Digging too deep, we are all obscene.

There are far too many wonderous things on the internet. I would rather stare blankly at a series of windows flashing and coalescing than write, alas, it must be done.

Because I have a huge ego.

Probably two things:

I successfully killed who I was. I made decisions antithetical to my previous nature. It was awesome. I drunkenly exploited a third world country for its resources. I spat on a police officer and veteran, then stole a painting from a sad hawker with two kids. I think I didn't flush and then fought a group of schoolchildren and defended my actions with "Everyone is allowed to have emotions!"

I expected some perspective building out of these deaths of previous self, but what I've found is that I have experiences, but my person hasn't changed. I feel pretty much the same way about life. Maybe I should do it again. Maybe I should do it every weekend waiting for the mirror and the words to shift and aggregate.

Thing two: I've been having some trouble while I'm having sex with A LOT of women (I don't know why people don't take me seriously). While I'm rocking the motions the only way I know how, I keep having to stop the action and tell her not to move her body, but make faces at me while I pan around her and close in on her face, and then back up again, only to pan around.
It's a challenge to do this spectatorship and participate at the same time, leading me to have virtually no sex my entire life.

Some of my friends inform me that this behavior is actually a representation of a need to be stimulated by what I've seen, which is apparently odd camera angles in cheap pornography.

Well! How-dy! I'd like to counter by depicting realistic, inspiring sexual experiences that could also be made into pornography:

Passing each other every day for about six, seven month Going out for coffee and talking about displeasure with the intellectual regime about a month later and awkwardly making an advance that pits me back further, over and over again until

A final culmination of unsaid and (often) unwanted evanescent emotions leads us to an encounter for five, ten minutes until I fall asleep because of exhaustion.
All of this would take place in real time.

But that would be like making a map that so accurately depicts the terrain that it exactly covers it like a fitted blanket.