Chris’s moment

This is :www.dark.sport.blog . . . . I have been living nocturnally for the past two or three nights. The heat has driven me to this, but also conformity to my friend Chris. Chris is a 50-year-old man with buzzcut side hair and swept back in the center, who can do 20 pushups with ease. […]

Girls chant

This is :www.dark.sport.blog . . . . What a shocker! White men are all voting on the same side. And this is what we get for allowing cunts to vote. . . . . Some time around 1920 something dark and mysterious happened around the Western World — females got the vote in unprecedented numbers […]

Transactions

This is :www.dark.sport.blog . . . . It is uneven. The contest between one male (myself) and a horde of eager females. . . . . What brings us closer together? The clink of glasses, one arm knotted around another bare arm while Spanish guitars play softly and sweetly? . . . . I am […]

Conformity blows chunks

This is :www.dark.sport.blog . . . . Social conformity is the thyroid cancer to individuality and spontaneous, deadly joy-life. The individual who can kill will not accept total social conformity, unless he’s from Japan. There, there are samurai who salute and wheel 180 degrees at command and forget who they are in the drunken days […]

Fate’s dreams

This is :www.dark.sport.blog . . . . Take a look at Hollywood. Almost all the A-listers, with the exception of Keanu Reeves and Samuel L. Jackson, are white. Hollywood loves its whites, giving them primo spots in the vast majority of big-budget films. “Dead Pool” has a Pakiman behind the wheel of a taxi, playing […]

Skyblue

This is :www.dark.sport.blog . . . . Magic, if it exists, is “out there” on the fringes of the physical universe, unbonded to anything, raw substance to be scooped up and molded. It is the mind that gives form to it. And the heart which powers it. So many cultures believe in magic of one […]

Handprints thru time

This is :www.dark.sport.blog . . . . The wars that the Twentieth Century spawned were bloody handprints on the Wall of Time. . . . . Shadowy figures pointed at maps, red-spawned paintbrushes bitten in their teeth and held by clean gums. . . . . Owls sat for a moment, then took flight and […]