I care.

I care about people’s well being.

I am supportive of other people’s dreams. More often than not I am more supportive of their dreams than they themselves are supportive of their own fucking dreams.

I don’t want people to suffer. I don’t want any child anywhere on this wasteland of a planet to be abused or harmed in any way.

I don’t want anyone to be exploited. I don’t want people to vote for their own executioners and oppressors.

I don’t want history to repeat itself. That’s a conviction I have had ever since I became aware of such things as the holocaust or of how Native Americans had been butchered, women and children included.

When I read in ‘The choice’ by Edith Eger how some Germans used a little boy for target practice and how they tied the legs of a pregnant woman together when she went into labor I get so ANGRY and torn up into burning shards of sadness I start pounding my thighs with my own fists. This has been a reaction all through my life whenever I saw pain inflicted on the innocent. Though as a child it was my head. Am too strong now to beat my head. I could do some serious damage.

I really do care.

I meet an alcoholic, I try to figure out why he became addicted and what could free him from the addiction.

I meet a woman incapable of orgasming, we talk until the problem is fixed.

I meet a homeless person, I offer money.

I dislike christians, because they betray their Christ figure and everything he is said to stand for all the fucking time.

I meet someone who can’t pay for lessons because he is unemployed and I give a discount (the person then cancels the lessons as soon as he does have a job).

I meet someone who wants to find a girlfriend I throw all my best and hard earned advice at the problem. Some Australian shitheads used to charge 4,000 dollars for the same advice.

I meet someone in need of a job I write their application letter for them (person gets the job and never speaks to me again).

A woman who was raped asks to sleep over to get used to being touched by a man, a few weeks later she texts she never felt more complete and then never talks to me again.

I help someone improve their thesis. (They graduate and never respond to messages anymore).

And so on and on and on and on.

It’s a disease.

I’d be filthy rich with a Russian bimbo’s fat lips tight on my dick if I did not have this terrible affliction.

Now am just financially ok and I have luckily never cared about blowjobs.

Have I made you smile?