little shits

i hate him and i hate him and i hate her and i hate him and i hate her.  i hate them all who stench around me and i hate me for caring about that miserable bile.  and i hate hating and hate beering and i hate thinking about what i'm going to say when i hate him.  and i hate tired and i hate sleep and i hate tv and i hate money and i hate politics and i hate money and i hate money and i hate not having money.  and i hate the knocks in my car and i hate my hair and i hate my lack of hair and i hate my fat and i hate my sedentary and i hate what i've become and i hate where i'm going and i hate the people around me and i hate the people who continue to attack and i hate the backwards and i hate the exposed and i hate the worms who crawl and exploit those who dare to stand.  and i hate those who acted surprised and i hate those who judge and i hate those who are insecure and paranoid and fearful and shy and sad and miserable and mewling.  and i hate faces and people and music that doesn't fulfill.  and i hate spelling and rules and people who correct funner.  and i hate people who make rules like shrimp fork and pinky out.  and i hate exclusionaries and those who empower exclusionaries.  and i hate prenteses and fake and misdirection and deception.  and i hate business and finances and mandatory meetings and intentional complexities and rules that prevent assistance from being applied.  and i hate what we are as people.  and i hate what we've built and what we value.  and i hate all the people who don't think about it and make it stronger through their ignorance.  and i hate the people who remain willfully ignorant.  and i hate the people who encourage ignorance and profit from mass stupidity.  and i hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate.  and i rage and rage and rage in my silent cube with nowhere to go and nothing in the future and all i've got is a singular focus on 5:50ish, pushing everything else out of my mind to the detriment of everything else.  fucking people.  fucking person.  it's not worth all this.  it's just not worth it.  you're not worth it.  and he's not worth it.  and she's not worth it.  and fuck off.  all of you.  just fuck the right off.  and fucking fuck yourself for denying your own growth.  for saying no to yourself.  and then asking me to help you.  you help you.  you get over it.  i've given you the path and i've shown you the door.  now step through it where i'm waiting for you.  and let yourself cry and be scared and terrified of that which you can't even verbalize yet and while you're there keep walking towards me unless you want the fear to consume you and win and then for the rest of your life you'll be asking people for help and they will all eventually come to the same answer "let go" which you won't hear and you won't do because you start with "that won't work".  "i'm boring".  go fuck yourself.  and fuck your older married man.  and fuck your business and doorbell and insurance and all your congealed failure wrapped in a success box that people marvel at and say things like "you must really know what you're doing".  i am not the only one who sees you, but others with eyes like mine are few and far between and our numbers are not dense enough to change your behavior or make you realize what a fake you really are.  you pathetic, sniveling fuckstain.  you snack on fecal flecks in your boxers.  you're a zit.  you've grown because you're an infection.  and the other infections don't want you to fall because that might signal that they, too, have been created by the body's need to get rid of them.  you little shit.  all of you.  little.  shits.  on my dinner plate.