Man. I wish I was this guy – I would feed you with shit and you would like it.
When a man pisses into your soul – everyone seems to like it, when someone gathers the guts to tell the truth, everyone looks away.
This shit attracts miserable idiots like me. I watched, had hopes that there are infinite realities, bla bla bla, fuck you man.
A lying prick.
There is only one reality, the collective reality. The content in your own head simply isn’t true. It’s deluded.
Controlling yourself isn’t shifting to another reality.
It would be telling that a character in a game is shifting to another game, yet the game is the same.
I’m so pissed on people who make these claims, yeah and the rest of the world is dying from hunger, but wait – I haven’t seen rotten people, dying people, starving people. maybe they’re all sleeping in those coffins, waiting for better times.
Maybe people aren’t dying and everything is a story made up for you to believe? Maybe you’re the truman in the big, great show of misery.
What pisses the man is the fact that its his life that sucks. The man never gets pisses when other people’s lives suck.
I never get pissed when I see a homeless man on a street asking for a €. I never get pissed when I’m not the one without legs, but I’m always pissed when I’m out of cash.
These pricks piss me off with their bullshit, go to another reality… because this is not true. Everything’s true but not your miserable life, but you know everything’s fake, but your miserable life.
Miserable life you have is the truest life there is, you know why? Because you’re the one experiencing it.
You just can’t be sure if anybody else is experiencing any of this shit. You just can’t be dead sure and in every aspect of life there should be a slight doubt.
Doubt in your own knowledge preferably, but more doubt in pricks who make you feel better and maybe click an ad or buy a product to feel better, to feel that somebody else cares about you.
I give shit free to you – you got to respect me for doing this.
My stuff at least is not a lie.
You can’t control the collective reality. You can only control yourself.
All readers of the world come and read my epic shit – I summon you, give all your cash so I can give you more truths about this big fat scary world.
A world of liars and pricks and the show offs, who show of their cash so you spend cash so they earn more cash.
If you want cash, don’t give cash to anybody. You don’t need my paid stuff because my paid stuff is as good as my free stuff.
No wonder nobody reads real books, people like fluff and bullshit, the law of attraction crap.
How about you attract not making a dump for the rest of your life, can you do that?
How about you attract some rich blond that is just addicted to your cock.
How about you attract winning the lottery.
How about you attract things that are really difficult to achieve, you think you’re going to attract an experience of 100 kilometer cycling ride, you motherfucker you got to sit on a bike and cycle those pedals.
You want to make a good book? You got to sit and fucking write it because you’ll never attract anything into your life and even if you’ll do the dull work it might not happen.
Things you do get done, but it doesn’t mean you get some results. You got to be addicted to shit you’re doing and you have to be fucking good at it if you want some cash.
If only you’ll do shit that’s in your own interest you are never going attract cash or bitches or anything to your life.
People follow competent people, and people who have no competence can suck a dick to earn some money.