Yesterday and today

Sunday, 31 January, Year 13 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu

Yesterday I took my slaves to Club Mamalu... or was it Mamali ? Momolomo, whatever the fuck, something in that vein. Whatever the house of the (meanwhile passed) Principe de Lignac's currently on the market as.i

It was refreshing to see a bunch of people bereft of facebras for once, because everywhere else we go we're reliably an' universally the only sane, normally behaving people therefore sticking out like fabulous glamour in a dull sea of grey retards. Not a weirdo in sight here on that score ; but otherwise the jeans-and-a-blouse civvies are their usual shy self you all know and apparently love (or at least for some reason tolerate). They'll go barecunt if effectually encouraged (let's call it) yet try an' keep the bra on nevertheless (and otherwise handcover their tits as if nobody's ever seen small ones before) ; they'll sit around patiently and wait to be somehow engaged ; they'll... safety first, right ? You'd think their entire life was made of nothing but bombs and trench warfare, going by how they behave -- which of course it isn't, which of course is the problem : because they're too safe and much too protected therefore their brain magnifies imagined dangers out of any shape ; were they more thoroughly an' regularily exposed, toning down all that bullshit'd come a lot easier to them.

So... as per usual, anywhere I go I'm the only one with slaves, I'm the only one with whips (took that short fiery crop I bought in Prague along just for fun), I'm the only one whipping his slaves (asa, umpic pe fund). As per usual an' anywhere we go my slaves are the only ones with buttplugs, the only ones with correctly attached tails, the only ones with actual shoes, and actual dresses, and... Everything, really. The backdrop's always the same too, and it always looks a lot like you. But whatever, we had a good time and everyone else now has something to look up to in their life. It's something.

Today I took the unicorn for a walk in the park, which... Climate does change. That "Climate Change" as branded by the UStards is neither explanatorily nor predictively useful beyond the usual idiocy of those mental midgets is one thing ; but all that Hot Topic tshirtization aside Costa Rica's never been this arid that I remember. The Sabana lake's likely going to dry out again this year, as it happened a coupla years ago for the first time in recorded history. There's just no rain, and I'd guess the lush tropical forests home to the world's largest concentration of biodiversity (by a fat margin, look the numbers up sometime) is quite in peril. Already the Costa Rica you can experience -- wait, you can't experience anything, you're in quarantine. Right ? Well... the Costa Rica you could theoretically experience, had the World Karens Association not sent everyone to their room (nice job growing up, by the way, you've been grounded for the past year just like a god damned twelve year old kekekex) is a far cry from the Costa Rica I did experience, back in the day (much like, come to think of it, the Frankfurt you could today experience's got practically nothing in common with the Frankfurt I used to greatly enjoy back in the 90s). It's a funny thought, this : even if you managed to somehow "suddenly find yourself with enough success to, say," afford the things I did afford over the years... you still couldn't do what I've done. Because it's no longer there to do, at all! None of it, by the time you get your shit together it'll be pretty much all gone.

Everywhere I go, the only man, and the last man too! Fancy that wonder, in a world of terminal diseases, situations an' conditions I'm the walking, talking, laughing terminator of the very possibility of everything nice, good, pleasant or desirable. Quite the fucking experience, entirely inaccessible to anyone else as it might find itself, nevertheless quite the fucking experience.

And yes, I'm sure there's "new cool things" that "spring up" because "cyclical nature of cosmos" whatever. Sure. Here's the thing we have in common : we both don't know where the fuck. We can agree with this "in principle", but it's an agreement of shrugs. And here's the thing we don't have in common : I'll find them. I always have ; I always do. You won't find them. You'll read about them, once it's too late, you'll find yourself "living in the US" fifty years after it's degenerated from an America that was, perhaps, desirable a century before that ; you'll go visiting Grenwich village to "be cultural" long after the mites ate the last shred of straw-stuffed culture in the place ; you'll walk behind a funeral procession in Saint Louis a century tardy, you'll be in Rio for "the festival" long after it's no longer "the festival", you're always much too late to the party. As usual.

I can't imagine, howsoever I try and whichever way I approach the matter I simply can't imagine a worse fate than being you. It's not a very common sentiment, I suppose, but I quite firmly not to mention heartfeltly agree with the man : Were I to choose I'd be a dog, a monkey, or a bear, or anything really. Anything but you.

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  1. Yeah, seriously, the Dutch dood owned some property here at some point. []
Category: Zsilnic
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