Where am I? Am I human? What the fuck!

“A blade in the dark is a gift to the damned

Assassins and mercs make their case at the break of day

The nights betrayal a thing to keep the devil at bay

May the words of wisdom find those that look on with hopeful gaze

Whilst the pillars of blood upon which they stand are kept appeased

Tricks of the light and slight of hand will amaze

To see what demons do in the moment of absent attentions

Will amaze you even more”

Time is a cruel bitch of a moment that creeps up on me as I stare the hands of a clock into blissful nothingness, there use to be an hour beyond that fated tick of a tock but there ain’t no such haven in the minutes that carry over from the tock into the tick. A blink is the passing of a second in the hint of darkness as into sleep we enter a deeper dark of forgotten seconds, amassing wealth’s of seconds into a collection of regretful loss to the cost of wasted breathes.

I’m meant to know what I’m writing, something logical to the point of current thoughts, but I have no fucking idea!

The shadowy hand of depression creeps abound as around the fortifications of my fated rest I see the bleak in assaulting form, will the fractured walls hold, will the fractures of times passed in regretful history prove an inevitable foresight of the fall that will come to pass.

Or I could just go to bed, sleep and hit the day a fresh, sounds like that might half decently work actually so what the hell ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

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I have three bottles of Vodka in my fridge

I have three bottles of vodka in my fridge

Two bottles of wine in my cupboard as well but wine isn’t the drink for me!

Every time it’s late in the night/early in the morn I have a large glass of clear liquid next to me, sipping it slowly so to avoid having to tear myself away from whatever hollow escape I am using to avoid life. Every sip triggers the same thought, why is it only water?! I have three bloody bottles of posh vodka in my fridge and I’m drinking water.

Beer, larger and all the rest of those drinks that numb the mind, all impure and tainted, Vodka however an unadulterated poison that doesn’t lie about what its content is. When you see a shot of vodka you don’t see colours, tastes or taint, just refined venom to aid in the thankful forgetting of your woes.

I see into the purity of my chosen poison as a person looks into a mirror, beer, larger and all the rest of those drinks take the edge off the harsh alcoholic tang to a degree and make it makes them easier to drink. This is how I see other people, less screwed up citizens of this world as I like to think of them, the harder edges of their personality softened by the eroding values of humanity that also adds to the flavour of their souls.

There are people however that lack this humanity in favour of a cleaner, colder and harder to accept logic which cuts through the bullshit of life and exposes the ruthless truth of a subject, like myself. In many ways this is a better system says the robot in me, love, religion and politics are shown for their true aspects and the world is a simpler place.

I would love to say that the robot in me is wrong, banish it to the edges of my fragile existence as a survival instinct that lacks the very elements that make humans what they are, this fantastical element been emotions, but…. every time I have been foolish enough to pursue the course of emotional liberation I find a bear trap underfoot. The resulting bitterness then acts as a taint, corrupting the pure logic with venomous intentions, the bitter after taste of life ever increasing with the resentment I feel when I am forced to see ‘happy’ folk.

So as I sip the clear liquid before me, a basic intake of water to provide my body the moisture it needs to survive, the devil on my shoulder again wishes it was more as the angel on my other shoulder is drinking that vodka on my behalf.

A depressed sober person is at least going to do things in a right minded way, a drunk depressed person is a beast beyond the nature of safe.

Tears in the Dark

What the fuck, damned to the core in epidemic style and nursing a sense of dread to bring angelic hope to the brink of hell, I ain’t no saint and the night brings only hollow darkness to infect my hapless faith in humanity with poison blight.

I’d call on my sense of caring but that fated cause fell swift under the blade of my failed humanity, humanity a cursed shadow that haunts my heavy steps as to the cliff I walk, the condemned to his final rest. You care, give your heart to all that request its purest form and even have the mistaken idea that somebody might just care enough to return the ill-fated gesture, all that’s left is a hole where the big red mug of love should be humming it’s happy tune.

Midnight, work in eight hours, awake in six and a half, do I give damn?

The flat I’m sitting in says it’s worth it, I can’t really think of anything else right now

Two months to dig myself out of hell, dredge the very bottom of my emotional cesspool to find the dying spark of hope and see how far it will carry me, just to endure two weeks of busy crap wearing down my new found freedom from the pit that I dragged myself out of, with no sign of a break on the horizon. Six torturous weeks to the first real goal that doesn’t make that cliff look so appealing, three weekends lost to works relentless assault on my free time, financial insecurity and a dollop of rejection every fucking day to boot.

The only joke that makes me laugh about all this is the simple fact I’m still alive!

The other joke is how darkly twisted a sense of humour has to be in order to define that as a joke!!

So to the midnight hours of ill repent and regretful thoughts of missed dreams, floating down the river Styx in heavy slumber all the time, I bid a fond yet shallow hearted acceptance of the existence of hell, my hell. At least my frightful attempt at sleeping might render me free of having to think for a while, if I don’t suffer nightmarishly haunting dreams to curse me even in my unconsciousness.

Hip fucking hooray and a half arsed shot at sounding positive, unless you’re feeling as gutter wrecked as me, then I offer you a shot of depression and a merciful death for your emotions, may they not suffer the deathly descent.

Dating Profiles I’d love to write

The Insanity plea

Sanity left me a few years back, it was a sad day

No more was I to frolic in the fields and think how nice the sunset was, how glorious it was to spend a Sunday afternoon picking out shapes in the clouds

Now I fear what’s left of my sanity stays out of loyalty, merely in it for a sense of duty

Frolicking in those fields as I look up at the clouds now reminds me of how I was once normal, functional, and somehow able to relate to things without throwing out a random comment about frogs

So here I am, looking for love, romance and companionship….

I’m fucking crazier than I thought…. My mind hath snapped and what’s left of my senses hath exited the building, even taking the fine bloody china!

So I figure if I’ve really deep ended it with a double pike and loop, ten points from each of the judges for style, may as well dive into a relationship

Either that or a spell in mental health!

The Car Mechanic

Second hand male, two or three previous owners, in good condition

Body work in good condition and everything’s running right under the hood

Couple of glitches in the operating system but on the whole in decent nick

The sense of humour is a bit on the askew side but very healthy

A bit of fixing up, smartening up required but then again, what man doesn’t need that!

No instruction manual included

Overall a good investment for someone willing to take a gamble

For further details contact details are included in profile

The Blunt Approach

I could pretend to be an over sensitive guy that hugs puppies and thinks the best film ever is dirty dancing but I’m not, I have an artist’s temperament, a gentleman’s manners and I don’t go in for all that fluffy bunny crap. So if you’re looking for someone who wears pink, cries all the time and starts calling you my BFF I’m not for you!

I’m looking to meet a women who has similar interests, drives, slim/athletic, 26-33 who wants to give a relationship a shot, but doesn’t expect me to declare my eternal love and propose after two dates (give it four dates at least!!). No offence intended to anyone who doesn’t meet those criteria but that’s what I’m looking for.

My idea of dating is:

  1. Find someone who interests me
  2. Message them for two or three days
  3. Meet them in person a couple of times

4.1 Keep meeting them and see where it goes

4.2 Both of us agree there’s no chemistry but maybe have found a new friend

Apologies for my lack of tack but I just hate all the useless over complicated crap involved in a relatively simple process

Random as Hell

I was walking by, a bit of jazz in the old earphone to spice things up, when I saw a frog I knew and I know he owed me a drink from the last time I went out for a night on the pond. We were talking about the usual things, lily pad prices, trout taking all the best real estate and ninja penguins when I see Barry the bear in his trademark bowler hat.

I like Barry, he’s good when he’s had a couple of shots of vodka, but when he’s sober he just goes on about his art collection and how all the Hollywood crowd keep trying to do collaborations with him. Anyway I diverge; we hit the pond and Barry keeps going on about how he’s just met some great looking polar bear and all that happiness crap, the frog is telling me about this newt he’s dating.

I’m amazed; I mean I thought newts only went with those famous chameleons that work film backdrops, so I ask how the frog, whilst sipping on my fresh glass of lemonade, how he and Barry are having so much luck with all this relationship stuff and they mention a great website called ‘Plenty of Frogs’.

A bit more digging, Barry the bear has had his vodka shots and dancing the Charleston with a Dalmatian that’s just joined our drinking party, I now owe the Frog a drink and I find out ‘Plenty of Frogs’ has a no human policy, but ‘Plenty of Fish’ on the other hand…

The whole ‘write a paragraph about yourself, then what you like, how you like chick flicks and cuddling animals etc’ just ain’t working, so I may as well have some fun. And if you’re laughing, amused or equally positive about my little story drop me a message.

If you’re looking at this with wide eyed shock or confusion I recommend you move on, and check back in a couple of weeks when I’ve rewritten the profile to something more traditional, and if you see Barry the Bear and he asks for fashion advice, tell him bears look good in brown or the whole fur thing is working for him!

The ???? Style of Profile Writing

I’ve been living on a desert island for a couple of years, got ship wrecked there with only the captains parrot and a toad that speaks French, serves me right for travelling back in time and joining some rum smugglers. Recently found a portal back to the present and although I miss seagull steak Sunday and fresh fish Friday, whatever washes up on the beach Wednesday was a real hoot to boot, figured I’d join the human race again.

I was torn between joining the human race and evolving to pure energy, but as pure energy I’d be wanted to appear at fake hauntings and stuff, so chose the human race, less demands on my time that way.

When nobody’s demanding I get the space monkey rebellion under control or fixing the air con on Pluto (which I still consider the best planet ever, especially since they built the health spa there) I like to take in the planets, the solar system and sometimes even a spot of fishing on mars, but got to admit I think I was mis-sold on that one.

If you’re looking for advice in regards to the best moon to have a picnic on, how to write a profile that’s completely rogue cause you’ve given up trying to write the cookie cutter perfect format or just how to deal with Ninja Penguins, send a message.

If you’re laughing your head off or somehow curious, why not send a message and find out what kind of person writes like this.

Either way, Moo ha ha, moo ha ha

The ‘Social Suicide’ option

Finding love or committing suicide?

Suicide is instant but you only get a few seconds of suffering, finding love takes all your sanity, hope, will to live, and then something more to boot and lasts years

With love there’s a 1 in a 100,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 chance of finding someone who might make you happy, before killing you because you’ve driven them insane

That’s better odds than a bullet to the brain!

It’s shocking to think I’m still single I know, but then I wouldn’t get to write fucked up dating profiles!!

Dance of the Damned

In fits of throws and throws of passion the damned do dance their own

A hallowed cry of pain for the cause of free laughter to the core of a broken soul

The melody of a twisted harp harks the angel’s words of a foreboding step

A twist of fiery rage slips in with the twirl of reckless intent

So may we dance in throws of fits and passion fuelled fits

The music hath long stopped playing and we wish not to see our deaths