Poverty Is Not an Accident

Poverty Is Not an Accident
Nelson Mandela

Thursday, June 23, 2011


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Lazy, stupid people in would be bored out of their minds here. See, they're not resourceful enough to discover how beautiful life is and they're certainly not going to invest the energy in finding out. They don't know how to think, read, write, question, investigate, heal or grow anything. They think that's the way life is. It's not. But they're stupid and lazy, so what can you expect? POSERS!

What they do instead is masturbate: self stimulate in the most infantile, embarrassing and usually disgusting ways they can think of. And, however over stimulated they are, because they're empty and needy, they always demand more. They masturbate with porn, with BDSM, with body "modifications (aka: self mutilation)," with drugs, with bible thumping, with guns, with buying genuine plastic garbage at Wal*Mart, with tv/ipod/cell phone/bad movies, with cheap and sickening foods, with violence, with cruelty. POSERS!
They just beat off, because they're too stupid and lazy to find out what love really is, what relationship means, how intimacy works. They only breed because they're too stupid and lazy to buy rubbers, and they sure don't have the integrity to keep it in their pants or keep their knees together. They dry hump, furiously, like toy poodles, against any warm object: self-stimulating, never relating, miserable, frustrated, craving, craving, craving and never satisfied. POSERS!

They think cruelty is a sport. They think bullying others proves they're smarter than their victims. How can betraying someone's trust "prove" how smart you are? You're not smart; you're a cheater, a coward, spineless, a parasite. It takes courage to have ethics, to protect the weak, to speak the truth, to not act out on every single impulse, fart and feeling in a moment. They're SO stupid, SO lazy, they actually believe Jesus didn't symbolize exactly the opposite of how they behave, yet damn near every one of them out here has a cross, a fish, a bumper sticker, a saint . . . POSERS! 

So, I'm in the land of the undead: zombies, not alive, slow, dessicated, repulsive, useless, ugly, mutilated, filthy, cold and only really dangerous if you can't think or move fast enough. They're easy to outrun, out think, out last. The only difference between the posers and zombies is posers breed, damn it. And their spawn are even stupider and lazier than the previous generation. POSERS!

And they follow me around town, around the internet. Their little, narrow lives are so small, they've never seen a human being who can play the flute, raise goats, bake a souffle, grow heirloom crops, produce radio, write a sonnet, talk with academics, understand astronomy and create and revel in beauty, all around her, all the time. They're drawn to me and terrified of me. Am I a witch? Am I mentally unstable? Am I even human? Maybe I'm a demon; they always abdicate their personal responsibility by blaming either g*d, satan, other fairy tails or every other human on Earth for their own laziness and stupidity, after all. POSERS! 

A whole Universe of wonder, beauty, joy and love is right in front of their noses and they will never see it. And they hate me because I can. Too bad, so sad. POSERS!

They're blowin' so much smoke, foolin' themselves, is it any wonder they can't see?

"The unexamined life is not worth living." Socrates

"The unlived life is not worth examining." Rogi 


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