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24 Lille, France Man


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I’m looking for

  • Everyone
  • Ages 18-99
  • Located anywhere
  • For new friends

My details

Last online
Today – 10:06am
5' 11" (1.81m)
Body Type
Average build
Agnosticism and it’s important
Dropped out of University
English (Somewhat), French (Fluently)
My self-summary
Write a little about yourself. Just a paragraph will do.
According to my mother, I'm pretty great. What are you waiting for, laaadies?

"Walden sucks. The mass of men don't lead lives of quiet desperation. They lead lives of quixotic douchebaggery." Dr. ____

I studied some irrelevant thing that could not get me a job in a gorillion years. I was bad at it and I remember fondly all those years I basically pissed away for nothing.

I take elevators for a living. And they whisper softly sweet nothings in my ears. [DOORS ARE OPENING, DOORS ARE CLOSING, FIFTH FLOOR, GOING UP, GOING DOWN, DOORS ARE OPENING, PLEASE LET ME DIE, DOORS ARE CLOSING]

If there's such thing as a Kingdom, I wish it would come already because this is all boring and I want to be attired with stars and forever sit triumphing over death, and chance, and also all those YOLO spoutting cunts.

I have no hope of ever getting laid because of various issues that may or may not be related to inappropriate ghost behavior.

I am very much inclined to be romantically interested in women who either don't know I exist or DGAF. Women interested in me are automatically 'what is wrong with you guurl'-zoned.

I have no desire to be happy since happiness is very vulnerable to bad things, and bad things tend to happen fairly frequently.
Being happy is basically leading a puppy to slaughter. I just can't stop being retarded but still don't kill cute and small animals.

Younger, I nearly bled out after getting downstairs on my head very fast. Despite this, my IQ still compares to the ones scientists reported having observed in very smart otters.

I spend a lot of time hitting a hammer on the ass of a screwdriver, the head of which is taking chunks of ice the size of a small country house out of my freezer. It's trying to become the North Pole and I can't let that happen.
What I’m doing with my life
Don’t overthink this one; tell us what you’re doing day-to-day.
No, that's not how this relationship works. My life is doing me. That sounds dirty, and it's worst than it sounds.

Being a tool for someone else's greater design, one of those countless faceless hands forever needed to apply and not think. I do things following the orders from men of vision and will, and a particular mindset making them believe they cannot be wrong. As such they are mad, but greatness may always be born of the peculiar bending of reality happening in these noble heads, even if in the end, this is our hands forcing lies into existence. I cannot remember when it was since I last thought that the objective world was immovable and ever true to itself, for since then, I have witnessed the feats of conjugated energies burning strong and low, melting what was by the willpower born of a singular idea, then letting it harden, shapeless, to be carved anew and refined by the sweat and the fleeing lifeline of men like myself. There is a proud feeling to be part of this here struggle, down in the dirt, molding unfriendly reality into a craddle for all the future children of men like myself, ever following the visionaries, the first to rise and close their eyes to apparences of unchangeability to see further into the moldable heart of all things, thus breaking the cycle of nature and freeing the closed potential that was lying dormant there with the kiss of steel and genetical engineering and bombs and guns and mayhem, all for a better world, all for the good of mankind, all for very good reasons. Me and men like myself, we will follow these leaders, these fine givers of purpose, into death and beyond, for they know the way and we are blind, to see, some fine day, oh yes some very fine day indeed, through our children's children's eyes, the world barren, cold and surging toward us in blind fury, folding unto itself and alas those living there.

Oh, happy day. ("Don't overthink this one", okc 2k15)

Anyone knowing myself as well as I do would describe me as 'a big pussy', but that would mean they are unfairly forcing gender roles on me, and that's like, totally not okay.
I’m really good at
Go on, brag a little (or a lot). We won’t judge.
Tasteful vulgarity.

Underachieving. (that's a cool word to be pretentious while seemingly putting yourself down fyi)

Being a little bitch. There's metaphorical waterfalls of mascara flowing down my cheeks (something something reckless abandon) at all times.

Eating my words with a grain of salt.

Writing like a pompous and pedantic twat.

The unparalleled hypocrisy of a true socialite.

Slight exageration of everything I describe.

Edgy emo-whining

Ironing shirts. It's better than sex. Probably.

Seeking approbation from others. Like. A. Good. Dog.

Being half involved full time.

Writing catchphrases for the ages.
The first things people usually notice about me
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
My ego.

Protruding from the center of my forehead, twelve inches long, pulsating green and yellow alternatively, seeping grey goo intermittently from its base, conic, deeply unsettling.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Help your potential matches find common interests.
About incestuous homosexual rape. Mostly.

Crying children, a vengeful and injust god, everyone dying in hellfire, stars doing S&M stuff with holy spit, my average monday morning hangover.

Also this true rebel song I wish I lived by.

Hobbies include following weird individuals in the streets until I get bored or they get to where they were going. Never women though, because you know, the whole looking like a rapist thing, not my jam.
The six things I could never do without
Think outside the box. Sometimes the little things can say a lot.
Middle Management sold his soul to all the demons of hell. And he was quite happy with the deal he’d made for himself. He got to give orders to people about how to do their job without even knowing what the job usually entailed, orders most of the time going against both common sense and optimal functionality, or simply adding more workload to the busy bees and pretending to ignore they had a lot on their plate already, then complained they had overtime and nagged at them like a dog biting at defenceless heels. It was sweet. His personal favorite was to require from his slaveployees that they worked the best they could while obeying overly complex and detailed procedures that made them lose more time than suddenly changing into a quadraplegic turtle would, all the while demanding that they finish their work on time, despite the aggravating, mind-boggling, and horribly work-related amount of job left to do. Middle Management was content with himself. All hail Middle Management, but really, what a dick.

Forgetting that my cute cat would, if I suddently became five inches (for reasons), torture me for hours on end in my own garden before abandoning my dislocated, still living body, for black birds to pick my eyes out.

That wind making you feel like the world is actually there for you, loves you and is softly rubbing you all over in a totally non sexual manner. Keep calm and file a restraining order against the world itself under the judging glare of weirdly aroused policemen calling the nearest psych ward.

Climate change is a hoax, let those poor farting cows alone.

Touching my penis through my pants to make sure its there and I didnt dream of that life where a semi-conscious parasitic entity takes control of my brain on the regular, telling me to fuck things.

The knowledge and feeling of my insignificance. I am what I think I am, and a convenient talking object to others. I don't believe that people can "connect" except in their delusion, by wanting to believe there's something more than two things trapped in themselves making soundwaves.
I spend a lot of time thinking about
Global warming, lunch, or your next vacation… it’s all fair game.
Wigmen. Sorta like a wingman but with the additional task to put and switch wigs on you according to the kind of man/woman/velociraptor you are trying to woo and the subject of conversation currently at hand. I already sold the idea to a japanese TV station in exchange for a hard copy of 'sumotori nuru massages deluxe'.

"Damn, I fucked up !" (God, maybe).

Extrapolating on the previous quote "quote" unquote : "What I wanted originally was to express how I was feeling what I was, the world was for me a way to materialize the immediate intuition of my own existence ; how self-contained, harmonious and evident everything is in this psyche of mine, while retaining the primary quality of growth, of positive change that I felt rooted deeply. You'd think that stability and mobility -in things- are antagonistic and they sure do look that way, until you comprehend they are an artificial opposition resulting from those limited senses I gave you, sorry about that, by the way, in a million years or so, it will get better.. If you take a look at the atomic structure of the world, then you are bound to understand that everything changes while staying the same. How is this possible ? No clue, my man ! No clue. [...] Still, I thought that the natural, which is to say 'default' equilibrium between all beings, alive or not, was readily apparent to any clumsy ass monkey motherfucker, but I guess I was wrong, or underestimated survival instinct, the fact it would keep sprinting like Usain Bolt on meth decades, centuries, millenium perhaps after having been rendered mostly useless by new ways of living, what you call 'technology', because it is man-made, (off hand: as if anything man-made was somehow outside and above nature ! ). I have a strict policy of non-intervention, because I believe art should be unhindered to reach its full potential, but I fear for what I created, for the seeping void to be called in by babbling ignorants in labcoats and suits -ties are fucking awesome by the way, I wear one every 'day', this one got reindeers on it, see ?- and ultimately I fear for my own demise to be brought to me by bipedal wasted opportunities, because I thought this universe, and as far as I am concerned, its sink or swim. I don't suppose necessary to tell you below deck's feeling drenched."

How we should have an international game show about people of different countries competing in eating contests, with the winner choosing a patch of land a 100 square miles to nuke into oblivion. The ratings would be insane. The sales of iGeiger too.
Thats marketing for you people, take something that already exists, make it thinner, make it easy to use, make it youthful, make it fuckable, sell it overpriced in repugnant barren absurdly white designish streamlined stores. Wait for people who wear simpsons shirts ironically to fester on it, above it, under it, near it, in front of it, that's it: YOU WON THE GAME OF LIFE.

That one conference from David Foster Wallace (you can skip to the middle).

Bush junior was elected. He was elected. Damn. What the fuck. Hitler too was elected, but let's be honest, he was one sexy little psychopathic minx, with that dang cute mustach clearly asking for it.
Unlike the uncharismatic oister, the most frighteningly accurate depiction of a really dumb baboon prancing around in a suit to ever disgrace the surface of the multiverse by its sheer, shameful, degrading, yuck yuck existence.

How hippies, gypsies, children, old people and animals mauled on the side of the road, (still faintly twitching from nerve induced mindfuckery) make me feel better about the slow burgeoning of a life of failure, bitterness, grudgingly conceded affections, missed opportunities, already wrinkled young regrets, deepened misunderstandings, obstructed communication channels, things done from fear, things done from anger, too few for love or the sake of human decency, too few for the priceless, the timeless, too few for what matters in the end (that's coming) and generally uncool lazyness, aimlessness, sloppyness, neckbeardness, masturbation in kleenexness, plus a fairly deliberate lack of swag.

Perception of ourselves and other people. How most of the importance we think we have we give ourselves by being self conscious and incurably self centered, while we are nothing more than a blip on the radar, if even that, for the people that cross our way. The self is a serpent noming relentlessly its own tail and cannot take in the notion of alter ego as it should, which is to say that we don't truly comprehend the concept of "other people" and are stuck in a loop of unvoluntary solipsism.
On a typical Friday night I am
Netflix and takeout, or getting your party on — how do you let loose?
Yes. Definitely.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I’m an empty essay… fill me out!
I read my horoscope with superstitious expectations then complain it isn't accurate like I predicted it wouldn't be.

I bought a length of rope, seven meters and a half, and discovered I don't want to slowly become blue while my neck hurts badly.

I am immature, selfish, impatient, pessimistic, unforgiving, cowardly, lazy, self-deprecating, and if you don't like it, you are pretty much oppressing me.

(Please validate my existence)
You should message me if
Offer a few tips to help matches win you over.
you don't think about it.