I am the ugly guy inside Tom.
I am not sure what you idiots want to hear from me. Yeah, I call you that. I am not whimsical at all, unlike Tom. He fears for you not liking him and respecting him and all that stuff. Me? I do not give a single fuck. For all I know, you could go off and die.
Tom wants me to write something here, some therapeutic bullshit presumably. He says it is long overdue; I think he should care less about you guys and more about himself. But whatever, maybe he can get some gems out of this, too.
What am I to say? Tom feels ashamed of me. He sees all I can do and wants to do it, but he is too proud to “come down to my level”. He sees me take one of those bitches he keeps thinking about but is too much of a disgusting coward to talk to. And he says he wants to do it, too, but he is lying. Tom wants to keep up some kind of image of innocence or stoicism or whatever idiotic ideal he invents or reads about on the internet. He feels that being like me would make him look dirty or something.
Yeah, Tom is a proud prince. Tom is a bitch. He does not even really care for you. How could he? He is a shadow of the man he could be if he accepted me as a part of him. He is a shadow and a shadow can not respect or like. A shadow can just be a shadow.
Tom often tried to get rid of me. Nowadays, he is more philosophic about me, I grant him that. He seriously attempts not to feel ashamed of me and somehow ineptly make contact with me, but his skills are lacking. He comes off like a total weap.
But hell, I am bound to this asshole. As long as I can think back, I hated him. Why? Because he always denied me. He sided with all those bitches and said: Look at me, I am so much better. I help you and make you happy and hope that you will like me.
What a fucking faggot, living in a delusion.
When he was younger and even not so long ago, Tom was even afraid to make a facial expression that could have any resemblance to me. He just wanted to look so damn marvelous and perfect and smooth. Like a bitch, he obsessed with beauty in one sense or another.
Me? I am ugly. I can be. I do not give a single shit what you think. Of course, I only look ugly because Tom imagines me as ugly; I do not know what I could really look like.
But as I said, I do not give a single shit. I can look like a zombie or like a disgusting 400 pound fat ass and will, without excuse, put my dirty bloody crumpled hand down a girl’s crotch and mumble dirty words in her ear and laugh at Tom who shame- and wistfully stands by and watches, wishing to do what he does not dare to.
She does not like it? I do not care. I laugh at her protest. Why should I care? I am the ugly guy. I am the reject. The monster. Nobody expects anything from me. I can do violence and I can do sex the way I please and not feel shame nor guilt, unlike Tom.
I do not try to be anything. I just am. Like Nietzsche’s lightning, there is no difference between my will and my conduct.
Yeah, Tom winces when a girl says something bad about him or does not respect him or see him as the man he wants to be. Boo-fucking-hoo. Yeah, better be nice, Tom, then she will surely see what a perfect guy you are. How much BETTER THAN ME you are, you FUCKING ass.
Tom will not do anything like what I do. Tom will worry too much about whether he stands right, talks right, whether his tone is right, whether someone can see the ugly fat at the sides of his chest or his not perfectly angular face. Tom distracts himself from being a man by imitating to be one. Tom wants to put “being a man” into some kind of confined set of rules which will classify him as man, so that he can know he is the best. Oh, did he smile for a second too long? Worrysome! Like a baby, he searches for some kind of golden formula that will make him a man, but without the rough edges; in fact, he wishes he could have just the right kind of rough edges. Like that oh so perfect angry expression on the actor’s face in Just Another Hollywood Movie. He wants the rough edges that are accepted, but does not understand that you do not fucking choose your rough edges.
And since he hates me – because I do not make bitches and people like him – he is all on his own and meekly imitates what he thinks I would do. Is that hand move sexy? Would she want him to put his hand there? What is she thinking? It is amusing and annoying at the same time to watch him.
What an wimp.
Tom is like a robot, trying to portray masculinity. He does it somewhat acceptable sometimes, but he is such a fucking stiff. It may even work, as most people are fucking stiffs. Me, I do not even care about him. He does not deserve for me to care.
Yeah, Tom, you do not deserve me to guide you. Why? Because you curl up at night when you think of me and call me the devil. Because, like a little bitch, you cry fearfully and wish you could believe in a delusion like god to get rid of me, to save you from me. Because you paint me as the ugliest possible thing in your mind to denounce me, to destroy any possible connection between you and me. Because you feel scared by me and play the victim instead of facing me. Because I am your strength and you treat me like shit. Because I am the source of all your power, but you have no gratitude at all. No, I am not sad; I just see you as a piece of dirt.
Well, at least he is starting to learn. Maybe he will deserve my respect some day.
Well, what more is there to say. I do not know. Do you want to know anything? Ask me something that I care to answer and I will.
Do not expect sympathies. Do not expect me to write with a lot of finesse or intellectualized bullshit, that is Tom’s domain. It is Tom’s domain to appear flawless and to make you like him and to impress you. Not mine. Did I proofread? No! Did I offend you? Don’t care!
As I said, I am the ugly guy. I can afford to fucking say whatever I want. And I can abstain from talking to you if I do not like you. Deal with it, bitch.
Tom so often wanted to impress you, oh, Tom so often wants to be one of you. Sometimes at night, he thinks of whether you see him as one of you. Haha! Yeah, he is now protesting against me being blunt, but Tom deserves some grains of truth. He could use a whole silo of truth.
Let’s play a little game, shall we? Tell Tom what a fag and pretense he is. He will hate it, but the fucker deserves it for his arrogance and for thinking he is better than me. Oh, well, actually, he even thinks he is better than you. Think of it, you guys are probably more like me. Tom, he just tries to fit in while maintaining his illusion that he is somehow better. He probably rationalizes it and calls it independence.
These are the first really honest words you read on this blog. Because Tom did not write them, I did.
The ugly guy