Is it normal for children to have sexual fantasies about their parents?

Yes, because some parents' relationships with their kids are not parent-like. Some parents are more like friends to their kids.

If given the opportunity try human flesh would you?

I would be greatly curious to try it. No, for fear that I may like it too much. It would scare me to know that I really enjoy human flesh, I wouldn't be sure of what to think of myself. I wouldn't feel like a good person anymore.

Do you enjoy the smell of your own shit?

When my diet is more raw food, I revel in the naturalness of my shit's smell. But when I eat more processed food I am ashamed of the stark smell of my shit, and don't want to smell it.

What is your sex and your sexual orientation?And what is your favorite thing to masturbate to?

Lesbian female. I enjoy masturbating to men and women dry humping and attractive men masturbating.

Do you beleive in God?

I don't want to. But as I get older, I become inclined to believe in something very similar to the idea of God. But I think that the idea of God that is presented to the masses is a clever machination that I refuse to feed into, and allow to make me subserviant.

Is it normal for children to have sexual fantasies about their parents?

Actually I've fantasized about having sex with both of my parents. I don't find anything perverse about my ways of thinking. I believe everyone feels this way but may feel too embarrassed to bring it up in conversation. It's completely natural.

If given the opportunity to eat human flesh, would you?

I always thought it would taste like chicken. Sometimes late at night, when I'm really hungry, I think about cutting off a chunk from someones face and throwing it in the deep fryer.

Do you enjoy the smell of your own shit?

I enjoy shitting with the door open. I want other people to share this experience with me.

What is your sex and sexual orientation? What is your favorite thing to masturbate to?

Female, nympho, Fat women and old men.

Do you believe in god?

I believe in myself and the possibility of evolution.

Give me a Reason!

A short story that I read recently with a good friend of mine, made me think. Creative minds need to suffer. I could have done some research to support this theory, but I didn't. I didn't because I can simply speak from experience.
It is like my mind by default is bent on making me unhappy, frustrated, miserable. It is only through the exertion of great energy that I am able to act for the sake of happiness.When working toward my happiness, I am overwhelmed by a need to act to sabotage it, I am hounded by voices of advisors who seek to influence me to act destructively.
Is it a coincidence that, when I am at my most discontent, I am able to create the most satisfyingly beautiful writings, the most creative shit. When I am happy, my work is greatly uninspired. When I am evenly content, I cannot write nor develop ideas a lick.
Whenever I get what I want, I unconsciously act in a way to cause myself to lose it. I sometimes even give it away. Why? I have to ask myself, why must I give myself a reason to suffer?
I am my worst foe, because I know what temptations I am most susceptible to. I am convinced that it may take not even a lifetime but several lifetimes to build, through self analyzation, immunities to all of the temptations this world has to offer to my descructive nature. But am I willing to give up my ability to go deep and create?

KALEIDOSCOPE

She is pink tonight. I want to watch her. I hide in an alley across the street from her, and press myself against the building's brick wall. I peep around its corner, and under the white street light I see her, oooooo she's pink tonight. I was green in my coming to the spot. I now want to act red, and become red. To mingle with her pink, to merge with her pink, and set this night on fire, burn a hole straight through to the morning. I see us laying exhausted beneath the hole's flaming edges. The only thing that could stop me tonight is a woman who's black. A woman that is black can stop me in my tracks, for she is rare as a diamond that is black, and if I see a woman who is black, I will have to forego burning through the night, because truth be told I can act, but am not actually much red. Nor am I oft green. I am naturally blue. Most invariably blue. Women the air black, move me to my blue core. Women that are black allow me to be blue. I prefer to be my natural blue rather than a bold red, or an energetic orange, rather than a nieve yellow.
Look at this woman who is yellow, blocking my view of the carnally stimulating woman that is pink. I wish she would move her yellow from the woman's pink, because her yellow is ruining the feeling. By some cognitive power I manage to move the yellow woman, her phone rings and she walks away to take the call. I can see the lady pure pink again. Her phone rings. She pulls it from her oversized hanging bag. She says hello then listens for a long while. As she listens I notice her shoulders drop. I see her mouth fall open, her eyes intensify by several degrees as if she's tryng to understand something unfathomable. I see her mouth the word "but", before flipping her phone shut and looking up from wherever that conversation had taken her. Then the weight of her entire body shifts downward straining her sexy high heels. She's no longer pink. Damn! I imagine that someone has canceled on her , and I expect her to turn either red and burn through the night with a yellow, perhaps the yellow that had momentarily blocked my view, or another red, which would be something I'd like to watch. She doesn't change the way I expect though. Instead of turning red, she turns black. She turns black as the smell of pure earth after a rain. She had been playing pink, for no doubt someone who preferred pink women.I feel ashamed. Ashamed of my intent to feign red, and ashamed of my reluctance to be the blue that I am, and of falling lackidaisically into green. She whom I moments earlier had marked as prey, now made me feel unworthy of her. I immediately move from the corner of the building, now feeling silly and purile for ever having watched her from there. Tonight I am inspired to be completely honest. I cross the street with the stride of a blue person, and greet the black woman.

Daddy!

Papa was a stationary stone. Even when he was out on the road in his big ol' truck, I am inclined to believe that his heart was at home, he was there for us while he could be. When he'd return after days on the road in his big ol' 18 wheeler,he seemed so happy to see my mother and I. They'd get high and make love standing, while I basked in my wonderous three year old world beneath the sheets on their bed. I remember the smell of incense and sex.

He told me that if I ate too much candy, I'd get worms. "Worms, what's that?", I asked him. He told me that actual worms would start to crawl out of my butt. I was terrified, although I am not sure that I eased up on the sweets. One day he came into the house with a paper bag, when he revealed what was in it to me on the floor of our big barren house, I exclaimed "Oh shit". He told me not to say that.

I was walking with him home from the bus stop, I was looking down at the sidewalk as I walked. He said a bit impatiently that I should not walk with my head down, I should look up when I walked.

He took me with him when he went to coach an inner city youth football team. He was Coach Oliver. He'd brag to the guys about how fast his daughter could run. He'd tell them that I could beat the fastest of them in a foot race. I raced one of his players as we were leaving the recreation center for the day, and he beat me. I felt like I'd let my dad down, I felt horrible. Once my father took my brother and I to a football game, with his friend and his friend's son. He didn't have much money, and he gave me what he had to get a soda with his friends' son. He told me to share the soda with my brother, I don't think that he wanted his friend to know that he couldn't or wouldn't buy two sodas, I'm not sure. I and his friend's son walked around for a while after getting the sodas and I'd forgotten all about my thirsty little brother. When we returned to our seats on the bleachers, my brother reached for the empty can I was holding. A look of oops fell over my face and my father looked at me with anger drenching his own. I felt horrible. Once my dad and his friends took us camping. All of us, their offspring, were greatly excited. When we got there we ran around and played like wild animals, to be honest. Someone got hurt, a scraped elbow or knee or something. The men became frustrated with us and needless to say we didn't get to stay the night. They said that it was time to go. We were dissappointed, and I felt horrible. Once when I was out on the road with my father in his big ol' truck. I went back into the cab's bedding area. A canvas shade hid me from my father's view while he drove that big ol' truck. I found some pornographic magazines in a bag back there. I sat looking through the pages of these magazines. Naked black women, breast and bush exposed is what I remember. My father lifted the flap to check on me, and found me looking at his reading material.He got very angry, and told me to stay up front with him. I felt horrible for much of the remainder of the ride. There seems to be a theme forming here. Maybe it was best that my father was busted for drugs when I was ten. Maybe I was spared a youth filled with feeling horrible. Maybe it was best that he returned to jail the same year he was released when I was sixteen, to spare me feeling horrible for the guilt and pity I felt for him when I'd see him around or when he'd come by.

His parents died when he was young. He was the oldest of his brother and sister. He grew up really charming charismatic and popular, he was a football player. He met my mom on the drug scene in D.C. They had me. My grandmother never cared much for him. His youngest biological sibling, his sister was murdered at a gas station someplace. Someone slit her throat. People say that I look just like her. His brother, because of a hospital suite was able to afford college. He went on to make alot of money and travel as some sort of engineer. My dad because of drugs had to depend on his little brother for money alot. Money to pay the bills to keep his family sheltered, fed and clothed. My dad must have felt horrible.

My mom kicked her habit, but my dad would/could not shake his. She had a sister killed too, and demons chasing her of her own, but we, my brother and I, were enough to make her choose not to use a life consuming drug to deal with them. Why weren't we enough for him?

Truth Resurrected.........

Why do parents always feel the need to shield us from the truth? Well I finally reunited with one of mine after 10 years and I must say, that was some intense shit!

Dreadfully awaiting to punch in those ten numbers connecting me to the most important man in my life. Why was I so concerned with whether or not my alluring features would be interesting enough for him to look at? "You better lose that stomach if you wanna look like the girls on TV." Will starving myself for two and a half years be enough for you daddy?" "I just want you to love me, I just want you to think I'm beautiful." (Subconscious mind-You want everyone to think you're beautiful) Why does it matter what he thinks of me? (Subconscious mind-You can't respect yourself until you know he respects you). "It doesn't matter who I lie down with, as long as they love me, that's all I've ever wanted my daddy to do." "I probably won't find anyone as good as me, because honestly I'm not sure how good I am, daddy never told me."

10 years of hearing the same four lousy words uttered to me, "You have daddy issues." "Everyone wants to hurt me; why can't they all just leave me alone...AHHHHH!!!"

He should be the one trying to impress me after abandoning me for so long. (Subconscious mind- He doesn't know how to reach out because he's in love with you). "If I could marry you, I would, you are the love of my life, and I could never respect any other woman as much as I respect you." Now he's back -a new beginning. Should I just let him in like that? How should I know when I'm being too trusting or not trusting enough? (Subconscious mind-You'll never learn to love if you deliberately try to avoid being hurt).

"Daddy!"

The next day...........

So we officially got into our first argument today. Should I just shut him out now? (Subconcious mind-You need him; you don't have anyone). Our relationship is strange . What direction is he leading me in? Where is he taking me? "Do your friends know I'm in love with you?" "They don't understand our relationship; we have a very special relationship." (Subconcious mind- What if he tries it again, just like when you were a child)

Let's just put it out in the open, shall we?

Should parents who molest their children be given a second chance or should they be forced to live in exile forever? "I don't think he meant to hurt me, he loves me too much." What 's the difference between right and wrong? What the difference between ignorance and simply not knowing?

I ask myself everyday....Maybe it's all in my head, but at the time it didn't feel right and I was pretty tempted to speak up about it. But then, I realized I love him too much and I wanted him to love me back.

"Daddy!"

Wonderland

She's afraid of things that she don't understand
I tell her don't be afraid dear here take my hand
Let's step through the mirror into wonderland
Cause real life is supposed to be perplexing
It's supposed to make you wonder You're supposed to blunder
Real life is eye-opening is doesn't make you fall asleep
Real life is DEEEEEP
She can't see why I would choose paths untaken
She says what if you are forsaken
Real life won't forsake you if you live in it
Real life will embrace you if you believe in it
She says she doesn't understand why things have to be so hard why she never hears from god why people are so mean why her hard work is never seen
Here take my hand let's step through the mirror into wonderland
Through the mirror all negatives become positives the same things that made you scowl make you smile!
Would you believe that this is Real life, most believe that this is the fantasy, I beleive that that beleif is insanity
I have an idea give up your career and live here!

Dead or Alive?

Welcome Everyone! My name is Shareen, and truthfully I've been planning my death for a very long time now. Now I'm aware that some of you may reproach my morbid ways of thinking, but death actually seems like a happy place in my mind.



Living has brought so much comfort in such a vast world of the unknown, I'd like to think that I've achieved my purpose and fulfilled my destiny.



Most people daydream of walks on the beach and camel back rides, while my nightly illusions elicit random obituaries and images of people casting ashes of my body into the sea.



Is Living better than Dying?



I'm not sure but for now this where I stand. It calls out from below the depths of my consciousness and whispers something sweet into my ear.



"Are you ready," it says. "Come next to me and stand peacefully sound forever against the evening sky."

America in it's present and in its history is extraordinarily gothic-grotesque,mysterious,desolate
Psychology-Subtle tactical action or argument used to manipulate or influence another
Victims of Psychology- the American people
Hello my name is Tyana and I believe that I am a VOP(victim of psychology). "HELLO TYANA" says the American People."TELL US YOUR STORY". Well, It all began when I was a young girl. I was born into a family that emphasized showing respect. If you got being respectful down pact in my family, you were free to do and say anything that you wanted. It was in this environment that I believe I devoloped my independent personality. As long as my actions didn't hurt others nor myself in anyway, they were cool, and I was a free talking, free thinking, adventurous little sprout. "WE ARE LISTENING TYANA, LET IT OUT, WE'RE ALL VICTIMS HERE" Okay so this was the way it was till I was school age. When I went to school everything changed. I no longer was allowed to be autonomous and to be able to cultivate my own behavioral personality. No, teachers would force us to engage in their rituals of learning. They'd teach us behaviors, under the guise of maintaining order. I raised my hand whenever I wanted to ask a question for years after I was finished with school. They force fed us ideas, notions, subjective histories only to have us regurgitate them later in the school year on standardized tests. And if someone did exhibit a penchant for independent thinking and creativity in my school, they were sent to a "special" program, where "special" instructors would pay close attention to their abilities while not especially helping them to devolop them. And they were made to feel "special". I was one of these students. And I don't know about others that endured this type of situation, but I felt so "special", that I began to think that I didn't have to try so hard in the low standard classes at my school. With no one to push me, not even those "special" teachers, my mind never devoloped at its full potential rate. I'm sorry fellow americans, I don't mean to get emotional, it's just that I can't stand the fact that I allowed myself to be a part of their illusion in my most formative years. "IT"S OKAY TYANA, IT HAPPENED TO ALL OF US, YOU WERE JUST A CHILD, A CHILD IS NO MATCH FOR THEIR PSYCHOLOGY". When I think about how beautiful my mind is, how beautiful all of our minds are, I become disenchanted with my country, because even before my conception they deemed my mind unuseful and sought to stunt and mold it rather than allow it to devolop through learning methods that encourage students to think for themselves. For so long in school I simply hoped that someone, some teacher, some student teacher, councelor, or mentor would ask me what I thought, this rarely happened. And then when I got to college and someone did ask me what I thought, I didn't know how to tell them. "CRY, LET IT OUT TYANA, IT IS HEARTBREAKING, WE DON'T BLAME YOU FOR CRYING" Every one of us has something to contribute to the postitive peaceful developement of this world, damn it! Why won't they give us a fighting chance!