Social Deconstruction: Graffiti Is The New Normal

A while back a friend of mine (reasonably recently divorced) pointed out a good looking girl to me. I looked at her. Arm tats to the max - instant drop in value IMO. I told him straight out that seeing that, my instant thought was: "Another heavy smoking, heavy drinking, tattooed slut-whore."

They're everywhere.

So some of the men over at /r/MGTOW recently had a little comment about tattooed girls and guys. Things to the effect of (in Japan) someone with tattoos can't get into a public bath or pool (or hot springs?) because their tattoos immediately identify them as being criminal/thug class (Yakuza). Access is denied.

About the only good thing the Japanese have going for them at the moment, given their decline. It won't last much longer. Inertia is (slowly) kicking in - for some Japanese women, a small (tasteful) tattoo is permitted on the ankle (prime slut-tell).

One of the other comments was beautiful, along the lines of thinking that tattoos are body-graffiti. You tag alley walls, fences, the sides of train wagons. You don't tag anything of value. When you tag your body, you show it (and you) is of little value.

In your own opinion, which the world will happily agree with.

Abso-fuckin'-lutely.

There's a campervan hire bunch, Wicked Campers, been pissing off "the straights" for the last couple of years. The reason: most of the vans are graffiti'd with various messages.

Most of the messages are just inane. "Smoking is cool." Huh. Basically non-PC, rebellious stuff like that. Sometimes it's way more off-the-wall: Snow White giving one of the Dwarf's a blow-job.

The NZ Government censor (whatever his name is) was up on the morning news recently, dribbling about it while I was eating breakfast. Apparently they're going to start censoring these vans. Amusingly, as I left the hotel, I ran across one of the vans. Basically it didn't look like a car, it looked like a mobile chunk of shit-awful graffiti.

Twenty years ago, the car would probably have been covered up with something - paint, though tar and feathers would be a good choice. Fifty years ago it would have gotten the owner straight into jail.

Inertia. This is becoming the new normal.

Graffiti the world. Graffiti your body. Graffiti your possessions.

Show, aggressively, to the world that the stuff you buy is shit - you know it - and that you glorify in it. You delight in your excess consumption, your wastefulness, of buying utter crap that you don't need. You delight in your hedonistic exhibition of personal trashiness, your personal revulsion of your own body, your personal destruction of your own psyche, your personal rubbing of your literal shit onto all the walls and bodies of the world and the people around you.

Violate everything in a deeply personal way.

Give it a few years. Yeah. This is normal.

For me, it is time to be selfish again. It seems to be involuntary at the moment - a mixture of not much to say, generally being completely fed up with the world and everything, and just wanting to be alone for a while.

I need to read something a little different from work-related shit. In private. No distractions at all.

Amusing, all the fucktards - especially women - who give you stupid looks. "You want to be alone? Butbutbut ... why?"

Because I'm a wolf, not a fucking sheep. Because I'm a loner, not a fucking herd-animal. Because I find - or make - a warm place to sleep, not huddle in a shifting mass where those at the outside periphery get cold while everyone constantly struggles to stay in the middle where it's nice and warm and comfy.

The price of being a sheep is boredom - which is why the herd-brained, r-selected, bottom-feeders of Planet Zero follow an endless, desperate, hedonistic search for someone else to masturbate their body against for a bit. Before splitting apart again, bouncing around aimlessly in their own version of brownian motion, before adhering once more to another body to masturbate against for a little bit more.

Rinse and repeat. Endlessly, endlessly.

On the surface: lust. Underneath: pain. Society resounds with a mindless, flatulent, dreary drone of hopeless despair. (Thank you Michael Shea, for your book: Nifft the Lean. For anyone interested, the image is from a short-story entitled: The Fishing of the Demon-Sea.)

Why?

Because I cannot stand the thought of catering to someone else all the time.

Because I want to die alone without being bothered by anyone, in the interim and in the end.

I will probably be back reasonably soon. It's weird: resolve to take some time off, because you're running out of ideas and what you're writing feels flat and stale and empty - and bang, the juice starts flowing again.

For the moment: it is time for some freedom, my own way.

I hope you make the time to find the same.