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Resources For The Nymphomation Era
or: A Young Gentlemans Primer
Created on 2001-03-04 15:46:52 (#68314), last updated 2009-02-27
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| Name: | Facter - Fletcher Andersen |
|---|---|
| Birthdate: | 12-15 |
| Location: | Perth, Western Australia, Australia |
| Website: | Facteresque Artwork |
- I currently live in Perth, Western Australia.
- I work as a project manger and senior technical consultant
- I am a writer for Drum Magazine
- I draw too much. I consider myself some kind of fkn artist, but really, who knows.
- I write. A lot. Wierd shit. Sometimes.
I somehow now find the need to add a disclaimer to this journal. This is not your regular "post what happened during the day blog". It is:
- One part reality - yes, the real is in here, often masked but present.
- One part fiction - not everything you read will be real. Not everything I say, is true.
- One part piss-take - dont take everything I say seriously. I often post items to illicit responses, merely in order to make others think. If you feel passionately about something, be passionate.
- One part masturbation - its a journal. Its mine. A blog is the ultimate hedonistic outlet, an intimate portrait and the most mysterious lover - they are all things, and none ... enjoy, or not, as is your discretion ...
Without reading it, I placed it in my mouth. Chewed and swallowed. I didn’t read it.
As it made its way down my throat, I could feel it moving down towards my stomach. I never read them, the fortunes; I preferred to keep them inside. I wanted them to be a part of me, and perhaps they were. Perhaps the things that I dreamed were from those fortunes, because there was no other way in which those ideas could come to me. I just wasn’t that kind of person. I wasn’t the kind of person to know the things I knew, or feel the things I felt. I was a cunt, full and through. A cunt with deep reserves of charm, for sure, but a cunt nonetheless.
The fortunes made me a better man. They gave me a power I wanted. A sense of belonging that I had never been able to understand.
My shit always floated. It never sank. It smelt, but not of flowers. It smelt like the ass of chickens. That was not the point though - the point is, is that I didn’t read the damn things. That cookie was only the first, the one I ate on that blissful autumn’s day - it was that digested fortune that started me on the long road to recovery.
I wasn’t sure what I was recovering from, but with each morning, I felt my strength return, and a flush of life crept into my bones.

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