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Housewife
Fearlessly, I ran my fingers through Angela’s hair. I knew she wouldn’t wake up. She never woke up when I did things like this. Cold and unyielding, she would lay with her back to me and would stay that way until morning, impervious to my nudges and attempts at affection. I sighted and gave her one last glance, her pale skin barley illuminated by the light of the clock. I thought for a moment about leaning over to kiss her, but I just kept staring.
The next morning was the same as always. Long after I was up, Angela still lied in bed, barley moving from the night before. I went up stairs to get her but it was, of course, a struggle. She refused to leave the bed. Without a word, she managed to convey that she had no desire to spend any amount of time with me. She wanted to stay in the bed forever. With a bit of a struggle, however, I was able to get her down into the kitchen, where her breakfast was always waiting for her. As always, she would ignore the food and ignore me. She would make no sound and no attempt at communication. She would only sit there, waiting for me to go to work; a listless look draped over her every feature. I made a few half-heated attempts at conversation, all were met with the same silence and the same look of contempt. My watch beeped at me, and told me that I should already be in my car. With a sigh, I turned and went to the door, waving behind me as I did. I didn’t bother to look back to watch her not return it.
Work flew by quickly, helped along by my dread for having to go home. As I walked in the door, I found just what I expected to. Angela sat at the table, an untouched cup of coffee sitting by her hand. I cleared my throat. “So, how did it go today?”
I thought for a moment I heard her draw in a breath to speak to me for the first time that day, but there was nothing. With a glance to the calendar, I sighed. It was Monday. “So do you still, you know, want to?” I waited a moment. There was no reply, but she didn’t object as we went upstairs to the bedroom.
It was horrible. The entire time I looked down at Angela she refused to meet my gaze. Her head tilted awkwardly to the side, deliberately trying to avoid eye contact. The same dull, empty look way painted across her face. It was unbearable. The whole ordeal felt like something I was doing to her and not with. I felt wholly alone throughout the entire act. I finished quickly and got off her. As I lied there, catching my breath, I glanced over to Angela. All of the movement had agitated the bullet wound in her head. Despite being nearly a week old, it still managed to leak some blood onto the pillow. I slowly lifted myself out of the bed and went to the bathroom to get a towel. Maybe it was time to find a new girlfriend.
 Ciz · Mon Aug 11, 2008 @ 03:25am · 0 Comments |
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You never forget your first. |
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This is the end of it all.
I never really thought about death until I was on top of my girlfriend, heart pounding and muscles quaking as I moved rhythmically with her. I had been promised that sex brought joy and euphoria, not anxiety and nausea. But here I was, with a dry mouth and a pounding head. My body was screaming at me to stop the horrible things I was making it endure. I could feel my joints rubbing together and I'm fairly certain that a heart attack could not be far away. My mind meanwhile refused to accept it. This was not happening, no no no. I was not in a humid little room doing horribly repulsive things. I did not feel like I had insects crawling over every inch of my skin. I was in a clean little room, with freshly scrubbed hands and a nice little bed with fresh white sheets. But no, her little moans and squeaks that supposedly indicated good things tore me out of my fantasy. I was in a dark little place with horrible things happening all around me.
She was squirming now, a further show of just how much pleasure derived from my horror. I felt my stomach turning and my face being locked in a look of disgust. This is what some people live for. They sacrifice their time and money on obtaining this moment, this horrid little moment.
She was pushing harder into me, she kept saying the same words over and over again. I couldn't understand any of the blather that was pouring our of her mouth, but I didn't care. The less involved with this whole experience I was the better.
The thought of what I was doing repulsed me. I was inside of a person. I would never dream of putting something as filthy as even my foot near another person, but here I was putting a part of me meant for disposing waste INTO a part of someone else that served the same purpose. In all of the frenzy I hadn't even noticed the smell, but that was quickly cured. I became very aware of the thin mustard smell that simply radiated off of her. It poured out of every cell in her body and coated everything in the room. The candles we had burning now reaked of sulfur. The thin whisps of smoke they produced seemed to be billowing black clouds that blocked the ceiling. The though of a naked person laying on my bed, that I SLEEP in rang throughout my head. Her filthy a** was rubbing up and down, back and forth, against my sheets. They had been reduced to toilet paper. This was wrong wrong wrong. I needed to clean this. My room had been turned filthy by this woman. It was a cesspool. I'd need a new bed, that much was certain. probably a new house as well. This one was forever tainted. I would have to sell it for cheap, no right-minded person would ever want to live in a place of such horrendous filth.
Suddenly, relief! I felt her removing herself from me! I allowed myself a brief moment of happiness until I realized what she was doing. Revulsion filled every inch of my body and I watched helplessly as she pushed me down onto the same area she had just been laying. I could see the billions of microbes she had left behind. Some crawled and others squirmed. They festered in this slime that now pooled on my bed. I could hear their hungry screeching as I was lowered down into the puddle by her eager hands.
I felt the sludge she had left behind cling to my skin as I lied down. Her filth covered every inch of my body now. I truly wanted to die.
She climbed onto me and went back into her sick ritual of moans and whimpers, like a cat being slowly crushed under a heavy boot. Every inch of me ached. My head pounded with each beat of my heart, which was frequent. My eyes spasmed and made the room shake. I felt like I had a belly full of Drano, eating away at everything inside of me. I tried to breathe through my mouth to avoid the smell, but no, I could taste it. The horrid taste she had put everywhere. There was nothing I could do. She had invaded every part of my life now. It was there, in me. I could run as far as possible and bathe in acid, nothing would cure me. I had been made wretched. I felt her tense up once more and let out a series of loud yells. I too wanted to scream, but for a very different reason. She pulled herself off and rolled onto the bed next to me, panting and sweating. Dripping and oozing over my house and my job and my friends and my everything.
She let out a low pleased purr and leaned close to my ear.
"So how was that, baby?"
Ciz · Sat Dec 29, 2007 @ 07:18am · 0 Comments |
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Jeffery Dahmer was the last real romantic. |
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It’s true, my views are normally seen as “unusual” at best, but I’m really confident here. Jeffery Dahmer was the last real romantic, and you’ll all see why. First off, I have to ask a question. What would any of you do if your respective ******** died? You would stick them in a box, cover the box in concrete, and bury that box deep deep underground with a rock on top with their name on it. Our burial customs must be one of the sickest parts about our culture. What did Dahmer do? He savored his loved ones lives. He ate them as a sign of love and what did he do when he was full up? Did he just throw out the nasty bits? ******** no! He threw some Ceran Wrap over their torsos and limbs and shoved that s**t in his fridge. Now, can any of you say that you would be willing to do that? Even if your love-bucket asked you as their dying wish to eat their body and have the leftovers as a sandwich the next day, would you do it? No, that’s right, you wouldn’t. And why? Because you just aren’t as devoted to love as Dahmer was. Even beyond eating, Dahmer made shrines out of the skulls of his homoerotic homicide victims. That shows not only a great deal of love, but a great deal of arts and crafts skill. So look at the difference: Dahmer made an alter devoted to the people he loved, and what do we do? Sum up the persons life with a one liner and slap their name on a rock and call it a day. Visit the rock once a year until you remarry and forget about visiting one year. Than the next, and the next. I dunno, maybe I’m just an optimist but I love love. I love the thought of doing whatever you can to let someone know how much you care, even if that means killing them and devouring the body as you ******** it. But I can hope, and maybe someday, we’ll all put a little more Dahmer in us, because he sure as hell would have wanted a little of you in him.
Ciz · Sat Nov 10, 2007 @ 03:04pm · 0 Comments |
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Cliches and Catchphrases are all I Know. |
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What is one man? He is nothing, nothing except what he needs to be. Our own opinions are nothing. A man who sees himself as a god, when all those around him see the devil would be seen as insane. A person is nothing more than what the majority of people see him as. The same goes for our morality. We only see robbery and murder as wrong because that is what we’ve been conditioned to believe. With 51% of the world believing that rape is a fun passtime it would be seen as perfectly normal. The majority controls everything. Not only does the majority impart their morals, but they are allowed to force everyone else to believe what they think is right is the only way. They are able to do this by being hypocritical enough to say that if you do something they see as wrong, they can kill you for it, or shove you in a cage for many many years. Why? Are these men who trap you and force you to do whatever they want seen as criminals though? Are they scorned by the public? No no no, they are heralded as heroes. Great liberators enforcing the 51% public opinion. Making sure that everyone agrees with what most people think.
But what do you think? The individual. One person. One billionth of a percent in the 51%. You don’t think anything, not on your own at least. Since birth you have never been given a chance to come up with your own morals. You were robbed of your chance to decide what you think is right or wrong. You were given a list of things you couldn’t do, eat, drink, even sounds you weren’t allowed to make with your mouth. If you did these things people would probably kill you, even though killing was one of the things on the list it said you weren’t allowed to do. You are not the person you were meant to be. You are the person the majority wants you to be. You are another piece of the 51%. And where is the 49%? Look to your cages and your graveyards. Your poor neighborhoods and your high crime areas. Take a peak in your local mental institution and you’ll find a lot of the 49% sitting around and talking about what a sick sick place the 51% have made for themselves.
Ciz · Fri Nov 09, 2007 @ 02:50am · 0 Comments |
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Pyschotic? More like AWESOME! |
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Howdy folks. By folks, of course, I mean myself.
I suppose that means I'm typing to myself, which would be the equivelant of talking to myself. But I didn't start up this entry to explore the depths of my possible mental issues, I started this entry because I have a weighty load of people who need to be murdered swiftly and painfully.
So first things first, these pseudo-intellectuals. These dense ******** who look up something on wikipedia and all of the sudden are experts. I was talking to one of the many random assholes I encounter throughout my travels and he decided to, out of his sky blue a*****e, start talking about theoretical politics. Now let me set up the scene for you: We're in a parking lot. I'm waiting for my friend to meet me. We were talking about some video game and all of the sudden, we go from that to weather or not I agree with the political ideals of Atlas Shrugged. Now I'm sorry, but when someone is that desperate to interject anything that random into a conversation, I have to make the assumption that that person knows next to nothing besides a few quotes and figures they stayed up late to memorize. Of course, the moment I told him that he was a moron and should stick to simple subjects like Playstation, he got all pissy and whipped out this little tidbit on me "Dude, I've read 1984!". Well whoopdee ******** doo! You and every 10th grader in the country finally have something in common. I read that book in 8th grade, and you're gonna brag about it?
This is where all the problems come in. Certain books are hearalded as being "Intellectual", and by saying that you let every a** who took "English 2" the impression that they're not useless, and that's dangerous.
If reading George Orwell and Ayn Rand can make you smart, than reading the Kama Sutra makes you lose your virginity. Just because you read about something doesn't mean you know anything about it.
One down.
Next up, these stupid ******** who wanna be "non-conformist". How do they do this? Why by being atheists of course! These little pricks run around screaming "******** god! I'm not a mindless sheep like you guys! I think for myself!" By the way, these are usually the same people who run down to Hot Topic with their friends and they all buy the same Tripp pants and My Chemical Romance T-shirts, and laugh at how the preps all look the same.
Anyway, I'm an atheist, I'll say that right now. But the thing is, I don't run around rubbing it in people's faces. I have my issues with religion, but if someone else is religious, I don't give a s**t. For all I care you can believe that Simon and Garfunkel were prophets and told of the great god Cecilia who will cross into our world via a Bridge Over Troubled Water, I don't care! But these kids, usually about 14 years old, love to talk about how the "sheep" all are so closed minded they have to believe in religion.
I'm not even going to address the savage hypocrisy there. Instead, I will end this by saying that I don't believe in God. Any God, but religion is a helpful thing so long as it's taken in moderation and not used to justify any kind of hate. Be like me, and hate people based on the stupid s**t they do, not the stupid s**t they think.
More hatefulness to come. It's good to be back.
Ciz · Fri Sep 21, 2007 @ 05:38am · 1 Comments |
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Goths are just preps with bad skin and no money. |
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******** upper-middle class Americans. They b***h about the rich people in their mansions
not caring about them and their lives as they drive past people carrying their lives in a shopping cart.
ALL RELIGIONS ARE EQUALLY SILLY AND EQUALLY HELPFUL.
People are religious in retaliation. "Mommy and Daddy took away Santa Clause, The Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. Fine, I'll believe in someone that's ten times better than all of them! That'll show 'em!"
I think it's silly that in America our constitution says it's illegal for the government to take your things, but nothing about taking your life.
Women with plastic tits and tiny asses. There are few things in this world so sad.
Question: Do gay people get turned on when they see themselves naked?
Mental illness is a symptom of our culture. It has to be, because I just can't imagine a cave man cutting himself or a cave woman writing really bad poetry about her soul being as black as the tar that sucked up her mother.
Kids: If Mommy or Daddy have a gun in their bedroom, make sure it's locked. If your not sure, try looking down the barrel and squeezing the trigger, if bullets come out, move your head quickly, than play cops and robbers with your brother or sister. Remember, Gun is only one letter away from fun!
Ciz · Thu Aug 09, 2007 @ 09:50pm · 0 Comments |
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s**t, it's finally happened. The puckered assholes of the world all got together and had a meeting and managed to change a bit of history, to make it more wholesome and family-friendly. I was over at a friend's house, when I heard his little sister listening to the song "Little Bunny Foo-Foo". Now this is fine, the song actually made me feel a bit nostalgic for a time before I was such an a**, but than I heard the lyrics.
For those of you who don't know, the song goes:
"Little bunny Foo-Foo, hopping through the forest,
scooping up the field mice and bopping them on the head."
So basically, this piss-ant little rabbit is beating the s**t out of some mice.
Long story short, the “Good Witch” came down and told the bunny if he kept this s**t up he'd get his a** kicked. He does it three more times and is turned into a goon.
All's well and good, a decent song with strong morals. DIVINE RETRIBUTION!
Guy is an a*****e and beats up things weaker than him, guy gets punished, THIS IS WHAT THE KIDS NEED!
Anyway, back to the story.
As I listened to the CD from across the hall, I heard the lyrics, and they said:
"Little bunny Foo-Foo hopping through the forest,
scooping up the field mice and kissing them on the head."
The rest of the song continued normally, but with 'bopping' replaced with 'kissing'.
WHAT THE ********!
The good witch punishes bunny Foo-Foo for loving someone! He feels emotion and happiness and is punished for it!
What's more, they actually made the song LESS appropriate! THINK ABOUT IT!
They’ve changed the song from being about Assault and Battery to being about Sexual Assault!
********!
It's this kind of self-riotous bullshit that bothers me! You just know it was a bunch of middle-aged soccer moms and overweight and perpetually drunk dads that decided that it wasn't all the beatings and screaming that was ******** their kid up, it was LITTLE BUNNY ********!
Way to set the progression of the species back 80 years.
Assholes.
Ciz · Wed May 16, 2007 @ 04:37am · 0 Comments |
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