mrtsar

[mrtsar]

"The Young King"

A young, second born prince was left alone at the castle.

The king, queen and heir departed for a ball miles away.

Twas the first time the teenager had been alone.

He would never become ruler, but that was okay.

Contentment was his domain.

A messenger came to the young one.

“Your parents and brother have perished, sire.”

“Many of your new lords will now seek the throne from you.”

“What shall you do?”

But the new King did not respond in royal language.

He curled into a ball along the wall.

He now owned the largest castle in the land

Owned more money than he would ever dream of

Could choose to do whatever he wanted

But he never wanted any of it.

Do royals care for their parents?

Is their duty as heirs above that of children to their parents?

Would one question an orphan lamenting their independence?

“Help me. Help me.” But the servants expected a king, and would not.

And the king was still alone.

Why must I suffer so?

I wish to give according to my loves and values

But what am I even to do?

Do I not get to mourn?

Why do their slaves get more respite than their own son?

And I am alone in here. I don’t know what to do.

I just want everyone I care about with me.

But the ones who could help me are gone.

And the ones left can only see “king” and not “me.”

I wish death on all family usurpers.

Who would ever wish this fate upon themselves!?

Who would lie down and grin as the pendulum of Damocles descends?

Do you find it poetic or ironic that the blade you wanted will fall on your face?!

I am not ready. I was never raised to be ready.

But is raising independence in a child simply called neglect?

[mrtsar]

“Just Close Your Eyes”

“Just close your eyes,” her mother said in the sedan.

The girl turned off the windshield’s program with a flick of her eyelids.

No more homeless, no more muggers, no more gangs

Just the soft blanket of nothingness in her mind.

“Turn off the TV, sweetie ” her mother said in the living room.

A protest of the gays arguing for their existence

But they could be turned off with a simple button press.

Or a change to a more family-friendly, unchallenging channel.

When the girl walked alone as a teenager, through the same street she blacked out.

No one told her to reject it all,

No one to shield her from loud conversations, smokers, or suspicious-looking people.

The girl shivered and sweat from the shoulders and stress from her soon-to-be attackers.

But she remembered: “Just close your eyes.”

The blanket returned. Her legs took on a new direction, but her bliss was palpable.

Her only desire now was to be taken by a familiar comfort.

So a sedan took her to the nothing she so loved.

[mrtsar]

The introductory “Hate” monologue from I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream, with AM voiced by the TikTok TTS

[mrtsar]

"Justify"

When I was 10, I frolicked with them

My two best friends

They called themselves “Mom” and “Dad”

And no matter what I did, they loved me.

One time I threw a vase at the wall

And the wall and vase shattered together

And a circular dimple with the cracked lines of paint stayed for months

And my parents said “We love you”

One time we were in the park and they wouldn’t buy me ice cream

And I ran away into the street.

I flew above a taxi’s roof after it hit me.

My parents rushed to me and only cried “We love you”

I was playing upstairs and I heard them on the phone

They screamed in hatred and in mean words to a voice I could not hear

They snarled and growled like wolves

And then two lambs opened my bedroom door and said “We love you.”

Despite these times of love, however,

That golden age of ignorant absurdity

It crashed one Wednesday night.

Far later than a kid my age should be awoken.

My father answered the door and then the first shotgun blast hit.

The attacker trotted inside to look for Mom.

He paced around the house until a second blast hit her in the downstairs closet.

And the boots grunted up the stairs toward me.

The barbarian in the gates did not run or squeak as he surveyed the hallway

And then my door creaked open.

I was under my bed

And he easily levered it up.

He placed it on its side on the wall and got on one knee

He took off a mask

And his face was scarred, burnt and concerned.

But his blonde hair revealed the youth underneath the grime.

He looked into me and spoke like a teacher

“I do not hate you.

“I hope you do not hate me despite what I did

“Never think this was your fault.”

“But what I did tonight was right.

“Just as Sampson killed the Philistines

“Or the Lord to the Fig Tree

“No worthy lives were lost today”

“I am so sorry that this had to happen to you

“But think of it like this:

“In the real world, you never want to do your homework

“But you do it anyway because you should.”

“They did not lie when they said ‘we love you’

“But they would have done worse to thousands if I did not sacrifice my innocence

“To do what was necessary.

“I do not expect forgiveness, but I wish for you to understand. Eventually anyway.”

“Do as I ask:

“Call 911 in 3 minutes and tell them you heard gunshots

“They will care for you, but they will not find me. Nor will you.

“And be thankful I did this as soon as I did.”

“For if I did not

“You would follow them into the deeds that made me what I am.”

And he gently placed the bed back down.

And I called the police.

They never found that man

They looked and then they looked into my parents

And stopped trying without ever telling me why

And soon enough, I grew tired and accepted my orphanhood as “the real world.”

[mrtsar]

[mrtsar]

"I want the best for my kids.

Not because I care, but so I can shit on them for having it easy for their entire lives" -Most sane suburban parent

[mrtsar]

hampter

[mrtsar]

Rain

The Rain played with the men below it for a time

And then they slept on dry land.

So Rain saw them avoid his gifts

And decreed

“I will not rest until you, my slaves, die to my generosity. 

“I regret making clay bodies

“That wash away when absorbing my being

“And so, your genocide will be my final gift. Accept.”

But the men did not accept. 

When Rain poured more to freeze them,

They made roofs and fires to stave off his icy weapons

And the men bred.

Rain then poured more

To flood and drown their possessions, their beds and their homes

But the men were clever

And made their houses higher and higher.

Rain could think of nothing more clever,

So he indulged on his insanity more and kept raining

But the men made dirt, plants and animals that absorbed his gift

And Rain’s fury created a perfect, fertile, populous world.

Then, Rain grew tired. His pettiness ran dry.

He accepted his creations and slaves as wiser than the emperor.

And ceased all rain.

Then his new loves drowned in emptiness. The world succumbed to flame.

Often times the solution to your problems

Is not doing anything at all.

[mrtsar]

"If you make fun of me on the internet one more time, I swear your brains will fly faster than if Mayor McCheese went to a rave."

[mrtsar]

@walkintheshadowsdanceinthesun

[mrtsar]

"Castrate yourself, no balls' might be the ultimate catch-22."

[mrtsar]

Not Existant

“Not Existant”

Can’t find what isn’t

Won’t allow what shouldn’t

Never enlarge one’s mind

Therefore forget what we shouldn’t don’t

Lest you forget how to don’t

Couldn’t ever follow one’s isn’t

Rhymes mustn’t be forgotten

If playn’t nor actn’t, but punt it.

What am I not saying?

Am I never not thinking?!

I’mn’t? Can’t inert atoms blink?

So’nt nothing isn’t nor never wasn’t

I am who I am, not am not

For any n’t to exist, there must be.

[mrtsar]

Paul-Alex Chaperone: The Post-Post-Post Modern Intellectual

Paul-Alex Chaperone: The Post-Post-Post-Modern Intellectual

            I write to you now, my disciples, in total dismay. This day, I’ve suffered a true injustice from the ignorance of neo-liberal institutionalists, or whatever he was. Yes, your humble writer, who serenades this torrential website among the cacophony of idiotic portrayals of moderation, was slighted and made a fool out of on the street, among the dreadful students of empathy.

            To those fans of mine who are yet unaware of my ideology, you need not look further for enlightenment than here, as I would like to amend it with this cruel story. Before this day of septic self-reflection, I need to clarify my thought process before the amendment. Unlike the folly of Modernist thought, which seeks to distinguish between absolute right and wrong, the indecisive pageantry of ignorance of the Post-Modernists, who seek to muddy the water with relativist drivel, and the Post-Post-Modernists that have only made up their minds to some degree, I have ascended past the need for morals. This is the very reason I began writing to you, after all: to make more sane intellectuals in my new Post-Post-Post-Modern crusade.

            With simplicity, it is the rejection of any wants or desires beyond the scope of your moral self. It is cruel to yourself and others to abridge your instincts and wants with any kind of restraint or consideration. While many of you droogs try and attribute lesser writers and faux-philosophers to my theory, I would prefer to for you not to associate me with lesser writers like Nietchze, Rand or especially morons like Descartes. Oh Descartes . . . I truly loathe that coward of indecision, as well as any existentialist drivel that passes itself off as truth. If they really wanted to answer every question to life, why stick with a philosophy that prides itself on knowing little to nothing at all. I am digressing, however. If you would care to know more of my distaste for philosophy that caters not to my rational palette, I encourage you to read my dissertations on the subject, was well as donating to my cause in the link below this story.

            Continuing on to the story for us who actually care about what is right in the world. Actually, the amount of unintelligible nonsense from cultural relativists on a regular basis on my various social media is near deafening. Can they not see that, by actively seeing their acts of critique and whining as moral, as well as the fact that they want to see me imprisoned for crimes against the neoliberal establishment, the masses of blind institutionalists only prove my point. My actions cannot ever be immoral, because I am authentic. And if I am authentic, then I am doing as I wish to, truly. Therefore, I am the most moral and intelligent of all you pointless embryos.

            If you, my enlightened public would like to support my cause against the soulless on my social media, it is imperative to follow my accounts and refute them as you see fit, to preserve your moral character.

            I had stepped onto the grounds of my university after class to take my regular Friday notes regarding the inferior minds that attend this echo-chamber, collated a stunning satire about the idiocy of my professors who think that active research counters my observation, and was busy disliking the posts of armchair charlatans. It was here, at the center of the lawn, I encountered, much like the Buddha, two sights which continue to intellectually stimulate me.

            First of all, two men, who appeared to be quite close, walked together, talking loudly about nothing. Now, what was actually peculiar about them, were the pins on both of their sweaters. On my right side, he possessed the words “Socialism Sucks,” emboldened like a scarlet letter. On the left, a “Feel the Bern 2016” mark stained his front.

            Now, I have long echoed your sentiments regarding these two compromising ideologies, with regard to the half-assed-ness of mild socialism and pseudo-illiberalism possessed by these two. However, I did not take umbrage with these pins, as I have detailed in other treatises of mine which you may now purchase digitally on any electronic book site. To summarize, I have no problem inherently with an ideology as long as they hold an unabridged hatred of others and are fearful and unwilling to compromise. As our society is filled to the brim with haphazard attempts to reconcile differences, I hold it moral to just push what one knows to be true without regard for the safety of others. To reiterate, you can purchase any of my books at any distribution service or on this website. 

            The main problem with these two inauthentic swine is how they so casually talk to one another despite their incompatibility. With moral impulsion, I said “Stay true to yourselves and kick him out of your life and prepare your trenches!” They may have pretended not to hear me, didn’t look at me, nor acknowledge my existence in any way, but I am sure their relationship ended that night due to my words of guidance.

            The second sight is one which you should brace yourselves before delving into. A normal-looking colleague (I grow sick of calling these inaudibly dumb armchairs my “colleagues”) walked passed with the charisma of a dogfish. Now, to this day, I know not what compelled me to confront this individual. Perhaps it was due to his inauthentic walk? His focus on avoiding other people while walking instead of trying to move them out of his way? It remains unclear. Whatever the reason, I started with “You, walking with inauthenticity and the charisma of a dogfish, may I enlighten you for a moment?”

            As this intolerable dolt chose to exchange with me for longer than anyone else so far, I will detail this lecture verbatim, as to demonstrate to you, my disciples, how to interact with unenlightened ones.

            “Sorry?” he said. Already he showed signs of his weak rhetorical presence.

            “Now that I have your attention, I would like to correct you on your moronic way of carrying yourself. Firstly—”

            “Are you serious? Are you a preacher, like, or something?”

            “Oh please! Do I look like someone trying to preach something invisible? No, I need to inform you of my authentic ideology!”

            “Can you not? I have class in a bit.” Already, he tried to dodge and hide his annoyance through petty academic obligation. However, I had to march on in my triumph.

            “Do you not know that it is moral to do as you please? Now, not in a hippy Antifa manner of ‘live and let live,’ nor the capitalist focus of philosophers such as Ayn Rand or Friedrich Nietzsche, but I’m speaking from the perspective of myself, our greatest judge in –

            “Do you give this spiel to everyone, or just people you don’t like?”

            “Oh no, my humble readers care to listen in on my internal chats on a daily basis, all 400 of them.”

            “Oh, wonderful.” Yes, he honestly thought he could deceive me with sarcasm, the way for post-materialist cowards to try and dodge conversation that may make them angry. But now, unlike the other instances of this I have detailed extensively on www.postpostpostmodernmenofthefuture.com, I could not allow such ignorance to leave untaught. Besides, his annoyance gave him promise; perhaps he would listen to me after some coaxing.

I continued: “Have you ever wondered why armchairs like you remain that way. . .”

            “Oh, that’s not a rhetorical question. Um, no.”

            “Have you ever wondered why social contract theory came about?”

            “Are you not going to answer the first question?”

            “Have you ever wondered—”

            “The answer’s going to be a solid ‘no’ from me, chief.”

I know what you are thinking dear reader. And the answer is “yes”: he did just attempt to flatter me despite his obvious disliking of me. Thankfully, I hit back with some breathtaking rhetorical wit that the Romans would marvel at. “Did you just attempt to flatter me despite your obvious disliking of me?”

“I . . . think I did. And while yes, I think you’re a pretentious pile of garbage with more chips on his shoulder than a rich kid playing poker with his father’s money, that doesn’t necessarily mean I should actively swear at you in public, nor would I want to.”

“Of course you want to! My ideology of Post-Post-Post-Modernism allows you to act upon your desires as you wish. So if, for example, if you wanted an A on your next exam, it would be moral for you to cheat, as you getting what you what is inherently right and just.”

“. . . Have you read Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky?”

Of course he goes back to the comfort and safety of people who do the thinking for him. “Why would I engage with foreign fiction if I wish not to, and it is moral to do as I please?”

His mouth collapses agape with an expression not dissimilar to the floodgates of his mind, allowing my streams of enlightenment to flow through. In fact, he is unable to form words for the next several moments.

“Okay,” he said, “I assume you read Nietzsche, correct? After all, you just mentioned it.”

“Why should I engage with philosophy that is not my own and I do not agree with? His work is an echo-chamber of German nationalism anyway.”

“Cool. Do you know what an ‘ubermensch’ is?” (I apologize if I could barely jot-down this poor excuse for common English. Does he not even engage in the regular parlance?)

“I’m sorry, I only speak English. I do not want to discuss in any language that fails to convey my meaning, like this one.”

“Turning Nietzsche’s idea of the ‘ubermensch’ on its head, Dostoyevsky uses the character of Rodion Raskolnikov to try and explain how this idea of how certain people should act above any kind of convention only leads to criminal and immoral attitude, hence the first word of the title, ‘Crime.” My lord, I never believed he would stop lecturing me about his nonsense.

I straightened myself: “Oh look at you, using your fake degree to lecture people on the street.” I’ve no reason as to why, but this comment stirred him, as if he was looking into my clear eyes at his reflection, realizing that he is truly the one he’s complaining of. How can these people who love to flaunt their fields of study continue to persist in their mire of hypocrisy? “What ideology do you subscribe to, perchance?”

“I don’t know right now. What do you hate above everything else?” Despite what I have described him as, I am thankful he has adapted my cult of ideological clarity over the course of our discourse.

I responded with full enthusiasm: “Any ideology which advocates compromise or the coming together of likeminded individuals away from the nature of authenticity is one that I advocate vehemently against in my writings. If you would like to engage with my disciples, you can go to www.postpostpostmodernmenofthefuture.com and donate to my cause.”

I do not believe he responded kindly to my authentic commercialized speech. “Firstly, thank you for responding to my question in around 40 syllables too many. Secondly, thank you for not actually answering my damn question! And finally, thank you for trying to sell me an ethos built on the authenticity of man, while selling your soul to the wills of your alt-right fanbase.”

“I am not alt-right. I am just someone who likes to take a neutral stance against all other ideologies.”

“Now here I thought you didn’t like any kind of compromise.”

Now at this point I understand clearly, and I am aware many of you share this sentiment. You see, hypocrisy cannot exist in a Post-Post-Post-Modern framework. This is due to the fact that it is built on short-term wants and the execution of them. Therefore, if what you want is different from what you wanted before, even pertaining to what sources I use and what is fundamental to the ideology, you are still being authentic, as who you are in the present is inherently more important and real than your past and future. Therefore, as long as you constantly tell the truth as you see it in the now, you can never contradict yourself, even if you lied in retrospect.

“I don’t see how my ideology needs to be consistent to be correct,” I said.

“Oh yes sir, we’ve always been at war with Eurasia,” he said with a smug expression.

“You realize that Eurasia isn’t even a country, correct? You and other armchairs online seem to believe it is when I tell them this part of Post-Post-Post-Modernism.”

“. . . I’ve honestly never met someone as stupid as you.”

“You dastardly tosspot!”

“What are you, British? Because you know, I don’t approve of cultural appropriation.”

“Oh, you damned cultural relativist!”

“Going on, who are you trying to fool? Are you really trying to convince me of your cult?”

“My Post-Post-Post-Modern principles are more than the religion of a cult; it’s an ideology.”

“Yeah, okay. So, if I were to, say, punch you in the face and kick you in the ribs with no remorse, would it be moral, provided I wanted to do it?”

And so, he learned the tenants of our movement. “Finally, you’re actually seeing the truth. The answer is ‘yes.’ Follow your desires and—”

He could have beaten me enough to give out three black eyes if he wanted to (if I subscribe to tacky Eastern philosophy). However, as I sat there, as my new tenant kicked me, pulled out my teeth, forced my blood to kiss the ground, took a good and powerful spit on my corpse-like fetal position and walked away, I knew that I had won this rhetorical war. After getting up and covering my wounds, I gave a smile, albeit obfuscated underneath my panting and crying.

And so, I now write here, directing 401 of my noble sheep in the ways of my ideology. However, I mentioned earlier of my attempt to amend this ideology. While I did believe I won the battle of conversion at the time, as I patched myself into a functioning human being, I realized something that will stick with me for the rest of my days. I do not like pain. Therefore, it is not moral to feel pain.

Furthermore, as I cannot feel the physical pain of individuals, it is not necessarily immoral to deliver pain unto others. However, any kind of consequence for my actions is undesirable to me. Additionally, as others know that I feel pain from their abuse of me, they are immoral for attacking me. In other words, if I feel pain, it is due to the immorality of others, while my perceived transgressions are merely expressions of my will, as I am infallible in my own experience.

Once again, I have to sincerely thank and respect the individual who gave me these scars, as he allowed me to come upon my final ideology. This Post-Post-Post-Post-Modernist idea will center around me specifically, as I am the only one who can know that pain inflicted on me is immoral. I am aware that this will not exactly prove to be marketable; I will still support those of you who continue my previous crusade. However, for those who would like to remain behind me after this final revelation, please send your generous donations to the link above to pay for money to heal my pains. This does not exactly pertain to first-aid either. As alcohol, marijuana, and other substances alter my ability to feel pain, your contribution will go to those as well. Not to mention, the addictive properties of some of these drugs will fuel an addiction, which will only put my authenticity to the test, as I will have to resist the urges of restraint and indulge truthfully.

I hope my individual mission will inspire you to do similar and not inflict pain upon me, while living authentically. Truly, I am the modern intellectual.