The Ghost of Harlen that Haunts me.

 

F__K 2023

slop and pap

Bopkins fatspiracy

"I swear, that's it.

Sex positivity and choice specism are all but a use of my body to serve as a product to make it groomed, servile and docile. A cush market where there is nothing else but a small ticker and invisible figures.

I can't do anything with this body; it's all a bunch of tossers who don't want to be kink-shamed for this or that.

Well, if anything."

fizzzzzzzzazzzz

Surrendering all stigma to the traffic metric

On the streaming services.

Fishing for attention, competing for it, warring for attention, for all to see.

Moral knowledge becomes falsity when the origin raises the pontificators' views the wrong way, and then they lecture.

With a product, service or policy, there's an incentive to lie, generally speaking.

Yet direct response, eliminative materialism, virality, celebrity endorsements – that stuff that I had to hide in the brand world of e-idealism.

Oh marketing, and the infinite regress of anti-marketing, how it manipulates, how it drives us. How it leads us. The lowest comprehension of a stratum.

Did not attend the general strike

Such posers

Ad hominening the scab callout, it going to back

Are they the ones, cui bono

They, friend/ememy fair weather, shilling to the center

To the spectacle, I'm the helpless spectator.

Forced to consume the spectacle of suicide, yet brought to make it total.

Totalising with my rage.

All ill will, all curses, to the falling into a digger. On the net, dies not matter who's pointing at who.

Cui Bono points to the scab unio-

Theos Misanthropy

In his quest of a deranged, purity ideal. Theo's obsessiveness has led him into odd directions..

Internal moments, human into ground and we define groundness into earth as we see such crazed passions of faith, interwovan of devotions to a divinty of transcendtal sacredness.

Sweet devotions.

Ufiction to unfiction. Copyright horror story

Well, From this story of derative. Of ufiction, uncomfortable fiction. Is a good story on if copyright trolls had there way.

I'll keep tabs there still creatives at the edge, having opinions and are not gig workers, trying to make it, even with the pull of perverse incentives.

We need to drop the pretence that copyright censors
hip could end the Ai phenomena. Plus it could infringe on my right to depict Bowser within satire with proprietary DRM. This is universal enforcement, not selective like copyright trolls do. My fan art is textbook copyright infringement. The onus is on the firm nintendo to send a DMCA takedown if I commercialize it.

Based on Kant's categorical imperative of internal freedom. Treating each other through consciousness rather than objectifying.

The inputs and outputs don't match, technically so it's nebulous. Plus, Copyright is anti-worker with the labor protection. It's for distributors/publishers, not creative labor.

Thankfully due the infinite shelf space of the internet distribution, micro-distribution it will niche out even if it could try (It's not like it's Super Bowl mass advertising, where one will have to buy/ask advertising/celebrity endorsements to get traffic. )

All that indominable logic of expanding content id and conception of ownership (Do they understand that? The idea/expression dichotomy exists.)

Walk away from this one. 

The pit, of the sweet grip of death

 

All those where requests
All those thirsty mouths
All those things where those accursed bodily pulls

All that, meta-unintentional cruft resting there. The unconscious, unintentional of short term dopamine hits.

That porn-obsessed pit of appetites.

What's worthy, what's better? Axiological speaking. Everybody wants to be perfect there.

If you know, you know, though I suffer, bringing another tribute.

Does that response rate tell me about you are about me? Well.

That's the holistic place of the external, the internal has to check.

Holiday of TTS errors

 SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHGHHHH

That was the word of Jesse. Or santa mc crank smile during some texts and speech as he moves towards a smile.

SHHHHHHHHHHHHJUUUURR

It's still mindless, its still going, yet, charity is what i give it, i don't litigate.

Ah, text to speech, you've still got ways to go in the 1990's. 

Now more cleanly and more waywardly, some errors still show, and how I interpret.

Sometimes bumbling, sometimes incoherent, times poorly acted.

Yet still, it obeys.

Other than that, normal. (I wonder how this speechify subscription will pay off.)

Getting under someone's skin

Rage bait, Oxford noted This is the word that of those who use

Well, even with the direct response tickers here. Even as the liberal Seth goes on, (Why do I still follow? Well, it's on trolling, and those who try to crawl and squirm under your skin.

Yet this engagement is what it is, teleological presumption reveals parts of the character. From the accuser rather than the accused. That's Friedrich Nietziech for you. That perspectivism, (Some conservatives share that aswell.)

Come one, and come all.

Fox Key
" It's so weird how the people who most claim to hate social media, technology and modernity are the most unable to leave it. At some point that's just a failure of character. Like, fine, everyone needs a phone to get around and email people or use Slack or Teams or whatever. But did you know that most normies don't use Twitter? It's true. Most normies are already better than you! "I'm too addicted and Twitter is making me post every day about how much I hate Twitter!", brother, most people do perfectly fine without scrolling on social media 200 times a day. "I'm posting to warn others and do praxis", actually, you're posting because you're addicted to praise and the follow number going up has created a psychological dependence. And it's fine, but if you hate it so much it's a failure not to leave it. "

Bopkins SSRI medication

I can't wait for this to be over.

Huff, the pills, may i take em. Two a dose.

What a mess I made.

Big Brain S*** Movies

 https://letterboxd.com/div_vs_film/list/big-brain-shit-only-my-faves-ranked/

Yep, one of the most expensive art forms, cinema of short stories get a recommended list via Couch Gregor.

I've been lurking and looking for potential Roger Eberts, Fantanos and new curators. They've been there, under the sea-level into esoteric circles of those who bring a function into the dizzying world of this culture.

I'm putting it here, sure, there's conflict theory and class analysis though, I'm not going to hold back on commitments tough. Radical Critique will still happen, even when it proceeds and changes and warps, from our entertainment reflection and our artistic interiors.

Curate Away, Div. Radical Marxist Critique. Curate away from the hermeneutics of media theory discourse. To and against our interpretation.

We need curators compared to our commercial publishers.

Love/Terror

Anekantavad Was pondering on dichotomy as an opposite of love, despite the one stated by The Story Grid Is Hate.

With this centred of axiology, though, then it's with Terror.

Nothingness, the stark unknown. With the depths, of our animals, to the natural state of being, that's made with the stark eyes that stare back. Both unnatural and natural totality of states circling and showing with all the feelings combined.

To our labour that's made with measured or not, Intrinsic and reaching to a definition of self and the exter
nal frameworks and structurations.

Then is all vanishes.

Poof!

Falling.

Falling..

Bopkin's hernia poem of pain

Nyaaaap pap ba ba boòoooooooo!

Urrgh, oh scritcheys, it's leaking out again. the yarn again. It's floopity over the plate and in the under-belly. Yoouch. Painkillers.

It slouches down and wraps around the groin like a snake and I'll use my paws to push it back up, then the trousers don't fit well.

Feels like a fatty, veiny sausage of slop that I can't get out. It drapes like a gosh darn wet yarn from squigy guts.
Suidgy sloppy flurps that burge with the squeeze of my paws, it's grouse.

Blerp it's spilling from my crotch again

*Schclcoscscsoprrprrpsroprprtppsth"

You hear that?

*Slcscsjlccscoppcspcocchschscoho*

Urhg

Fu-

( Health update: Got hernia, will get surgery for it. Thanks, I given Bopkin all its grotesqueness )

Rhubarb thinks of outdated entertainment

 (Honestly it makes me feel like I'm carrying a dead voice made manifest of my physch of memoir made character)

Blank screen, they are all what we are with the vision as our ads get more desperate, the reach gets more hungry, so that they are, of an archaic age we have become. I don't know what it is and what has happened.

Technology has always turned our assumptions upside down within the golemancy and with our ideas again, who'd have guess. Am I getting older? Why do you keep me alive, by the way, television? Why do I even exist? I'm haunting the interior of our lives.

I get up from my chair and the shining rooming of all the television screens, and then my hands happen to turn around, this must be a dream. Defunct artifices unable to hold attention become another day for another way, the masses could not be held, and I'm supposed to be in the rejection cell with them, giving them consolation.

That's a shame though, fading in and out. This magic of me is gone. Only to be remained for a nervous image.