congealed obscenity

my dearest of friends, the myspace goers. id like to welcome you to the scene where the main character dies in the end.

my space friend

or maybe just a space friend, without the my.

without the "i"

im not quite sure. though i am quite obtuse.

because you can't spell friend without F or R or I or E or N or D.

unless of course you realize words are nothing but the meaning they provide, so you could spell friend in a different language.

A or M or I or G or O

or perhaps you could attribute another word to take the meaning for friend.
how about the (compound) word "fuckhole"

thanks to all my "fuckhole's" for being there, by my side, through thick and thin. you are my best "fuckhole's" etc.

a "fuckhole" in need is a "fuckhole" indeed.

what a stupid maxim. the word indeed references either action, or as common use would state, a reiteration of the term. thus the maxim would say a friend, while having a need of some sort, is a reiteration of a friend.

ive tried dating girls in need. that definetely doesnt work . . . better to stick to "fuckholes".

strange isn't it, how a word can exist twice, occupy the same space but be two seperate things. you all understand the use of the word fuckhole, and how it represents friend. but the word still means fuckhole to you.

imagine if we could merge like that. move from the representation of our personhood to the representation of something else, simutaneously.

i am ben, the person . . . and the lamp. from now on the word lamp is replaced with the word ben, but not just the word . . . the personhood.

damn, i dont think that will work. people probably wouldnt feel comfortable doing to a lamp what they do to me. especially derek.

how about it, transferable personhood. based upon representation. lets merge it all into one little ion of recognition and spread it everywhere.

Id become a bible and defile myself, right in front of some "gay-hating" republican, christian, sheep humping, cowboy. He'd be reading in Psalms how its ok to beat your wife, and id will myself to have an exact replica of a black man giving it to his daughter in the ass . . . in red ink, in church . . . while he had a pen is his hand.

id transfer for a while. become unimportant, an object for use (well, at least something more used that I am currently). Id be a hammer, or a stuffed animal, or a slice of orange.

id resist personhood and bask in the glory of my temporal non-importance.

its hard to feel when you dont have a self.