Two Teenagers Taking About Freud
(Dec 29/05)
I’m all jammed up; fucking dreams are kicking the shit outta me. Latent or manifest? I dunno, the first one I think. Well of course the latent shit’s always the worse, it’s the shit that’s never quite the way it is, but seems like it is. Maybe I’m condensed, or displacing one thing for the other. Could be. And that sublimation shit, it’s a real kicker, always pointing you in the wrong direction, just when you figure you got it all figured out, and shit. Yeah, once I sublimated a dog’s asshole for my mom’s tits. Figure that, fuck, way too fucking weird, thinking your mom’s tits are a dog’s asshole and all. That’s nothing, once I thought my dad’s cock was one a those battleship guns, the big fuckers with the long, narrow barrels. Fuck, man, you must a been jammed like fucking ninety. That French fucker, what’s his name? Lacan. Yeah, he said that the unconscious is structured like a language, something to do with signifiers and signifieds. Tame shit, man, when you think of Freud’s concept of the unconscious as a storehouse of repressed early childhood memories, traumas and shit. Yeah, but it’s all understood, or interpreted, through language, right? Yeah, so. Well then, language, then, wouldn’t ya think, is the true unconscious, the only way we have to understand, interpret all that shit. A fucking baby can’t fucking speak, for fuck sake. All it can do is roll it’s fucking eyes and make stupid fucking faces. And shit all the time. Yeah, that too. But remember what Freud said about shit, it’s a representation of money or power, or some shit like that. You can either shit the fucker out, or hold it in. Meaning? Meaning, even when you’re a little fucking baby, you got control over things. Yeah, I suppose. Fucking a you do. I remember my mom haven to pull a shit outta my fucking asshole, when I was four or five or something. Fucker just wouldn’t come the fuck out, not on it’s own anyways. Needed a little prodding, did it? Fucking a it did. I bet you’d still like it if someone’d pull a shit outta your asshole, your sister or that chick with the flabby ass. And maybe you’re fucking mom? Fuck, man, she’d do it just for the fucking fun a it, for fuck sake. Fuck, man, now you got me thinking about your mom all naked and shit, her tits like a dog’s asshole, for fuck sake. That sublimation’s some weird fucking shit, man. Weirder than shit, man, way weirder than a dog’s tits being your mom’s asshole, and shit.
I’m all jammed up; fucking dreams are kicking the shit outta me. Latent or manifest? I dunno, the first one I think. Well of course the latent shit’s always the worse, it’s the shit that’s never quite the way it is, but seems like it is. Maybe I’m condensed, or displacing one thing for the other. Could be. And that sublimation shit, it’s a real kicker, always pointing you in the wrong direction, just when you figure you got it all figured out, and shit. Yeah, once I sublimated a dog’s asshole for my mom’s tits. Figure that, fuck, way too fucking weird, thinking your mom’s tits are a dog’s asshole and all. That’s nothing, once I thought my dad’s cock was one a those battleship guns, the big fuckers with the long, narrow barrels. Fuck, man, you must a been jammed like fucking ninety. That French fucker, what’s his name? Lacan. Yeah, he said that the unconscious is structured like a language, something to do with signifiers and signifieds. Tame shit, man, when you think of Freud’s concept of the unconscious as a storehouse of repressed early childhood memories, traumas and shit. Yeah, but it’s all understood, or interpreted, through language, right? Yeah, so. Well then, language, then, wouldn’t ya think, is the true unconscious, the only way we have to understand, interpret all that shit. A fucking baby can’t fucking speak, for fuck sake. All it can do is roll it’s fucking eyes and make stupid fucking faces. And shit all the time. Yeah, that too. But remember what Freud said about shit, it’s a representation of money or power, or some shit like that. You can either shit the fucker out, or hold it in. Meaning? Meaning, even when you’re a little fucking baby, you got control over things. Yeah, I suppose. Fucking a you do. I remember my mom haven to pull a shit outta my fucking asshole, when I was four or five or something. Fucker just wouldn’t come the fuck out, not on it’s own anyways. Needed a little prodding, did it? Fucking a it did. I bet you’d still like it if someone’d pull a shit outta your asshole, your sister or that chick with the flabby ass. And maybe you’re fucking mom? Fuck, man, she’d do it just for the fucking fun a it, for fuck sake. Fuck, man, now you got me thinking about your mom all naked and shit, her tits like a dog’s asshole, for fuck sake. That sublimation’s some weird fucking shit, man. Weirder than shit, man, way weirder than a dog’s tits being your mom’s asshole, and shit.
FATUDDWPPWDDUTAF
(Feb 12/06)
Fear and trembling unto death do we part. Bowels, innards, guts and viscera unto death do we part. Parting is such saccharin woe. Woe is I unto death trembling do we part. Do we part trembling in woe is me sorrow. Death bowels, innards, guts and glistering saccharin fear. Parting post death and mortem is such treacle and sweetshop sorrow and woe is neither you nor I. Sorrowful sorrow woe Noah onto ark unto covenant and roe. Ovum over easy does it unto death trembling do us part parting. Viscera, guts, innards and the largest bowel NAG till fear do we Miracle Mart. In the parking lot do we part trembling in fear of innards, bowels, guts, viscera and mopeds. Fear of trembling and part. Fear of mopeds and trembling. Fearful of death, mopeds, innards, guts, viscera and the smallest bowel trembling in disgust and saccharin woe is you not I nor not I. Nietzsche’s nag woeful and begotten to death do he did part trembling. Hobbled and flog to wobbly knees trembling unto death did he (F.N.) parting sorrowful part. Part we do death unto trembling and fear.
Fear and trembling unto death do we part. Bowels, innards, guts and viscera unto death do we part. Parting is such saccharin woe. Woe is I unto death trembling do we part. Do we part trembling in woe is me sorrow. Death bowels, innards, guts and glistering saccharin fear. Parting post death and mortem is such treacle and sweetshop sorrow and woe is neither you nor I. Sorrowful sorrow woe Noah onto ark unto covenant and roe. Ovum over easy does it unto death trembling do us part parting. Viscera, guts, innards and the largest bowel NAG till fear do we Miracle Mart. In the parking lot do we part trembling in fear of innards, bowels, guts, viscera and mopeds. Fear of trembling and part. Fear of mopeds and trembling. Fearful of death, mopeds, innards, guts, viscera and the smallest bowel trembling in disgust and saccharin woe is you not I nor not I. Nietzsche’s nag woeful and begotten to death do he did part trembling. Hobbled and flog to wobbly knees trembling unto death did he (F.N.) parting sorrowful part. Part we do death unto trembling and fear.
