Flip your simstim, baby. Welcome to his shit-hole!
Naked, he is trying to hack God’s hidden porn site. Let us call him Deathpunk– a torrent junkie/techno-junkie/disturbed space cowboy/insensitive orc/ who gets a real hard on in every label he tugs to his self. He likes sleeping on a couch, likes reading books in the bathroom while dreaming of his muse. He always dream aboard on a train with his muse going to Prague or Vienna or Amsterdam, a before sunrise dream.
He hates Bill Gates, but please, don’t ask him why.Well, the name Deathpunk is just one hell of a kind pseudonym he uses every time he jack in to cyberspace. You know, the kind of stuff he likes to invent as alias for the sole purpose of writhing his mind while drifting in the ocean of information in cyberspace. In fact, he has no name in real world. The simulacra is the only real world for him. Sometimes, he think as the Google Man goggling in Google world, snooping from his bunker all the information of the digital world. Just do not believe him if he tell you about his dream of Peter Pan or Cinderella or Paquito Diaz. He’s a lousy story teller of that kind of weird stuff.
He believe his life is a complete waste of time summed up with ordinary circumstances and ordinary consequences. However he cherish life with sad stuffs he finds in books, music, literature, torrent, graphic novels, movies, solving Soduko and rubik’s cube, Starcraft, and of course, the yummy pornographic sites. All the places in the Net where God’s Divine Algorithm resides.He is an amoral and apolitical nocturnal Droid, meaning, he has no conviction other than believe in the exponential power of sex and death while debugging scripting languages or understanding the inter-system of PHP language. To him debugging the programming codes is like staring a teen nude picture then masturbating minus the stack overflow; it makes him feel like Libertine solving the syntax error. Yeah, it makes him feel good and so bad. Really, soooooooo bad, baby.
When unplugged from cyberspace, he does enjoy self-loathing. He unwind with his friends (you know, those starving poets and dreamers) in Malate, contemplate life with beers and cigar lights in between his lips. It makes him feel the blissful fire inside his heart knowing he can control his own life. He listen to music for refuge, the kind of music Eva Green would lure her to bed for a beautiful conversation. Ha! He listen as if listening to a nymph reciting a poem in Aegean sea. Again… Ha!
Ask why he writes poetry? Please forgive him. He just doesn’t know what to do with his life.
Last 20 posts by white garapata
- Polymorphously Perverse - April 2nd, 2008
- “He who is not busy being born is busy dying” - Bob Dylan - February 25th, 2008
- The financial rewards of blogging - February 21st, 2008
- Grace for being disgraceful - February 20th, 2008
- The man who hates Bill Gates - February 16th, 2008
- Godot - December 19th, 2007
- Richard Feynman has the answer to enjoying the beauty of a flower - November 30th, 2007
- Dude, Alak Pa! - September 5th, 2007
- Stephen Hawking Universe: Taming the Mind of God - June 19th, 2007
- Obituary— so it goes - April 19th, 2007
- Ang manunulat habang tumatabas ng damo sa kalawakan - April 15th, 2007
- Sentimiyento ng isang ipis - January 11th, 2007
Tags: Bill, Gates, Computers, Internet, Writing
About the author:
a director wannabe. A lonesome chimera.
white garapata has blogged 12
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