Sublimation for my Insecurities: A Play of Satire

People in academia piss me off. They stimulate their brain with respectable ideas for the purpose of making concrete changes in the world. I’m jealous. I prefer to investigate the motives of people’s drives and the reasoning behind their morality for no reason than the stimulation of it. There must be something missing in me.Continue reading “Sublimation for my Insecurities: A Play of Satire”

Nikolas Cruz

This emotion is deeper, more thoughtful, and less instinctive than anger.  Growing stronger through reliving, understanding, and judging. It burns hotter within and changes the form of what contains it. It’s not about reacting, but instead a calculated desire for painful and hateful justice. I don’t just wish to punch back with the same painContinue reading “Nikolas Cruz”

An Empty Form

When I go against what I want, I turn pitiful and weak; my strength atrophy’s because it’s being completely ignored. When my strengths are ignored all that exists are my weaknesses, and so I turn pitiful and helpless—unable to fight off my self-malicious attacks. I become so weak and self-helpless that I must grab atContinue reading “An Empty Form”

Weakling Cesspool

Seemingly strong and powerful, but really weak. You fight the pathetic and weak—weaker than you. Validation is the name of your game. Your hunger never satiated because your meals have no sustenance. So you eat the pathetic nothings—and they come crawling to your ugly beauty. Your scent powerful, your glow incandescent, but there lays noContinue reading “Weakling Cesspool”

Dead at Sea

Once again, he was disoriented.  He hoped for inspiration to come; there was no more spark, no more catalyst within him.  External energy was required for him to create art.  This is what he wanted: to create art.  But he couldn’t fight the destitution of his life—paying bills, grocery shopping, observing automobiles as they zoomedContinue reading “Dead at Sea”


Brain fog, limp dick, half ate chicken breast in front of me.  Today is dreary.  I barely feel alive.  Can’t finish the rest of my chicken breast.  Gave away two loads of swimmers that could have been saved to shoot into someone else’s hot wife.  The emptiness and dullness of today is enough for self-mutilation. Continue reading “Gertrude”