6th Day of April

 We are in a very weird streak, it is mental illness, but oh well, a lot of successful artist had a lot of mental illness, chester from linkin park, he killed himself, but his legacy will probably last for, like, I don’t know, maybe 50 years, I wonder if harry potter is something that is going to die some day, I really hope it does.


but oh bother, it seems I forgot my goal for today, oh, silly me.


You see my dear abe, today I am going to write a very special story.

What makes her so special you ask? well, it is because I want to write at least 1k word worth of content for this story, my beloved Abe, so, would you read it for me when I am done?

You will, oh goodness, I am radiant, I love you so much my dear Abe. here, read the story for me


6th Day of April:

A Sudden Confession -

I like you in a non platonic fashion, and would deeply appreciate if you mulled over the thought of us being together in a relationship


That was written in this piece of paper, the guy who handed it to me was still right in front of me, looking quite interested in the shrubs in the park.


Like I understand that I am quite the catch, I am hot, to die for one might say, that one being me, I would totally die for me.


But, well, I can clearly imagine any girl with eyes would fall for me, even use notes to communicate said love, they might be shy. I have a very friendly disposition and a stunning smile but maybe my height could seem intimidating.


doubt that would be the case for this fella though, he is a good head taller than me.


But that all aside, Is this a prank?


I eye him, going from the note and its content to this guy who really knows how to appreciate the shrubbery.


He didn’t say anything, so I don’t know if I should say something, I really want to know if this is a prank.


I am just going to stare at him until something happens.

I don’t know what, maybe someone with a camera coming from inside the shrubs.

Man, he is very stupid if this is serious. If I was him, I would hand it the note and just run off, now look how awkward the situation got. But also, I gotta hand it to him, he is quite brave to wait for his answer, but the note said that I should mull over it... is he is going to wait until I finish mulling it over? and talking about mulling, what is up with all these big words, is he handing a confession or a school paper?

Ah, he started fidgeting

And going really red…

Could it be?


\-----


I regret everything, every single thing, from the moment I got out of bed to the moment I decided it was okay to keep breathing. I need to do something, anything, to make this unbeareble silence go away, but he keeps staring, why isn’t he saying anything, I think I am going to die in this exact spot, right here, if god is truly kind he will struck me dead.






I doubt I am going to reach my goal of a coherent story with 1k words worth of content, because I am so very tired, and I know this here is going to be a minus as well, so, I am not going to quit it, I decided to finish it, so I am going to finish it, like, do I even have other choice?


I doubt that I do


So, what do I like in my characters when I read romance? well, it is one thing to say all the things I hate in a character, vitriol spill forth from the tip of my tongue as easily as does from the tip of my fingers, but to truly focus on the positive, the things that I like, well, it is hard.


no matter how much I try to deny it, I have an hetero normative vision of how gay couples should be written, like, I hate that I am not as progressive as I believe myself to be, but I can’t quite overcome the top/bottom category of gay men.


I wish I could, but I can not, so, yep, but I like power bottoms, funny ones, snarky and shameless, the kind who have no qualms with honor or dignity, but when slighted, they struck harder and they struck true. I shit too much in face slapping, like, it is so overdone in Chinese fiction that it did something I never thought it could be possible, it flanderized a trope, how can you even do that? but oh well, the Chinese did, with their powerful thirst for vengeance.


I like my protagonist as being the underdog, yes, another very overdone trope, but like, can you blame me? this character who, through hard work and persistence is able to overcome impossible odds and achieve their dreams with their own hands. it is a damn good trope, that is why I like it so much better than the chosen one.


Can you make the chosen one an underdog? I guess you can, if this character is chosen to fail at the hands of something, and them you have them struggling against fate itself, it can be good.

one thing that I hate with a burning passion, is fucking entertainment business novels, It is so goddamn boring, to this day I haven’t found one novel that was good because its setting, it is always despite of it.


like that fucking modelling novel, you know the one, fucking waste of time, I know a lot of people loved that crap, but it is by far not my cup of tea.


you want to hear something funny, I love action bl novels, like, earth is online type of shit, or I am Not Shouldering This Blame, The founder of Diabolism,  I really want to read them, and I wish I had the strength to read them, but I never read it because it takes so much of my emotional capacity, so I keep coming back for the lots of fat, no nutrition kind of stories. like Transmigrated into the protagonist’s heartthrob cannon fodder. no, it has a little of substance, like, it requires very little amount of investment, and it is very dumb in some conjectures, but I like the protagonist, wished the main lover was better, fucking hate the tyrant CEO trope, like really, obsessive and rich is not a good look sis, you just look like a cunt, do you think anyone like jeff bezos? I am pretty sure that all amazon executives are just waiting for him to drop fucking dead.


Xie Su, darling, with all that money and you couldn’t buy a better personality than default bl lover, could you? with you over jealousy, and comparing the person you love to a fucking animal and those kind of things, like, really, if I see anymore ML saying that the protagonist, is “baring their fangs like a kitten” when clearly they are in distress and don’t want to be messed with, I am going to scream, I am going to scream such obscenities that the pope is going to fly over to my house and struck me dead.


maybe he will use his pope scepter, bet it would be made of gold, pope mobile,


have you ever seen the pope and batman at the same place, thought so

but really, what to bl authors have against mutual respect, like, you know, one of the pillars of a healthy relationship. Maybe the problem was me, how dare I expect anything healthy coming from the mind of a horny 45 old divorcee chinese lady


okay, now I am just being mean for the sake of being mean, it is too much vitriol, I was going to say nice things, but then, the hate just kept spewing from my core like a fucking firehose.


the pressure did rupture an eardrum of a character from the movie Carrie, the original one, so, like, you know the hate is violent.


Okay, so, what I like in my ML, firt, not having to call them ml would be fucking great, the other character, second protagonist, in most of cases is the one getting their dick wet, I just can’t think of a better way to call them.


baby, I am back, in back to my place, in my office, int the place that I had begun doing my challenges all those days ago, the sacred place, where my hands touch the keyboard the words flow like dear droplets of water for my parched throat, instead of the oily concoctions created by the despair, the fear, the acknowledgment that things were no good.


but, oh well, you know, I had quite the concept for a romance story, that story being the dearest to my heart, Easy Guide to High school Bullying


where the title invoques the feeling of hope, that maybe the story will teach you how to deal with highschool bullies, I can only say sorry, it has no things of the sort, no no no, instead, it has very much peculiar concept behind this title,


No person wakes up and think, today I am going to be a bully, bullying is a problem that rises from the cracks of an uncaring system, unable to provide for the victims or the bully, I myself used to be a victim of bullying, and to cope with it, I decided to become the bigger monster.


I could do violence like nobody, and my words, they cut deep, man, I miss those times, I was so evil.


so, it would be this simple love story, where this teen, who suffered bullying on such a degree that he had to change states, ends up deciding that to not suffer like that, he should the one to take the first swing. the catch is, the person he choses to pick on is famed to be a murder, rumors are horrible things, specially when they hold a piece of truth on them.


it was going to be my next big project after the Office job bit, I wonder if I should… like, I don’t know, put it here? like, this folder is specially for the challenge, but I have written office job prior to the making of all the documents on here.


I have no idea, of anything, completely anything.


so, let’s write, horrible things, lets put to paper poisonous words, vile poetry, the kind that make your skin crawl, it makes the thought of drawing blood take a who new meaning.


In the darkness of that basement, the chains, cold against my wrist, they cut deep in my wrist, or at least they used to do it, until my wrists where as thin as twigs, I am pretty sure I can sleep myself free anytime that I want, but them, so what? what would I even do, I have no idea, not in the slightest.


what I want, what I need, is water, food, freedom, but do I even want it that much? besides the door there is a cruel world a horrible place, that I wished it would go away, I am so tired


tired, I want to scream, I want to hurt myself, I want to sizzle and evaporate in a puff of steam, I want the hurt to go away, as I become solely particles of water, the organic parts burning, the non organic… gone, so long ago, I have been living as a husk for so long, just too long, I don’t even want to think about how I used to be.


I hate how they feel the need to remind me how much they hate me as I am now, how much better they liked me when I was 6, how I was a funny little man that everyone loved, and now, they can barely look at me without disgust, thinly veiled hatred, and just despair at the loss of what I used to be


I wonder, things can change to good, they can change to bad, but I wish I could stop changing, I want to freeze, to stay as I am for the rest of my life, to scream, to shout, to cry at the nonconformity of life, the do the thing that I was promised, I want to love, but I want that big white room, I want a view of the real world, BUT i want to never have to move anymore, I want the space at the tip of my fingers, I want a connection, internet, god, something bigger still, who knows, who cares. the changes last, the changes change nothing, as I disappear, not with a pop, a burst, just, to cease, to exist, to be, It is the only thing that I long for, I wish to be gone, but to never leave, I want to never change, and want to become so many things, I want it so much that it hurts, I am so tired of seeing them all rot way, the path that I could have taken, the path I need taking, something is not quite right, or it might be, I want the deficit of hate, of being cruel of being nothing, of stop, to look to be to change, screaming in an endless void, the space is filled by an eternal echo that never ceases, never stops, forever expanding, it feels no time, it feel no strain, energy is not waste, nobody can hear you scream on space, but I am going to make sure that when I screm, the whole universe is going to hear it, loud and scream, and like an invite, I beg them to joy me, in my suffering, in my loss, the obstacle of life, is something so weird, I hope life never changes, at the same time, I want to plant that pomegranate seed and see the path I choose unfold before my very eyes. so many paths, rotting away, and I feel so torn, I want it, I hate it, give me more, stop giving me


hate


Well, that was something else, I have no idea, I have something, something, gnawing, gaining traction the screams, they don’t cease, the voices whisper in the silence of the night, I have stuck needles and stick, I burned off my hearing plunging a hot knife deep int my eardrums, it burned out half f of my ear, the rest rotted out. it does happen, I have no excuse, hold a little moment to think about an excuse, the changes brought, the advice, the counsel, the scream, it does not change who I am, but it feels so telling that the change, change something, change nothing, smell the smelly smell, or something like that, I have no idea of what that entails when it comes to talking about changes, or something of the genre, I know not, I care not, I have a myriad of changes, of screaming, so much screaming, I wish I had an ear out to hear it, but I have not, I have nothing, I am scared, I am so very scared of school.


school, it fills me with dread, but now that U have nobody left, no one I can ask for the work done, maybe it should be as I pull the strings, the sinew of the hamstrings, from my toes to my ears, I am not truthful, my lies are so exquisite, they are able to fool even myself, truly, there is not enough good liars in this world, not good liars, what I mean,


morality, there is no shortage of liars with varying degrees of expertise on the craft, but, well, there is no such a thing as a good liar, the lies, screw your mind, screw the inside of your heart, ruin all prospects, it ends, it begins, it changes it screams, I want to feel the pouring sludge working, who knows


I am looking for words, something insidious bubbles beneath my skin, clawing on my insides, it burns, it hurts, I can feel the drip drip of blood, it is slowly, but surely, depleting, so rapidly, so rapidly goes the human part of me, what remains is something abominable, the amount of cruelty, the weight, the height, the scream, the noise, the hate, what are those words, what do they mean, what does it mean, hold the scream inside you belly, until it takes roots, and starts to spread, you will never fully get rid of those screams, they reproduce too fast, and they take too much energy to get rid of just one, so, just think about the effort of doing the thing, that thing, the hate, hare, scream, olive, the pain of losing something so dear and important to your heart, but never knowing what it was, since its gone, but you can feel the aching void, and it screams, to loudly.


I remember that review of that horror game writer, her style is of visceral distortion, it is very bloody, it is very grotesque, it has a horrible amount of tics, and leeches, and the earth feeding on blood, and a woman so lonely< that she made a husband to nag on her< a daughter so ugly she couldn”t bear to look at< a perfect son< but so fragile, too fragile, a sister to envy him, made from scabs

the husband made from the splinters of her bone, the daughter she made from a scabs too, I don’t know


I am going to write something, I am not sure what, but I feel myself energized enough to try and make it true, I want to spend the time that I deserve in penance doing the things that I love, I wonder if I can last with this amount of food that I took, too meals a day I promised me, so, I can no longer eat today, so, I have to take advantage that right now I am full, and all that bread is being turned into energy, and I cannot eat anymore, 2 meals a day, just two, because I am too fat


I am so fat, and disgusting, I can barely look at my reflection without having the worst feeling of gagging I ever felt.


but like, how de didn’t realize that there is something really weird with her husband? like, can you even believe it, I can not.


I understand now why they are not pressing the issue, like, what are they going to do in case he confess? what can they do? I doubt they can lock him up, he fucked a whole planet in a matter of day, or something like that, I don’t know hoe to feel, I wish I knew, maybe I can discover how I am feeling, like, this feelings are mine, so, if there is anyone who is able to unravel them, that person is probably going to be me. wouldn’t it? I guess it would, would it not? so, lets thing about things, how I have been feeling lately, I am not sure I want to address this feelings directly, because like screaming in a cage with a sleeping beast beside you, I of course terrified of waking them up and they come to haunt me as fiercely as before


but like 4th day of April wrote loud and clear, I feel ashamed of myself, I feel guilt, I am feeling dread for the beginning of school, I feel ashamed of not being good enough, of not have put the efforts, for failing my project of losing weight, for being so useless all the time, to waste my precious time in the front of a silver screen, throwing my life away in sake of plunging into the sweet relief of escapism, I don’t want to be in my head, in most of days, I want to be out of it, far I way, to an entirely different world, I want to be another person, I want to be capable, I want to have wild adventures, I want to fall in love, I want to feel what is like to be important, to be of matter. I want to have skills, I really do, so dearly I have wished for it, but it doesn’t seem to be going my way, because, you know, for wishes to come true, first you have to take action, and it seems I have not been doing that





I have lived in the streets for as long as I can remember, but I wasn’t born here, not in this city, not in this country… What I am trying to say is that I am not from this world.

I know that the thought that comes to mind is “Super-man?”, and for that I can only say, god, I wish I was superman, Superman doesn’t need to rummage through garbage so he doesn’t starve, he can fly, shoot lasers, practically indestructible, and his super strength is nothing to scoff at, but no, I am nothing like superman.


If I had to point at any characteristic that sets me apart from normal humans, I don’t think I would be able to point out anything, like, I have a second thumb, but it is in my other foot, so it isn’t as special if they were both on the same one. I can sing, mostly whatever they play on the radio, I sing like a cat being brutally murdered, I still have the scar of the last glass bottle someone broke in my head to make me stop singing, some people really don’t know how to appreciate art..


not that I have anything against Jerry, he is a quite good at being the big spoon, very considerate, large arms, he smell faintly of grime, but winter has a way to make you stop caring about smelly things if they keep you alive, you know.




writing this homeless alien guy story reminds me of the time I thought about writing  an ASMR script, it would be written with a background of rain, and it would be in this concrete pipe they use for sewer, I think at least that is what they are used for, they are like, this huge cylinders that can fit a lot ass of humans


so, we would take shelter for the rain, and the story would begin with the homeless guy entering the pipe, dialogue would ensue, he has a 30 cm subway sandwich with him, he gives us one of the sandwiches, than we hear this crinkle of the wax paper, the homeless man guy talks in whisper, his throat hurt very badly he say, you hear him coughing muffled my his gloved hand


you don’t have to worry, it is nothing contagious, he is just reaching his end, so, would you like to hear my story? I really want to take it out of my chest before dying, take it as the wishes of a dying man.


he tells you the story how he was evicted from home, turned to drugs, plunged into the depths of despair, until he could see light no more, until someone reached a hand for him, it was the owner of this small pub, he took care of him, sort of, he gave him a job, a place to sleep, and he would stay by his side when the symptoms of withdrawal got too heavy, he thought about selling the guy stuff to buy heroine, but like an intrusive thought that he couldn’t control, it just kept revolving around his head, swarming and swirling, and it would just


well, I don’t want to elaborate, but they get in a relationship, to pull away from darkness through the power of love, he had a reason to wake up in the morning,


but fate is cruel, or rather, I am, I am very cruel, so, the owner of the pub dies


and all goes downhill from there.


okay, I am going to finish it here before going to sleep, but I really really really really want to jerk of, like, you wouldn’t believe it, like, I have done it not even an hour, and I want to go back.


what to do, where to go from there, I see no better alternative, wait, it so happens, it goes, it turns, it changes, the tide, the wind, the sun that burns the back of the laborer, tanning the scalp, naked skin, it peels it burns, but it does not fester, the blessing of the fields protect the honest man, the hard is a recurring danger, but oh well, the gods can be cruel but their duties is something they can not get from.


Hold my hand, I want to dance into the vast darkness of space, there nobody can see me fail, or something like that, the noises can’t be heard, so I can sing until my lungs turn to dust, since I have no duty to integrity, I know not, grind, skin, take it all, every piece, you can make something out of it,


I have no strength, but I have a duty to myself so, lets write, through the haze of sleep, though I am tired, exhausted, this was due for yesterday, it seems that I keep committing the same mistakes over and over, it is not a cute look, to fail, I have to write, but I doubt that my writing is getting more sophisticated, or sharper, I feel that it gets only more looser, deranged, power through the lights of hell, I can only see a pillar of dark smoke, swirling, like Moses guide on the desert, but I doubt god sent them for me, no, a tornado of fire at night, a tornado of clouds at day, for me, the dark smoke that guided me from nowhere, but back to the suffering that I have just escaped from


sure, sure I will be writing, until the finger tips at the tip of my fingers scab and fall out, I want no part in anything


okay, so, whats the deal with airport food? why is that so popular in comedy routine, like, if really, things would be turned into a comedy icon just from being disgusting why am I not the comedy sovereign?

I am disgusting, you would never want to put me in your mouth.


that I am sure, and you know what, I know things, little things, big things, I know, I know, but what do I know


something, I really like fleabag, I wonder if I am going to rewatch it, like, there is a lot of episodes I don’t like, like, not that they are bad, the whole series is a masterpieces, but I don’t like the emotional episodes, I hate my feelings, and having to face suffering head on just makes me want to curl so deep into myself, my was is going to touch the crown of my head


or something like that, I am going to write, and write, and write some more, until all my time was used for the good good thing that needs to be done


the wardrobe is white, the table is yellow, on top of the table is a very tired kitten, she is sleeping so soundly, I kinda of wished cats would brush their teeth, it smell so bad


a smelly pussy…

what am I, an eighth grader?


well, I have a pencil case, it has this cute kittens on it, I love them


besides me there is this white and blue lamp that I use as source of light since the office light has burned,


my cellphone plays gangsta paradise, I wonder how could I deal with my biases? Like, I feel I have some weird race bias that I need to address in myself, like "oh, I am not racist" but like, before 2020 I was never subscribed to a youtube channel or followed an artist that was black. Homophobic and sexists ones too, internalized homophobia is such a wild thing, like, sis, have you ever heard of self love, I wish I had, but truly I have only self loath for myself


I see an earring stand, it has this closed eyes on top of the stand, it is quite pleasing, I wish I had a way to care more dearly for it


actually, I don’t, I remember the threat my mom tried with me during Christmas, she said if I failed the year, she would put me to work.


take me from my current school and put me in an overnight teaching program, so I would work during the day,


I wonder what would've happen if I just tossed my anti depressant case on her head that day? I believe it would be quite cathartic, I wish I had done it, but it is too late now, to do anything of the genre, like, dear lord, dear lord, are you really going to say that your depressed son has no future, and any strand of hope he could ever had, you are going to strangle it with your own hands, like, fuck you lady, fuck you.

(Funny that, one year later, here we are, taking a gap year to work in a factory, it really wasn't that serious, why was the guy so dang dramatic? Well, the little dude had a lot of stuff on his head, I am glad he wrote it all out, looking back, I thought it would be so embarassing, but I guess I learned to love myself, because these blocks of texts are so fun and entertaining. I probably would be the only one to think that, but you know what, that is fine, you should write with a audience in mind, glad at least someone can apreciate all this writing I've done, even if it is myself)

almost to the end, I am going on full steam ahead, I have this recurring dream where I am at my school, doing school stuff, like, I don’t know, reading, studying, I remember having this dream at an geography lecture at my middle school where we had to make a poem, I kept thinking about the first line of my poem, but they kept adding more rules, and I kept changing the first line, without having the poem go too deep, at the end, everyone handed their poems, with kellen being the last one, and I having nothing to show for my efforts. I wished I could ignore what that dream meant, But I know very clearly what it was