1
And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down -
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing - then -
Emily Dickinson
The dead body winks at you from the bleachers. The bleachers are iridescent. It burns. You lean your head against the screen. All you can do is close your eyes, which perhaps redeems you for a moment. The grace of a dark blank. It's a forgiveness to forget. Given enough time this will fade as well. Nihil videt et omnia videt.
You read how light travels at a constant and finite speed of 186,000 mi/sec and that your brain processes around 13 milliseconds. You are always 13 milliseconds behind the infinite. You believe this. You're not really here anymore, and you haven't been for awhile. You are a lubricant between a coiledness of nothing and light. Electromagnetic waves travel like light, they know the same vacuum of speed.
Faintly you hear something behind your door. It sounds like a knock. You put your headphones on and turn up the volume. You reach behind your keyboard and grab the cup of noodles, which are lukewarm. You remember the motion of making them like one remembers church rituals performed as a child half heartedly. You eat the ramen with your fork and spill the colored water and noodle guts on your shirt.
Ping -
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue)15:01:54 No.2096538721
read em weep em fags.
When cut open and left for long periods of time, flesh forms this sort of bubbly yellow. It reminded you of the stalagmite in caves. The flesh froths up, forming these little structures. Ancient cities. You couldn't see the man's face. It had been cut off. You wouldn't say mutilated, you've seen that, just off. Clean. This struck you as in the photo his insides spill out. Not spill. Maybe they are just out. They lay on the ground muted by dirt. You find it odd how clean his face is, excluding the bath of red and yellow and muscle and tendons and teeth and skull you see when compared to the guts. You don't feel any weight on the image anymore. He is just another man you are looking at. His death was violent, you imagine pain, and all you have is this image. His skin was olive, you can see his hair slick and heavy with his blood. It looks like he had a head wrap. The head wrap looks ravaged by the sun, yellowed and dried. It looks like cured salted meat.
You collect these sorts of images, so after viewing it and wondering whether or not it was worse if you got hard or stayed soft looking at it, you press download, file it meticulously into a folder titled “MDDLEST.SAND.DEATH.”
You don't remember the first time you saw an image or video like this. It might have been after a mass shooting, when a friend ran towards you before the first bell rang saying something like “you have to see this” and proceeded to show you the hard to find live stream of a man entering a school, or maybe a mosque. Or maybe it was on YouTube and some compilation of car crashes. You used to like car crashes, they seemed so American. Now you mostly like the shitty photos people take during war or small town executions. Still, you have the file for car crashes. It could have been when after looking at porn and jerking off you clicked one of the pop ups and it brought you to a site like this. Maybe it was a subreddit you found after hours of scrolling. You can't say. It didn't and doesn't matter. The point is you know you had seen such videos before you ever tried to really look for them yourself. They came to you like God did to Abraham. Or maybe you are more of an Isaac. Point is, unlike Abraham, God did not ask for the sacrifice to end. The familiar ping. Joyous event. Like an angel with a trumpet singing a wonderful song with legions behind him all tied and gagged and beheaded and hard.
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue)No.2096538725
Okay, OP this has been posted a few times, my buddy actually took it. I can tell the story sometimes but I have to log off soon.
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.2096538786
shut the fuck up and stop lying nobody cares dont make me rape you, but you would probably like it anyways
bitch
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue)15:01:54 No.2096576537
actually anyone have any hardcore rpe vid / link real plz ???
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.2096538786
GTFO OUT DO YOUR OWN RESEARCH DIPSHIT FDE NARQ NIG
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue)15:01:54 No.8759254109
enjoy: ______________________
It started small. After developing the appetite and palate for this a friend, whose name you no longer can remember, told you the name of a website you should look up. You did, and to your surprise there were more videos and images than I could imagine. They had all been neatly organized into different categories. You could choose war or terrorism, suicide and murder, assassination and world news. As you clicked through the images and labored over each category you noticed all the various inconsistencies. A suicide would be under terrorism and vice versa.
You thought what if the person who killed themselves was a terrorist and did so to not get captured?
You didn't start collecting immediately, it was a slow journey. At first you only saved the really good stuff. The stuff which made you hard which made you jerk off which then made you feel like someone stabbed your brain and you were a lobotomized retard. After a while though, you figured it would be good to fix the whole system. It was your own private country. You started typing.
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue)No.287865289464
Want to crucify myself after I shoot my mom, any suggestions? Has this been done before?
You slurped the rest of your ramen. The cold noodles slithered their way down your gullet leaving little space for air.
2
O God! I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a King of infinite space…
Hamlet, II, 2
You began to type “fun facts about black holes” into your browser. The computer hums so softly, little fans whirring and dispensing the hot air. You didn't care much for learning about computers, and were not smart enough to try and hack anything; though you did put a piece of tape on your computer's camera just in case. You liked the idea of large stars dying. The gravity becomes so overwhelming that the core of the thing collapses like a chest caved in. People can be made to have black holes. Take the video filed under “BRAZIL.FAG.TORT.” where a man accused of being gay is tied to a pole and after everyone in the town has beat him a man comes with a hammer and slams it through his chest. His chest collapses. He is a supernova where bits of flesh and blood fly off into the infinite space beyond the camera. He is a spot overcome by density. Afterwards while you still hear his lungs attempting to get oxygen, which isn't really happening because the ribs you think may have pierced them, the people, people he maybe once knew and got coffee with, pour gasoline on him and light him on fire. He screams till he doesn't scream. He is light till he isn't.
You read:
4. There are Three Categories of Black Holes.
1) Primordial Black holes – These are the smallest of black holes and range from an atom’s size to a mountain’s mass.
2) Stellar Black Holes – These are the most common of black holes and they can be up to 20 times more massive than the Sun. There are also a variety of these all over the Milky Way.
3) Supermassive Black Holes – These are the largest of black holes, being more than 1 million times more massive than the Sun.
Primordial black holes sound interesting to you but just as you are about to look up more of what they are your phone buzzes.
Mom
Hey honey, can you come downstairs so we can all eat dinner together?
This frustrates you. Your mother insists that every Friday the whole family eats one of her godforsaken meals she so painstakingly makes but which never taste right. Most days you are allowed to stay in your room and just survive off of the top ramen and other snacks which you steal late at night from your cupboards and which always seemed to be replaced, most likely by her. Your mom is one of those people whose smile raises your hair. She will ask you questions and you won't really answer. Your dad will sit silently ashamed at your mother for even trying. You will become nothing but a plastic hollow.
You try to ignore the message but she sends another one and you relent. You get up and question whether to look in the mirror to make sure you don't have any cum or ramen stains. You decide against it and leave your room.
The house you live in is actually nice. There's family photos, showing a little body you can't recognize now, little heirlooms from people you supposedly met and who loved you dearly. It's clean. It's like a house from one of those home invasion videos that sometimes get captured on peoples security cameras they install. You like these videos. You find it funny how these people got these cameras for protection and all it did was show as they got executed. Sure, it was nice if you got robbed, but less so when the last moving evidence of yourself wasn’t a video you posted to Snapchat but of you and your children and your spouse getting shot then fucked post mortem. The last part rarely happens. You have an overactive imagination. The table is set and there are potatoes and meat and greens. Your mom is the first one to look up. Her gaze is inviting in the worst way. It churns your stomach like you need to shit your insides out. Your dad does not look at you. His plate has been carefully prepared by your mother. Your moms plate is smaller than your fathers. She is a subsect species of the limen. She is posturing as a person which means she is vividly alive. Your empty plate is placed at the table and your seat is pulled out. Your mom has not started eating. Your dad has. His teeth turn the meat gnarl. You sit down and she begins to talk.
“Hi honey.”
You set the tone by not responding and half heartedly putting food onto your plate. You pour gravy onto the potatoes and meat and greens and it runs on your plate and you can only think of one thing, the only thing, the blood like blood when it runs like a river from a jackknife meeting its purpose. You get a bit hard but not too much so you aren't nervous, even though if you got fully hard and your parents saw and showed some grimace or disgust or shame and stopped talking you would be happy and have to excuse yourself early to go into your room and jerk off.
Your mom tries again:
“Did you do anything fun?” This time your dad looks up and your chest crawls inside itself and you know you have to answer or this whole thing will prolong much longer and more painfully.
“Not really, just researched black holes.” Even now you try to impress them. You want them to see you for what you are not so when you show yourself to be what you are it will be all the sweeter. Even still you are scared of the sweetness.
“Really! What did you learn?” Your dad appears to scoff slightly at this which makes your mother turn her head disapprovingly but you try not to notice as you sit down and grab your fork and knife.
“Uh, a lot, I mean, like, its-really-complicated-and-I-don't-know-no-don't-think-I-could, like, explain-it-to-someone-who-doesn't-have-even-a-basic-simple, like, understanding-or-knowledge-of-these-basic-things-things-which-I-can't-even -begin-to-explain.”
“Hmmm, well it sounds complicated. I think you should keep looking into that, you know.” As she talks she makes a parade of herself with over exaggerated facial expressions and fork waving that screams of the deep void of nothingness coiled in her breast; “I mean we may just have our own Stephen Hawking or Einstein on our hands, honey!” You hate how she drew him into this.
He smirks; “We just might.”
She keeps smiling but you know he doesn’t share the sentiments. You can deceive her, but he sees you. He smells the ash inside you. You wonder if he has it too, but you don't think so. At the end of the day your father is a good man who has made all the right decisions and whose only sin was to have allowed your birth, your becoming, to actualize itself into this beautiful world.
The dinner goes on silently with only brief mhmmms and “what do you think, how's the meat tonight?” from her. As you put the last bit of food in your mouth you blubber a thank you bearing the chewed up stuff in your teeth and throat to your mother. For a millisecond she cringes, but quickly goes back to a smile and says “Of course, I am glad you liked it,” somewhat satisfied and somewhat disturbed.
You walk back up the stairs and want to vomit. You aren't even necessarily grossed out by this as honestly the food was kind of good compared to what she normally makes and you wouldn't mind tasting it twice.
Before you even get to your door you hear it and you could almost cum from happiness.
ping - ping -
ping - ping - ping -
ping - ping - ping
3
A ruin is an accidental aesthetic object. If it becomes beautiful, this was certainly not the intention. A ruin is not constructed or maintained. The tendency of a ruin is to crumble down into a heap. The most beautiful parts remain standing despite their wear and tear.
Edouard Leve
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue)No.2096538725
Had to log off early last night, but I am here to post the story behind the A rab faggo whose face got shot the fuck off like I said OP + other fags I knew the guy who took this photo knew him since I was a kid he a weird ass mtherfcker but cool in a weird and rpey sort of way but anyways he joined military special forces and did multiple tours killing loads of mtherfckers and rpeing tons of hijabis anyways long story short he got sent out to go kill this top leader of the tallies super secret shit and this is that guy he was super famous in middle shit for cutting btches clits and shit not that i dont lke that tbc and this middle shit was apparently behind some lrge bmbs so one day they set up a meeting and do some crazy work and capture him and torture him and finally they killed him and fucked his face up and sent this photo to other tallies he said they made him eat pork and shit really cool , anyways thats the story believe me or not it dnt matter get a life fags stop gooning to ur mums.
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.2096538786
This guy is such a fag nig can we dox?
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.2034538786
Agreed dox and then lets lynch afterwords hes prob some 12 yr old fag - rpe ? possm.
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.1567892350
Okay okay assuming you arent shitting out your ass if this was really some big secret mission y the fuck would he tell you one and also dont you think if he was rlly some big tallie the gv wuld want to trade or do some other shit, also face does not seem to be shot more like carved????????? Idk kind of seeming fake bru
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue)15:01:54 No.2096538721
Idk if this is tru or nah but would be funny to dox lowkey
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.No.2034538786
KYS
Can someone grow balls and do it im retarded and dont know how
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.98828465789
YUH
789234 Apple Lake WA 87683
David Johnson , 31, M , Fag, College University of Washington, Job Walmart LOLLLLLL
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue)15:01:54 No.2096538721
YOLOOOOO
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.No.2034538786
LMAO
You watched this all proceed with the cadaver of your penis laying flaccid in your hand like a mother and a dead baby. You liked doxxing. It was funny when streamers started to scream as a SWAT team rushed into their house with guns pointed at them. Listening to them try to explain that they were doxxed and that they are famous and stream never failed to make you smile.
It was nice to know you could ruin someone's life in such few steps. Sure, maybe they wouldn't get shot, but they would have to deal with getting doxxed a few more times probably and their love of filming themselves reacting to Tik-Toks would die slowly and then there's always the fear left in their eyes the first few weeks after anytime they hear an unexpected noise. It was the sort of fear that takes one's breath away.
You never did anything that warranted people in the chat rooms or forums to ask for you to get doxxed. You were more of a lurker. Only when you really needed to would you post your own comment or query. There was one time however when you were fourteen and had stumbled into a Discord chat. It was a chat of mostly older men who liked young boys and had them all hierarchically ranked. At first it was simple, only the occasional perverse text, but as you progressed they demanded more and more. Eventually, they wanted to fly to you and asked for your address. When you wouldn't give it to them one of the group members typed LOL along with the rest of your address and parents names. They said they were going to kill you and your family when they got there. You left the Discord channel, washing your hands of the photos and messages you sent: an abandonment of all that love. You never got doxxed, though sometimes you wish you had.
You got up - ping
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.No.2034538786
Anyone know any good marketplace for pentobarbital / other barbiturates planning something
You watched closely as various links and names of onions were sent. Some people asked what the plan was, others threatened rape, others just said post when done. You licked your cracked lips and tasted the crusted over blood. The iron in the blood made it sweet. Without turning off your computer you laid in bed. Afraid of the silence you debated turning on music or a video. You felt paralyzed with exhaustion and fell asleep praying to not dream.
4
In a more exalted spirit, St. Catherine of Sienna, when she felt revulsion from the wounds she was tending, is said to have bitterly reproached herself. Sound hygiene was incompatible with charity, so she deliberately drank of a bowl of pus.
Mary Douglas
You knew more about history than most but in the way someone knows nothing about America but the name of battles and their corresponding dates. You couldn’t tell someone what Abu Al-Haddad did but you knew there was a battle on September 12, 2021 and he died by special forces and the video, while not great by any means as it was seemingly shot on a sand fucked go pro, which shows the dogs ripping and tearing Abu’s flesh off as he screams and cries out in a language you don't know but were familiar enough to recognize he was asking pleading praying for something someone to help him or put him out of his misery and allow for the transition from this life into the next to be gentle, was, in all honesty, a really fun way to begin your day with semi, which you could, if you worked hard enough, turn into a full erection.
You've been having weird dreams and you don't know exactly why. You thought about looking up what your dreams meant and names like Freud and Jung but figured that was faggy bullshit so decided against it.
You look at your calendar and think of how summer ends in four weeks and how going back to your high school to finish your last year is quite possibly the worst most soul crushing and fucking fact you could think of.
You type into your browser: school shooting videos full and press enter.
The first one you have seen before. You like it because it looks like a video game. The man had attached a GoPro to both his head and his assault rifle and set up his stream to have both POV’s shown. The one from his head reminds you of old video games like Doom. Really though, you liked watching the guns stream. Seeing a young child crawl against the wall in their school's hallway too afraid to look or say anything, then, bang, the flash and the piercing sound and all that's left afterwards is a slumped over body which pools blood around its splattered brethren. You liked tracking the gun, its swaying up and down, its sharp turns to each new victim. Each flash and bang a couplet, each bullet an everlasting punctuation mark.
After watching this you scroll more and find one of what appears to be a primary school as it shows kids of all different sizes. You think it's funny how each one of them hides under the desk. The gunman is unique in the fact that he doesn't crouch under, he shoots from above, piercing the fake wood and metal. Only after he has gone around the whole class does he check underneath for anyone forgotten.
ping
There it is. Earlier in the day you had asked for recommendations of any good pills for suicide. You muted all chats unless they were a response to you. You open the chat room and see two links. You click.
5
Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me we’ll never get used to it.
Richard Siken
The first link is an article that showed different types of pills and their lethal dosage in a descending order of least to most deadly. You scrolled to the bottom and saw fentanyl. You had heard the name, and once when you and your family went to the city you had seen various men and women leaning over like zombies which made your taxi driver comment on how bad the whole epidemic was getting.
You liked suicide videos but the ones where people overdosed were almost always boring. You had to skim through minutes or hours of a stream to find the exhaust moment they died, which was nice, the body all puffy like a fish, lips blackened with blue. It was annoying to have to skip through the video but watching the final breath always made your heart skip a beat. It was terrifying and you loved it.
The second link came with the disclaimer that involved you downloading a new OS, getting a VPN and downloading a Tor browser. It was surprisingly easy but mostly due to the fact that all you had to do was click because all the hard work had mostly been done for you. You opened the link and you saw listings of peoples credit information and guns and drugs for sale. You scrolled and it started showing people which maybe you would normally want to look at but you were too busy so you made a mental note to check back later and continued. When you searched up fentanyl and saw listings of pills and powders and liquids all you could do was stare.
This was the architecture of your life, the endless scrolling and staring and scrolling and staring as macular degeneration set in. You were lost in an infinite caged scroll and it felt like being swaddled, it felt like what you imagined an uncircumcised penis would feel like.
Thankfully you had been gifted some bitcoin years ago from the men who wanted to dox you, kill you, rape you and could now make use of it. You knew you wanted to die, you just didn’t want to stay anymore. Yet, buying these pills were a commitment and if you purchased them you felt you couldn't back out.
As you debated buying the pills you started to shake a bit and felt your chest caving in, so you decided to turn on videos of dying cancer patients which always made you feel calm and jealous. The stories of people getting stage 4 and having everything be out of their control, of having a timeline in which you could expect everything to end sounded so peaceful to you. Eventually, you fell into a deep sleep accompanied by the lullabies of your short and shallow breathing.
6
I have come a long way, to surrender my shadow
To the shadow of a horse.
James Wright
In the dream the two of you are sitting in that house with all the white horses you could imagine, discussing something but you can't quite hear what your dad is saying. There's reconciliation, there's tears, there's laughter; everything you could hope for between a father and a son. Finally, a sea where you can swim and your wounds wouldn't burn. So you turn to each other, and do the only reasonable thing a father and son can do. Do the thing that has been on your mind for years.
The phone rings, one of you picks up and answers, annoyed obviously for that precious moment is now lost like a series of years. Years are kept in the smallest of moments. The news, of course, is that mom is dead. So you have to go collect her body and cremate it. You go to her house where she had been living alone for years with virtually no contact. You take her body and wrap it up. You wrap it until you can't even see her anymore, until she disappears in waves of plastic so thick her face becomes more and more a blob of color, then a memory. You bring it to an abandoned car park somewhere nobody will see you. You collect sticks and branches and bushes and take out your lighter. You put all the kindling around her body. You dance while you pour the gas and you look at your father and his eyes are like bats swimming in moonlight. He dances with you until he runs over to the car and takes out a vase. He says do it. So you do it. And she burns like Alexandria. You get hard, the smell is intoxicating. After, lips wet with saliva, you grab the vase and start scooping up her ashes into it. You think you could eat this. Afterwards, you know you have to leave.
The two of you take the old Honda that dad drove always with one hand on the wheel, and go through those mountains awaiting a new place, one where no memories would lie. You remember thinking that all these trees would take the past and swaddle it, like a river would a baby till it has gone somewhere no one knows, left only to walk backwards against its own life. The green was everywhere, a symphony or pilgrimage of all that is mysterious. It stacked itself up like an applause, wrapping everything, even you, inside it. All you could do was sit back, your stomach feeling like an oyster just shucked and awaiting some palate of toothy starlight to take me in. It was there even then, that life you would have chosen for yourself but never knew the words to say to make it real.
You stopped at a burger place tucked away quietly against all the trees. You remember thinking how odd it was, this small proof of humanity amongst all this green of god. It was some sort of unsaid agreement, as if to say, you may be here, but no more than a few feet of beat up tin and an old sun dried sign advertising a world famous burger only locals and the occasional passersby would ever try. You stepped out of the car, dirt crushed by the soles of our shoes. Dad took your order and walked in, telling you to wait outside to see if any deer would show. I know this sounds odd, but you couldn't imagine deer there. You couldn't imagine any living thing besides the trees. It seemed cacophonous, as if all living things would be swallowed deep into the ground where roots would climb their bones till they were stripped clean down to their atoms. Eventually he comes out and the two of you sit down, not talking, as the only thing you could talk about was something you couldn't fathom yet. Yet, it was there, ringing like a bell, the strike so consistent, faint in a way. Like the memories were already fading, and all we had was our own minds to wander. The shadow of silence like the shadow of a lover grew until eventually Then he tells you before you can go somewhere else, before the two of you can just leave and abandon the world, you have to make a stop. Our hometown, your mother wanted me to spread her ashes there. You are angry because the whole point was to leave, not to return. You think she is dead and it doesn't really matter. Sure, mom always talked about how beautiful her old house was, the pink walls, and the occasional cuckoo wallpaper adorning it; and yes, she had loved that house, not due to the fact it was truly a beautiful house, but because she had grown up in a trailer park the first eight years of her life - but she's dead. And now you think the two of you should chuck her vase into the garbage in the back of the burger joint and abandon the car and hitch hike somewhere which is nowhere, but you say, Okay, and smile at your dad.
The cheeseburgers came and you ate them, so back to the car it was. You drive this time, miles and miles, and oddly enough, you see a deer. Its fur was black and its eyes piercing. It was laying down in a patch of grass close enough to the road that it made dad put both of his hands on the steering wheel. Something in its eyes bothered you, you felt as if you knew it. Like you could call its name from forth my tongue and it would follow you. Wrapped in thought about the deer, the time went by quickly, and eventually you were there at moms old house.
Your grandparents had passed years before, but Mom and Dad kept the house for sentimental value and with the hope of showing you. Dad walked you in and showed you the rooms, the little trinkets adorning the walls. So much sentimentality in a place like this. The wallpaper was all but gone, and the pink paint stripped away. All that was left was something unusually holy in its dullness. Like one of those old churches in Nebraska, its white paint chipped and scattered, scattering as if towards heaven. You wondered what happened over the years to make the house this way; furniture all wrapped in plastic and dust, like light, everywhere.
I remember the first time I met your grandparents. They were odd, but very sweet people. They loved board games. I don't know if you two remember that, but when you were really young we would go on these camping trips and play trains and dominos and monopoly. Although monopoly was always too long for you.
I don't remember that.
So it went. Looking over the old house, until the two of you finally were ready to head to the beach. It was a short, beautiful drive through one of those classic old towns where downtown is nothing more than a block or two and everyone knew each other. Occasionally, there was some chain like Starbucks or Pizza Hut tucked equity among the houses. It was peaceful here, you thought, quiet and without pretension. When you arrived all you could think was that the beach was sprawling, nothing like you have Upstate. An expanse so vast in its wake, like a fire spreading out, touching everything. The air was cold, and the water colder. The whole thing was begging you to undress and step in, but you knew you couldn't, not today. So it went, you took Mom's ashes out of the jar and spread them near the ocean until they floated in the air like smoke from a firework, then fell like the loose body it was into the water. You stood there a moment, laughed, cried, until you didn't anymore. Until everything was normal. How grief is I suppose. It is there till it isn't then back again. A shock that is so guttural it is like the revelation of an animal's cry. So it went, back to the car it was, time for that long ride to nowhere, endless, and, in its own way, a cry towards some natal but angelic place you could finally name as home.
When you wake up you don't remember your dream except for the fact your mom was dead and you burned her. You look at your computer which is still playing the audio from a documentary on people who found out they had stage four. You tap the keyboard slightly to wake it up and order the M30 pills, which included in the listing description tells how the pills are laced with an amount of fentanyl you can, even without research, be positive is fatal.
7
God how the stars did fall. I looked for blackness, holes in the heavens. The dipper stove.
Cormac McCarthy
ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping
ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping
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The chat rooms were busy today, you thought.
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.98828465789
You fgs r not ready for this:
{open file?}
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.1567892350
Holyshit u r kingmade for this
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.2034538786
fggy response, but yeah, good shit, can I ask? where u gt this, did u do it? we need the stry
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.1567892350
I hope you get brutally anally rped by a lrge blck cock cuz I know u would enjoy - but yuh story plzzzzzzzz
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue)15:01:54 No.2096538721
wait this is insane cant believe u posted this we r all cooked
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.No.2034538786
fuck this is hot
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.No.2039900678
i was gooning this just made me crum, anyone want pics i crummed all over my desktop
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.2034538786
y is everyone so gay here?
but ye send pic(s) but dont make a big deal out of it u r not the important thing happening right now
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.No.2039900678
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.2034538786
noice, okay can we get the story???? You read through the messages and think you have never felt such a rush in your life. You felt like you were a part of some discovery. You {opened the link}:
You came quickly. You hear more pings but you know you just experienced something you will remember for a long time and you want to enjoy the moment. You save the video and file it under “WISH.I.WAS.THERE.” and transfer it onto your flash drive where you like to keep your more serious photos and videos. You delete it off your computer and try in your layman's way to delete any of the evidence off your computer. As you do so you wonder why you even bother. Soon you will be getting a package and everything will fall into place then and you will finally be shown for what you are. The thought of this makes you hard once more and you replay the video. You think even just the sound could do it for you, but you like the visuals so you keep your eyes open. You don't think about the people in the video. They are not people, they are plastic and like plastic they bend and tear and expand. Like plastic they have been disintegrating since birth and they didn't even know it. Like plastic they are gone, they are gone the moment you clicked away.
8
There is a life which
if i could have it
I would have chosen for myself from the beginning.
Franz Wright
Someone had uploaded videos of people burning themselves alive. It was a group of five protesters who had all gathered poured gasoline on themselves and went ablaze. You weren’t that interested in the videos though because the package was supposed to arrive today.
Because the package has not come and you are not forced to action you are still confident in what you have to do. You feel like crying, you feel like doing something you would say is cringe and would then comment for the OP to kill themselves, however, now that everything is so close you cannot let yourself have second thoughts, you can barley wait and each passing second without action feels like endless torture. You are killing time. You are doing nothing. You are nothing and you will be reduced to nothing again and again. You are eating your daily bread. You are a sacrament waiting to be bottled. You are fluent with your shame. You have never regretted anything. You are reaching for a door whose handle is hot. You keep checking the time and it feels like hours are twisting to minutes, twitching the hands of the clock slower and slower just to fuck with you.
For a bit you stare at the wall, then begin to go into all of your files to confirm everything has been organized properly. You look at each subsection subsection, find your hidden folders and it all checks out. Bored you think about writing a note but you remember that this is your note. You look at your desk and see the camera you had bought a year ago that you had planned to use with a webcam model you liked but got too afraid. You hook it up and prepare the stream and its link.
You used to look at videos of suicide and think that they were weak people, but you think now it is a much more courageous act to end it all. In a way though, you won’t be dying, you’ll become a part of someone else’s archive. You’ll give someone else an erection hopefully. You wonder if that’s a gay thought but you don’t dwell on it too much. You think of your mother and how she will probably go crazy after this and get a bit of pleasure. She has made you what you are. You are her heir and she yours.
Your dad yells at you. It's here. You wondered if you would be a coward, but you felt righteous and knew this was your only way out. You didn’t say anything to your dad when you grabbed the package. You barely looked into his eyes.
9
I have come a long way, to surrender my shadow
To the shadow of a horse.
James Wright
You won't remember this. After you took the pills and began your overdose nobody knew for the first hour. Your mother texted you asking you for dinner. When you did not answer she came to your door, and when you did not respond she told your father who knocked and eventually tried to open the door. Realizing it was blocked he kicked it in. Your father saw you and rushed over. You will never remember his face but it could only be described as fear. Your mother screams and freezes before she comes as well. Your breathing is shallow, your lips are blue. Your mom grabs your hand as your father runs to call 911. The paramedics take 11 minutes to arrive and in this time your parents stay on the phone and do all the things the call operator tells them. When the paramedics arrive they inject you with 11 boxes of Narcan. The first ten seemingly did nothing, but the eleventh wakes you up, though you won't remember it. When you wake, despite being half conscious, you are visibly upset. You have failed. The paramedics rush you into the ambulance and begin their journey to the hospital. The whole time, unbeknownst to anyone as your laptop is in sleep mode, they are being watched. The camera you placed over the screen shines a small blue light. Your parents stay in your room. They hold each other for the first time in years and cry as there is nothing else to do.
Epilogue
the cry that always escapes,
the low, humiliating
premise of union—
Louise Glück
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue)No.2096538725
Ngl bit disappointed, it was cool when he started turning blue tho
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.2034538786
Agreed
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.1567892350
yuh lowkey boring he shld hve gotten a gun tbh
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.2034538786
Yeh like when you see all the brain matter go over where
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.No.2039900678
It made me a little hard but that's about this
What do yu gys thnk bout a stry bout fag man in closet who schizo but all his hallucinations are other fag dudes and so this fag thinks he is cheating on his wife his wifes a bimbo idk just thot of that thot it would be funny lol dont mind me im gooning User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.98828465789
Check this out:
{open file?}
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.No.2039900678
Fuck this is gonna make me cum
Anyone want photos?
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue)No.2096538725
LEGOAT
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.1567892350
YOU GOT THAT SAUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeee boiiiiiiiiiiii
User Anonymous 03/25/25(Tue) No.1298763890
The stream has been ended manually by MODS, thank us later. Good video User No.No.2039900678 is cleary the schizo fag but send the pics <3
-- Ocean St. Amant is a poet who is a fan of Paddington 2 and the novels of Tolstoy and Nabokov.