The thing about 70s/80s/90s movies is that they feel and look like audiovisual theater.
From A Nightmare on Elm Street, 1984.
Constant green screens and increased post-production since the 00s made them more like video games and less… Solid? Convincing?
I officially have sold my old car. Picked up and gone this afternoon.
So weird how there’s a little mourning happening. It’s just a vehicle. But there’s so much history for me.
I couchsurf. Meet new people who become good friends. They have two cars. They let me borrow one to finally pass my CA driving test. I borrow it here and there and then they decide to sell it to me, as they don’t really need it anymore. Wonderful folks.
For the next 9 years or so, it served me well. I did everything with it. Ran it almost out of oil and gas. Transported folks, an adorable dog, furniture, in the back or on the roof. Dates. Trips to the coast, to the desert, to LAX. Movie nights. Long conversations on a quiet Friday evening with my girl, the blue moon and crickets on a parking lot or street parking (cars are places, too). Driving on the freeway, singing our hearts out. Under heavy rain or heavy sun. Never before in my life did I get flats but there I was, getting one on each wheel at least once.
In 2020, as I unfortunately hit homelessness, my little car is everything. I chat with my sister off of the public library wifi from the lot. I sit in it without running anything for hours, as I save gas and battery life because I can’t afford any repair at all. It allows me to move around with my bicycle and suitcase and stuff. I feel like I can do this even though it fucking sucks. My little car’s got my back.
I get my bicycle stolen from the back. Little corner window smashed. I’m living in Inglewood at the time and my neighbor goes “go see that Asian lady on Florence, she does all kinds of car glass”. I show up there, she opens a rusty warehouse with, duh, car glass on the ground (no floors, just dirt) no labels, nothing. This is a joke, I think. She comes back 10 minutes later with the right corner glass for my 1999 Vitara.
A few repairs. The catalytic converter gave me trouble first in 2018 and as I couldn’t afford to fix it, I really hoped it would hold it up for me. It gave up in 2023. Not bad.
While I was buying its successor one evening a few months ago, I saw a burgundy, clean-as-a-whistle 1999-2000 Suzuki Vitara on the other side of the boulevard. We both looked at each other from a distance like “wait, is it the same car that I drive that is old and that no one HEY YEAH”. A young woman. We smiled at each other and I really wanted to listen to her story with this car but anyway.
Bye, baby.
There’s a variant of this fuck ass COVID-19 that gets my immune system like
I have to fight that mf for multiple weeks, relentlessly.
Sure, I’m functional and mostly spit high amounts of whatever it is, but I have to be super active physically and take all the vitamin D (sun and cheese) I can. Otherwise I feel off with weird ups and downs.
And then at some point, it’s gone. I’m back 100%.
Fuck this thing that we kind of created. OK maybe not, but odds are that we definitely nurtured that hoe.
After reading quite a lot of them recently, I haven’t seen a couple of mine.
I need a device or a furniture that allows this. I want her to be able to sit or lay down the way she wants it to be eaten comfortably. No matter what she chooses, I can stand, tilt my head and go at it. I can get on my toes. I can grab her waist, her thighs, her ass/tiddies, her shoulders. I can grab bars to lift my nose up against her clit. I am not underground, she is just higher. She can see everything I do and can touch me. That is, no cage or box or thing like that. More like a ladder/mezzanine or something.
I don’t know why it’s a recurrent fantasy. Maybe because I’m tired to be on my knees or sitting to lick it, not that it hurts or that it’s boring, it’s just that it’s mostly the only way? I guess that is a bit boring. A WNBA center on heels could do, perhaps. Let’s find out, baby.
Of course, if while I’m lapping it a second woman was playing with my dick and balls and a third eating my ass, that would be in-sane but even in fantasies, I am not greedy. I can barely have the thoughts of what I just wrote. That would be a lot of groaning and moaning. Goddamn.
Ever since I learned that pigs have orgasms for 20+ minutes, I have been increasingly jealous of them.
Oh, you’re a woman with a wand™, a rose™, practice and you think your orgasms are powerful? A couple minutes of ecstasy? lol.
Oh, you’re a man who can edge and milk his prostate for hours and your orgasms are an order of magnitude stronger than the average dude? You scream HAAAAAA for 10 seconds? lmaooo.
A pig is basically screaming CUMMMMMIII for twen-tay, long ass minutes. 1,200 seconds. Twenty minutes is wild, folks. You can do a lot of things in 20 minutes. Run errands. Make a nice sandwich. Tidy up a room. The pig is still coming, like a pig. Disgusting. I started this blog post 10 minutes ago. Barely at half-time. Still 10 minutes of orgasm to go. Can they be daisy-chained? I can’t.
Sometimes I imagine if humanity was able to do this. Zero conflict, zero wars. Too busy, too exhausted by earth-shattering orgasms. Like, we would need international No-Nut days to recover. A month wouldn’t be possible as people would go back at it 30 days later and die, literally, with huge smiles on their faces. Can’t stop won’t stop.
The animal world beats us on all kinds of sensory skills and I usually don’t care. Like looking simultaneously back and forth like a chameleon, seems useful, still don’t care. The 20-minute petite mort though? I would like that. Goddamn.
Like, I’m tired of drinking water and wiping my face.
People are sedated. That’s the biggest change.
It’s hard to remember how 10 years ago was. Before the pandemic. Before people increased their phone usage by 1,000%. But things were more solid. Sharper. That’s saying a lot because the 2010s were a continuous loss of control.
Today we are in a constant blur. We don’t understand anything. Everything is sus. So, sedation (endless entertainment, widespread gambling culture etc). Social isolation (group chats, exclusive membership, etc). And hivemind mindset (see above).
In the past decades, the last bastion of “checking on wtf is going on in the back” was the press. People would read articles, investigations and stay on their feet. This is completely gone. Folks don’t have opinions or personal perspectives. It’s all regurgitated from our digital hoses, making us more docile and fragile. People in power abuse that shit.
The press died through the internet, Meta and Google adwords. It became a weak ass bitch and when it wasn’t, billionaires killed it. Gawker is the first publication where I read that Mr. Cosby had raped a couple women and I remember thinking “boy ya’ll better have some good lawyers”. But they were sadly more than right and were sued for $140M for some unrelated stupid sex video which killed them.
Anyway, there is absolutely nothing independent checking on anything in America at the moment. The moment is all about collusion and merging quietly. It’s frightening.
The stream. The feed. They’re washing away any kind of analysis. Things are already somewhere else. People don’t have the time to truly take it in and question things properly. It’s all in movement, as if life was all about reacting, constantly.
We know life needs steadiness. Some static quality to it. The horizon, the sun, the sky. The constant flow and acceleration make us make tons of mistakes. Make us lose the plot. Make us forget of all the progress we can make without a private company’s growth concerns in sight. We have so many tools to help ourselves.
Keep looking. Keep searching, reaching for other solutions. Break free from sedation.
A week later and I already don’t care about the doom and gloom AI scene.
This week a few people voiced their lack of concern about the AIpocalypse. It seems more and more obvious that a bunch of folks want more money for “AI safety”. Bro, just disconnect the ethernet cable and the AI won’t go nowhere. And if it’s too late, why do you need money for?
Meanwhile I’m building some software with an AI agent for my customers, and the feeling of freedom is like running down a hill, laughing your ass off. Iteration speed is unmatched. There’s no going back. I go home trying to visualize the ramification of such powerful tools, and it’s leaving me thinking for hours.
In the meantime people are head down their phones at all times everywhere I look, and then I get snaked by a Waymo car, passing on the right using the useless, gentrification-stamped bicycle lane.
Life is good for me, and pretty damn wierd too.
Basing all decisions, designs and processes on data points, has been making the world bland and pale.
Very long article very well worth the read (phenomenal work, that scene writes a lot, or is it bots now?):
https://www.iankduncan.com/personal/2026-09-16-sex-ai-and-the-apocalypse
A Harry Potter fanfic used as a recruiting pipeline. Psychological workshops that former participants describe as coercive. A program for breeding smarter children, promoted by an AI institute. A sex worker from Idaho who became one of the subculture’s most-read writers and now runs an AI-doom propaganda residency with Grimes, Elon Musk’s ex-girlfriend. A splinter sect that fled to tugboats and whose members have been linked to six deaths. And a blogger who wanted to abolish democracy, found the ear of several billionaire patrons, and watched his ideas come to fruition in the vice president’s office.
I am aware, that if you are not lurking on the internet as much as I do, of how utterly insane that paragraph sounds. However, every bit of it is heavily documented by numerous sources.
Uh,
I mean in a sense morbidly online people who have been morbidly online their entire lives, self-centered, coming from religious backgrounds and tripping out, right. That makes sense.
But also no, what the actual fuck is going on?
In the middle of this wonderful book called Two Wheels Good. The History and Mystery of the Bicycle.
And it hit me. Reading is like a conversation with myself. The author goes somewhere, I follow, stop them, create my own reasoning, let them keep going. Try to predict where it’s going. Etc.
It’s as if we were trading the wheel on the freeway. I take the wheel because a paragraph reminisces me of something lived a while ago. A similar situation, maybe or something related. Then I wander a bit around it, trying to see multiple perspectives. Working up my memory and imagination. And then I go back to the block of text and its muse, the author. Who takes back the wheel and I just look around, observing.
There is none of that with video and audio.
You become a complete prisoner. If you voice yourself, you can’t. It will be weak, under breath. You never really use your intellect when you’re listening to someone or watching their live feed.
This is why reading is so fundamental. It is the best tool for intelligence, period. It is a gym for the brain.
It doesn’t work with a conversation with someone or multiple people, for people are biased and have agendas. When you read, it’s just you and the author. That’s a clean state to build up from because there’s only your bias and the author’s to deal with. No third layer that fucks it all up.
There’s truly a hivemind culture born from social media/phones/podcasts use, no reading whatsoever, and it’s not helping our world.
Recently I really have been feeling the sedating effect of all-day videos that people are going through. People read less. Despite more access to knowledge than ever, people question less than ever.
I’m concerned.