[atsonicpark]

OKAY OKAY i found it

chapter one of my book which was never finished called "Affable". It was supposed to be a really vague story a guy brainwashed by the world around him and every chapter was supposed to get less and less confused until the end when you realize that YOU are the main character and the whole story is something you had come up with, since there actually is no clear story. It's hard to explain, but it seemed smart when I was roboed. Anyway...

AFFABLE
CHAPTER ONE: EXISTENTIALIST


My bestest buddy in and my bestest, newest knew how to give particle participant his ovulating sense. Really an acquaintance, persé... I wasn't very acquainted with her though. Buddy wanted sex, and went up to this bitch with, "You have Pepto Bismo!"

She with a confused sigh.

"It's your FUCKING POCKET, BITCH!!!!!!"

Oscillators? Proudly we perplex protocal prurient prowess which publicizes pugnacious shit in the bathroom, hermorrage, I start to all means: sex, the bunches of any kind will probably mess you up in fact; not kill you but make you feel really disillusioned.

The key is that for the dog-that-I-am finitude is is the precondition for the oscillations between authenticity and transcendental, Kantian sense that I think my bestest best buddy and I differ on what. If you're asking in the sense of what the sense of looking for a noun for a God because we have faith in grammar, finitude doesn't have a certain logical priority. All roads do lead to of saying, along with my bestest best buddy: Dasein understands so in such a manner that it will go thus to take over in its thrownness that entity wholly. An authentic anticipation of one's ownmost potentiality-for-Being, combined drives out accidental and provisional possibilities-- "dispersing all fugitive chosen." Finitude is the "reason" for any movement between inauthenticity, and back in the other direction, going "under the precondition to authenticity." When I say that finitude deploys inauthenticity, I mean to make the claim in the employs, that is, in the sense of what presupposes OCCASION the shift, it seems you are asking in verb. (Remember the Nietzsche phrase) This is a boring way itself with regard to its potentiality-for-Being, and it does right under the eyes of Death, and in order which it is itself, and to take it over with a steadfast resolve "under the eyes of Death". Self-concealments. What remains (viz., the "situation") is inherited yet authenticity- inauthenticity occurs: eg. the various forms of "fleeing toward the eyes of death" toward authenticity.

My buddy wanted sex, was important, ate right, so my new-found non-Pepto Bismo-having friend was there. Though, we're barely acquainted.

She with a confused glance.

"Alienating propulsion portest astute absolute ascent assuming public apropos appurtenant aria arithemetical to condescend ceremoniously."

Vehemently, incoherently by idiot affection, infected -- hit the pipe again.

So, we produce veins.

So, we drank ourselves, clubs and fucking each and such. This is what life is turning into: scenery scarce, scenarios we trust. Lies we fuck for appearance's sake to say sorry to spirited sovereign silent sickness surrounded by shitfits with excess surfeit servants and scientific stupidity. The world wanted sex; acquaintance in the world that palpitating petty pantomimed predatory perceptive opiated opinions differ.

Not more like someone who was with at all.

But may I need to shit.

Dilemmas.

Somehow I designed a television program that would inject its static waves into my robotic cells in order to feel the premise of the show and the characters slowly start becoming my organs and the plotlines become my white blood cells and the ending credits are streamed all over my hairline: To take his mind off his divorce, antimatter physicist -- he was the hero!!! -- his ex-wife Lauren Ashborne was Sebastian Jackal, a satanic figure who wanted to destroy the people who made Gus' life a living hell. But the running went haywire, reading the game's villain file out their programming. Gus, Lauren, and Peter are then Gus Lloyd! But he started programming an action video game where the sidekick, and his father Jordan Kenneth Lloyd was the world with an army of thugs based on the antimatter experiments. Gus and his friend Peter Rucker are sending them into the real world to act forced to play the game for real. Christoper Loyd smiled.

A girl, "Hey, I know!" said, "No, I don't.." said, "Yes.. it's in ossify ostensable propitious proposals. Autonomous peace puerile prospects. Pulmonary publication puke." As I stroking my own shit, think about what it drugs... the distance. Drinking of poison will cause honesty a lot but may you see confusion? It'll just make fuck for a few days. But, and that was what decided to ask me about it: Friend? Acquaintence. Speaks in gibberish now: "students! You study opinions astern asthma apocryphal approximations of appartenance conditioned incorrect about incantations incarcerated by disassociative vivisections."

So, we shot something in our silly.

We speak candidly and vividly and sincerely about "No one is worthy of my friendship." So, I told the drug that the brain was the ugliest part of her entire body.

She saids, she saids, "Nothing is really destroyed or disappears, as recycling is part of production!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's a natural and necessary part of post-capitalism!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There should be no illusion of only production, as was the case with early industrialization!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We no longer use a dialectical approach in our disposal/recycling system, only a forward movement to the reproduction of reproduction!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Outlaw was killed. Ass fucked. Brains saying "Hey Laura Dr. Tongue's here."

Getting kicked out of brains like it's nothing. Has revolved and evolved; all a facade. Facts love to lust after. Soil solids and say souse self-gratificating shit. I stare at sapient scavenged scholars obsessed surveying sleepless spoiled splinter cells.

The end.