A Cuddle Shark Speaks

I consider myself a para social hostage of some kind in Hamilton, unsure as to the provenance of my captors except to say they are publicly known but anonymous beyond the initial crowd capacity to torment, terrorize or otherwise know what it is I’m doing or even thinking at any given moment. My thoughts are apt to be broadcast by some party or another, out loud, with some very obvious questions coming from that if I happen to be thinking about sex (“but it doesn’t smell”?) or masturbating and trying to have a sexual fantasy that is being ventrilo-cated by some actor or another, beaming more venom to the panoptic pursuit such as you really can’t escape these people, for whatever dependence it is they have engineered into the proceedings and their own lives. How do you become (seamlessly) dependent on something that is supposed to be a secret or at least, isn’t so widely available to be known as a Google Search, lets put it that way. I have a hard time admitting I’m lonely though so I have adjusted in turn to the situation as best I possibly could given the variable nature of the engagement and the profound lack of certain knowledge I have about what is going on in my life or what is happening to me as opposed to someone else or not happening at all.

I would prefer for none of this to be happening but if my life is to turn into one of those 21st century oddities of vague horror and overwhelming dread of dependence, like I have now, then we have succeeded. I want to treat the fact of dependence as a bit of an opportunity, mostly for the simple fact that these people haven’t gone anywhere yet and I have given them ample space and ample room to vacate from my life; nope, they hang in like it’s a perpetual arrangement of some kind and so I have to find grounds to renegotiate the whole thing if I possibly can. How do you do this when the people who “follow” me (not in the sense of Twitter followers or group followers, think cult devotees nee mental dependents) are adamant about no sexual contact and avoid dealing with or seeing me as much as you would the plague; otherwise they shadow me like your likeness would hit a wall, all of it out loud. I can say all of this stuff and it makes no sense that it would be happening and even less about what to do with it. And so I have to devise some kind of program to enable some form of motivation to continue, not when you consider how destructive this presence has been in my life up until now. Especially with women, I should add, it’s been terrible to find someone to be with because people have already decided to be with me, as a hostage, not as a free person. I’m not sure how this is being engineered or why, but rest assured if someone in authority knew…you would think, but they know and they don’t seem to care that much or at all so I’m free to do as I want as long as I don’t hurt anyone, never mind that death threats and the actual verbal elocution of the word “murder” features pretty regularly here. I’m not sure of the double standard that was applied to women other than what was applied to me, which is to say that there is some form of bizarre self denial at work here where I am just a like but kind of a stuck quantity in someone’s social throat, if you can handle that kind of image to describe the half in half out sort of scenarios that I envisage and only partly convene, with myself because absolutely no one else can see what is going on here with any kind of clarity or even any kind of distinction, like it is a thing that is happening and needs (constant) attention and otherwise destroys the space I have, more or less anyway. I’m not sure if the people watching are aware of what is happening with me but also I’m not entirely sure if they care either. Given the callousness of the audience, I think something would be in order to take the edge off somehow. Can you cuddle callous?

That is what I’m going to attempt to do, along with some other therapeutic offerings that would fall into lifestyle enhancement as much as anything else. Arousal enhancement therapy is designed to allow people to talk about their fantasies and also, to edit their fantasies and even use their “facility” for fantasy to find out things about reality that might otherwise be inaccessible to this kind of cultural sonar. It is incumbent on me to find a solution to my own problems and not rely on anyone else, because an imposed solution to this is doubtful, given that it’s an open secret and one that people have not prioritized as being important to do anything but gawk or what have you and so I will have to take care of it myself. Same goes for being weaponized against people to the point of tears; cuddling them is much better and I’m starting to see the outlines of a guerrilla campaign. I need some new clothes however, and so it’s going to be a slow start. By the mid-summer I should have the dynamics down with enough alacrity to actually give a business card to someone and say “I’m an Internet model and I also cuddle, call me” with a straight face. You never know what you might encounter, especially if you go further afield than just Hamilton. To this extent I could be induced to live in Montreal although this is looking remote for the fact of being homeless upon arrival and the attendant black hole this represents in my life. I have no interest in being that vulnerable again and every interest in trying to leverage a side hustle on the denizens of Southern Ontario as soon as I can stand to do so. That is in fact the real reason to write this, because I don’t get along with the people here and I was also used as a weapon against them by a cult, so offering to cuddle is the least I can do for people. There is more to the cuddling as people will discover at their leisure; more in the sense that there are options beyond the Basic Cuddle, some of which will be easier to navigate when I have my own CuddleSpot such as it is going to have to happen somehow, not sure how to handle the prices here but whatever, you never know what can happen if you put some time into it. I could go on about how I want to expand my personal media but whatever, I will leave that for another time. In this I want to at least say that cuddling the people watching me (and I am at the point of saying that anyone could be watching me ergo anyone can get a card as long as they match the criteria for aroused attention, that is), is the least I can do for myself. What I don’t want to do is become hostile to these people again because they really don’t seem to hear it in the way it’s said, everything is run thru a bizarre and I think pointless filter that precludes any real motivation to end the dependence on me as a medium or oracle, forced to perform. This is the same quantity, with me as a willing subject; they conflate the two states as being necessary whereas I just say, if I wasn’t willing some of the time than I would completely wreck my life, that’s how insidious their presence has become and always was, I think. I don’t know how to deal with what’s happened except in these terms and I think I’m comfortable just giving out cards and doing mild electronic advertising as the way to build clientele. The cost of acquiring a customer is quite laborious or super simple. Either they come to you and want to be in your space or you have to chase down the space you are cultivating and somehow tether that to your own innate balance in the matter, whatever you happen to be trying to configure, that is your path. In the meantime I will try to enjoy being watched as stupid as I feel about it. They don’t want to touch me because somehow I’m not good enough or something; good enough to watch but not good enough to touch. It’s insulting.

Anyway, that’s the most I can muster, a bit of exposition to highlight the challenges of customer acquisition given that the customers are already too close and too far away; they avoid or they smother or both, somehow if you can believe that. This measured breakout is all a putative hostage like me could hope for, given there is no rescue in the offing and no relationships that provide any sort of ballast beyond the usual lip service to “your crazy for thinking that people are watching you” at which point I just lose my shit and have to write something about it again.

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