A Bloody Competitor Pathway Cometh

It’s said that “…you’re a nobody“, which destroys the same mythology that you’ve utilized to take time to create yourself–about yourself. It’s as unsavory as hailing from New York, California, Massachusetts, Georgia or Kansas. You’re constantly pondering on that come-up until that “tomorrow” comes to past and goes down as the worst day in the history of human civilization. It’s easy to come across as suitably irritating while remaining steadfast on the course of obtaining some sort of “likability”. You’re either poorly habit-forming or harboring some sort of weak characteristic when you criticize someone for taking ownership of a strengthened aura. Your performance is seen just as “appropriately androgynous” as Tilda Swinton. I give a god-damn if I’m ever accepted by the general startup community or not. Not even MIT can develop technology remotely close to PIR (Premier Information Retrieval), but I commend them for trying.

If ya’ skin’s too thin, your temperament is too short and you spend way too much time building upon a character that was never “likable” (snicker) in the first place and you’re too scared to surround yourself with the requisite anarchist elements, then I’ll never recognize you as anything close to a competitor. Forget about Silly-Ass Valley Silicon Valley; it’s a hodgepodge of losers avoiding their parents, but it morphs into this sort of utopian community where they seek to learn what they want [not what they need to learn]. Seriously, those kids ain’t cerebral enough to deal with the likes of an omnidimensional intellectual. The so-called Ivy Leagues are no different than your average Stripper Hoe Institute of Technology (S.H.I.T.) where the bitches speak in nothing but double entendres and pay their tuition in singles. They’ll end up working jobs where “being Black” is either not tolerated or only tolerable in small bites (hey, go shoot a commercial for Dove). The predictability factor seeps in slightly until your extremely friendly face ends up in a courtroom scene from My Cousin Vinny

Working for a boss who’s racist, misogynistic, cliched, gratuitous, dumb, unpleasant and pointless–is the norm–standardized by signature American-brand apathy. Deal with it. Your lack of cultural depth granted that unwanted wish. The new mastering is orgasmic; experience is like a vampire-chick who preys on her victims by oversexing them and sucking the life-force out of them. Most wouldn’t complain because they have nothing else to live for [or fight for]. Personally, I refuse to explore any philosophical problem as filtered through a sort of deconstruction of a specific character. Stylistic touches won’t cut it either. Some can’t handle the criticisms the same way some can’t handle the recoil from the 1911s Humphrey Bogart held on the cover of High Sierra (cover of the DVD version). A lot of people are on a routine maintenance of style over substance–at its utmost boring peak–and have failed to come to the dominant realization that the arc of the average American is where they believe they can rebel and make it on their own terms when realistically they have no other recourse but to whore themselves into success (i.e., Jamele Hill). Society nowadays has allowed its residents to devolve into this unrefined twerp vs. high-minded intellectual dynamic. The women are no longer Playtex applicators. The men are right behind them. No one knows their damn role anymore. It’s a spectacular chainsaw arm wrestling match between the typically competent and the chronically incompetent. 

“Your ‘smart wit’ is blinded and white, which is never as sharp as the Black sword’s darkened might…”

The impending “war” will play-out like a cheesy battle scene in a Jess Franco-flick. P.O.C. will still harbor a hankering for acceptance by former racists who in turn will look upon [black] people all starry-eyed and horny. You have to question whether or not therein lies any philosophic pretense; methodical or restrained. The task of second-guessing the multi-layered cake of premises of that comprise this supposed impending “war” itself is taxing. Just rest assure that this era of ..ump will have the most revisionist overpour until it all broils over in inner turmoil. There is seemingly always an open challenge to one achieving moral ambiguity, at least here in the States. It’s a neat trick to attempt to comprehend the meticulous nuances but in the end it plays against you.

But, aside from all of that, I’m really not all too appreciative of what could be deemed as a surprisingly subversive photo-negative take on attempting to revive the cold carcass of 1950s Americana, showing it as a shiny false front masking something toxic. I guess this is a most convenient moment to utter “Welcome to Hell!” to retarded Starbucks millennials. So be it.  Who’s at fault that they only understand conversations held between Steve Jobs and Lucifer? Those are the “gods” that blessed them with an ungratified desire to forego the latex trojan and dive straight into the electronic innards of Gloria, the sex doll instead of being left with the no-choice effrontery of #metoo wantonly bleeding on its own pant-leg since straight-laced men will be having difficulty adjusting to this era’s forced social change. Needless to say, this ain’t the gang to go up against any expectant terrorist catastrophe since Harry Potter wouldn’t qualify as an FBI agent. When the premise diminishes, your army of suitably pale, high-cheekboned, grizzled, mutton chopped motherfuckers are relegated to nothing more than a typical cargo cult. Look at your ghosts–they’re in trailer parks–all methed-out. 

If you’re of the untrained mind contemplating on unprovoked difficulty, then you’ll never take into consideration of how ruthless it is selling apples. Likewise, you have to be violently aimed at the target to avoid the train wreck of the notorious black-facing by way of Silly-Ass Valley Silicon Valley (Drew and Co.), you know, damn near every time some jack-of-all-nothing decides to come out of “retirement” their first course of action is to entertain the prospect of hurling “nigga pennies” and advertise their signature naiveté. To them, Hexagon Lavish® is just a cash grab. That’s a low-T aim–and when the cell-count’s damn near depleted, it’ll expand the dying body to that of a canyon volleyed between institutions of work likened to a chasm wider than Lindsey Lohan can stretch her legs. 

I’m hopeful that the collective competitors’ angst goes the way of the dodo or withers away on the vine once PIR takes charges [on the market]. Their appearances on the media do not inspire consumer confidence. Mouth-breathing and stammering of the tongue which inevitably floods the villages with excuses out the wazoo. Most people aren’t all that particularly thrilled to see investors get burned in the process by the unfortunate turn of events pertaining to Cambridge Analytica. As of April 2018, Facebook believed the data of up to 87 million accounts (people) were improperly shared with political consultancy, Cambridge Analytica. Cambridge Analytica is known to mine data; not “hack” it. There were several hundred thousands Facebook account holders who volunteered, agreed and consented to take a survey sponsored by Cambridge Analytica and that permitted monitoring of their Facebook usage data. Those hundreds of thousands who willingly participated in the survey may have or may not have been aware that the monitoring included all of their “friends” in their individual “social networks”. With that said, it ain’t hard to tell that finding Facebook’s behaviors at both the corporate level (Sheryl Sandberg) and the social level (the “users”) god-damn repugnant. Already encumbered millennials became nationally disillusioned as they ended up opposed until they found themselves on the brink of utter demonization. Raining condemnation down upon the bodies (nh) of someone you found grounds of disagreement with has been normalized in America since the 2016 election. People have allowed themselves to be socially-engineered to justify their own inborn prejudices and fabricated “power”. On a global scale, entities proud of Old Glory ain’t competitive; they’re a gigantic speed bump on the market.

Trump-styled, stamped American arrogance embodied in the flesh of this country’s citizens in heavy douche in worse form than that of Topher Grace–honored with a badge of bad passion. We live in a world where if some coke and heroin go missing and life [for the white kids] goes topsy-turvy. I mean, you can literally walk into any CVS Pharmacy and see some fat John Candy-lookalike dressed in drag fail in his attempt to rob the cashier. Am I lying? Perhaps, that’s the wrong self-imposed inquiry. I should be asking myself–and all of you–why do I need to be worried about **all** of these would-be “competitors“? The pathway to “being singular on the market” is narrow and paved with the cowardice that stand by the sides of the path as I trek upon it. Being “worried” is minimal at best. Pushing PIR off the market–competitively–is a coke-induced dream.

Alphabet is a melancholic wankfest. Hexagon Lavish® is the singularity; once-in-a-lifetime as a black rainbow.

 

 


 

Desmond  

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