Daniel Ross 日 20/04/2021 · admin No comments


“i like being hurt.”

“Do you want to die?”


“Do you like being choked.”


“May i choke you?”

“As long as you stop before you kill me.”


“And don’t leave any marks.”

it’s not a tulpa. it’s not the concept of a being. it’s not the voice of a head-mate. i’ve broken my promise to become better. it’s not the voice in my head. it’s not a living breathing fighting fucking dying thing. i’m trying to let it out again, but it’s buried six feet under neuroleptics. i don’t slide my fingers across this girls tongue with any sort of desire. i’m fluid, and you can’t set fire to water.

:: V. 34, 5’6, 150LBS. One glass of red wine. A bag of vaporized 1:1 marijuana flower. Dancehall strain. Hybrid Sativa. 57 minutes.



Her tongue curls around the length of my middle and index finger, and her lips purse around it like she’s sucking the barrel of a handgun. i feel her throat convulse and she gags when i push my fingers deeper into her esophagus. A strand of saliva falls across her chin when i pull my hand out of her and wipe it on the itchy hostel comforter.

“The world is shitty.”


“Do you want to have sex.”

“A little.”


:: N. 28, 5’3, 105lbs. Bottle of white wine. Two bags of vaporized 1:1 marijuana flower. Canatonic strain. Hybrid indica. 24 minutes.



Dating is difficult. You can never tell if someone is interested in you for real or if they are just building a harem for themselves until they get bored and want a husband so they start going down the list until they find someone who wants them back. This is mostly anecdotal. i’m sure the companies running these apps have a better idea.



Outside the 6th floor hostel window there is a man as insane as i am screaming at the top of his lungs. The screaming is punctuated with the sounds of car tires sloshing through the melting late February snowfall.

“Fuck, i’m super drunk.”

“Me too,” she says.



For a long time after getting sick i was a very earnest person. i spoke openly about who i was and where i was. But honesty isn’t an archetype. Honesty is a target. it’s a wide open field to pave over and build lies.

it’s easy to set boundaries with people but hard to keep them in place when someone digs their 3-inch heels in and pushes back..

:: L. 25, 5’7 170lbs. Six Hard seltzers. Joint of unknown strain. 11m.



Noticed a few weeks ago that after a date at my home  i’d get a flood of matches and messages from different people.

i assume dating app algorithms show your profile to more and more people depending on how close another users phone gets to yours and for how long. if you have someone in your home for four or five hours and leave they can only guess how good of a host you are.

i turned my notifications off months ago. i stopped letting the app get my attention. i’m in a crunch now. Trying not to be homeless but i still have needs.

:: Y. 31 5’7. 165 lbs. Three glasses of red wine. Raw tuna. Salmon. Cup of licorice tea. 1h10m.



For a long time i wanted to die but didnt want to kill myself. it would be nice to just push a button and at some point in the next year be taken out of existence. it has to be long enough to have forgotten you’ve done it. No fanfare. No anxiety. No second guessing. Just….poof.



last time i broke personal opsec was in an open discord with people i only trusted enough to add to facebook and sometimes click their hyperlinks without checking that im not about to get fucked medium style by some skid with kali and a dream.

talked about dating and someone thought i knew what i was talking about for some reason and linked me their okcupid for critique. it was a bunch of non-jokes about how he wanted to hang himself and a picture of his cat taken with a blurry early android phone camera.

i said look pal, self effacing humor is pretty cool but most women on dating sites aren’t operating at the Nth level of irony posting that is indistinguishable from reckless honesty because it is.

he asked me how i became successful at dating and i told him i wasn’t because i was single. he said isn’t that the point. i said what. he said isn’t the point of dating to be single in perpetuity while telling your family and friends that you haven’t met the right person yet? i said maybe. he said hmmmmm and then a day went by and he said in a discord message that he wanted to fall in love. i said good luck pal don’t say i didn’t warn ya.

:: G. 20. 5’2, 135 lbs. 4x 2oz shots of 40% rye. 34m



i think about the bravery involved in hanging yourself. You have to really want it. You have to really need it. Sometimes i think it’s a spiritual act. There’s a lot of esoterica around the act of hanging oneself. Odin did it. Jesus had it done to him. it feels important somehow, but i keep fucking it up.

:: A  21. 5’2. 110 lbs. Three joints of unknown strain. Maybe testosterone hormones. Green tea. 43m.



Noticed a lot of people with Short hair on tinder and they have stubble but their pussies get hot and wetter when you slap their tits or faces so idk warmth is warmth.

it makes me sad to know sadness is ubiquitous. Nobody feels comfort in this prison. Maybe there is some kind of academic theory this world feels fucked up. it’s nothing complex. if the world was comfortable for us we’d stop moving at all.

:: T. 19. 5’5, 150lbs. X beer. 27m.



The worst thing i ever said to someone i respected was “the world is a game” and they seemed curious about that. i didn’t say it should be a game, or that i thought it was a game. Only that it is. They asked about what i meant, and i said that if everyone is acting  for their own best interests, or the best interests of their own in-group then everything they do is at odds with everyone not in their in-group.

i remember he asked me if i was libertarian but he was smirking a bit and i said that i wasn’t. i just liked thinking about systems. i liked figuring out how something worked.

He was in his late 50s and had a Masonic ring on his right hand. He had known the girl i loved at the time for a decade and was as protective of her as i was.



After the last disaster it’s impossible to fall in love. There is only ever the absence when they leave. One day i will meet someone again who doesn’t hug me performatively. They will put their arm across my stomach in their sleep and i’ll feel at home again.

:: M. 38. 5’4 165lbs. Unknown SSRi. 14m.



i stretch my arms out and curl both hands behind my head so i can stop the timer running on my smartwatch without the girl noticing i’ve been timing how long i can hold out for. it’s not an obsession yet, but i need to know. i have to know how much they like me. if they like me at all. Some give up pretty quick. Some leave puddles on the hardwood by the time i can’t hold out any longer.

“My turn,” C says and she’s right. Fairs fair.

When she’s finished writhing i curl up next to her so i can pretend she’s someone else for a second. i can pretend she doesn’t have a dating app on her phone with dozens of other numbers and addresses waiting for her attention or boredom.

“What’s your story?” C asks and i keep my eyes closed like i used to when i was four years old and pretending to be asleep so one of my parents would pick me up and put me to bed. They never did and they’d just shake me or yell and poke until i couldn’t pretend anymore.

But sometimes one of my grandmothers was in the car too, and they would strain and pick me up in their old bones and hum an old world lullaby and carry me to the bunk.

C kisses my face and pats my head and i crack an eye open so i can watch her naked in the dark looking for her clothes. She’s quite tall and slender in the blue light from her phone she uses to scan the floor for her bra.

She turned her notifications on too quick cause I hear her Tinder app try to get her attention.

This gal can’t be more than one hundred and forty pounds. Just under six feet. She hums out her “good night” through the closing door of my hostel room. When the latch clicks my phone is at a pounce-able distance and i’m in a rush to type out everything in my brain before i forget.

:: C. 24. 5’11. 135lbish. Probably cocaine. 1h30m.