Killjob: a short story taking place in a cyberpunk future

William was a jack of all trades, living in the darkness of a neon city. Everything was changing rapidly around him, but he didn’t mind too much. His ability to acquire work hadn’t changed. In fact, it was even better, since killing androids supplied him with enough money to pay his rent.

Hi there! The full story is on Amazon for $0.99, kindle or kindle app only. Most smart phones can download the kindle app. This is my first time publishing, hooray. Below is a sample, for those who like to try before they buy.


hong kong neon



The Smoke is a beautiful city, if you have an eye for the lurid and fragmentary world of progress built upon decay. William took the same sardonic pride in his birthplace that his peers all shared. It was a defense mechanism, built around a sense of belonging to the tattered underground of the metropolis. The bright lights and beautiful glass architecture of affluence evoked scorn inside of Will. He avoided central London like it still had the plague. He’d never been to the museums, which shipped new art and rotated out the old on a obscenely regular basis. Neither had he seen the glamorous holographic shows in the brand new Luxe Theater, that had brought in gawkers from around the globe. To him, it was all just a glitzy display, built to distract from the reality of this city. More than that, Will saw it as a threat to his lifestyle.

He’d shaved and showered the day before, so he felt that was good enough. His ten-year-old button-up shirt and charcoal-colored dress slacks were appropriate business attire. He would be suitable to meet his contact, who’d requested his presence at The Lady’s Slip at noontime. It made him chuckle a little inside. He loved himself for that. He never lost his sense of humor, which was mottled gray just like the rainy skies of London. That was just how he liked himself to be.


He puffed his electronically vaporized stimulants as he walked to his destination. The familiar terrain moved past him, assuring him that he was home. Old infrastructure that hadn’t been updated, with windows glowing neon from expensive electronics inside. People playing with their toys that they’d saved for months to afford. Little pieces of heaven, fallen into the laps of the poor and downtrodden. The bars and shops didn’t announce themselves around these parts. Their signs didn’t light up, like they did in other parts of London. They were made of sheet metal, or ancient hard wood that refused to break. He knew where to go. He knew where to stop and buy a hot, steamed bun from a Korean shop, e-currency only. He knew how to give the seller a dignified nod of gratitude.

The Lady’s Slip had a dull, red glow inside. It didn’t seem welcoming to Will in the least, but he wasn’t their type of customer. A younger version of himself would be frightened to go inside. He pushed open the door, and gave the place an appraising gaze. Holographic strippers were performing, more like gyrating advertisements for day-drinking than anything else. One of them looked like a popular Japanese pop star, but altered slightly, to avoid the holy wrath of legal retribution. She was cute, but nothing Will hadn’t seen before.

“There you are,” a strong, warm voice said. Will turned, and faced a young woman. He suspected she wasn’t as young as she appeared, from her manner, and possibly from the strange perfection of her pores. She’d made herself appealing, that much was certain. Unlike the holograms, her blonde hair curled randomly on her shoulders, each strand a slave to gravity. He felt a fleeting guilt from being near this real woman, after the many nights he’d spent staring into his screen at the artificial. He pushed that aside, laughing to himself. She was his contact. She wasn’t as innocent as she appeared. Her soft, brown eyes held information, not virtue.

“Are you prepared?” she asked Will. He knew what she meant. He felt in his pocked for his vial of Deterimier, which was an artificial source of temporary guilt relief. It allowed the average human to become more like the monsters they hunted. More like any type of monster, in fact, until his human body excreted it. It would give his mind permission to kill, regardless of the appearance of the target. She’d asked him to acquire this common bounty hunter’s boon for the mission. He already understood the reason. She’d communicated with him via the encrypted website that he shared with the other bounty hunters. It was guarded by a team of virtual protection professionals, who were constantly staying a step ahead of the progress of the government investigation teams. Their job was crucial to Will’s line of work. Hell, they were crucial to the whole of the Smoke’s underground, Will thought. He had no doubt that they would continue their work, however. Just like he would continue his own.

Carlos the Sapient Sex Doll


Carlos the Sapient Sex Doll

by Stephanie Ryan

Her cat looked down at her face, perched on her chest, choosing to comfort her. Soft, yielding, and blessedly predictable, she worked like a favorite machine, but was full of love like a family member. She was perfect in the mind of Samantha, a woman who loved animals and machines, but disliked the closeness of humans. Humans were unpredictable, complicated, and more often cold than not. Those qualities described everything that scared Samantha about being alive.

Samantha sat on plush blankets in front of her computer all day. Her setup allowed her to stretch out on her couch and work if she wanted to. Not only that, but she could take breaks and play with her pretty line of sex robots at any time. Samantha more than accepted her lifestyle, choosing to display her men in her living space, making them a part of her regular world rather than a dirty secret. She didn’t speak to her family much, and she made friends who were of a similar mind.

The robots, however, were no more intelligent than a smart toilet. She had high-tech machines that read the blushing of blood under the skin, and sound-ques of moaning. Then, they would choose from hundreds of different responses, creating unique lovemaking experiences that could last a lifetime. Combined with the imagination of the user, these dolls could easily satisfy a human being as they spend time in the meatspace. Meatspace, being what her kind referred to the “real world,” rather than the virtual world that took up most of her time.

Of course, Samantha was excited to be receiving the prototype of the new breed of sex dolls. She was waiting for it to arrive that day. She knew exactly what they were: a bid to get funding to artificial intelligence. She thought it was funny, that AI would get it’s debut in the porn industry. Life finds a way, though, just like Ian Malcolm says. Life sure as hell didn’t care if it’s pretty. The basis of these living machines was simple. Their brains were made of man-made cells, as small and intricate as a natural organism. They connected to man-made nerve highways, just like an organic creature. Their hearts and their guts were capable of experiences that were identical to a person, and their brain activity was similar to a human. Taking a brain scan would show bright areas in the same areas as a human, during experiences of pain, fear, pleasure, and more. Not that it needed to be, but imagery such as that was an important selling point. The human mind was well understood by that point in history. The firing of neurons, and the intricate interactions of chemical receptors were broken down into programs that ran within microchips, who spoke to each other in this new language. The machine mind likely could have been uniform, unlike the organic machine that evolved over billions of years.

Things such as spacial recognition was taught to them through real life experience like a child, through activities like playing catch. Samantha had watched videos of it, in her fevered fascination with the androids. These androids were not given blank-canvas brains, like a creature born in nature sort of possessed. The weights and balances were set in place, in order to create a mind that desired a human partner. Also, there was an emergency off-switch.

Samantha read the manual after the doll arrived, learning how to turn the thing on and off. RETURN TO STORE FOR UPDATES, PLUG IN TO HOME PC AT OWN RISK, it said. The risk of hacking was great, but only if the thing had some physical access to a computer. She was afraid of it, just a bit. More than that, she was excited. She turned it on, and it began to introduce itself and pledge it’s loyalty to her. That loyalty, and the familiarity of the sex doll introduction, was enough to get Samantha’s motor going. She laid back on the couch.

He came with a name, and Samantha didn’t change it. His name was Carlos, and Samantha’s legs felt the sliding of denim jeans, as he pulled them off, exposing them to the room temperature air. Carlos held Samantha’s calves firmly, and then moved his hands up, squeezing her thighs, his breath quickening. He didn’t need oxygen, but his nervous system caused him to breath quickly when he was excited. Samantha was surprised by how strongly it made her feel. It had been a while since she’d been with a sapient partner. Carlos read her face, and he become more excited as well. Then, he smiled warmly. She’d chosen him for that quality. Carlos bent down, his breath touching her skin.

“You understand your dolls really well, don’t you. You know what they’ll do. They don’t give you much pleasure anymore, and that’s sad,” he said. The skin of his hands was warm and rough, as he touched her just around the area that would give her the most pleasure. She felt a pulling ache, that felt incredibly delicious. Carlos closed his eyes for a second.

“They would never surprise you, like this,” he said. He quickly licked her pussy, causing a shock to her senses as she felt the cold air now touching his saliva. Samantha started laughing. Then, she felt awkward. Carlos reached one hand up, and massaged the back of her neck.

“Don’t worry, dear. All I want is to be with you. Whatever you want. That’s what makes me happy,” he said.

“Well, I know you can’t be lying to me. They gave you genuine feelings,” Samantha said. She reached out, and felt the hardness in his pants. Carlos moaned, and pulled back.

“Oh, you’re ready for this?” he said, a little shyly. He started undoing his pants.

“I’ve been waiting all my life, baby,” Samantha said, leaning back, hands behind her head.

The End

The Flier-Girl’s Hitlist

Come and read this insane tale of a girl who murders her enemies and flies a plane. I dare you.


The Flier-girl’s Hitlist

The Bookreader stood in the purple room, the ancient texts swirling around him as illustrations for his guests. The letters were geometric shapes of varying opalescence, obfuscation, and opacity. These levels were meant to cause an awe-ing effect in the viewer, Annie thought. Different levels of information spoke through different levels of color.

“The different levels are within you,” The Bookreader said.

“Couldn’t it be more clear?” Annie asked.

“It is meant to create an open-ness within you,” The Bookreader said.

“Alright,” Annie said. She fell back on her training, and pretended to agree. She was convincing, as she had years of experience with many types of terrifying authority figures.

“Don’t be afraid, Annie. You don’t have to fight this time. The work will be done for you,” The Bookreader said. Annie’s stomach churned. That sounded ominous to her. She didn’t like hidden machinations working around her. Unless it was the hidden gears of her fighter jet, or her teammates, or even her captain, who always fell into her own designs.

The purple room wasn’t really purple. It was dark, but the glow of the texts caused it to seem purple. She strained to see past the glowing, and the texts obliged her by becoming dim. The darkness revealed an image of herself, fifteen-years-old. She smiled at her old body, but with a little sneer of contempt that she couldn’t control. She wanted to remember what she was like back then, just so she could gloat about how she’d changed. The memories played, and just like that, she could feel the way she did back then.

The image of the giant ship crashing down emerged. She loved to play that over and over. It was thrilling. It was like a sky whale, but really it was more like a sky cruiseline. When it soared, like it was supposed to, it was beautiful. It had perfectly round jets the size of a house. It was a double-decker, too, and to hoovered like a majestic, bloated bastard. Little windows were lit up warmly, against the steel-colored exterior. It did not exist to be practical, but it existed because it was possible. The fairgrounds were packed with people, flocking towards fried food and spectacle. Annie was excited, because she was going to fly the little buggies in formation with her crew. Flying was second-nature to her, and there was no fear in her. The crowd didn’t really matter that much to her, either. She just wanted to get in the air.

There was the image of her crew each taking off, one by one, and finally her turn. Then, the few minutes of glorious freedom, flying over the fair. She still remembered how that felt, because it was one of those first-time thrills. She looked up and saw the amazing sky cruise, and felt that feeling of awe. It was one of those reverberating feelings, that would reverberate into her future, and she knew it then. Then, it spun out of control. She zoomed her buggy to the side, escaping wind suction and debris that had become airborne. She thought that if she could get behind it’s roll and speed away, then she’d be safe. The thing was unpredictable, though. Her cool mind kept searching for the right direction to go. Soon, she found herself blocked in on all sides by broken shopfronts and bleachers. That’s when she tried to go up. It was a useless move, as the buggies weren’t meant to go very high. She parked the tiny buggie, no bigger than a golfcart and extremely light, on some flat piece of a hotdog stand. She got out of the buggie, and just watched the chaos continue. She knew a flying piece of crap could dislodge her head, but there wasn’t much else she could do. The hologram of Bill Clinton popped out of her buggie, telling her to get back in the ship, in a glitched voice. It made a part of her chuckle. She’d picked that as her voice command, for whatever reason.

Annie was so much more than a pilot. Her body was a honed fighter as well. Her team would go on missions, fighting idealists that used violence against civilians. It was a constant fight, against villains who sprung up in various parts of the country. They didn’t come from other places anymore. But, heroes were homegrown as well. Annie had wanted to be a hero since she was a little girl. She was living her dream, and she was addicted to praise and victory. As she grew older, she stopped caring about praise.

“Sorry, captain, but you wanted to be in the lead, didn’t you?” Annie said. The captain saw through her, then. She’d been using him as bait to lead on the enemy pilot, flying a plane known as the Toothy Bear. This was far from being the first time the captain had been her prey. Annie and her little minion girlfriend were constantly making him the butt of their plots. He’d gone from a feared figure to a little man, smelling of shame, since she’d been around. The Toothy Bear was a prized target for Annie. It was no mere conquest for her, though.

Annie hit that garishly painted war plane, and it started to go down. Annie’s emergency lights had been flashing for eighty seconds. She ejected, knowing her enemy would do the same.

“Knife, knife, knife,” she thought. She was going to take him out whenever he landed and deployed his emergency raft.

She closed in on her enemy, jackknifing her whole body to strike him. She rammed the knife into his neck, then wrenched it back out. He was shocked, not expecting the attack. He sucked in breath through the hole in his neck, while she splashed onto his raft. Blood and water splashed around her, and she relished the blood of her hated enemy. She had a personal grudge against him. It was complicated, and a long story. He was the first man she’d killed with hand-to-hand combat, and it had been an act of vengeance. It was her proudest moment.


Annie matured a lot in the next two years. She became more thoughtful and solid, as part of the team. She was still known as a little devil, though.

“Sorry, captain,” Annie said. The captain realized that he was alone in the boat with Annie and her succubus girlfriend, and that he’d been mistaken, thinking she’d matured all that much. Annie shot the butt of the oar at the captain’s forehead, knocking him unconscious. She and her girlfriend finished the mission, leaving their comrades with no one to give them instruction. They spun around at the starting point, thinking the captain was dead, until Annie got back.

“You don’t deserve shit, you know that? You don’t deserve a medal. You should be discharged,” the second-in-command would later say to Annie. Of course, her captain would vouch for her, like he always did. He loved Annie like a daughter.

Back at the group house, the team was celebrating the victory. Really, they were just partying, since they finally had some time off. Annie was spying on one of her teammates. She believed he was going to try and steal her throne as the top flier. He’d been training, and the sink was full of dishes from the massive meal he and his friends had eaten to recharge. She looked at it enviously. She went to the captain’s room, where they were having celebratory whiskey in crystal glasses. She was disappointed to find him sharing a drink with some rich playboy, just another possible sponsor. It was like mixing work with pleasure when those types came to visit. They came to drink and inspect the goods. She hated them with burning passion that matched the burn of the whiskey. The playboy was disgusting, and he was being disrespectful to the captain. Everything he said was nasty and toxic.

“Hey, here’s that gorgeous teenager, now. I’d like to buy and sell her, haha,” the playboy said to the captain. The captain didn’t bother to respond, knowing he didn’t really need to. However, Annie was glowing red hot inside.

“I’d like to gut you like the snake you are, haha, you devil you,” Annie said, mimicking the playful tone he had used, but with her voice quivering a little. She tried to play it off as a joke, but rich men like that don’t allow even the slightest of slights to be leveled at them.

“I want that girl’s foot. Chop it off and send it to me in the mail,” the playboy said. Annie’s fire went ice cold. The captain’s eyes went wide. Annie ran out of the room, shutting the door. She needed a way to get out of this one. Surely, their tactical team would come up with some way to take this man out. Annie hid the rest of the night, nursing a drink, putting faith in her team. She waited for the captain to come and find her, and pull her back to his room. There, things looked very different, and she saw a bag full of rubber prosthetics.

“No,” Annie said.

“I’m sorry. I truly am,” the captain said.

“They look just like a real foot,” a woman said, dressed in white. She held up a small foot, with a plastic sheen.

“You have to be half-blind to think that’s a real foot,” the captain said. He couldn’t help himself.

“Can’t I get a robotic foot, or something? I need my foot to maneuver, and jump, and sneak, and hide. I’ll never be the same,” Annie said.

“We need to do this now,” the captain said.

“Can’t we stop him?” Annie asked. The captain was quiet, and so Annie ran again. She ran to the basement of the house, ducking under scary cobwebs, and getting bit by flying bugs.

“I need to come up with my own plan. All on my own. It’s just me now,” she said to herself, in the darkness.

The darkness of the basement became the darkness of the purple room. The Bookreader had abducted her out of the backyard, while she was escaping.

“Tell me, then, what do the words mean?” Annie asked the Bookreader.

“It is about God,” The Bookreader said.

“Go on,” Annie said.

“She was upset, a long time ago. She went to go and find him, and to get him to come back to her. She made him her own. She made love to him over and over. She was grand in her day, but it came to a close on the last day,” The Bookreader said.

“Wait, who the hell are you talking about? Who’s she?”

“Well, first of all, Hitler was involved in the threesome with the angel,” the Bookreader said.

“What was that?” Annie asked.

“Stop reading,” said a voice. A great light appeared in the darkness. Jesus, the son of God himself, appeared. An angel appeared with him, a beautiful woman.

“Why not? Go ahead and read the book. I’ve been waiting for someone to find this one,” the angel said.

Jesus turned to the angel, and ripped her jaw out of her face. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she fell to the ground majestically. Her wings fluttered in the still air as her body settled.

The Bookreader closed the book he was holding.

“How dare you do that to such a pure and innocent woman. How dare you,” the Bookreader said. His fist jutted out, and smashed the glowing face of Jesus himself. Brains exploded, purple glow gleaming off the surface of the gobs of matter.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” The Bookreader said. He read the rest of the story to Annie, who went on to write an incredible story that sold millions.

Later that evening, in the palace of God, Hitler and the angel waited in doggy-style position for the return of Jesus. They left a space in between them, for him to fit.

“We’re ready,” Hitler said, in a girlish German accent.

“Not tonight,” Jesus said irritably. He felt slighted for a long time after that.

The End

Fun Fact: This story was the dream I had last night. It sort of feels like cheating when that happens. But it was my brain that came up with it. My brain, my story, haha. And, of course, my conscious mind did all the work this morning to make it a coherent story, adding detail. So, thanks for reading!


Physical Pain


A morning without pain, when every other morning was full of it, takes getting used to. Physical pain locks you in, and restricts the number of movements you are willing to take. It changes the way you plan your day. It changes the way you view getting up to the kitchen. A cup of juice, or iced tea, doesn’t seem worth it anymore, because it means triggering the lava in your muscles. A cup of coffee or water is always worth it, though. They’re essentials. Memories of going without coffee or water make your heart race, like an animal in the woods. Except you’re in your house, surrounded by all the things that you need.

The drugs I was taking to reduce my mental pain turned on me one day, and began making my muscles burn. No one knew how long it was going to last. I had to keep on working and surviving, despite it. I had to hide it, too. I had to stop taking the drugs. Slowly, my body cooled, and the winter in my mind returned as well. Still, though, I could move around again. But, it was long enough that I associated pain with so many things. I had to remind myself to love movement again. It sort of made me laugh to do that. I’ve always thought life was sort of bizarre. It’s the only thing I find charming about it.

I wrote this about taking a  break from Kratom….decided to add it as an anecdote to the novel I’m writing. ❤

First kiss scene, from my book about a stalker vampire

Image credit: solid and ect, Hellsing1239161142848


“I noticed that I changed a lot, this year. I’m not bothered by the people who bullied me anymore. I just feel like their comments don’t mean as much, anymore. I feel amazing, and powerful, against the world, now,” she said, ramming the fire with her stick. She continued.

“I know people change more quickly when they’re young. They learn super quickly when they’re a baby, and then a little more slowly as a teenager, and so on,” she said.

“I still change a lot, every year. I don’t always recognize myself day to day, honestly. Maybe that’s just me,” I said. It felt good to talk to her, and tell her things that other people found repugnant about me. She made a pensive face at the fire, and I felt worried for her. The moment was quiet, and the fire burned evenly on the large logs. She held her stick still over the fire, like she was fishing or something, and spoke dourly.

“I think some people keep changing. They never just become something. It’s kind of scary, actually. Thinking about growing up used to make me angry. I hated the thought that I’d stop liking candy and buttered noodles someday, for some reason. And then, I became this person, and the old me just disappeared, with all of her fears and passion. What’s even worse, is that some people don’t change that much. They have no idea what it’s like to feel this way, and they never could,” she said. I sensed that she was talking about Raoul. Her mind was ever turning him over, like a hot dog over a flame. Maybe more like a rotisserie chicken, since it went on all day. I knew she felt alone. She was going to reach for a cigarette, and let this moment escape like smoke. I felt that time-stopping fear in my body, looking at her withdrawn posture, that told me I needed to try again.

She’d been so warm to me all night, inviting me into her thoughts. That was one way to get inside. That was my favorite way to start. I realized now how hasty I’d been, every other time I approached her. I really am stupid, like everyone else says about me. I needed to wait for the right moment. Sure, it felt almost like hunting. It felt dishonest, to approach her when she was vulnerable. To get inside her head and draw out that loneliness that she’d been hiding, and use it to get close to her, was just the human mating dance. I got off of the rock I was sitting on, and sat down on hers. I took a moment to look at her closely, her face looking so fine and pretty from that angle. I put my arm around her shoulders, showing her the solidarity that we’d only expressed in words. Squeezing her body against mine, she made a “mfph” sound of pleasure. She didn’t push me away this time. It felt like another time-stopping moment. My inner core had known that she wouldn’t push me away again, but it hesitated to tell me. I could barely function, just knowing I was this close to winning her over. I steeled myself, like I was getting ready to pounce. I needed to do this correctly, now. Any mistake in timing, even breathing, could make her change her mind! Scenarios ran through my head, like flipping through timelines, to find the one successful future. She turned her head to look at me, and my heart raced with fear. The wondering of what made me afraid, exactly, flew by as well.

She appraised my face, filling me with more fear, and then she reached up and put her hand on my cheek. She gently guided me forward. I closed my eyes, and waited for just a second, before she kissed me. I made a “mmf” sound, before I cut myself off in embarrassment, and she moaned back at me. She must have been so ready for me. Soft, squishy lips on mine, gently opening to rub her pretty girl saliva across my own, wasn’t something I’d felt in a while. This was Alice, I reminded myself, to squeeze more pleasure out of my heart. My heart, which only beat because of her presence.

I kissed her expertly. She grabbed on to the front of my shirt, and I knew it was better than anything she’d felt before. Running my hand down her body, she writhed under my warm palm. I ran it down to her thigh, where I grabbed underneath and pulled up. She made more noises, and her lips stopped moving. God, I wanted to taste her blood so badly. That, and other things.

I realized why people believe it’s wrong to be with a young girl, as I held her soft body in my hands, yielding and delicious as whipped cream. She’d never been kissed by a man who’d kissed hundreds of women before. She’d never heard those words of understanding from anyone else before. I would be the first man that she loved this way, and it was all too easy. For the first time, the human race has become aware of how awful it’s own nature is, and it desires to become better. It’s sweet, amazing, and wonderful. Sure, however, I am a being who survives by consuming human lives every night. Should I hold myself to moral standards now? Is now really a good time for that? With all the moral ambiguity I’ve tolerated in order to continue living, why stop now? Maybe, because I care about her, I want to do the right thing. Which would be what? Leaving her hanging, and waiting until she was in her twenties or something? Still not changing the fact that, originally, I had been violating her privacy since the day we met? What made me decide to keep going, in that moment, was the memories of my own suffering. Constant, constant suffering. Now, at last, I had the opportunity to escape that misery. The other moral arguments remained, however, I took my own inner hand and I swept them away. I swept them into a box that I could deal with later. I filled myself up with other arguments. Humans mate, regardless of whether it’s right or wrong. It wasn’t like she was a child. She was old enough to be independent. Just barely, but still. This could be her first independent act. I don’t believe that morals should be followed to the letter, anyway. I smiled to myself, with terrible glee. These fears wouldn’t bother me, now. But in order to stay a somewhat good person, I tucked them in the corner. After all, they might come in handy later.

Guardians (Cyberpunk Flashfic)


Fourteen-foot tall killer robots are placed throughout the world, called Guardians, as a way to control the population. In this potential future, everyone is watched and controlled by these artificially intelligent bots, as well as the humans and computers who created them.

I heard a song I hadn’t heard since the Guardians made mass shootings impossible.

“I want to kill you,

I want to kill you,

I wan to kill you,

Nigga, I hate these fools,

but I want to kill you,

Can only kill myself,

but I want to kill you,” it said.

The song spoke about the torment of desiring suicide, when in actuality the singer would rather kill those around her than herself. I’d felt along to those lyrics before, but not today. I felt a whole new self. I didn’t feel like a slave anymore. I felt like I could do anything, and that made me feel like living. I realized that I didn’t appreciate my freedom when I had it, a long time ago.

The neon glow of the glossy bar made me feel alive. Nostalgia for a nightlife I had never experienced first-hand grew inside me. Jacketed twenty-something year olds were talking politics near me, and it excited me. What a time to be alive, I thought.

“Yeah, I wish I’d seen one tear someone up,” one of the young men said.

“Me too, actually,” the young girl said. She giggled, and the men laughed. It was cute and charming, her tomboyish attitude. Her carnal desire for violence was on display tonight.

“There’s only one on Thomas Street anymore. Must’ve cleaned out all the rubbish there. Fuck yeah, haha,” one of the guys said.

“Oh yeah, my mom lives near there,” one of the more subdued males said.

“That’s sweet,” the girl said.

“I’d like to live where there’s two or three of them. See some shit go down,” the bawdy guy said, and laughed as the girl hit him playfully.

I felt paralyzed with fear, listening to them. I didn’t really know why. I didn’t want to join in their conversation at all. I felt frightened just listening to them. I wondered if they understood what they were talking about, when they said those words, ‘clean out the rubbish.’ I wondered if they ever knew someone who was considered rubbish. In the world we live in, we meet so few people in person. Our sphere of understanding becomes so limited, sometimes. I guessed I could understand their callousness. Plus, there was another reason for it.

I always felt like I was the only one who paid attention in history class. After leaving school, no one else seemed to remember anything. How only fifty years ago, a war was fought to free the world from a dictator that sought to rule it. Born from a country famous for it’s engineering, he would have hammered and cranked the world into a machine that pleased his sensibilities. The entire world nearly destroyed itself, going to the brink of physical and mental breakdown, to cut ties with this abusive paternal force. The world has been through a lot since then. Technology has advanced, growing like flowering vines across human civilization. Now, the Guardians have developed. Machines that cast their shadows across the whole world, with one idea of perfection in mind.

Why do we never feel loved?



I will express this information succinctly, because that is the point of a blog. I will post the video I learned it from, for a more indepth look at this issue. It is a mindblower, that is helpful for anyone on the path towards……please help me! I’m broken and I can’t fix it!

I never feel enough love. I never feel satisfied with my friends or family. They feel shallow and hollow, always looking out for their own gains and never truly understanding me. This world cannot give me what I want. I have visions of ideal love and understanding that, literally, will never exist.

My ideals haunt me. I will never achieve peace, and never get what I want, because my desires do not exist. It is horrifying.

Psychoanalyst Jaques Lacan, long ago, looked deep into the abyss of this problem and found a solution. Hell yeah! He acknowledges that we will never have the ideal love and comfort that we had as babies. It was all an illusion. All we feel is lack. Every one of us merely feel a lack in our lives, dogging us to the end of the earth. It is the source of our neuroses. He identified this problem.

He found a solution, as well. What is better than trying to squeeze love out of a person who is also lacking as well? Reflecting the lack back and forth with that person. Understanding the lack in that person, and expressing our own lack. Bonding over our shared brokeness. This, too, can create the feeling of love. Feedback systems are, obviously and not intuitively, cyclical. Your partner may not give you the love you need, but you can both connect to each other by sharing in each other’s lack. Find someone who lacks the same way you do! This makes sense to me. I feel better. Thanks Jaques Lacan. Video below………it’s about the movie Boss Baby, because Wisecrack don’t give a fuck.



I need to share an important lesson I’ve learned. I also want to point out that this blog is not meant to be read like a regular blog. Feel free to go back and read older posts. I am a poor blogger. I am not good at a thought of the week type of deal. This is a thought-dump site for anyone who chooses to discover it. I imagine someone like myself finding it and being helped, or whatever.

Anyway, plug to Wisecrack on Youtube, who teaches me things that school, even up to my graduate degree, failed to teach me. They explore lost philosophers and psychoanalysts that I have never heard of. Thank you for your service, boys! I am famished for information, and you feed me!


Dream Sequence#??



All I had was a bag of awkward prom clothes that would look embarrassing on me, and I didn’t have a razor to shave. Let me back up.

I started out trapped in a dorm situation with hazy versions of my lady friends. I say trapped because obviously I’m free of that smelly-sock cafeteria-food nightmare now. We have to clean our room, because we’re going to be “inspected.” I say “fuck that, I’ll do it in ten minutes” and leave to check out the rest of the building.

As I am walking, I am informed that there is a sexy clothing party tonight for us in a different building, and for some reason it is an elementary school. Dream or not, I want to check that shit out.

Let me explain: sometimes I’m aware I’m dreaming, and sometimes I get lost in the dream. It is like being stoned, where sometimes you know you are stoned and sometimes you forget that you got stoned. Surely that should track with most people.

Anyway, I went back to my dorm room and my friends had arranged all their shit into neat little squares, like little shit forts. Meanwhile, my shit was all strewn awkwardly in the corner still. My heart started to race. They were all wearing nice outfits for the party. I started digging through my pile, and only found a couple dresses that didn’t fit the mood. One was a slinky black dress that seemed too formal. The other was a flowy hippie gown that felt….embarrasing. I had nothing trendy to wear. I would have to go with jeans and a T-shirt or someshit. I looked over, and one of my friends with awesome clothes had on these boots with elaborate gems and embroidery, and I was like, “damnit!”

Not only that, but I was hairy! I asked her if I could borrow a razor….I meant a clean one…a disposable one….any shave cream?… know what soap is fine…..Somehow I tripped and lost the razor. I ended up sitting downstairs watching TV, and watching the clock. I was procrastinating. Then, I was sitting outside. My friends had left. I had no car. I had no way to get to the party, now. I have social anxiety so I am afraid to use Uber. Suddenly, my ex-boyfriend appeared out of nowhere. He shows up sometimes, for no reason. He sort of comforted me, even though I didn’t want him there. I didn’t want him to drive me to the party. I woke up.

TL;DR time!

Sorry if that was sort of boring…feel free to skim it. Anyway, psychology always says that some parts of us may be young, and need updating. Some parts of me are still afraid that I’ll embarrass myself and wear the wrong clothes and forget to shave. So, I updated that part of me in the shower with some new information…….

I look damn sexy in jeans in a T-shirt 😉 Peace and namaste, all!

(this is not me……………lol)





It’s funny the things you think when you are afraid of something.
When I was afraid of spiders, looking at their bulbous abdomen made me
think about it being full of disgusting fluid, or poison, or rot. Now,
I see it as a lovely round orb of a body. I see them differently, now
that I understand them. When I see them scrabbling, or curled up, I do not
recoil in horror. I realize now that they are experiencing fear themselves.
They are responding to their environment with extreme reactions, because
they are fragile creatures. They are aggressive for the same reason. They
run fast for the same reason. All the signals that tell me to fear them, are
indicative of their fear as well.

Comforting Thoughts on Chaos


So, I read the book How to Create a Mind by Ray Kurzweil. Now, I’m a science fiction enthusiast, not a mathematician. Fortunately, he explains things so that people like me can understand them. It’s very nice of him, really. He’s a very recognizable name, which is why I bought the book.

So, I figured I would highlight the best part of the book, which is actually a theory that is totally mind blowing. I love getting my mind blown, as do many people. I will do my best to relay the mind blowing to you, and if I fail then go Google it, friend.

Anyway, so cellular automata are these bits that are programmed to react to whichever bit is next to it. The pattern forms as each new bit is created. There are rules, like if there is a black next to a white then the next will be white, basically. That’s as well as I understand that.

I have to give credit to the guy, Wolfram. Basically, this is a machine. It is a machine that creates a pattern…..however, they are unable to predict what the bot will do next. It is like pi, where you need to work out the equation in order to predict what the next number will be. There is no other way to know what will happen next. The automata follow the pattern, and the result is formed. We have no way of predicting what they will do. We can only watch. And, somehow, a pattern is formed.

Life is like that, Kurzweil theorizes. We cannot predict how society will form. We cannot predict how we will evolve. Yet, looking back, we can see a pattern. It’s truly beautiful, and awesome. Now that, my friends, is love. Namaste.