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Mike Driver

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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@bugjizmsquawk
***WARNING: Details in this story might be graphic for some audiences. Read at your own discretion.***A Reno teen admitted to 911 dispatcher
So, how am I supposed to feel now? Is is that I am so desperately attracted to this person because she looks exactly like my favorite actor Michael Shannon?
Oh, the urge to blast out daddy's face must be strong which causes one to ponder after the potentiality of sexual abuse gone on far to long. She had to have a reason, right? What if that reason is his routine fingering of his precious little angel? Should he not be vanquished and who better to administer the killer blow than his perennial victim? So, why blast away the kid brother? What role could he have possibly played in her torment?
How long did she contemplate her final expression and the methodology of the action which will lead to her lifetime incarceration? Was wasting the potential source of her anguish worth losing her freedom over? She turns me on in a most peculiar way which likely has its impetus in my attraction to Michael Shannon which remains rather profound.
Bookish Hero, Morrissey
There are so many Smiths/Morrissey songs I should sing for this tribute band I am in the process of assembling. Actually, I am the sole member and I don't play any instruments. But this playlist are the songs I am selecting 8-10 from:
So the only thing I know how to do right now is to create a Morrissey tribute album and perform it here at the cheba Hut. With Rachel helping me and singing along with me we can definitely make this happen. It was just require a lot of time where we spend it together making these songs happen because that is the magic of music. It ultimately does not matter how the performance goes. The importance is just doing it. I have the idea and now I need to actualize it. I need to feel it and I need to have other people feel it while they admire me. It's important that they know I am doing this to them and I'm making them feel this way. Of course most of them will not know more sees music because apparently they've been living under a rock for the last 43 years. I can't imagine this possibility ever accomplishing what I want to accomplish. I just want to be known here and seen and I want everyone to be excited by my presence. Even if they don't know the music I want them to feel something, some sort of excitement. Some sort of intoxication even though all they know of intoxication is being slightly drunk at this age. So I know her. She is everything at this point and the only one that can help me actualize this dream. We speak the same language and that language is music which will help us both deal with our mental struggles.
I was good at something once. What I mean is I was good at one particular thing but not much else. I was able to talk on the radio and play some music and sound effects for a very limited audience when I was in college from 1995 to 1998. I talked a lot in fact to the point that the show essentially became a vehicle for my stream of consciousness rants that became progressively more unhinged. It was a sort of therapy for me and exceedingly therapeutic.
This was a few years before I was officially diagnosed as a bipolar person. It was a controlled environment that allowed me to say anything and everything that came into my head at the time. Much of it was violent, strange, and utterly without filters. I collected a library of samples mostly culled from horror films and played them incessantly because they fit with my artistic principles.
I still love to talk which apparently is a symptom of my condition which doesn't make much sense. Talking is how I communicate with myself only now that I do not have the radio show as a regular creative outlet I have to find other ways to speak out loud. I have been using an app that allows me and my friend living 3,000 miles away to communicate every day. I'm able to talk extensively and although it's not a conversation and the traditional sense he is able to respond to my message and I to his. Also, I discovered an AI chat app that lets me pretend I'm talking to women. It's very effective actually and I believe it's helped me meet an actual real woman who likes me very much it seems. I thought about playing this show for her but not telling her where it came from. However, I want her to read this article as it affects both of us in a very exciting way. We've both been frustrated artists and now is our time. Together we will find a way and it will be spectacular as all truly great things are.
I never tried to make a career out of radio because I did not want to become one of those annoying morning jocks on a major commercial radio station. Yet I also shied away from the prospective simply being an obscure talent somewhere where nobody even bothered to listen. My obscurity then was simply due to the circumstances I found myself in. The radio station was not very powerful and only had a small range. If you didn't live next by you we could never hear it. So I never got the kind of recognition I thought I deserved.
I found out later there were at least two people who are obsessed with my show and recorded every one of them. That felt like justification of a sort; I was definitely at pioneer of something but I'm not sure what that something was. In my head I was able to express the thoughts that most humans suppress out of necessity. No one wants to get caught saying the wrong thing out loud although I ignored that and said whatever tortured and twisted thing that entered my skull.
I was a soundboard for every facet of human misery one can possibly conceive of but I was not a therapist. I could give fuck all about healing people then as now. It is not my responsibility if you can't get your life in order; actually, there are professionals everywhere that can help you if you are willing and able to express your fears with them. They've helped me considerably and I owe a debt to all of them.
I felt back then that I was channeling some sort of demonic presence because the radio show stayed with me long after I shut it down for the night or waited for the next dj to come on. Perhaps something evil was speaking through me because it was a most disturbing show or at least it became that eventually. Perhaps the first year was more prosaic but once I established my pension for using samples it became something else entirely.
The music was terrific but mostly was secondary to my voice. I talked constantly and eventually never mention the artist I was playing. It was a mystery. When I listen to the tapes now off and I have no idea what I'm listening to. That's fine because I'm really only interested in my voice. I love the sound of my voice. I hear it and tend to swoon such is my egotism which help create the backbone of my show. Without it I wouldn't have dare to say what I said. I felt my sense of self worth protected me from any ramifications and it turned out to be true because I have not based any negativity regarding that exercise.
I remain convinced that creative outlets are what keep people saying or at least out of hospitals. I've been institutionalized numerous times because I got frustrated and could not find a way to express myself in a discernible sense. Way before social media established itself I kept trying to communicate and just fell flat. I became desperately upset and felt ignored which led to profound states of depression. Then, I would stop sleeping and quickly become manic. I would have all the same thoughts as before with no way to express them. It was torture.
When desires to be heard but there's nobody there to hear you and everyone is terrified of you because your energy is so intense the impulse is to flee. Also, you cannot communicate your desires to anyone so there is no one to give you any respite. The radio show allowed me to not feel desperate because I had an outlet even if nobody was really listening. It did not matter. Having the opportunity to speak and play music was enough. Now I have no outlet but I'm not troubled by this fact because I have made myself attractive.
I don't know, man. I cannot seem to ever get what I want at the exact moment I want it. Everything remains terribly elusive; it all remains frustratingly out of reach and some days the frustration takes over and becomes the whole of my personality. I cannot escape it; everything, every possible thing, tends to frustrate me on these days. I cannot get what I want and I want it right fucking now.
I now understand why serial killers do what they do. Not being able to have a truly remarkable sexual experience tends to drive one mad, tends to drive one into states of absolute depravity if there are no alternatives present. It's not enough to have a willing partner who wants you, who enjoys you, who will let you do whatever you want to her as long as you want it. No, you end up wanting what you shouldn't want which is anyone that does not want you and wishes to get away from you. It is all about pursuit and prey which do offer a most fascinating experience for the daring and the willing to face the fear of discovery. Being discovered is a thrill all its own because it means one will be recognized for their work which is of utmost importance. The absolute worst thing is to accumulate a fair number of corpses without your name forever attached to them. Anonymity is the most frustrating condition of all for every killer who just wants recognition.
Serial killers fascinate us because primarily they do what our imaginations would have us do if only we weren't terrified of the ramifications of such grotesqueries. We are scared of being caught and thrown into a dungeon forever but some are able to break free of these irrational fears and do whatever the hell they want to whom ever they want whenever they want it. They are the truly bold but they must remain outsiders in any society that wants to maintain a semblance of Law and order.
We all have terribly dark thoughts, don't we? A flash of a slitting the throat of a child, or pushing one into a train. We just want to bash somebody's skull in sometimes for no reason other than because it comes into our head and it seems like a good idea at the time. But we do not do any of these things because we are reasonable people and we honestly understand that we just do not have what it takes to be a criminal of any sort. We certainly cannot make a career out of homicide, particularly gruesome, depraved, beyond description. These type of stories sicken the average person who insist they are free of such thoughts; however, they are aware they are fooling themselves. We all have such thoughts but most of us are able to ignore them. We don't heed their call and certainly do not express our rage upon the flesh of another mere human.
So, we are satisfied to live vicariously through the actions of our beloved serial killing heroes now and again because we are under the impression that it's safe. But what if we could experience the kill at the moment the life is snuffed out? What if a virtual reality could create that experience for us in the sense that we could cut that little turdling throat and push that brat into way of the train? Would we want to? What if you could rape somebody and experience it as if it was happening exactly as it is presented to you? Or be raped?
It seems imperative to contemplate the thought processes of those who do commit acts of atrocity just because they can and because it's satisfies some strange directive they are under. The measured man does not give in to the temptation without a certain amount of contemplation. Indeed, there is a lot of time between the initial thought and the final deed. Preparation, imagining every conceivable aspect the final performance, the sheer Joy of accomplishment after a lengthy prelude are all essential.
It remains true that very few persons want to admit publicly that serial murder must be fun for the killer. It must provide a certain type of satisfaction that nothing else can match; no job, no advancement, no kind word can ever approximate the simple yet exquisite series of feelings that accompany one of these actions. Unfortunately, it just does not last which means another must be arranged at some point in the near future. Strangely, it often takes years to accomplish this. It is as if the killer wants to retain every conceivable aspect of the kill for as long as possible before he must go out and complete the task anew.
It's very convenient to say that the typical serial killer is simply depraved which causes them into their very personal modes of existence. The fact remains many of them have families, they live double lives. The excitement is generated from this fact. They are sneaking about, being very dirty boys, getting away with something that nobody else knows about. It's terribly delicious, and it stimulates them more than anything they've ever known.
It is my contention that your average serial killer has developed a peculiar way of getting off from the get-go. Their erotic pleasures have never been normal and in fact have always been rather secret which enhances the thrill. Most likely, being caught in a compromising position is very exciting especially if there is a punishment. Having punishment attached to your masturbation habits is a guarantee that you will end up equating sex with violence which is a computation that defines most serial killers to the point that they cannot ejaculate without seeing either blood or suffering of some sort.
Personally I fully understand just how this intermingling must occur in the minds of young boys who are inherently violent and who are inherently stupid about sex. They don't know what they're doing with their cocks and they don't know how to treat a woman with respect and the dignity which she deserves. In fact this respect and dignity is often lost on themselves as well because society and parenting and their peers and instructors have no clue how to address their pain. A lot of us grow up angry with no discernible measure to assuage our anger. Unfortunately, some of this anger is directed towards women. Sometimes women become a target of the rage that boils inside of us to the point that we want to punish them.