A Violence as Sincere as Honesty.

Sincerely, I don't give a fuck if you're reading this to please yourself
Because this isn't Red Tube.

There is this shade of honesty that isn't cheesy or played well enough with. It's the violence they call honesty. I mean, how far could honesty go? How could it be so violent? Did i just shoot down a head full of fantasy? No. Did I just turn off the TV and you got mad because i left you hanging with your sedation game?

*Sedation game = A game you play to sedate yourself even when you know you're just delaying your misery (and adding up to it).

I woke up this morning hungry for some short story fiction. Later, I would be injecting some formalin to a dead guinea pig which 66.6% of the household claim me to be the cause of death without any substantial reason. Sixty-six percent of the household only means 2 out of 3. That's not enough. What I thought was I've programmed them enough since the day I bought this guinea pig and told them that it would die..eventually. I thought this was the best way of using neurolinguistic programming on people but then again, only your family would be the only ones who'd know they have Satan's scion in their midst. Just like every other family who thinks they have the worst kid ever.

Who knows? I might be using neurolinguistic programming right at this moment you're reading this. Apparently, I have mastered and mustered enough courage to let you know that it really works and I'm going to sell you this pseudoscientific field too. This is just like letting you go to an orientation of a networking business with the cost of losing a friendship. Life has been too hard with money replacing the cost of human relationships. Even governments see their people as units to be sold to another country for war or as a  cheap sex companion for 1st world residents. Maybe they even thought propagating the gay movement might cause other people to doubt their sexuality more and keep tabs open on both sexes and eventually to reduce the population in return for hedonistic ends. Maybe it is to increase consumption on goods within a controlled group. Love happens.

I am hungry. My brother ate all of the remaining dinner last night. We don't store food in the fridge or in the kitchen because it would be consumed all in a day of passivity by my brother or me just to get ahead and not let my brother get everything. Of course, there's nothing wrong with this. A lack of self-control is too normal for people. Insanity is too common for a group of friends. But to be staring at the face of real and clinical insanity? That's another post.

You know what happened? I'm a whiny fuck. We are all whiny fucks.

The netbook closed off while what I've typed after the second to the last paragraph didn't save because I was at a sofa far from the wifi signal while my mother asked me to do something for her while I am hungry and couldn't do anything but type this and I am having a run on sentence she accidentally sat on it. So it wasn't saved. So what. You don't have to deserve anything here. You should have tried writing this on paper first. It was all your fault. Life was all your fault, Aytako.

My brother and my mother were just sad about the guinea pig's death. My mother nearly teary-eyed last night saying I could have killed a newly bought guinea pig not something that was taken care off for a while. That's just beyond my imagination. For a while? (2 weeks)? I killed it?!? I've mentioned the death to my brother over the phone while he was playing at the 24/7 internet shop saying he was "summoned" by his academe repeater friend "tol laro tayo.san ka na" and he went on asking and pestering mother to give him a 100 bucks every other day with ease because he is a fragile little one never to be hurt with taunts like "get a job and pay for your own" and "you don't have any classes right now why would I give you money". He thought my death news was an april fool's joke executed at APRIL 2.

But here was the real story behind its death: I was browsing the web last night when I've wondered finally where the hell is that guinea pig we let out in the sala for a while. It was under this sofa I am typing on now, i moved the sofa to find this guinea pig lying motionless. Its nose hued purple a day before this happened. Maybe he choked up on the plastic he gnawed at. He was gnawing at the food container. So, he died of choking. I didn't kill him. Why would they think I killed him aside from being successfully implanted with subliminals that it would die eventually at the very start? Said I may have killed him so that I could pass a stuffed animal for my Comp. Ana subject. Heck, I've planned for this creature to grow into the size of a rabbit. Too late.

I'm still hungry for now and I haven't reached the gist of my point yet unlike legends who could evoke real emotions you thought you never had in just 25% of the words I've used in this piece of writing. We all know I'm worthless for now.

And I still have to go to my aunt's place to preserve the dead guinea pig before time catches up with nature and form artwork molds on its carcass just in time before breakfast.

TaTa.