KARBYTES_JOURNAL_2022_ENTRY_356
A screaming, crying, red-faced, bloated baby
Giving birth to
A screaming, crying, red-faced, bloated baby
is what a woman is
while a man is a smirking, loitering punk who stands over her wherever she lies down
to make sure that she stays down so that he is always the stronger party.
* * *
He’s an old man who looks like a farmer and he’s holding torture equipment.
The woman lying at his feet looks like a mutilated, terrified, paralyzed, ritualistically tortured sow.
She whines, whimpers, and wails pleading for the nightmare to be over.
He mocks her making soft, lewd, taunting noises while he holds her nervous system hostage decreases the likelihood that she will recover the faculties he severed by cutting her off from the right to use her nervous system.
He is a sadistic, power-hungry cop acting as an authoritarian father.
She is the mutilated little girl who is putty in his hands being treated as a criminal in need of punishment for not conforming to his every whim at all times.
* * *
The woman whimper “consoling” messages to each other to relinquish bodily and mental autonomy so that they are spared the most torture possible hy the patriarchs which hold their civilization hostage.
Without a car, you simply cannot hold down a job. End of story.
* * *
“Returning the car that I have been borrowing to my mother is what I intend to do as soon as I publish and back up this note. I will do my best to avoid borrowing it again in favor of walking, bicycling, and using public transportation. Also, the air inside my legal residence is more laden with cigarette smoke than usual (and I see that no mail is in my mail box (which makes me suspicious that my parents are intercepting my mail and other possessions in an effort to control and gaslight me into submission with the authorities they side with out of cowardice and stubborn addiction to keeping me in chronic “fight or flight” mode for their sadistic amusement and convenience)).” – karbytes
* * *
“I have to “extremes” to do what I consider to be the bare minimum in terms of self care because other people are jeoulus of me and try to obstruct me.” – karbytes
* * *
To change the subject to some relatively light hearted humor and amusement, here a cartoon I recently found while browsing my Instagram feed. The image below the cartoon depicts what I think AJP looks like, what SED looks like, my brother looks like, what I look like, and what some other young “psychopathic” millenial-aged males look like on the inside (especially those hollowed eyes which have seen many horrors and which are now staring out of the face of a demented clown pretending to be a white collar professional from a cede background). (
(I honestly think that face looks hot (i.e. attractive in a way which activates my deviant and lewd “soul fragments”)). This is me breaking the spell of being in a hypnotic trance of long term role play game in which I act like a high-strung, quaint feminazi. (I give myself fucking permission to drive any car if I think doing so is the only means to accomplish some goal I think is too important to miss out on accomplishing).
* * *
I apologize if this journal seems a bit “odd”. I am a wee bit high on shrooms (and I am glad for it).
* * *
I am afraid that my parents are innocent and that the police are trying to turn me against them (and against myself).
I am afraid that the police are trying to prevent me from being able to live without a car so that my leg muscles and cardiovascular fitness atrophy so that I am not as physically able to live outdoors and to walk as my primary commute.
My father is a bone thin sedentary fat fetishist man who likes to drive past me when I am walking in order to make me feel suffocated. He also fills “my” house with his poisonous clouds of smoke for the same reason and likes to just sit there in his house waiting for me to freak out while he smirks and watches.
I suspect that my mother is complicit in this and is obsessed with keeping me trapped in her incestuous rape porn (and that she is hostile to me having a sense of humor and a genuine appetite for pursuing worldly interests (so that I spend all my time and energy fighting to break free of the imprisonment and torture she wants me mired in for years)).
When I called my mom on the phone today and asked her for the Friday $100 early, she said yes then immediately asked me in an irritated tone, “How did your job interview go,” like she didn’t want anything in my life to go well. I told her that I didn’t go to my interview yet. Then she asked me if I went to my DMV appointment to get my driver’s license. I said yes. Then she said, “Are your sure?” to insinuate that (a) she did not beleive me and (b) that she was stalking me online (and possibly offline) in order to make me feel deprived of privacy from her intrusive surveillance and tyrannical attempts to control me. She asked if I got the driver’s license at the DMV or if if was being mailed to my dad’s house (seemingly because she is opposed to me having my own Post Office Box because, if I did, that would mean I would not have to worry about people acting as my mother’s minions to bully me and to confiscate my mail). I told her that my new license would be arriving in the mail. I said nothing of my plans to rent a P.O. Box as soon as I can afford one (and I changed both of the dates of my upcoming DMV and UPS store appointments to ensure that I would have enough money to first rent a mailbox at the UPS store for three months before going into the DMV to renew my driver’s license so that I can have it mailed to that mailbox instead of my dad’s address).
I understand that this journal is a bit garbled. There are lots of noises in my head and the high from the shroom has been steadily getting stronger as I have written this blog post. (Damn a little of that penis envy shroom goes a long way (and I got quite a hefty amount for $60 at Zide Door in Oakland)). I am currently in the backyard at my dad’s house (at approximately 9PM using my phone to establish an Internet connection because the house Wi-Fi is unreliable for me no matter how close to the router I am).
I think that this journal entry may be relevant to the last journal entry I made while a bit high on shrooms.
* * *
P: “We don’t like seeing you having so much fun for free.”
karbytes: “Are you against me promoting a universal basic income?”
P: “Yes because it lets people have nice things for free. I had to suffer to get nice things. Therefore, so should everyone.”
karbytes: “So your desire to inflict retribution on others because you see them as ‘stealing’ when all they are doing is taking advantage of what they already have unpaid (and legal) access to is why there is no universal basic income in this country yet?”
P: “Well, yeah. People should have to work to earn their keep so they don’t get a sense of entitlement which permits them to act like you.”
* * *
I notice that, as soon as I leave the car at my parents’ house and resume walking in the streets, many people in cars angrily swerve at me, drive past me slowly to taunt me, and otherwise attempt to take up my attention span while shining their brightest headlights at me. When I was a driver like them, they seemed nice to me. Now that I am a walker, they are bullying me. I bet most would tell me that is my cue to get back in the car. I would rather make a full time job of adapting to this hostility so that I can pursue what matters to me (and what matters to me is not being so damned dependent on fossil fuels).
(I may or may not be lying or else exaggerating when I disclose such anecdotes in order to make my writing more engaging to whoever is reading it).
A few minutes ago I thought that I should schedule an appointment to rent a unit at the Public Storage in Castro Valley before using that money to rent a personal mailbox at the United Parcel Services store in Castro Valley so that I can put my backpack in a secure location while I go out and run but decided that, in order to “assert my boundaries” with the least amount of time and energy investment, I should simply use “my” room at “my” legal residence about a mile’s walk from here up the hill to store my stuff (and trust that my stuff will not be tampered with).
Some people seem to think that I do not deserve to exercise regularly and to be as physically fit as a professional athlete unless I have my own residence apart from my parents and my own income apart from my parents. Some people seem to think that, for the reasons I just described, that other people should be allowed to confiscate or otherwise tamper with my possessions if I leave them unattended on my parents’ estates or inside of their vehicles. It was suggested to me that local residents are not comfortable with me having room to “show off” and think that I should be prevented from engaging in physical or mental exercise designed to enhance my strength, endurance, knowledge, or other skills I find worth my time to invest in without the consent of authorities (because my energy is only supposed to be used in service to other people on their terms).
To put it bluntly, I have been engaged in almost nonstop warfare with other people who think that I do not deserve to have hobbies unless I am an employee working for someone else for a sufficiently large amount percentage of my free time such that I am discouraged from using language and engaging in hobbies which are not what my employer endorses. Whether or not I am employed, I insist on being able to pursue my own hobbies, to continuously upgrade my skills, and to continuously make progress towards my personal goals even if other people do not approve of me doing so. I believe that my personal goals are sufficient to be regarded as “community service” in addition to being “self service” because I always try to minimize suffering rather than exacerbate it. Hence, I do not believe that I owe people anything other than me pursuing my personal goals (since my goals exclude me intentionally trying to increase the net suffering of the universe which I am a part of and for any universe).
As paradoxical as this may sound, I think it is most ethical to allow any person to voluntarily suffer because not allowing that person to voluntarily suffer is an obstruction of that person’s agency (i.e. autonomy (i.e. self-governance)).
To be clear, I think that I do enough to help other people simply by doing my best not to harm them not harming them.
* * *
While walking to the church from my mom’s house, I saw some ladies sitting in a big SUV with the headlights on seemingly staring me down like they wanted me to feel discouraged from being outside at night alone and without a car to retreat inside of and to rely on to carry me around. I walked at them rather aggressively and glared at them with unabashed intensity. Those “frightened” little white bitches drove off and I shooed them away using hand motions. (I felt the need to assert my “right” to look angry in public so long as I am not overtly threatening the safety of other people (but merely having an angry expression on my face and even talking angrily, in my opinion, is not necessarily me being overtly threatening to the safety of other people. What would be overtly threatening to the safety of other people is me wielding a gun or knife in public)).
I thought that running and doing regular physical exercise in general will help me not feel and look so angry.
I am sorry if I upset anyone. I hope that, now and into the future, we can coexist in harmony and not interfere with each other’s autonomy.
This web page was last updated on 11_NOVEMBER_2022. The content displayed on this web page is licensed as PUBLIC_DOMAIN intellectual property.
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