my dear viki:

i have many obsessions. my days are made up of obsessions. and you, like no other. of my obsessions. i saw the shape of your breasts today. complimenting the glow which has taken itself upon you. like a fair maiden, you look. i could feel mockery but i feel only lust. i want to touch the goddess in you.

which of course can only be done with skin on skin. and this ain't what anyone wants. not even me, if anyone asked the me i use as me for them.

healthy fantasy is good therapy.

pain, pleasure. hate, love.

i'm burned dry. i love you. like i do. not like then but so that i'll always look through to see where it is i still see you.

i see you.

_duck stop_

i'm in a state of constant flux between elation and nervous breakdown. your little girl rang my bell. my isolation sometimes sucks at me like a black hole. i understand the desire to putting on the hat of religion to block out the sky. but not like breasts. hamaphrodite.

i'm scratching today. even meaning has been mangled so that an explanation is always a poor representation. Everything, especially. whatever.

_duck stop_

i don't believe in extra sensory perception. but i have come to question the limits of sensory perception. and how common is sense. and why is how come. this should be the last pope. to show the world their shame for fuckin' over the minds of millions for 2,000 years.

ignore it. perhaps. but if 90% of the world is praying for salvation from armageddon and doing everything in their ignorant power to make it true. so that the story can be believed.

one mind set. first step to acceptance of a. i. control. singularity. the ultimate horror. or vacuum. whatever it is. i'm against it. a marriage with the machine is already with us. if we ain't on our toes, as they say, we'll just fade away or become slaves to machines. all with one intelligence. the ultimate mechanical pope. watching from every convenience built by and sold to human hadbeens.

so what.

so no. we should first know that we can do without machines that think for us. it ain't science fiction. even in 48. 84.

but i think it's the way it is and it is beyond who did what and what belongs to who. perhaps, with a few evolutionary steps in politics, it might make sense to go way left. to the far east. democracy has become a joke. why waist our time with it.

so. how do you keep 6 or 7 billions idiots from killing each other.

letter 01.02.02