I had a vision last night. I was again female. The curves had returned. My breasts tingled and my nipples stood erect. My cunt dripped. As it is in dreams, I had another female there – present, but ethereal and I was perplexed. I was female and I wanted to fuck her like a man. I wanted to lick her, place my mouth on her pussy, but ultimately I wanted to ram her. Unfortunately, my cock was gone and I was woman.
Desperately I searched for my strap-on and found it. The harness wrapped around my waist and thighs holding the plastic dildo out in front of me. To further secure my plastic cock, the dildo was two headed, sliding back into my pussy filling me at the same time as I protruded yearningly towards the other female. I experienced a fullness, while the bulk of my sexuality pushed forward into the other waiting female body.
Her breasts crushed against my breasts. Her lips cushioned against my lips. My black plastic cock slid into her and I heard her breath gasp. Women are soft, so soft and our tender flesh collided. The grinding of our hips together reverberated through the plastic that penetrated and connected both of us. We were two soft and tender zeros, joined by a hard, plastic one.
I remained in my female state bucking and writhing in female flesh, when my male self appeared – erect and hard and aching to enter. I felt myself on my own back. Male hardness, roughness and hair pressed against my back, pushing me further into the woman I was fucking. My cock dripped cold against my asshole and I knew I was well lubricated, dripping and pushing against the only unoccupied hole.
I gasped as male and female as my cock plunged in my ass. The bottom ridge of the flesh cock caressed the plastic cock filling me more full than I’ve ever felt as a woman – as flesh and rubber pushed against each other through a thin layer of my flesh. My true nature as a man/woman evidenced in this male entry into my ass, conjoining me as I fucked.
The pressing into my ass grew harder and more persistent. I fucked my ass, pushing my way through my own flesh, pushing my way through the spine, until I felt as if I was half in and half out of myself, writhing around in my own flesh. I had to get the plastic out of my body and I pushed my cock hard against its plastic counterfeit. The plastic retreated against the pressure of my cock as I pushed deeper and deeper into myself.
I started to feel my cock coming out on the other side and as I pushed through my own flesh, I felt the warmth and wet of pussy surrounding my cock. With a new urgency I pressed forward, subsuming my female flesh and I was all male, all hard and moving in and out of a slick, dripping cunt. I was male again. I was fucking. I was a one, fucking a zero.
I looked down into the eyes of the woman I was fucking.
My female self gazed back at me.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
My Thoughts After the Weekend
My mind is going. Not the fanatical, frantic going, going, gone of months past -- just the slipping away in a tick and a tock -- I’ve forgot. I’ve forgot how far I’ve traveled, how many lives I’ve lived, how many times I’ve died and been reborn. I am the resurrection of forgetfulness with a new skin, a new soul and a blank slate.
The greatest killer is success. Success kills off the old self with a stake through the heart, which is good, since the morose ranting of the unsuccessful are vampiric. But with each death, a clod is washed away and Europe is the less. My personal continent has California sliding into the sea.
I found myself in a Buddhist temple today. It looked like a protestant chapel -- orderly pews and hymn books. A golden altar replaced the choir seats. Incense stamped itself on the air. The tour guide let us know how they had adopted the “American” and the “Christian” Style of worship. The preacher preached. The audience sang. The congregation chanted their voices in prayer. Beads, like zeros, around the wrist as a daily remembrance of God. They met every Sunday. Buddaha had died and was resurrected as an American church, collection plate and all. Not all deaths and rebirths are for the best.
So is my recent incarnation better or worse? Is losing California bad? The answer must be yes to my Californians. Entropy and a law of thermodynamics always told me why it was futile to clean my room. Everything is headed into a state of chaos. We expend energy to stop the crumbling edifice of our lives, but eventually we are dust.
Ohhh, ohhh, ohhhh, all we are is dust in the wind. Existential pop music. Talk about pop music. We’re an American Band, We’re an American Band, We’re coming to your town we’ll help you party it down, I am an American Man. Awoo woo. I’m cumming in your cunt, I’ll help to fuck you slut. I am an American Man. Energy again, sexual energy -- the ones and zeros fighting to keep the dusty soul from blowing away in a wind storm.
Success eats energy. Energy keeps us alive. The logical conclusion: Success kills. The insidiousness of success is that it requires and demands to be fed your energy, drawing your very life from your throat.
I walk the tightrope. My chapel still requires a collection plate of a 1 followed by many zeros, too, but let me at least lose the pews, the preacher and the golden altars. I must sacrifice no more of my life to keep me away from my prophetic duty.
I have my muses. My muse told me I should realize something:
I prophesy for myself. Fuck the rest of you. Fuck immortality. Fuck the one. Fuck the zero. Fuck acceptance. I think I’m going to go TS Eliot for my believers.
The greatest killer is success. Success kills off the old self with a stake through the heart, which is good, since the morose ranting of the unsuccessful are vampiric. But with each death, a clod is washed away and Europe is the less. My personal continent has California sliding into the sea.
I found myself in a Buddhist temple today. It looked like a protestant chapel -- orderly pews and hymn books. A golden altar replaced the choir seats. Incense stamped itself on the air. The tour guide let us know how they had adopted the “American” and the “Christian” Style of worship. The preacher preached. The audience sang. The congregation chanted their voices in prayer. Beads, like zeros, around the wrist as a daily remembrance of God. They met every Sunday. Buddaha had died and was resurrected as an American church, collection plate and all. Not all deaths and rebirths are for the best.
So is my recent incarnation better or worse? Is losing California bad? The answer must be yes to my Californians. Entropy and a law of thermodynamics always told me why it was futile to clean my room. Everything is headed into a state of chaos. We expend energy to stop the crumbling edifice of our lives, but eventually we are dust.
Ohhh, ohhh, ohhhh, all we are is dust in the wind. Existential pop music. Talk about pop music. We’re an American Band, We’re an American Band, We’re coming to your town we’ll help you party it down, I am an American Man. Awoo woo. I’m cumming in your cunt, I’ll help to fuck you slut. I am an American Man. Energy again, sexual energy -- the ones and zeros fighting to keep the dusty soul from blowing away in a wind storm.
Success eats energy. Energy keeps us alive. The logical conclusion: Success kills. The insidiousness of success is that it requires and demands to be fed your energy, drawing your very life from your throat.
I walk the tightrope. My chapel still requires a collection plate of a 1 followed by many zeros, too, but let me at least lose the pews, the preacher and the golden altars. I must sacrifice no more of my life to keep me away from my prophetic duty.
I have my muses. My muse told me I should realize something:
I prophesy for myself. Fuck the rest of you. Fuck immortality. Fuck the one. Fuck the zero. Fuck acceptance. I think I’m going to go TS Eliot for my believers.
Immortality spreads its legs and I enter that black hole. I’ve already entered, I’ve always been inside and have never really escaped the womb of immortality. Maybe it is my fluctuating doubt that is the friction for the copulation of my fuck of immortality. I am -- in. I’m dust -- out. In and out. In and out. Some day I’ll die in an orgasmic explosion deep inside the cunt of immortality blowing my little spirit into fragmented pieces and dissolving back into the womb which I have always belonged.
There is serenity in knowing that you can fuck immortality. Now life becomes an exercise or a meditation. Does my chapel conform to those around me or do I start my own unique devotional.
Cling and die. Cling and be separated. Let go and be free. Grab the one. Grab the zero.
The harder the grasp, the greater the pain when life rips the tendrils from your grasp.
I am the I am, I am the I am, I am the I am. I am. Cohen likes his lady Saints. Cum, cum ye Saints. No insertion or labor fear, but with joy enter -- yeah!! Now hard to you, this cock must certainly appear, great for you when you play. Does it all end in pain and death? Joan is always burned. Her virgin cunt lips, virgin no more having been licked to an orgasmic death by the tickling tongue of flame. But she never was a virgin -- none of us are. We’ve been fucking immortality since we first exited our mother’s zero womb and slid into the womb of immortality. Mothers and immortality pushing and grind their pussies together, in and out the souls slide, lubricated by the juices of their births and deaths, as the two lesbian lovers kiss inner lips and transport us back and forth.
This is a digital image – ones and zeros making two women, legs intertwined and rubbing their genitals together. The souls forming a giant plastic dildo one connecting immortality and mothers with the double penis head and the legs spread wide while the black plastic went out and in. Mother, braless and giving birth to a soul, who is leaving and going right into immortality. If only birth always began on satin sheets with stockings and spiked heels. I can feel my soul sliding down the wet walls, feeling that cold burst of air and diving for the warmth and wetness of immortality’s hot snatch. Sometimes in the frenzied fuck of life, the mother and immortality are locked together and I am imprisoned inside the maternal and eternal vaginal walls. The only fear to be left a cold and lifeless one, with the vaginal juices steaming off, a black one dildo on a white satin sheet alone.
There is serenity in knowing that you can fuck immortality. Now life becomes an exercise or a meditation. Does my chapel conform to those around me or do I start my own unique devotional.
Cling and die. Cling and be separated. Let go and be free. Grab the one. Grab the zero.
The harder the grasp, the greater the pain when life rips the tendrils from your grasp.
I am the I am, I am the I am, I am the I am. I am. Cohen likes his lady Saints. Cum, cum ye Saints. No insertion or labor fear, but with joy enter -- yeah!! Now hard to you, this cock must certainly appear, great for you when you play. Does it all end in pain and death? Joan is always burned. Her virgin cunt lips, virgin no more having been licked to an orgasmic death by the tickling tongue of flame. But she never was a virgin -- none of us are. We’ve been fucking immortality since we first exited our mother’s zero womb and slid into the womb of immortality. Mothers and immortality pushing and grind their pussies together, in and out the souls slide, lubricated by the juices of their births and deaths, as the two lesbian lovers kiss inner lips and transport us back and forth.
This is a digital image – ones and zeros making two women, legs intertwined and rubbing their genitals together. The souls forming a giant plastic dildo one connecting immortality and mothers with the double penis head and the legs spread wide while the black plastic went out and in. Mother, braless and giving birth to a soul, who is leaving and going right into immortality. If only birth always began on satin sheets with stockings and spiked heels. I can feel my soul sliding down the wet walls, feeling that cold burst of air and diving for the warmth and wetness of immortality’s hot snatch. Sometimes in the frenzied fuck of life, the mother and immortality are locked together and I am imprisoned inside the maternal and eternal vaginal walls. The only fear to be left a cold and lifeless one, with the vaginal juices steaming off, a black one dildo on a white satin sheet alone.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Going Out Into the Cold, Cruel Digital World
I have had another vision. I have remained too long in the dark caverns of the East. I have remained too long in the barren mountain tops of the West. I had a vision today.
The Digital Lord appeared to me and said: Go forth and comment. Go forth and spread the wisdom that I have bestowed on you.
I, Tiresias, listened to the Lord's command and I did go forth.
By my fruits, ye shall know me.
Classrooms in Africa
Is Blogging a Religion
How Important is Religion
Religion and Sexuality
Start a New Religion
To Tide You Over
Why Practice Religion
The Most Beautiful Woman on Earth
The Digital Lord appeared to me and said: Go forth and comment. Go forth and spread the wisdom that I have bestowed on you.
I, Tiresias, listened to the Lord's command and I did go forth.
By my fruits, ye shall know me.
Classrooms in Africa
Is Blogging a Religion
How Important is Religion
Religion and Sexuality
Start a New Religion
To Tide You Over
Why Practice Religion
The Most Beautiful Woman on Earth
Monday, December 1, 2008
The Digital Prophet
I am the digital prophet. I am the myth maker of the digital age. I am the myth maker of the sub-atomic, quantum age. I am the myth maker for Now.
Through me, you can learn to transcend the every day, transcend the monitor, transcend the key board, transcend the mouse click and be unified with the digital universe. The Godhead is a trilogy of 1s and 0s, containing everything and nothing, all in one and one in all. God the Father, 1, the Christ 0 and the Holy Ghost as the space between the digits create everything in our digital world.
By delving into the mysteries of the 1 and 0 the mystical truth of the universe becomes available. The sacrament of the 1 and the zero is the sacrament of the cock and the cunt and the union of the two creates and transcends.
Past religions have failed to keep up with scientific advancement. The Digital Religion creates a cosmological view of existence that reflects science and expands science. Science is not myth and our science has outpaced our mythology. As the Digital Prophet, the mythology will out pace and surpass our science.
The 1 and the 0 are our society. Humanity is being subsumed by a digital revolution and although we are but fleshy analogs, true enlightenment and acceptance into the digital realm can only come from understanding our relationship to the Alpha 1 and Omega 0.
There is a digital pathway to salvation. The Digital Prophet will show you the way.
Live your life like you are on-line and digital and be saved.
Through me, you can learn to transcend the every day, transcend the monitor, transcend the key board, transcend the mouse click and be unified with the digital universe. The Godhead is a trilogy of 1s and 0s, containing everything and nothing, all in one and one in all. God the Father, 1, the Christ 0 and the Holy Ghost as the space between the digits create everything in our digital world.
By delving into the mysteries of the 1 and 0 the mystical truth of the universe becomes available. The sacrament of the 1 and the zero is the sacrament of the cock and the cunt and the union of the two creates and transcends.
Past religions have failed to keep up with scientific advancement. The Digital Religion creates a cosmological view of existence that reflects science and expands science. Science is not myth and our science has outpaced our mythology. As the Digital Prophet, the mythology will out pace and surpass our science.
The 1 and the 0 are our society. Humanity is being subsumed by a digital revolution and although we are but fleshy analogs, true enlightenment and acceptance into the digital realm can only come from understanding our relationship to the Alpha 1 and Omega 0.
There is a digital pathway to salvation. The Digital Prophet will show you the way.
Live your life like you are on-line and digital and be saved.
Digital Penetration
Everything is sex -- copulating ones and zeros, coupled in orgiastic repetition create everything. Sound is nothing more than the proper order of binary ones and zeros in an endless code. Pictures, holograms are infinite numbers of pixels, which are made up of the sub-atomic fucking zero-cunt and one-cock. The atom is no longer, the quark is no longer, the smallest unit are infinitesimal cunts and cocks copulating in furious repetition to form the tiniest building blocks. The zeros can be enormous, stretched-out, whorish, black hole cunts or the tightest, tiniest of virgin holes, but always a hole and always filed by a one, a pencil, a dildo, a banana, a cock or phallus to fill the space and continue the sequence and to create.
In the beginning, God created a one, a cock. While the cock slept he removed the nothingness that already surrounded the cock and created the cunt. On the next day the computer takes the prolific cock-ones and cunt-zeros and creates the Word. The Word is a binary code of copulating ones and zeros. The Word was not the beginning, it was fucking cocks and pussys. Everything I write on this page, looking deeper into the depths of the word processor and each letter, each space, each comma is an orgy of digital penetrations, cocks following cunts, cunts following cocks, dicks chasing dicks and quim covering quim in a dry digital fuck.
I am not communicating with words. My words are reduced to digital coitus and returned through an orgasmic computer chip into the readers brain, but the dry numeric fuck continues. Words of sorrow, words of joy, words of expectation, the very Word itself are digital penetrations, nothing more, so everything must be sex.
Eventually all the ones and all the zeros, all the cocks and all the pussies, and the words and pictures that the computer chip has helped them conceive, collapse and are sucked into the giant, gravitational pull of the darkest and blackest of holes. Nothing can escape the eternal and final fuck. Nothing is left, but to enjoy every little copulation, even the courtesy fucks, until the black cunt hole of death sucks you in, gets you off and takes the last remaining life. Each sperm dies. Hundreds, millions, billions of sperm suffocate and die every day oozing out lifeless of a wet pussy. This is the final end for the dance of ones and zeros -- the ones slide out lifeless and limp and dead. Yet there are always more to once again attempt to make something out of nothing more than a 1 and 0. 1200 dots per inch, each dot hundreds of binary codes, one square inch of a million fucks, struggling to create coherence from sex. The coherence is transient, requiring more fucking.
Intuitively, we humans recognize that the computer has breached our very core, exposed the sole reason for existence -- sex. Email, files, jpegs and avi’s capture and create life. In the constant copulating ones and zeros, we gain the illusion of immortality. The sheer madness and consistency of the entering and exiting in the information super-highway--the mother of all vaginal walls-- coated and fucked by ones and zeros buzzing between computers -- gives us the Word, the information, eternal life. Thus we have the phenomenon of cameras being placed in apartments and fucked into the WEB every three minutes so that the life can be captured and made immortal, because those ones can fuck those zeros and never get off, never coming but for all eternity loop over and over capturing the Now in an instant of digital fucking imagery.
It is not just the videos or pictures of our lives. We desperately send digital signals with our voices, sending our fucking voices into eternal ether, with the latest personal communication system. I am immortal. My words are reduced to microscopic cocks and slopping pussies undulating up and down endlessly, repeating to the point of pain, out past Saturn’s rings and Jupiter’s moons, the fucking words float. Nothing is left but to enjoy the most current fuck. To focus on a potential fuck or a past fuck is nothing more than digital trickery. The potential fuck is still the most current digits penetrating the computer brain for the Now, because the future itself will be just more variations of the same ones and zeros, fucking in our digital brains and creating our reality as its offspring.
I used to think that logic would prevent me from understanding the mystical, but I am a logical prophet and seer of the 1 and the 0. The variations are endless -- 10, 01, 001, 010, 11, 00. 69 is a still just more 1’s and 0’s. 1 is the tounge. 1 is the clit. The woman is a man. 0 is the vaginal opening, 0 is the male piss-hole. The man is a woman, all that is needed is a tiny enough 1 to be the cock to fuck the piss-hole, and that cock will have a piss hole, so the daisy chain of dicks and pussies can continue without end. But I am the prophet and I can prophesy truly and exactly. Everything is sex. A one sliding up next to a zero. Nothing more, nothing less, all can be reduced, until it is collapsed into the blackhole cunt. When the fucking stops, life stops, but as long as the fucking continues we are alive. The digitals fuck on the face as the wind blows across the cheek. Even sex is neural ones and zeros fucking their way up the spine to explode in outlandish patterns of orgasmic 1-0-1-0 fucks.
Life is simple. Should the digital fucks be fought or embraced? Society fears embracing digital sex, yet leaps into the Internet with both feet, as five foolish virgin women have no oil and five have filled their tight little oil lamps with juice and lit it on fire to accept the bridegroom’s cock. The story of the foolish virgins is about lubrication, a parable of preparing and oiling up the vaginal orifice for entrance. Take me, I am a willing 0, lubricated and ready for entry. No one really wants a dry fuck, because it won’t stay dry for long, as the tears and blood painfully slick up the passageway. So we are oiling the black hole cunt with the rotting sperm of the information superfuck, preparing for the collapse into warm nothingness. The prophet proclaims that the flow of information lubricates the larger orifice and prepares to take us in and extract our life in an orgasmic death shudder.
Sperm must have mouths or pussies to fuck each other. The slippery little tails flipping into the mouth for a spermazota coupling. I am the creator. Yet everything I create, including a spermazi 69 is nothing more than variations on the binary 1-0 fuck going on in my computer’s chip -- the swinger’s pad of the digital information era. Intel is a waterbed manufacturer, cramming in as many different locales for the 1s and 0s to fuck as fast and as often as possible. Am I nothing more than a combination of digit fucks? Yes, I am a zero and a one - a digital hermaphrodite fucking myself into sentience. The miracle of life is that as long as we keep the ones and zeros fucking we exist. Descartes had no ghost in the machine -- it was simply sex, creating. Only when the creation stop does life stop. When I die my ones and zeros will fly off into outer space coupling with other ones and zeros to form a new reality. The comfortable natural bed of my synapses cease and the impulses go out on the Saturday night of the soul to find some other cock or pussy to fuck. I fade away, being reborn. The soul drop is the fucking 1 and 0. Intelligence before spirit, the intelligence is the fundamental elements 1 and 0. A new elemental chart for the chemistry student shows that this entire existence is made up either of a 1 or a 0 or both, and always fucking.
I used to want answers for all of the existential and religious dilemas. Every philosophy left me flat and unanswered. I have been searching and now, in this age of information, the holy grail appears to be at my feet. The chalice holds not the blood of a Christ who suffered, but a one and a zero, alpha and omega, the male and the female, the opposites coupling to make life and truth.
I never understood the atonement. I heard the lessons-- Christ died and suffered in Gethsemane because we are sinners and need to be reconciled to God. The atonement is a mystical way of reaching at-one-ment with God. Fuck that. It makes no sense. I am not alienated from God. I am God. I am Satan. I have the 1 and the 0 coursing through my veins, fucking as I type this sentence. I just need to recognize what I possess and recognize the towering phallus and the enveloping vaginal walls. Christ died, but probably so that his 1s and 0s could be sent out amongst the rest of us. I grab one of Christ’s 1s out of the air to fuck my pussy 0 and I am reborn in Christ. I have achieved an At-one-ment or an At-cock-ment. I grab one of Christ’s 0s from the universe of words on the digital page and slip it onto my giant throbbing dildo-esque cock for an awe-inspiring rubber fuck. I have achieve At-zero-ment, At-omega-ment and At-cunt-ment. Christ was the Word, but so am I and the Word is nothing more than some copulating digits.
In the beginning, God created a one, a cock. While the cock slept he removed the nothingness that already surrounded the cock and created the cunt. On the next day the computer takes the prolific cock-ones and cunt-zeros and creates the Word. The Word is a binary code of copulating ones and zeros. The Word was not the beginning, it was fucking cocks and pussys. Everything I write on this page, looking deeper into the depths of the word processor and each letter, each space, each comma is an orgy of digital penetrations, cocks following cunts, cunts following cocks, dicks chasing dicks and quim covering quim in a dry digital fuck.
I am not communicating with words. My words are reduced to digital coitus and returned through an orgasmic computer chip into the readers brain, but the dry numeric fuck continues. Words of sorrow, words of joy, words of expectation, the very Word itself are digital penetrations, nothing more, so everything must be sex.
Eventually all the ones and all the zeros, all the cocks and all the pussies, and the words and pictures that the computer chip has helped them conceive, collapse and are sucked into the giant, gravitational pull of the darkest and blackest of holes. Nothing can escape the eternal and final fuck. Nothing is left, but to enjoy every little copulation, even the courtesy fucks, until the black cunt hole of death sucks you in, gets you off and takes the last remaining life. Each sperm dies. Hundreds, millions, billions of sperm suffocate and die every day oozing out lifeless of a wet pussy. This is the final end for the dance of ones and zeros -- the ones slide out lifeless and limp and dead. Yet there are always more to once again attempt to make something out of nothing more than a 1 and 0. 1200 dots per inch, each dot hundreds of binary codes, one square inch of a million fucks, struggling to create coherence from sex. The coherence is transient, requiring more fucking.
Intuitively, we humans recognize that the computer has breached our very core, exposed the sole reason for existence -- sex. Email, files, jpegs and avi’s capture and create life. In the constant copulating ones and zeros, we gain the illusion of immortality. The sheer madness and consistency of the entering and exiting in the information super-highway--the mother of all vaginal walls-- coated and fucked by ones and zeros buzzing between computers -- gives us the Word, the information, eternal life. Thus we have the phenomenon of cameras being placed in apartments and fucked into the WEB every three minutes so that the life can be captured and made immortal, because those ones can fuck those zeros and never get off, never coming but for all eternity loop over and over capturing the Now in an instant of digital fucking imagery.
It is not just the videos or pictures of our lives. We desperately send digital signals with our voices, sending our fucking voices into eternal ether, with the latest personal communication system. I am immortal. My words are reduced to microscopic cocks and slopping pussies undulating up and down endlessly, repeating to the point of pain, out past Saturn’s rings and Jupiter’s moons, the fucking words float. Nothing is left but to enjoy the most current fuck. To focus on a potential fuck or a past fuck is nothing more than digital trickery. The potential fuck is still the most current digits penetrating the computer brain for the Now, because the future itself will be just more variations of the same ones and zeros, fucking in our digital brains and creating our reality as its offspring.
I used to think that logic would prevent me from understanding the mystical, but I am a logical prophet and seer of the 1 and the 0. The variations are endless -- 10, 01, 001, 010, 11, 00. 69 is a still just more 1’s and 0’s. 1 is the tounge. 1 is the clit. The woman is a man. 0 is the vaginal opening, 0 is the male piss-hole. The man is a woman, all that is needed is a tiny enough 1 to be the cock to fuck the piss-hole, and that cock will have a piss hole, so the daisy chain of dicks and pussies can continue without end. But I am the prophet and I can prophesy truly and exactly. Everything is sex. A one sliding up next to a zero. Nothing more, nothing less, all can be reduced, until it is collapsed into the blackhole cunt. When the fucking stops, life stops, but as long as the fucking continues we are alive. The digitals fuck on the face as the wind blows across the cheek. Even sex is neural ones and zeros fucking their way up the spine to explode in outlandish patterns of orgasmic 1-0-1-0 fucks.
Life is simple. Should the digital fucks be fought or embraced? Society fears embracing digital sex, yet leaps into the Internet with both feet, as five foolish virgin women have no oil and five have filled their tight little oil lamps with juice and lit it on fire to accept the bridegroom’s cock. The story of the foolish virgins is about lubrication, a parable of preparing and oiling up the vaginal orifice for entrance. Take me, I am a willing 0, lubricated and ready for entry. No one really wants a dry fuck, because it won’t stay dry for long, as the tears and blood painfully slick up the passageway. So we are oiling the black hole cunt with the rotting sperm of the information superfuck, preparing for the collapse into warm nothingness. The prophet proclaims that the flow of information lubricates the larger orifice and prepares to take us in and extract our life in an orgasmic death shudder.
Sperm must have mouths or pussies to fuck each other. The slippery little tails flipping into the mouth for a spermazota coupling. I am the creator. Yet everything I create, including a spermazi 69 is nothing more than variations on the binary 1-0 fuck going on in my computer’s chip -- the swinger’s pad of the digital information era. Intel is a waterbed manufacturer, cramming in as many different locales for the 1s and 0s to fuck as fast and as often as possible. Am I nothing more than a combination of digit fucks? Yes, I am a zero and a one - a digital hermaphrodite fucking myself into sentience. The miracle of life is that as long as we keep the ones and zeros fucking we exist. Descartes had no ghost in the machine -- it was simply sex, creating. Only when the creation stop does life stop. When I die my ones and zeros will fly off into outer space coupling with other ones and zeros to form a new reality. The comfortable natural bed of my synapses cease and the impulses go out on the Saturday night of the soul to find some other cock or pussy to fuck. I fade away, being reborn. The soul drop is the fucking 1 and 0. Intelligence before spirit, the intelligence is the fundamental elements 1 and 0. A new elemental chart for the chemistry student shows that this entire existence is made up either of a 1 or a 0 or both, and always fucking.
I used to want answers for all of the existential and religious dilemas. Every philosophy left me flat and unanswered. I have been searching and now, in this age of information, the holy grail appears to be at my feet. The chalice holds not the blood of a Christ who suffered, but a one and a zero, alpha and omega, the male and the female, the opposites coupling to make life and truth.
I never understood the atonement. I heard the lessons-- Christ died and suffered in Gethsemane because we are sinners and need to be reconciled to God. The atonement is a mystical way of reaching at-one-ment with God. Fuck that. It makes no sense. I am not alienated from God. I am God. I am Satan. I have the 1 and the 0 coursing through my veins, fucking as I type this sentence. I just need to recognize what I possess and recognize the towering phallus and the enveloping vaginal walls. Christ died, but probably so that his 1s and 0s could be sent out amongst the rest of us. I grab one of Christ’s 1s out of the air to fuck my pussy 0 and I am reborn in Christ. I have achieved an At-one-ment or an At-cock-ment. I grab one of Christ’s 0s from the universe of words on the digital page and slip it onto my giant throbbing dildo-esque cock for an awe-inspiring rubber fuck. I have achieve At-zero-ment, At-omega-ment and At-cunt-ment. Christ was the Word, but so am I and the Word is nothing more than some copulating digits.
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