Today's
zany scheme. I freeze myself; discarding anything that fully
covers my legs or arms. I prepare for my survival needs when
stranded on a frozen desert island. I lose weight in maintaining
body temperature. I let my toes roam free. I keep my nipples in a
state of perpetual arousal. There is no downside.When I approach
death I may shed all my clothes with no fear of dying; I may look
into death's eye with one of my own, and be used to the cold. It
stimulates the mind, it stimulates the body, it kills 99% of
known household germs, and if you're willing to take it to it's
destined extreme, it will kill 99% of known households. My
eyeballs may well crystallise, but they just need stirring from
time to time. Frostbite is just a state of mind that can be
transcended with a little thought. Pneumonia is nothing more than
the extension of a nasty head cold. When lumps of ice fall from
the sky, my thought turn immediately to shorts and a t-shirt. Je
suis - as the flautists say - 'ard.
It
was not what it was what it was; it was something diametrically
opposed - yes yes yes it was. Yesterday fought needlessly with
ploughed feelings.
Jump
around, get the blood flowing. Can you feel the fucking music?
Can you feel the fucking blood? Not so fucking cold now, are we?
Enjoying fucking shorts? Of course you fucking are: it's who you
fucking are. Shorts in the cold. It's all you ever are. What do
people know about you other than you wear shorts in the cold?
Nada. Not a damn thing, fuckface. But yet, you inspire me to
freeze myself. I hate the idea of being led by others - most of
all, by you. And yet, but yes, yet, I follow blindly with my
shorts. Expanding my nipples, shivering the fat away from my
body, letting the blood run free when my mommy lets me watch it.
I leave the whole hole in my shorts; my tshirt guards my against
unwanted glances. I could sew it but I would be warmer, and in
this revolution (apparently you only need seven people according
to the news), warmer equals death.
Seven
people is a revolution nowadays. It's unbelievable. There I was
building an army of 188 at the current reckoning, expecting
perhaps 500 as the number needed to impose our will (my will)
upon the apathetic, warm, masses, and all that was needed was
seven. So who among you want to be the magnificently cold six?
Let me know as soon as. Plans will need to be formulated.
How many of you
sleep during winter? Almost all of you? Marvellous. You enjoy
snuggling up in a warm duvet with a fat woman/man/[animal? or is
that too easy?] It's a proven fat that fat people are more likely
to be in a relationship during the winter months. Fat people ooze
heat. What is nicer than being cold and snuggling up to a big fat
naked person, before tearing yourself away in the morning? All
you have is about 16 hours of freezing yourself all over again
for that moment of joy when their arm-fat asphyxiates you in a
bizarre sex game. There's absolutely nothing wrong with being
warm while you sleep (Gulag Archipelago pp.231-56). Being warm
while alive is evil, and, come the revolution, punishable by
death. Shed your long clothes, people. Shed your fear of the
unknown. Come join the winning side.