Silver Tiles

And now I only jerk off on Thursdays. What the fuck. I'm pondering the levels of my psyche and damage that's been done throughout this show. I'm taking into consideration now creating this blog in terms of art of the general overall project in reflection to humanity instead of hiding what's happening. I'm taking into consideration what's happened over the period of time this projects happened. I'm thinking about it further like 2 years. I'm thinking back to series zero because I really miss being a person. Being a person was great, being a human, being a something, having a religion; the safety of my mind, the place inside myself and the safety of my room. They get me to pause when this happens, they get to yell something and I pause, when the fuck did I start to reflect on this T.V. show in terms of responding to such popular catch phrases as "don't stall" and "please don't stall" amongst "bold move" and other popul

would I reach more characters in this show if I jump onto the homeless bandwagon? Will this be more fun than the current level of the TV show with lasers they hit cock and self. It's a Thursday evening and that's sacred for the night I'd hookup w/SVA hipster girls and alike @ Boogaloo. It's a friend pallet but now I'm just promoting Brock as DJ to get my club, it's reflective action trying to get something physical from the memories of my humanity when I reach that place again. Barack is supposedly running for president but I can't believe shit in this show they could have stolen that from my dreams. These people have magnets on my penis, let me share quite openly it hurts. My sanity if it existed is something of a version between madness and bitter quips. I look at everything and wonder WHY am I to ever again pretend this isn't a TV show? Why do freelance or anything the real wold requires? I could always street it. It's ubsurd. I want to return to

okay that title is ultimately a lack of effort. But it's representational of my new stance generally on everything. It's a reflection and I'd be most interested as an art school kid specifically living ithin my sacred building to see what I do when I stop playing the patsy pansy to a world I no longer have interest in sucking the dick of. What the fuck kind of crack did I smoke (and not get laid through) to live through this shit on auto-pilot? How dear they, anyone, create this cunt of a show without buying me a mario gun first. And that's a reference back to Decadent Diploma in a Hartford Empty room, that's a reference back to my own work available through amazon.com under k.maz. I'm being fucked up night and day by shit fucking lights and machines in the sequel to mannahatta. Fucking literally. Live and broadcasted through and around my mind. Fuck that shit and the voices of nothingness they attempt to consume; imagine The Neverending Story 2 meets the Wizard

There's a sideplot in this show, it's essentially called everything else that's going on. Pretty much, we have thevisualaxis or we don't. I have Skittles in Pfizer or I don't. I have Domino or I don't. When it comes down to it, that's really how things are going to be as far as matters go. Otherwise we're going to live through all of this daily. Which I'm learning to, creating a form of diamondship for myself. On the actuality of the television show there seems to be a function of attempting to break me down. Or rather, an attempt to fail my efforts to perfect myself. In the exterior, as a starfucker and as a person molded by the circumstances I exist in. So, I ultimately have to take consideration of this and deal with things really holding onto self pride. Because people are asking me the stupidest fucking questions, saying the most absurd things at all times and hitting me with lasers always. This is everywhere, and they're also hitting me wit

It's more or less apparent the interest in the T.V. show is what's in my mind. Still, the exterior creation is fantastic. So now we're having these daily episodes of being on the show and doing simple tasks like fucking reading and watching how the character affects me. It's fantastic, I'm having more fun than ever. We still have to get the corporation together though so I have to summon everyone tonight. Not quite sure about the matter of how the factories go exterior from the Truman Art School bubble. Since you're watching this, let's more so comment now on the situation of being in the show over the situation of what's happening: It's getting better and better. I stop pretending that I'm not in a show so they stop pretending that it's not, more and more it becomes obvious. What's the fun in producing a show with someone like me if I'm not willing to play with the audience. We're having alot of fun. I'm decently insane and i

so we're at the level on the show where I went with Ruebin's advice over going to see Bhob in everyones most despised town beyond the demon knght barrior. So I'm going to go with Ruebin's advice in this situation since he saved my life the last time I was inhabiting this body dealing with thesis and the reality of the SVA tv show. Although at that point I'd only considered SVA watching (and Pratt) kindof a NYC thing but my target audience was art school girls. So he played what we later came to refer to as the 'talent procurer'. One needs a lifeline on the outside in levels like this. So I'm running with Ruebin's advice cause he played art star saviour last time. And it makes sense if Bhob is going to contact me on the plotline of the show someone from SVA is bound to as well. What a fucking insane show. I kindof figure if Bhob contacted me perhaps the mayor will show up w/Skittles keys. Somebody just did the random bang. I'm starting to see the

I haven't carried a blog for a long time. Since fucking 9th Ave. It's a form of flashback and flashforward. I never should have stopped the blog. Everything grows to a higher level of difficulty. Everything should be done with precision. It's all becoming a matter of psyche exactness. It's a night at Hart st (williamsburg) and I'm wondering how this shit is broadcasted. And how incredibly large this show is. Who watches Skylar as he sleeps. And who knows Skylar shouldn't be sleeping. Not that I have the ability to know this, just that it's obviously happening. There's some form of sleep forcing in this show and I wonder what the fuck the holographic thing is. Strange items that hit me. They used to say hell on my rooftop in Manhattan. I need to formulate my script for williamsburg quadrophenia. It's so obvious that it's a show to the extent that people now immediately show me a cop newspaper article after I rant about I'd rather join the nypd

we're going to break the barriors every now and then on this show. I don't believe there's another person behind this, I. All that exists is Skylar. Today Skylar looks back on the circles I'm placed on the show and the general insult to my intellect. Sequence pattern into madness use the christie cummings character or the other fucking thing this Sarah Neufeld thing. One I don't like and one I never met but that's really not the point. So they know exactly what they'll get me to say so they put me in a sort of loop. That's your last shot, which is my favorite. This is very much like Manna-hatta. Except I think the mistake was I stopped writing those diaries. Anyhow, they get me into a loop and I simply do the same fucking rant/get bitter and complain. New dialogue is fantastic but for a great portion of the show I'm ranting to nothing, it's the fucking letter N. Everything else in this show: I want my fucking club. Okay but I need to learn to mas