Cuntsplash, or A Letter to My Future Employer

Manic – I’m a little… yes… fucking manic.  I can’t say who I am, and I wonder how that question even enters or becomes liminal.

There are still things I can’t say here, which is a G-ddamned shame.  It’s a little poignant as well, and maybe something of a social comment.  I’m prevented from saying these things… and I think if I were to say these things, I might be seen as a danger.  I suppose it’s even laughable that saying that much, that I might be a danger… that I turn over thoughts that make me dangerous… is too much to say.

To write fiction, and to simply spill upon the page.  Goethe once said that there wasn’t a crime he couldn’t imagine himself committing.  Can we really imagine how boring and uninteresting the irreproachable might be, or how grey their humour might be, if such people really existed?

I have to draw myself back and I’m once again reminded that there are some thoughts which can’t be had, some things which can’t be said; even in the freest of places, in the freest of times.

I wonder if I could write an erotico-absurdist text, something really deviant and devilish, something cathartic and Sadean.  Of course I probably could… but I might have to write it in a dark prison sell… just like the old Marquis.  Such is the price of freedom.

So… searching for an honest word… within certain confines.

I remember early on, I wrote something to the extent that “what’s on the internet is there forever”.  I suppose that should make me fearful.  I always thought it was a little small-minded to take someone’s word as some eternal reflection of their soul, rather than something more ephemeral and fleeting… a temporally bounded thrust in the ether.  If I say something like “I cum on your face,” I would hope that would make most of my readers yawn and roll their eyes with boredom… as if to say “what a tired old trick your trying to pull on us” and “is this supposed to be edgy?”  I think others might stand aghast, horrified, and wonder to themselves “what kind of creature have we allowed in our midsts? What a debased and reprehensible soul! Cumming in faces… indiscriminately cumming in faces”.  I suppose we might then weep together, and if I could, I’d like to shed a solemn tear and repent… confess my wrongdoings and open myself up like a book, make myself transparent and claim that I’m reformed.  “Yes, I too stand horrified at the creature I was once! This rather tepid and fearful creature, typing away little freedoms in a faraway place.”

Cuntsplash is not yet in the Oxford dictionary.  That’s a shame, and I wonder when it will change.

Pornography has two defining features:  one is that it has no redeeming value or artistic merit, and the other is that it appeals to prurient interests.  I suppose a third feature is that “you just know it when you see it”.

I might ask the question: “What do we do with those that don’t want to be saved?”  Jean Ámery once asked the question, in On Suicide… something along  the lines of… what appeal can you make to a man right before the fall?  What appeal you can you make to a man who is in other words standing so close to the edge that he is almost peering back from beyond the grave.  Imagine how the world seems to him, and the spectres that occupy it, rushing back and forth… pleading to him.  What kind of rationalizations could be made, or appeals to life?

I hear voices in the hall and it pulls me from where I am… and in a rather unwelcome way, I’m reminded of where I am.  These cunts, I would call a cuntsplash… even though they are otherwise, rather good-natured and kind-hearted people… so far as I can tell.

I don’t know what else I have to say… maybe I could write a few words on self-laceration, just to seal my fate… and I’ll title this “to my prospective employer”.  I’ll have a little laugh and poignantly reflect on the state of unfreedom that reigns… imagining that this really does impugn my character.  If you’re wondering: I’m the fucking circle angle.

I wonder if I could say I’m capable of ten times worse, and that of course we all are.

I’m running low on steam.  It’s been good though… and I’m happy to write.  I feel like this is a stepping stone, or that it represents some growth for the blog, or this project rather.

An online diary is a risky thing…

Before entering into my profession, I had named my price in some way.  I thought that if I was ever prevented from speaking freely, or felt my freedoms constrained or curtailed in an unbearable way… or if I had censor myself heavily, or pervert myself or contort myself in an ungainly way to fill a roll, that I would leave.

Waking up to one’s rights is a risky thing…

Well dear friends, I’ll think I’ll sign off here.  Thank you for reading.

 

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