The grand thing about living in a self-manufactured reality is the fact that you can do whatever the fuck you want. And I do.
I don't know what happens next. I haven't decided yet.
The Liar's Fucking Parade -
take it how you will, we mean it no less
Oh, so something of a big deal for me - I have finally gotten some well deserved recognition. Isaac Aronson, my close personal friend, had his people talk to some people and Broken Brotherhood (it's a magazine in case you were too dumb to know that already. If you knew, I congratulate you on your taste - huzzah!) sent a reporter. Here is an excerpt... (enjoy):
"The place was a disgusting hovel. It had been impossible to find. Hidden as it was in a dark basement at the end of a series of alleys, this had to be the most godforsaken cellar in the whole civilized(?) world. Why would a prophet live here? Why would The Prophet live here? The ceiling was dripping, the floor was covered in an unidentifiable mung (god, this shit was horrible) and the smell - the stench was beyond belief. There was the was the ever present reek of rot, decay, and death (beer, piss, and vomit). Rats skulked in the shadows; watching, waiting. The hallway seemed endless, the madness was closing in. I knew I would never make it out alive. 'This is all a lie,' I thought. 'There is no prophet here. They sent me here to die. They sent me here to never be found. And no one will come looking for me. It will be as if I just vanished of the face of the earth. My rotting corpse will just become part of the filth and I will fade into nothingness.'
A cat was stalking around the room. He was sitting on crate smoking, drinking a beer and taking the occasional shot of tequila. Room 101. I walked in. I had found him. I had found Billy Prophet."
- Jonathan Oda, "Decadence has a new Prophet"
So how about that kids. I done told you I was gonna be famous. And none o' y'all fuckers believed. So there's that.
"It does seem fitting to construe carelessly made, shoddy goods as in some way analogues of bullshit. But in what way?"
- Harry G. Frankfurt, On Bullshit