Bigtitsbitch1000x
Virgin
- Joined
- Jan 4, 2024
- Posts
- 963
I received a lovely message stating "Personal attacks violate forum guidelines and distract from the purpose of the forum. It's possible to disagree without attacking."
What a charming valentine.
Really, at 75, I greatly appreciate such consideration. Having survived a sexual assault by a Serb policeman*, a similar expression of deep, passionate affection by a Russian settler on the border of Ukraine**, the literal destruction*** of my books in nice, proggy San Francisco, threats to my person in numerous foreign countries where I am only too well-known, a long period of alienation from my Big Domme because of slander, refusal of housing, and denial of employment visited on her****, harassment of my father, who was the first publisher of Lawrence Ferlinghetti, such that my dad killed himself, leading to clinical depression (my mom, a Communist saint), my brother (a gifted mathematician who wrote his Ph.D thesis on Kurt Gõdel), and my son (a successful musician, now a heroin addict unable to hold a job), and other highly fulfilling adventures, I am overjoyed to encounter such caring, sensitive, ethical, nurturing, protective, kind, and reverent respect for me and my personality.
In 2016, on my last assignment in the Balkans. I was generously injected with a Novichok poison in my right knee, leaving me partially paralyzed. I fell in the street more than 50 times, a splendid development as it provided me opportunities for stargazing. There is no better way to ponder the magnificence of the universe than by lying helplessly in the gutter waiting for the EMTs. Especially in the rain, which gives the heavenly bodies a crystalline appearance. The laughter of passersby makes the whole experience indelibly satisfying.
I had lastly received $250k from the chief of staff of John Bolton, for a study of shariah ideology in Europe, an inconsequential topic. https://a.co/d/9Msg5on
I was exhausted, demoralized, and disabled. I walked away from my career. I spent down a trifling sum, moved to the high desert of California and began a deeper examination of my self. I came out as a transwoman.
Of course that was an illusion, intended to cover the carefree truth:
Wonder Drug: The Secret History of Thalidomide in America and Its Hidden Victims https://a.co/d/3wvfhfT
I ransacked the net for data to be used in crafting a bogus identity, with the intent of swindling all and sundry. Believing myself, entirely falsely, to be internally female, a topic about which I republished works I had plagiarized from others, I dove into a world of total ugliness. I threw away my expensive male clothes and dressed like a homeless person.
I discovered Literotica and became obsessed with this text:
https://www.literotica.com/s/a-natural-gurl
I dragged my long-suffering spouse into a nightmare of humiliation. She, who formerly busied herself with Amway, I forced to work for a dirty old man named Martin Scorsese. It was degrading. But only my fleeting happiness counted. I moved into an SRO. I wandered the streets in an incoherent daze.
But thanks to Literotica, I learned to my joy that my feeble jottings were bereft of literary quality, and that I am merely an old man waiting to die. Not just a has-been. A never was.
"Vanity of vanities, all is vanity."
It's good. It's fine to know that my sincere, authoritative teachers on Literotica have stayed loyal to an ideal of truth, and will never need be cautioned, as above, to avoid personal attacks. Thanks to them I can now begin to understand that I am an "alt," made to be triggered, that my identity should be revealed to the world, so that I may be freed from the really terrible responsibility of journalism, a variety of botulism, that my delusions about authorship are mere hallucinations, and that I would be happier submitting to those who understand how the world works.
Of course, there was no conflict in Yugoslavia, the happiest country ever. There were no dead children. No raped women. No devastated cities. Sorryevo, which appears on no map is a hamlet populated by "people" better off dead.
I promise to forget. It's time for my haldol. If I'm lucky, they'll let me play shuffleboard. Checkers is too much for me.
The disembraining continues. Father Ubu is happy; all's right in His world.
Dance, puppet! Thanks for playing!
/s/ Stephen Schwartz
Permanent inmate in the Prison House of Gender
Channelling
https://www.marxists.org/archive/bukharin/works/1938/trial/3.htm
*He was cute AF.
**Delightfully filthy.
***Books need not be burned. Texts can be removed from them with a razor, and bookstores can't be compelled to sell them.
****She never shared my politics, but is forced to pay a heavy price for my stupidity, as well she should be. In this world there are no innocents. All must be humiliated.
What a charming valentine.
Really, at 75, I greatly appreciate such consideration. Having survived a sexual assault by a Serb policeman*, a similar expression of deep, passionate affection by a Russian settler on the border of Ukraine**, the literal destruction*** of my books in nice, proggy San Francisco, threats to my person in numerous foreign countries where I am only too well-known, a long period of alienation from my Big Domme because of slander, refusal of housing, and denial of employment visited on her****, harassment of my father, who was the first publisher of Lawrence Ferlinghetti, such that my dad killed himself, leading to clinical depression (my mom, a Communist saint), my brother (a gifted mathematician who wrote his Ph.D thesis on Kurt Gõdel), and my son (a successful musician, now a heroin addict unable to hold a job), and other highly fulfilling adventures, I am overjoyed to encounter such caring, sensitive, ethical, nurturing, protective, kind, and reverent respect for me and my personality.
In 2016, on my last assignment in the Balkans. I was generously injected with a Novichok poison in my right knee, leaving me partially paralyzed. I fell in the street more than 50 times, a splendid development as it provided me opportunities for stargazing. There is no better way to ponder the magnificence of the universe than by lying helplessly in the gutter waiting for the EMTs. Especially in the rain, which gives the heavenly bodies a crystalline appearance. The laughter of passersby makes the whole experience indelibly satisfying.
I had lastly received $250k from the chief of staff of John Bolton, for a study of shariah ideology in Europe, an inconsequential topic. https://a.co/d/9Msg5on
I was exhausted, demoralized, and disabled. I walked away from my career. I spent down a trifling sum, moved to the high desert of California and began a deeper examination of my self. I came out as a transwoman.
Of course that was an illusion, intended to cover the carefree truth:
Wonder Drug: The Secret History of Thalidomide in America and Its Hidden Victims https://a.co/d/3wvfhfT
I ransacked the net for data to be used in crafting a bogus identity, with the intent of swindling all and sundry. Believing myself, entirely falsely, to be internally female, a topic about which I republished works I had plagiarized from others, I dove into a world of total ugliness. I threw away my expensive male clothes and dressed like a homeless person.
I discovered Literotica and became obsessed with this text:
https://www.literotica.com/s/a-natural-gurl
I dragged my long-suffering spouse into a nightmare of humiliation. She, who formerly busied herself with Amway, I forced to work for a dirty old man named Martin Scorsese. It was degrading. But only my fleeting happiness counted. I moved into an SRO. I wandered the streets in an incoherent daze.
But thanks to Literotica, I learned to my joy that my feeble jottings were bereft of literary quality, and that I am merely an old man waiting to die. Not just a has-been. A never was.
"Vanity of vanities, all is vanity."
It's good. It's fine to know that my sincere, authoritative teachers on Literotica have stayed loyal to an ideal of truth, and will never need be cautioned, as above, to avoid personal attacks. Thanks to them I can now begin to understand that I am an "alt," made to be triggered, that my identity should be revealed to the world, so that I may be freed from the really terrible responsibility of journalism, a variety of botulism, that my delusions about authorship are mere hallucinations, and that I would be happier submitting to those who understand how the world works.
Of course, there was no conflict in Yugoslavia, the happiest country ever. There were no dead children. No raped women. No devastated cities. Sorryevo, which appears on no map is a hamlet populated by "people" better off dead.
I promise to forget. It's time for my haldol. If I'm lucky, they'll let me play shuffleboard. Checkers is too much for me.
The disembraining continues. Father Ubu is happy; all's right in His world.
Dance, puppet! Thanks for playing!
/s/ Stephen Schwartz
Permanent inmate in the Prison House of Gender
Channelling
https://www.marxists.org/archive/bukharin/works/1938/trial/3.htm
*He was cute AF.
**Delightfully filthy.
***Books need not be burned. Texts can be removed from them with a razor, and bookstores can't be compelled to sell them.
****She never shared my politics, but is forced to pay a heavy price for my stupidity, as well she should be. In this world there are no innocents. All must be humiliated.
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