MOAR .GIFS!!!

Lul Jimmy Two-Shoes

"Haha, what?"

xcubes me, wtf ru doing?

jackin 'it

schmokin' it, jerkin' it

BEARD RUB IN PROGRESS

"The" Point

Lick: Version 1

Lick: Version 2

Version 1

Version 2

Version 3

Version 4

fink fink fink

nuzzles 

Happy Valentine's Day!

Vishsanity

Be here now.

Is that OCD?

If 2012 was my year to cut loose and let my ADHD run then show, then 2013 shall be The Year Of My OCD.

Plans.
Lists.
Control.

My ADHD wants to check fb (REAL BAD) and Twitter, and Wikipedia, and YouTube, and Tumblr, and Erowid,

oscillation between two extremes. Which is essentially my Unified Theory.

Sick

I'm sick of being sick.

I must go over this and edit it according to the standards of my OCD. My ADHD will create and my OCD will revise.

creation & destruction
adhd&ocd
female&male

are you talking to yourself?

THE BLUR
THE BLEND

we create duality so that we may exist inside of it

raw crazy vishthoughts

Look at this mess. No Capitalization. Poor Grammar. Tsk tsk. Tut tut.

It's funny, initially I wanted to quit facebooking(/general internetting) in order to FOCUS on this blog entry, but now I want to quit this blog entry to focus on writing.

The logic was, despite numerous electronic setbacks (both phone and netbook are currently unusable and not easily/quickly fixed) I still had the blessing of Abbey and her equipment, namely the very laptop that's helping me type this very sentence.

So then, if one can reason that one should not be wasting one's time with facebook, so too then can't one follow the logic of wasting one's time on online journaling being better channelled into a more productive endeavor, like say typing up one's screenplay?!

BUT WHERE DO WE DRAW THE LINE?

Who is to say what's best? At this point, OCD (following the nature of yin and yang) is becoming ADHD, and vice versa. The strict adherence to reducing wasteful activities becomes almost a spontaneous way of leapfrogging ad infinitum and the burning ADHD longs to simply choose a single endeavor and pour heart and soul into it.

raw thoughts
I kinda don't wanna edit this at all....
I should do this more often, even if only to simply keep myself focused and on track...

I gave in. I'm checking facebook. I'm checking tumblr.
But I'm staying mindful (by recording such facts in text here.)

I did not work out today. That saddens me. It's Friday. I'd like to work out. I work out on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Too bad I am sick. Super sick. Hackin up a lung. I feel bad for the humans infected with what I've got.

SICK DEMON
BROKEN ANGEL
human

whole

One

1

.

0

None.

Divided.

DEMON.
FIXED GOD.
HEALTHY DEVIL.

well that was odd, I thought aloud without enough punctuation
touch the screen [here] Haha. It did nothing. Didn't it? You tried anyway. Why?
YOU WANT TO BELIEVE,

YOU WANT TO BELIEVE IN THE MIRACLE OF BEING SURPRISED.

Is that all Life is? The Big Suprise? The Divine Surprise?
food.
i am thinking about food.
i am heavily considering food.
contemplating eating.
pensive on the nature of food and eating

the word Ouroboros comes to mind...

suddenly I feel as if though this sickness of the body is actually of the mind........

how can I heal myself?

HOW DO I ACTIVATE MY JESUS POWERS?! do i even want them?

EGO
TAKE OVER
JOSH VISH
ACTIVATE

I want to stop being sick,
I want to eat healthy and enough, every single day.
I want to be active, get bigger, stronger, faster, leaner. I want to be as muscular as is possible for me to reasonably and affordably maintain.
I need to stop. I'm tumbling down into the internet. Literally.

There's music playing and I don't want it to be...

life can be summed up in two simple words: fuck you.

the philosophy of fuck you
the dao of fuck you
when you eat something, you say "fuck you, thing. i'm eating you."
when you fuck someone, you fuck them and they fuck you
when you die, yer fucked
when your born, it's because yer parents fucked and therefore indirectly fucked you
when you wake up, fuck you sleep/death/infinity
when you fall asleep, fuck you reality/life/people
when you masturbate, fuck you. literally. you fuck yourself.
when you take drugs, you say fuck you to reality
when you play videogames you say fuck you to reality
when you play music you say fuck you to silence

i am picturing a traditional ouroboros overlayed with a different kind of ourboros, one of a man with an immense phallus, fucking himself. a figure 8. infinity.

goddamnit, do I really have to stop eating meat?! but it's so tasty!
don't wanna die, reluctant to kill, so why eat death?
eat life. eat fruit. plant. water. nurture. grow

i only wanna eat badass predator type animals that i personally kill from now on

I MUST FEED MYSELF.

The Big Bang? pffffft. Try, The Big Fuck You.

I'm dicking off again. It feels good. Doing something other than what I'm supposed to be doing. Being "bad." Being "naughty." And in a very real sense, fucking myself.

it truly is a new year
2013 is really here
there's nothing to fear
reality is mine to steer
when you are One, you are without peer
your precious life you must hold dear
for death is inevitably near
you may think this queer
you may even leer
but take a look in the mirror
before you punch that deer
go ahead, launch that spear
and then drink that beer
do not jeer
listen here
walk off that pier
do you hear?
study the rear
become the seer
elevate to God Tier
when the time comes, do not veer

i made some macros for you

Capital L Love

My life has become terribly Romantic as of late. Infused with meaning and thick with casual rhythm. I'm not complaining.

 Matters of daily life once considered banal and monotonous have taken on a new layer of profundity inversely equal to the strata in which contemporary western society has reduced them to.

 Rain falling. A bowel movement. Brushing a stray hair behind an ear (mine OR hers.) Finding a comfortable position for the vessel that contains my soul whilst my mind takes me on a tour of the wonders within. Smoking. The sound a page makes as its turned.

 Everything has become saturated with Divinity and overwhelmed by graceful scrutiny dredged from the personal perspective of my genuine curiosity.

 I see beauty even in the profanely grotesque. I'm not sure there is any going back. I am in Love. I have half a mind to learn a musical instrument or three. The other half is hard at work weighing the pros and cons.

麻 + 鬼 = 魔

Kanji is the name given to the Han symbols the Japanese language borrows from the Chinese language. Early written symbols in Chinese were pictographs, which are simply rudimentary drawings of what was/is being seen. Pictography is a form of writing which uses representational, pictorial drawings. It is a basis of cuneiform and to some extent, hieroglyphic writing. The kanji for forest (麻) also means hemp. If you look closely, you will note that the two five-pronged groups of strokes (林) blatantly resemble the upside down leaves of a male cannabis plant. The 广 portion of the symbol represents a grass hut, in which the leaves are being hung upside down to dry. So prolific and ubiquitous was cannabis in these days that the very symbol for forest drew its inspiration from the characteristic long fanned out leaf pattern still visible in the plant today.

KYLE

He was running as fast as his little legs could take him.

His mother's voice was still echoing and trailing off with a sun that had almost finished setting. The bright orange glow was dipping behind the verdant hills and a soft indigo mixed with a loud fuchsia remained to light his way through the (relatively) tall grass. His steps were frantic and jostled his entire frame as he ran. Chubby cheeks and loose arms bounced with each successive transference of weight from right to left and back again. At this age, children don't really bend their knees when they run, they amble fervently, legs kept almost straight, achieving forward momentum only by constantly switching which stiff side is in front.

Kyle clambers up the hand-built wooden stairs of the house one-by-one, taking the steps in huge staccato strides. One tiny foot extends at the end of one short leg, just barely clearing the height, and the other one comes up to meet it. These aren't the smooth alternating steps we learn to take as our bodies grow to accommodate them. These are the genuine efforts of a small body desperately trying to keep moving onward and upward. He plows face first into the base of his mother's soft flower-printed, flowy dress and pulls his head back to gaze up at her. She smells like fresh laundry with a slight hint of spicy cinnamon. His dark brown, almost black hair pasted by sweat to his forehead is clumsily swept aside by one fat little fist. She gently ruffles the back of his head and softly pulls him inside, closing the door behind her.

Taking one of his hands in hers, she leads his short little legs up the stairs, patiently waiting for him to ascend. When they reach the top of the stairs she releases his hand and he hurries off to his room. The lights are already turned down, and the mood causes a short yawn to break the rhythm of his panting. He hops up onto the fluffy comforter adorning his bite-size bed and with one hand deliberately held in a fist, he uses the other to struggle to his feet. His head has just snuck under the curtains as his mother enters the room. Pressing his outstretched hand to the window, he gazes outward mouth agape. She is turning the ceiling lights off and flicking his bedside lamp on while shaking her head back and forth.

"Kyle, honey. What did we say about shoes on the bed?"

He is oblivious to her, rapt with the dancing specks of light in the field he just came from. His breath is fogging the glass as she scoops his feet out from under him with one hand on his backside. Laying him on his back, she begins unfastening his overalls, his little chest and belly still heaving up and down from the night's endeavors. As she slips them off from around his feet, she sweetly rubs and caresses his rising and falling tummy. Another yawn escapes him. Noticing his clenched fist she inquires,

"What do you have in your hand, sweetie?"

He coyly looks away and attempts to roll toward the wall. One smooth firm hand placed on his middle pulls him back to her and quickly dances around, tickling him for a moment. After stifling his giggle he quietly utters,

"Pweez?"

She shakes her head again and leans in close. Her hand gently pats his stomach and then settles into a slow rub.

"Now baby, we talked about this. He can't breathe in there. You have to let him go."

He defiantly shakes his head and yawns yet again. She sighs and sits up, meeting the boy's father at the threshold of the door.

"Oh let him be. He has to learn his own lessons." he says to her.
"But he's just a little boy. It's too much for him." she retorts.
"He's not going to be that way forever, and this is how we can prepare him for the rest. He's just going to do it again, tomorrow. Just like he does every night. He'll learn eventually."

"Hi, Daddy!" Kyle spurts.

He walks toward the bed holding a sustained, "Shhh." leading his wife forward with one hand tenderly placed on the small of her back. She settles on the corner of the bed nearest to his head and resumes tucking him in. The amount of time his eyes remain open between blinks is steadily decreasing.

"Hi, buddy." he whispers, and both of their hands find his forehead, rubbing and overlapping in tandem. Kyle lets out one final yawn and they both take their turns lightly pressing their lips to his rapidly cooling brow. She leans in close an utters an almost imperceptible,

"Mommy loves you, sweetheart. Sleep well. Sweet dreams."

She exits the room and his father remains behind. While keeping his eyes on Kyle he slowly pulls the door shut. After it clicks shut, it immediately opens back up and he peers in at his now sleeping son. This time he only pulls it most of the way shut and continues looking at the boy for a moment through the narrow vertical slice left open. With a pleasant sigh he walks away.

Kyle's fingers begin to loosen and a single firefly escapes his grasp, lighting and blinking as it flutters about his dim room...