheese.

like, we get the government together, and set up mac-and-cheeseries everywhere across the country.

it's totally free.   you want mac and cheese?  free mac and cheese for you.

and it's good stuff, with like proper cheese, not some shitty powdered stuff.

maybe there's free chicken to go with it.  whatever.  protein is good.

but like, this is a new food program to ensure no one is ever hungry.

and that no one is ever without delicious mac and cheese to eat.  whenever they want.

like right now.

i really want some mac and cheese.

:(

stuff

i saw this news story today, and was kind of surprised.  i was like "holy crap!  i've seen her in something, like an insex video or something!  i remember her crying!"  if that article is right, it sounds like she should win her lawsuit, because that doesn't sound at all cool.  also, it's a shame to hear that she was abused.  it seems like that's a lead in to weird stuff for a lot of people.


then i went and tried to find out where i remembered her, but didn't find anything, but i did find this series which i really liked (the gallery is sorted wrong, so you have to read backwards).  strapped into a big steel frame thingy fully clothed, given an enema (piss enema?), forced to release into her clothes, then strip down and clean it up with her filthy clothes, rinsed off, second enema (i really thought she would end up bathing in the tub she released in), really cool bolted collar and frame chair, boring spanking stuff (sure, ok, it's insex, they do more pain that i really like), then the girl who's been locked in the cage in the background the whole time is hogtied, suspended, and forced onto the first girl's face, so she has to eat her out.  really nice theme, although they could have skipped the spanking and doubled on the filth.

i'm also doing a sequel to the last story, mostly because i had the main idea, and then this secondary theme popped into my head, and it was just too good to not do.  i'd probably have more written by now, but the stupid winds have been from the wrong way all weekend and week, and so it's muggy and unpleasant in my apartment, so writing stuff just gets sticky and not fun.  anyway, just a note.  there might be another after that, because this other idea is kind of cool too, but it won't fit into this one, so it has to go somewhere.

so yeah.

stuff.

i thought this was a good story

Rolling in to Trouble
by Druid5

it's a bit scattered, and maybe could have had some more development on things, but as a series of scenes and scenarios, it's pretty good.

yes, i know, "don't do that", "it's not worth it"

but seriously, i just got a big push, and you have no idea how freeing a good cutting can feel.  you get the pain, and then you can feel the blood rush out, and there's an adrenaline shock that makes it all go away.

until tomorrow, where you're left with that wide gash on your arm, so you try that sweater and the appropriate skirt.

but then people are like, that doesn't match, right?

and it doesn't, but since when have you been noticing my fashion decisions?

and then it totally gets around. "i think sammy's cutting again" and now all the fun is drained out of it

because it's not me rebelling against things now.  it's just me satisfying my co-workers depressive fantasies about me.

which isn't fair.

i should be allowed to be cruel to myself without this scrutiny.  you jerks.

side note: thanks, you jerks, for being the safety net on this.  i'm not kidding about how much i wanted to cut, but you diverted me away.  thanks a super lot.

i was going to post this earlier

i woke up this morning, because i felt something tap on my bed.

"oh, it's little kimchi, my friend's dog"

"wait, no, i'm not on the mainland, i'm at home! who's fucking on my bed!?"

then i felt a spoony-cuddle like my last..um...girlfriend, we'll call her... did.

"HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE, BITCH!"

then my eyes opened, but they didn't open correctly, so my left eye saw my blanket and sheets, and the right was wonky looking up at the wall.

this was when i realized i was having some sort of sleep paralysis thing.

turns out, that isn't super reassuring.  "ok, don't panic, it's all fine.  you just can't move, and you're kind of have to deal with whatever hallucinations your brain can come up with.  but, just keep in mind:  it's all totally fake and not real."

so that's how i woke up this morning, and peed the bed a bit, and then had to change sheets and go back to  bed for another two hours because who wakes up at 5 am?

and really, the panic between "cute puppy!" and "OMG THAT BITCH IS IN YOUR ROOM!" is something i'd like to not deal with again, brain, thanks.

whoaa

have you ever hd a dream, where you wake up, and push everything away, and sit pushed against the wall while your heart stomps in your chest for like forever?

ok, it was only like five minutes maybe

but holy what the fuck?

ok

i'm pretty sure it's time to go puke, because i feel sick right now.

but

i'll come back and sort out details


waking up unhappy and weird is usual

waking up panicked and crying is a totally new thing.

so, what i remember is standing on magic island (it's not in waikiki, but it's close to it.  it's across from the mall).

and there were a few other people:  my best friend (who hasn't talked to me in a couple weeks), someone from the internet (who i kind of only vaguely know enough to picture), and my boss.

but like, the ocean was gone, and just fire and sand.

and no matter what you think of hawaii, it's pretty clear when the world is fucked, right?

so we're all standing there, and bits fall off, and everyone else dies, and i'm left standing there alone on a fragment of sidewalk jutting over the edge of the (not) ocean.  i turn around, and see the rest of the island in various states of "fire" and "blowing up because of fire".

that part of me i know that's still there.  that lives there deep inside, and shouts whenever i get sad, and makes me feel more sad when i hear it shout back?  i heard her again.

"fuck this shit, let's do it."

then i jumped out, over the "i'm pretty sure magic island isn't that deep there" not-ocean.



and there's a smile on face, but



i wake to all this adrenaline making me think i'm going to explode.

ok

i'm pretty sure it's time to go puke, because i feel sick right now.

but

i'll come back and sort out details

you know what's not super fun?

having your brain shout "oh, hey! you know what's fun?  let's take a knife, and slice random parts of our body! 

"we could do arms, or, like, you wear pants to work, right?  so legs then... 

"that tummy is kind of chunky, maybe give it a pass or two!  wheee! fun!"

thanks, brain.  you're a jerk and a jackass.  thanks for shouting that at me while i'm trying to go to sleep.

i mean, seriously.  go fuck yourself.

sigh.

so this is me talking about it instead of doing it.  because i have enough scars, i think.

don't bother commenting or stuff, this is a post for me, not for you.  also: i just learned how to turn off comments for a post.  so.  :-P

so, you should probably follow on the tumblr

because i reblogged like a bajillion things today that you'll probably appreciate, and get off on, and all that.

since, i guess we all just reblog shit on tumblr now.

and, because of that, i've decided that i'm not going to be super sorry that i post weird brain freak out shit here.  it'll be weird brain freak outs and my own fiction.  and i'll try to get the fiction someplace else too, so if you just want sammy's long stuff, you can go to literotica.  or, if you just want to never read anything ever, you'll go to bdsmlibrary.

because they suck at posting things (is the joke).

so yeah.  that's the new situation as of now.  i can boop some new porns for people to see, and then i can rant here about being treated like shit by fucking stranger jackasses who can't be bothered to fucking act like you would if you found a kitten.

i mean seriously.  what the fuck, dude?  i respond and you immediately call me a whore?  was i just someone for you to shout at because you don't like the rest of your life?  at least warn me that i'm suddenly responsible for your unhappy situation so i can figure that shit-fuckery out.

hey

i'm chatting at you.

why aren't you sending me pictures?

you should be cooler, because you like scat.

are those pics coming?

shut up, i'm telling you how cool i am.  i'm super cool.

now you're being a bitch by telling me how much i'm not being nice.  why are you such a fucking bitch?

my dick is huge.  you'd choke on it all night long.

where are those pics?

why do you think you can chat at me?  shut up you stupid cunt!  bitches like you should be raped to sleep!

this bunny

omg

"it means a lot to her"

i wish i could have pets, so i could have a bunny.

omg.

bunnies.

porn tomorrow maybe.  today?  me just freaking out over this super cute bunny being cute all over the place.

pa-too.

dealss with it.

i really really wish

you could have someone

maybe they're assigned to you

so you could flail around like usual

but if you get to be
like
um

thirty-ish

you just get told

"nope, you're part of this family now"

and then you'd probably be their bitch, right?  this cunt assigned to you to take care of?  not  a lot of love there.

but, you get this person.

and that person gets to be owned, and hopefully loved,

such that they don't have to cry themselves to sleep every night, and wish they could fight this social anxiety demon that is always poking their eyes.

a locked cage is better than a comfy bed, right?  as long as you know in the morning someone who loves you will let you out.  i live with the triumph of a comfy bed.  knowing i'll wake up to despair and sorrow.

sorry for the lameness tonight.  just.  i hate life, and being lonely, and sucking at dealing with people.  not your problem, i know, but if i don't share, then this all builds up inside.  follow the tumblr.  it's all me reblogging pics and stuff.  so.  that's there if you just want porn.  i'm trying to come up with a new porn story, but my brain can't get anything organized.  yes, sure, there's that candle one.  but it's kind of shitty, so i'm hoping for another one.

anyway

have a good sunday, ok?

love sammy

frozen

i mean...amazon is sending me the blue ray and the dvd in the mail right now.

but it's still playing at my theater?

i really want to go, with my own copy, and sit through it again in the theater.

sorry, this is just me ranting about how i want to throw money at something because it tickled me in the way i wanted.

but seriously, if you haven't seen it, go go see it.

so here's where you just resign yourself to accepting what i'm going to post, because it's best for everyone, ok?

really, i don't like miley that much, but. .... just give it a try?

basically

i wanted a way to say "here are things i do, so you know, ok?"

that's why i added the new box.  it's not really a marketing thing.  people who do advertising suck.  (unless you do advertising, then you're totally an integral part of the economic system, ok?)

but yeah, i don't ever want to do ads, because marketing sucks.

;)

The Exhibition: Part 4

Finally.  I hope you like this final chapter.

something different

so i took an ambien, and that kind of just mellows me out instead of proper driving me to sleep.

so i wrote a story for an idea that just popped into my head.

It's called "murdrer" because i was sloppy when i typed it.  it starts out in my pre-writing points, but then it degenerated into mostly dialogue, and by the end it was basically all regular.  it's not about kinky stuff, it's about murder.  think of like a sherlock holmes/downton abbey setting.  all that stuff.

and it's ok if you don't like it/think it's confusing/don't care about it.  Totally fine.  i wrote it to get the idea out of my head, and i felt like sharing, but didn't feel like doing the rewrites and replans that i usually try to do.

anyway

murdrer

fancy club
side of the bar, group talking about forming a murder club. hunt down riff raff in the alleys.  easy as pie.  joking around

professor character overhears, sits down among them.  "overheard you last week, chums.  seems like you're getting into a messy business, I'd say."

"So what?" gets defensive, professor is calming and settles them down.

"Just a bit of advice.  With the right planning and insight, you can see a scenario where just the tiniest puff of breath can power your mechanations to their unstoppable end.  Mechanations that play out invisibly to all, providing no clues as to what that grim end will be.

take for instance a point at that ball you threw last Saturday.  I was browsing your very excellent display of Indian jewelry when one tiara caught my eye.  I mentioned it to your wife, and pointed out that one of the stones, the...ruby on the left edge if I'm not mistaken, seemed to have slight occlusion I'd not noticed in the past.  I mention it to your wife, and suggested that she take it to her jeweler, and have him take a look.

the next day a had a cable from her telling me that the entire item was fake.  Someone had planted a amazing forgery that was absolutely worthless.  My reply back was fairly simple, just a note about how the full piece wasn't worth that substantial of your fortune, but would easily fund a small apartment or something in one of the lower parts of town for a year or so.  Perhaps this forgery was chosen to silently pay for something outside of the accounting?

I went along on my day, assured that I had given all the advice that I felt I could.  And now gentlemen, I suggest we finish our drinks now, before the constabulary arrive to arrest young Mr. Billiam.  

"Arrest?"

Five to one odds on it, if you'd be willing to take it.  If your wife were dumber, I'd have let those odds drop, but I think I know her well enough.

Well enough for what?

Well, someone replaced that tiara and had a wonderful facsimile produced to hide the theft.  That discounts the servants, who would simply have taken it and run off.  So someone of our status then.  You're a reasonably upright man, and so you probably don't invite thieves to your parties, and in any case, none of those boys would filch something so small.  This makes the under-board accounting theory best, making you the prime culprit.

Next, if you did do that, it would easily cover the costs of a, let-us-say "young female companion" in a decent if discrete manner.  That could lead to scandal, and certainly your wife would take it hardest.  Faced with these conclusions, it'd be quite likely that she'd rather end it permanently, rather than cope with what the papers would say about her day after day.

Poison would be the most likely, I suspect.  Someplace out-of-the-way so she's not disturbed, the music room, perhaps?  Then, a servant walks in, sees the results of the deed, and raises all the house.  The authorities are there in a flash, and a full search of the house is taken to look for evidence.  I'm sure that that hall closet by the rear door that the staff always insists needs to be kept locked will be burst open as well.

I have far less faith in your intelligence that I did in your wife, Sir.  You've

 been describing this hypothetical club for a few weeks, but your details changed last week.  More precise, if you will.  Yes, far less intelligent, but the thrill got to you, didn't it?  Are they ears?  Fingers?  The papers don't put much detail in the murder of the poor, but even the worst detective will be able to identify your totems in that closet.  The servants will sell you out as well, repeating your own words that "no one opens that cabinet" and "Mr. Billiam has the only key."

So, checking my watch puts us at 4:35, and me with an empty drink.  I would call for another, but I suspect those footfalls on the stairway suggest that 5:1 was the correct odds for this wager.

Billiam looked over with a face full of crushing defeat.  "Why?"

"Because you thought that your murder game was fun and flawless.  You imagined yourself some new Ripper, terrorizing the city for years.  In reality, you chose a game that although it can be played in an alley with a knife, it can be played far more effective with two simple sentences.

"Before they take you off for trial and speedy execution, as I suspect this will be my final meeting with you on this earth, I do want to inform you that that tiara was a fake when it was sold to you.  I've known since I met you that you were a fool, and seeing that tiara on my first visit to one of your parties solidified that fact.

listen to this now, ok?

i saw the man who fell to earth a few years ago in the theater, "because i've heard of this guy before."

i'm still pretty sure that i'm a lesbian, because when i get turned on, it's about that kind of stuff, right?

but seeing David Bowie doing stuff?  and even recent stuff, where's he's old and whatever?  yes.  please.

sorry, was just listening to stuff, and this popped up, and i just had to share.

so hey

i've been down lately

like way down.  i'm hoping it's just job stress.  my boss has been all "do this stuff! i know it's impossible, and you probably should be like five people, but you can do it all by yourself, because you're smart, so it needs to be done like, tuesday"

but like, no?  ok?  you want me to do something that's super hard to figure out, and you don't let me have any help, and i have to do it on a deadline so you can look good to your boss?  man, fuck you.

except i can't say that, because duh.  jobs.  fucking jobs.

anyway, a few weeks ago, somebody on (i think) motherless chat sent me this video.  it's been kind of cool to listen to, because it's kind of relaxing and all that.  i think the dude was trying to make a "stray"/"puppygirl" pun, because he was kind of all "did you catch that?"  yes, dude.  i caught that.  you're like 20% clever.

so, kind of a creeper, but pretty decent taste in relaxing music.





in any case...i'm concerned i need to go back to the therapist again.  there's a lot of brain stuff i can't really cope with most days.  kind of a constant drum of "no one will ever really love you, so if that's not happening, why bother dealing with 50 years of loneliness?"  thanks, brain.  i feed you yummy pizza, and you're all "let's be a dick to sammy, just for funsies."

so, you know.  hey.  i don't want to spawn a lot of "we love you, sammy," comments.  i know you're all cool like that.  and i know this is just how things sometimes go.  it's all hard sometimes, for everbody.  it's just...today was hard.  this week has been hard.  this month?  guess what?  hard.

sigh.

so i'll dry my eyes now, i guess.  tomorrow is a new day.  we'll see how it goes.