The robotic revolution has taken a new turn. No longer are kid playing with real life human beings. Instead they are playing with BFRs, Best Friend Robots. The BFRs don't fight, they don't argue, they don't challenge. They are pleasant. What does that tell about our human experience?
The interest group, Robot Friend Association has already silenced the opposition with attack-ads. With such slogans as "If you're not in the future, you're in the past" and "What are you? A neanderthal?" they managed to get the Robotic Friend Act passed in congress. You would never believe they were the same group that created the "Super Super Robot" ads. Who do they own in Congress?
Government sponsored/subsidized "friends" will be in every home by the year 2078. What is their program and function? Re-education of kids? A 24/7 spy? Need more information. Where the get the source file? Who could be paid to break it? More to follow next entry.
Maybe he should be a little worried at how liberally Kanata used restraints, or how obediently he held out his wrists, or how Masayoshi said nothing, just watched, wide-eyed as Kanata tied him down but Gotou can't find it in himself to care right now. He's too busy watching(more) Masayoshi, long delicate fingers stroking Gotou's cock, tongue pressed against the base and moving slowly up and down his shaft.
Masayoshi's focused entirely on him, almost unaware of Kanata's hand in his hair, unaware of pretty much everything except Gotou's cock and god, that makes his breath catch in his throat. Kanata would lean in and lap at the head, tongue swirling, and cleanse it of the fluid beading at the tip - that seemed to break Masayoshi's focus, he darted a shy glance up at Gotou and when they make eye contact his blush intensified. He ducked his head and Kanata snickered, and Masayoshi pushed at Kanata, moved him away and took the head of Gotou's cock into his mouth entirely.
Gotou is not going to make a noise, because he is too busy watching, wide-eyed, nerves alight with pleasure as the pair of them fight over who gets to suck him off. Masayoshi tried to deep-throat him and Gotou had to consciously keep his hips still, the last thing he wants is for Masayoshi to gag - he lifted his head and coughed, and Kanata, not to be outdone, moved him aside and does the /same thing/.
He's close, now- and they both seem to sense it, both kissing up and down the sides of his erection, tongues swirling in tandem. "God," Gotou breathes, and he's over the edge, eyes closed tight.
When he opens them, it's to Kanata licking his come off of the bridge of Masayoshi's nose.(less)
It wasn't the most eye catching, attention-grabbing, or even most functional, but it will do. He sighed as he looked the other items displayed in the shop. He would love to have them, but his wallet wouldn't have any of it.
(more) "Have you made your decision, Sir?" The shop attendant asked, smiling politely. He could tell that it was a little forced, he could see the corners of her mouth in a small twitch. He couldn't blame her, it was closing time for the store and he was the last customer holding her up.
"This one here, with the black colors." He pointed, giving her a compassionate stare. He did feel bad, a little bit. Plus, she was a little cute.
The lady attendant gave her a small smile, and went back to the cashier with his item. He followed the sway of her walk, his eyes seemingly can't move away from her backside. She got a nice ass too.
"Will that be all sir?" The attendant after he gave her his money.
"That'll be all, miss?" He gave her a questioning look, waiting for her response.
She smiled, oblivious to his signals. A moment passed before things got awkward and he tried to leave.
"Wait sir." The girl said as she ran up to him. This got his hopes up a little and he gave her his best smile.
"Don't you wanna try it first sir, to see if it works?"
"Oh right, silly me." He said trying to hide his disappointment.
They found an electrical outlet by the corner of the store. He plugged the fan and turned it on.
"Neat huh, 4 speeds and it's own temperature control."
When he didn't respond, she turned to face him. "You're still handsome, I'm just a little closed off now."
blown away by the depravity of man.
blown away by the apparent absence of morality in white america.
blown away by their ability to becomes saviors and victims in the daily plight and struggle and tragic life/death cycle of people of color.
my vision comes in waves. ev(more)ery image is sharp, then too sharp, needles of color shooting off of every pane and plane and image transferred into my swiss cheese brain. then fuzziness, swathes of texture and the depiction of noise more than anything else. the pupils dont focus, no idea why. darting back and forth from this angle to that; always chasing corners (because im insecure).
when i was a kid i thought the point of life was to grow older. afterwards, i thought the point of life was to have kids. but now the voices in me hold a daily congress that i cannot help by be drowned in, and they wonder: if this world is so incredibly fucked up, and its humans that are perpetuating the fuckery, why have kids? is that not 1) contributing to the problem and 2) sentencing them to live in the same cesspool of hatred and violence and greed that pushes us to the edge of the abyss?
what exactly is the point?
old voices, not my own, chant mantras in the corner, but the language is unknown to my consciousness. somewhere deeper inside of me, in the memory in my blood, i know the story to be one of hope, but such vocabulary is poison to my system.
im a creature of envy and while all this shit goes on, im still most hurt by the fact that every once in a while, i see you in a picture with another person who is not me and youre holding hands.(less)
The swelling on his face was getting worse as time went, the red mark his father's hand left getting bigger. White streaks stained the inflamed surface as he unwillingly let tears fall from his crystal blue eyes. He held himself in front of his bed. His anger swelled more quickly than his(more) bruise. Why me? He thought about the God he was raised to believe in. The God that gave him a cheating slut of a mother and a father that spent more time beating his son than he did parenting. Was I evil in my last life? I was probably Hitler. "Is that it?" he yelled towards his ceiling. "Did I kill people? Did I inflict pain worse than this?" His voice cracked and more tears shed. He heard the car start in the driveway as his dad pulled out to go to work. He went downstairs to fetch the homework that had caused the altercation. It wasn't due for another two days. He told his father it wasn't important. God forbid school not be his first priority. God.. Yea right. "If you're so almighty, then why are people like me crying every night?"(less)
King: "I am taken away! Strange and large man, to where have I been captured?"
Roger: "To an unnamed base in the Arizona desert."
King: "Arizona? Fellow man, you have taken me, the crown of Zxylane, from his throne! Do you not understand the consequences of this?"
Roger: "We(more) do, but no need to worry. Science has backed us up on my decision."
King: "Science? This is treason!"
Roger: "Ah. Treason. Well I'm sorry to tell you that you are under law of the United States of America. It's the year 2057 and we have taken you from your, uh, 'throne' in 1465."
King: "Joker! I am thoroughly impressed! My Lord, do say more!"
Roger: "It is a time machine, sir."
King: It seems but wardrobe! I do say, this has been a magnificent trick! Take me to my room and I'll grant you with gold for a quarter of this century!"
Roger: "A quarter of a century of gold? Unlimited?"
King: "Infinite as our land allows."
Roger: "So let's go!"
King: "Excellent! Back to my kingdom! You, sir, do follow me to my desk."
Roger: "Yes, my King."
King: "So as I promised, a quarter of a century of gold. Let us write, 'I, King of Zxylane, shall grant a quarter century's worth of gold, beginning in the year 2057-"
Roger: "The year is 1465."
King: "And I promised the gold when we were in the year 2057."
Roger: "You ass!"
King: "Guards! Arrest this man and put him in the dungeon for abduction of royalty and treason, and do not unchain him until the year 2057. Also watch out for anyone who dares use 'science' in my kingdom and have them arrested and executed for treason!"(less)
like the rising and receding tide, the heartache, the confusion, the fury over this fucking injustice comes in and out, freezing my core and then slipping out of me, letting me thaw for a bit, for a bit. and in this fucked up time amidst this fucking moral apocalypse(more) thats careening out of control in ever direction and dimension possible, in this macrocosmic catastrophe, in the face of this massive wall of booming shit, still, all i want is to be able to lie next to you and feel your body heat encouraging mine and process the absurdity of the world in silence, in your presence. in your space. wrapped in your aroma. just with you.
my bones are hollow and when i walk, they make music.
my thoughts are hollow, too, and when i think, i want to kill myself.
strings, frayed at the end, find there way into everything. between every tooth and stuck to every wicked curved nail. you pull, hard. the ribbons come undone and suddenly you can see through the fabric (of life?) and its all lines and corners and curves, all of the religions and philosophies and sciences of the world float before you, a lifetime. little grids encapsulate the separate units, breaking them down for you visually so that even though your brain cannot fathom what it is you are made witness to, your eyes can digest it properly, and perhaps one day the memories embedded in their cells will make it to your brain and slip into your consciousness like the ice cold tide and bring you back to life again, because its been so long.
i cant remember the last time i spoke sincerely with someone.
i need you so badly.
the stars are slowly leaving us; no one knows why. (less)
The highball glass had old lipstick on it but Donna had waited too long for service (double vodka & ice) and didn't bother to protest. The waitress (gel fingernails with glitter polish, sullen kohled eyes, open-backed shirt revealing a sleek brown back) was already drifting away, and the din(more) of the room moved into her wake, cutting off any polite demurral.
These places were all the same. $16 cocktails in Pottery Barn glasses. Too-hot-to-shit waitresses, broken hot water tanks, and the threat of the sanitary board always looming despite the glitz. Donna looked tiredly at Martin's lips talking. She calculated the hours left before bed, the amount of alcohol in her bloodstream and the strategies of maintaining tidy drunkeness in a bar with such slow service.
The tinkle of glassware was almost as loud as the music and across the table, Martin droned on-and-on. Donna lifted the glass and drained it in the decorous way she had: lips pursed daintily at the rim, eyes meeting those of the man across the table. Her wide-eyed grey gaze, so attentive, hiding her thoughts the way a thin span of ice will hide a treacherous current. Martin stared back at her and spoke with the deliberation of one accustomed to monologues. Perhaps he had never met a woman yet who didn't care about his "new technology" start-up. Maybe he couldn't tell how efficiently she drained 2 ounces of vodka, leaving ice-cubes to tinkle harmlessly against each other when she clacked her glass down to the table, the poison drained. Men were a science, a boring science. Life was math, and love a ledger. Donna tallied her score daily, her veins gradually hardening with Russian elixers, cracking ice-cubes under her molars as she daydreamed about sleep and wealth, and calculating life's unsecured returns.(less)
The first time, he realized he had been sorely unprepared.
It was a lesson in preparation and precaution, and he nursed his wounds with battered pride, but determined spirit, already considering what he would do differently next time.
The second time, he had been soundly outmatched.
And he was humiliated beyond belief. Though frustration consumed him, he was also too ashamed to show it. He picked himself back up, but it was a while before he could take a step forward. For one more time.
The third time, he was beaten before he even knew it.
He stepped in and out of focus, everything that he thought he could rely on, that he could fall back on, disappearing into the reality of futility. The despair that consumed him was the worst feeling he could have never imagined. But through it, he could see the opportunity to try once more.
"No. No more."
Eventually, when rationale returned to help keep him from slipping further into his own agony, he decided he could try again. But another time. When everything aligned in his favor, and the will to try returned.
"Maybe another time? Now there is no 'other times'. It's all done.."
The crazed boy's voice trailed off into a series of unintelligible angry groans as he paced the small school library.
I was just in there to print my research paper, and now I was at the foc(more)al point of a school shooting. He clutched an old shotgun to his chest. You could obviously tell he didn't know how to hold a gun correctly, let alone shoot it.
He bashed the butt end of the gun into a computer not three feet away from me into smithereens. I closed my eyes, hoping it would be all over soon. The cops would come in. Right? Right?
I needed to get out of there. I peeked from behind the computer desk I was hiding behind. He had the barrel of the gun pushed against this poor girl's head. She looked barely thirteen. Silent tears rolled down her face and she shook like an old clothes dryer. He whispered things into her ear as she nodded, complying to his every word. Using her as a distraction, I shimmied my way to the next row of desks, and the next as I grew closer the the front door. I was so close. I could see the silver door knob right in front of me! I reached for the door knob as I felt a blunt object hit me in the back of my head. Blood seeped down my head. He found me. I wasn't quiet enough. He dragged my limp, barely conscious body to the center of the library.
"Ya see this? This is what happens when ya try to get away!" I felt the gun barrel pushed against my head. The last thing I heard, was a "pop", and everything went black. (less)