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Showing posts with label irrational thought. Show all posts
Showing posts with label irrational thought. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

"Real" Encounters With Mysticism

The melody of mermaids
keeps me awake at night
The eyes of starlit heavens
following me secretly

So I'm going to preface this post with the admission that I - like so many others in this world - was very, very stupid as a child. So that's out of the way. Now, I've hinted obliquely and outright stated most of the content in this post in other places on this blog, as well (yes that's me, yes I know what I'm saying, writing backwards isn't that hard until e starts looking like it's supposed to be ɘ).

TL;DR: Jibber-jabber about crazy metaphysical stuff. Wall of text inbound, though there are pictures at the end.
Let's get started. Alpha, hon, you'll probably want to stop reading about here. (I know, you don't use that name anymore.)

Tarot

So some of my first experiences with any kind of mystical, magical stuff, other than the rites and rituals associated with organized religion, came from tarot cards. Innocent, easy tarot cards. Even hardcore anti-pagan Christians will sometimes get a tarot reading, or their horoscope did. It varies from case to case.

I tend to have about a 75% accuracy, I'd ... wager, anyway, though I'm horrible at answering questions with it. But then, that's partly the kind of spread I prefer - the standard Celtic Cross 10-card spread seems to generally assess the entire situation and give a full breakdown of the entire life, up to the moment in question. Mom is better, and that's part of the reason I never have her do a reading on me.

There are such stories there.

Nowadays I do a simple one-card draw almost every day, for general guidance. Since getting obsessed with the Slender Man mythos I tend to draw the Nine of Swords with alarming regularity - which is kind of fitting: this is the card of fear and nightmares.

When I was younger, I had a tarot reading at a local Renaissance fair, done at cost from a professional. My question was fairly simple: what is my power/strength/ability?

I have a tendency to attract cards from the Major Arcana. Of the entire spread, I only remember one of the cards now, and that one The Magician. The answer, as the tarot reader interpereted it, was that my power was the ability to change others' perception - to effectively appear how I want to other people.

The "Spirit" and the Rain

So this next bit is going to be from the gullible mind of an impressionable, sensitive child. Take it for what it is.

I've known Alpha most of my life, though we've only really met face to face the one time. At one point (I was in college, I remember), he got caught up in this ... pseudo-cult thing. It was headed by a girl who I spoke to once over the Internet and then never again, really. He's since stopped talking to her, and he requested not to talk about it with him ever again. She was rather persuasive, and they had this belief that he was some sort of angel-knight to protect her. (Emphasis on the first part.) She was some kind of figurehead magic-woman. I'm fuzzy on the details, partly because he didn't really talk about it much to me at the time, other than to suggest I was supposed to be some kind of seer, and powerful besides.

He wanted a taste of power, of better control, himself, and told me he had contacted a dark creature in order to get the training he wanted. (He gave it a specific name, but I don't remember.)

This is all relevant to a couple of specific incidents. One: he challenged me to try and develop the power he believed I had and use it.

He did this ... well, let me transcribe the conversation as well as I remember it.

Him: "I want you to picture someone. Anyone, really."

Me: "All right I've got something ... " It was a man-boy, a teenager or young adult, maybe, with dark hair and a denim jacket, seen from behind. Like a photograph.

Him: "All right. Now what I want you to do is I want you to make it rain. The [spirit] will know if you're successful. If you don't manage it within three days, that person, whoever it is, will die."

Me: "What."

In all honesty, in perfect honesty, I didn't care about the boy/man. I should have, but I didn't. It was an affront to my pride that he thought I couldn't accomplish this impossibility he presented me with, that there was some kind of condition for failure in this agreement. So I set out to do it, without the first inkling of how I should begin.

I'm fairly confident I did it wrong.

I'll admit, I was angry, a little, and prideful, and stubborn.

I took what I knew of how storms were born, how water is drug up from the river (and other bodies of water, but seriously, I live right on a river) to the clouds, gathering there until it becomes too heavy and falls. I took that knowledge, and I tried to force it along, to grow a storm as organically as possible. I had a pad of paper, and I like to draw, I focused my will through that, scratching dark circles with an ink pen onto the paper, representative of the storm's mass. From above, all storms make spirals, so I made spirals, concentric rings made up entirely of smaller rings, ink like water.

And then I focused all my will, and ... nothing happened.

A great big nothing, no storm clouds blocked the sky, though it was humid and there were some clouds. They just weren't right.

I kept at it, persistent.

It rained, a light sprinkle from an almost clear sky. Not enough to be serious, but enough to let me know I did something.

Maybe.

For the next week or so after whatever-I-did, I was laid low with some kind of illness, Mother Nature's fond "Fuck you," for tampering with her. I'm given to understand that whatever it was I did, I probably shouldn't have tried it.

Or, y'know, I could be crazy and caught a weird summer flu.

About Cat

This was actually when I met Alpha's friend Cat.

Cat and I talked over the internet, after the incident. She suggested that I'm a new soul, with only a couple of reincarnations to my name. She didn't like what I told her about the [spirit], or about Alpha's bargain.

She also said I had a dark green aura which ... might be a difference in perception, or she might be a manipulative bitch, I'll get to that in a minute. At the time, I had this belief that I had a black soul, black energy and that there was something horribly, terribly wrong with me. She also suggested that the [spirit] took advantage of me while I was working my 'spell,' that it ripped a chunk out of me, but she was going to heal it. I felt a weird, stabbing pain/tingle on my arm for the duration of her 'healing.' It was weird.

Energy Flow

The second major experience that I had with this kind of mysticism, before Alpha got out of it and I stopped really thinking about it much, came one night after a series of bad decisions. It was before talking with Cat, but after the rain incident.

Alpha was operating under the belief he was some kind of angel or higher-plane spirit, coloring his soul a brilliant white in contrast to my 'black.'

He said that he was able to change how his 'soul' felt and appeared, and that I should try it, since I was supposed to be this 'seer.' But that I wasn't supposed to try to imitate his energy, since he was an angel and that wouldn't work at all, with consequences.

You can probably imagine how that suggestion went.

I tried to mimic what I felt when I reached for my dear friend's energy, but I never quite succeeded. I determined that the issue was one of proximity - he was too distant, and the power I was reaching for was too vague and indistinct.

So I formed a lance of mental energy, with barbs in it, and I pierced the core of that fiery ball, telling myself I'd take only a small bit, for comparison.

Well, to my perception anyway, I succeeded well enough at bringing it closer, to examine it.

Now, this wouldn't be something I'd list here if there weren't at least a little evidence something happened, so this is that: while I was 'examining' my trophy, Alpha asked me what the hell I just did, saying that it hurt and he had no idea I was capable of anything like that and to never, ever do it again because it hurt.

But since I had a chunk anyway, I figured I'd try the other forbidden thing, to warp my energy to cause it to read like his.

My own power rolled under my examination, thrashing and twisting, never settled or still as I focused, fighting it to make it clean, a ball of milky white, rather than the black waters I normally envisioned. I burned off a lot of my black 'ball' of energy trying to perform this transmutation, but I succeeded ... for a moment or two, anyway.

Predictably, I got sick and nothing else came of it.

Aura Picture

I mentioned also that I was going to cover the 'aura color' a bit more thoroughly, and so I shall.

After college, I went to this psychic convention Mom had been invited to. It was in a small room, and I had a buzzing in my head, like all eyes were on me, picking at me and trying to make me give up my secrets. Among other things I looked into there, there was a little photo booth thing.

It took pictures of auras. Now, I've always believed in auras. People give off energy, especially electrical energy (which is how your iPhone works, by the way - capacitative touchscreens work off of the electrical energy and heat your fingers give off, not pressure. That's why it's nearly impossible to purse-dial with a touchscreen). A cloud of imperceptible energy surrounding everyine is plausible to me, because of that.

There've been studies on this matter - the aura is part of why amputees have phantom limb pains, in theory. An aura-reading machine took a picture of the aura of a leaf that had been cut in half before - and after - it was cut in half. The leaf retained its full-sized aura after the cutting.

Another important thing to note is that the pictures were all different. There were about six taken of different people, lying on the table by the machine's booth. Some were less intense in color, some more intense in color, with all kinds of different swirling hues overlaying the image of the person captured underneath. It was about $10 to get a picture taken with an interperetation attached, and mine didn't match anyone else's either. I think the woman doing the pictures was a little surprised at how intense it was.



The Aura Picture - exactly as it is in real life, more or less.
My computer doesn't know my scanner anymore, so I took a picture of it -
it's so glossy I can see a reflection of my phone and my thumb.


Most of the other pictures I saw were less intense, and I remember them with a lot more greens and blues and such.

The color interperetations attached to the image follow:

Center: orange, creative, artistic
My left: yellow; sunny, exhilaration

My right: red, force of will.


(My) Left side: Future Influences; yellow


Your future is bound to be thought provoking. Like the rising sun, yellow brings warmth. Yellows are representative of the intellect. Each shade or tint of yellow expresses a type of function, ability, or expression of the intellect, from the craftiness of a mustard yellow to the high thought of a golden yellow. You approach the future with a sense of excitement and joy.


Center: orange represents energy with mental direction. You are ALIVE, artistic, perceptive, creative. Constructive self-expression is important to you.


(My) Right side: Expressed Energy; red


You work hard at what you do. Intensity of experience and fulness of living. Conquest, energy-expanding, you put the energy out. The world sees you as alive, outgoing, sexual, and powerful.


Other colors:


Violet: intuition, art, creativity, supernatural abilities, faith, imagination, incorporeality, reticence, mysteriousness.
Lavender: mysticism, magic, profundity, obsession, intolerance
(I can't tell the difference between violet and lavender. I'm sure there is one, but I can't, so I threw them both in.)



White: developed intellectuality, spirituality, vision of God, higher consciousness, dreaming, energy build-up, pain.

So that's interesting, and seems fairly accurate, too.

Assuming Cat wasn't entirely full of crap - which is a huge factor to consider - my only theory as to why she thought 'dark green' goes thus: A) these things change. The first half of the machine reading was 'incoming' or 'future' energy, after all.

As for B) ...


The original aura picture, with inverted colors.
Sure it's mostly blue, but there's some dark green there.
Remember to ignore that top spot - it's a
reflection from the overhead light.

Monday, June 13, 2011

Manic, Manic

There's a chemical in your brain
It's pouring sunshine and rage ...

Driving in the car.

You knew it was coming, could feel it building. Inopportune timing.

SHUT the FUCK up hate the sound of your voice don't talk don't say anything I hate you so much you and everyone you're so FUCKING stupid shut up shut up shut up - (we don't end up talking at all)

You aren't alone in the car, so you have no outlet.

Must drive safely.

Can't do anything.

But it's clawing up. You dig short, blunt claws into the steering wheel and barely notice.

Keep calm.

Keep control.

Every set of oncoming lights aggrivates it. Bright light RIGHT IN THE FUCKING EYES, FUCK.

(can she tell? I'm sorry about what I said before -)

NO I'M NOT DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING STUPID BITCH STUPID STUPID STUPID

Distracted as you pass road crews, the flickering lights at the tops of their trucks holding your eyes, until you catch your car in an unsafe swerve.

Keep calm. (she noticed that one. sorry.)

Keep control.

Every sound drags it to the fore. Everything grates.

HATE EVERYTHING.

There is a train in your path. You've pushed IT back enough to plan an alternate route, since the train ISN'T MOVING FUCK but that route takes you through Downtown. (where all the lights are bright)

STUPID WHORES HANG DRUNK OFF THEIR STUPID FUCKING MEN LIKE FASHIONABLE ACCESSORIES.

Stumbling across the road in loose adherence to traffic law are crowds of people in twos and fours. Friday night. Time to fucking par-tay. (we trade vague disgusted words at this)

She's gone. Wishes you good-night and walks inside her own house.

Somehow you manage to make it home.

FUCKING CHILDREN HANGING OUT OF DADDY'S CAR. HOPE YOU FUCKING CRASH YOU DRUNK BITCHES (I don't mean that ...)

You want to scream your incoherent rage, but by this point it's turned in on yourself. You don't scream, furthermore. A strangled, shrill noise rips itself from your throat, you claw at the foam roof, slam your palms into it, into the steering wheel. You claw your own scalp, trying to regain control.

It's not really a noisy tantrum, for all that. You don't make a lot of noise. Rarely talk unless necessary, pride yourself on moving silently. You don't laugh, sob, or groan out loud - it all catches in your throat. Always has.

It passes.

Eventually.

Walk inside. Food's ready.

(Mom noticed something wrong. sorry Mom.)

Hit a wall for the noise it makes on the way to the kitchen.

Calm enough to function.

Words come in the wrong order and I can't focus and I need to do SOMETHING but I don't know what.

(I think there's something wrong with me.)

Monday, May 30, 2011

4:04 AM (Error)

Logic not found.

So, this is something that is slowly driving me nuts, and that is, logically, there is no significance to be associated with strings of identical numbers, especially date/time stamps. There just isn't, really. So why does the brain latch onto them? Why does that pop up everywhere as something of significance?

Well, like a lot of other answers given: most writers are human, and most readers are human. Human brains are hard-wired toward pattern recognition and the easiest, most obvious pattern is 11:11 11/11/'11 (which happens once or twice per time zone this year, incidentally, depending on if you use military time or not.)

I latch most often onto a string of 1s, if it was non-obvious. 3:33 too.

Short, thumb-typed post because I'm going to enjoy the weekend with a minimum of stress. Delicious holiday pay and rest. Monday is a normal day off for me but hey, getting paid for nothing is kind of awesome.

Money is also kind of awesome.

Oh, two things: one, is anyone else weirded out by M's description (the yellow hoodie mostly) cropping up in the latest Marble Hornets? I'm aware most of the Mythos regards MH as Not Real But Entertaining And Probably Ruined Your Life, while The Tutorial gets an Is Real And Should Be Your First Stop, but it's still creepy.

Two: expect some gushing in the non-distant future about both Rift and League of Legends. That'd be because they're how I'm currently passing my free time. (My otherwise empty work hours are sort-of dedicated to this cross-stitch pattern I'm working on.)

Lastly, why the title? That's when I started this post, silly! ... It's raining again.

Monday, May 23, 2011

Isolation

These broken walls trap me inside
I'm isolated ....


Or: This is why we can't have nice things.


I'm still debating on whether or not to post this, especially as it's become kind of a moot point, anyway.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: you can't trust people. Everyone hurts everyone else, and, ultimately, everyone is in it only for themselves. Anyone who tells you otherwise is either too naive to know the truth - or they're trying to get something from you.

This is also why I didn't get to go to Heaven for the Rapture, see?

I'm going to be honest here, since it's damn near impossible to open up in real life.

Cold words on a blank screen, no?

I can't hang onto friendships in real life. The closest I come is these near-intangible online relationships. It's just too much risk to allow anyone close to me into my heart, also.

And I'm not even a Runner. Hah.

Of course, it doesn't help any that I'm a loner-type to begin with, I don't smoke, I don't drink, I don't do drugs. I don't go out and par-tay, so it's not like I'm terribly likely to meet people. And most of the people in this city don't exactly share my interests, either - and the ones that do, I've already happily cut myself off from as well. Bastards probably don't even know or care why. Fuck 'em.

Why is that, that I can't bring myself to open up?

Fear, mostly.

Every gods-damned time I've left the door open, left myself vulnerable that way, opened up fully to another person, I've been hurt. Every time I've seen others do the same, they've been hurt. It's a weakness and a liability, and it's a stupid, avoidable one at that.

And what benefits does it give? This weakness so many people allow themselves to entertain? You can't say procreation, because broken homes wouldn't exist if both parents were necessary for the raising of the child after that initial conception - and that initial conception often, and easily, occurs in moments of physical passion, rather than emotional attachment. One could suggest instead companionship, love, friendship ... it is true that humankind is composed of social creatures. If they do not receive enough social contact in their formative years, humans lose an enormous chunk of that spark that lends them sentience. As to the actual ties, however ... they don't seem necessary to one's survival.

Just a vulnerability. Just an avenue for hurt.

Being with, or even near, other people also compels change. Generally it's small and ignorable over any distance, but in close, physical proximity, it makes itself known acutely. Living with another person forces you to plan around them, work around them. Your defenses have to incorporate them, or you risk hurting them - and by extension, yourself. It limits your freedoms, forces all manner of unnecessary restrictions on you. And then even if they don't hurt you themselves, then they die, or leave, and you're hurting anyway.

And, for what?

All of the benefits, save perhaps pooled fiscal resources and an extra eye to those defenses, are fully intangible. Companionship, love, whatever you want to call it, you know what that really is?

"I've got a knife lodged in my back, I just don't know it yet."

Yes, I'm afraid. I'm afraid of weakness. I'm afraid of vulnerability. I'm afraid of being forced to change, and I'm afraid of things changing around me. I'm fucking terrified of forming any kind of bond with any other person, because doing so is basically synonymous with being hurt - and I'm afraid of pain.

What kind of psychotic, reckless fool isn't?



I'm here alone
And isolated ....

Monday, May 2, 2011

This Last Weekend

Or - if you don't like a certain Internet meme, you can stop reading here and come back Wednesday for the Tarot motifs.

The Black Rook fell, and when he went, he went to Retirony.

I feel like I've lost a friend, which is ... odd. I've never met the man, never done more than trade words in passing. But the world seems ... slightly less safe now that there's one less Player in the Game.

I've got this odd ... belief system that's sprung up without me being fully aware it's happening. The idea is, the more people the Tall Man is following, the safer nobodies like me are - even if we actively choose to taunt Him from our safe, sheltered homes. (This whole thing being moronic anyway. I'm well aware it's just a meme gah.)

I wouldn't be a very interesting protagonist anyway. I've got no friends IRL, I don't remember dialogue, and the "Runner slowly goes insane while ignoring The Rules" plot looks to have been pretty much done to death. No? Yes.

I dunno. Finished actually reading The Tutorial, and then I finished Vivere Disce and left a nice little comment or something. Now there's a happy blog, though, isn't there. Didn't I mention somewhere that the idea of Proxies was more chilling to me than things which should not be?

My sense of time, location, and balance are all already fucked, what's reality itself thrown into the mix, anyway?

But humans are bastards. That's unquestionably true. And giving someone who's already a bit unhinged a reason to target me seems ... unwise.

I guess what I'm trying to say is: there's really nothing the Slender Man could do to me that a particularly determined psycho with a grudge couldn't - and there are lots and lots of those running around, while there's only one of Him.

There's a reason M warns against the other homeless people.

Oh. And the other night some fucker got into and rifled through my car. Thanks, asshole.

Fucking drug neighborhood.

Fuck. 

Monday, April 18, 2011

A Sense of Darkness

Hell, why not, this is why people keep journals, right?

Tonight is Saturday night. I leave work the same as I always do, a little later than most everyone else, but not terribly so. There's a woman waiting for a ride, so I briefly chat with her. I've been given a kind of honorary ... thing which grants me better parking spaces than most of my coworkers, so I look for the allotted parking space before I leave.

As I reach my car, I am nearly overwhelmed with the sense that I should not take the Interstate. As I mentioned, I tend to listen to my instincts, even if they make no sense. The weather isn't bad; there's no reason to take the other route, but I feel like I should. Pulling out, I turn right, and am torn between two options. For no discernable reason, I turn right, taking the slightly longer path out of the lot, past a stand of trees. Everything looks like the stray limbs of some eldritch horror, but if something was watching me, I could not say. Night driving takes a toll on me, not because it is so dark, but because of the brief flashes of intense light.

There is something off. I am on edge the entire trip home.

When I cross the train tracks, near to my work, I am confronted with a red light, and there is a man in the center of it all, directing traffic. This is unusual. To my right, along the side of the road, there is a vehicle with lights flashing, though I can see no cause for this disruption. It does not hinder me terribly.

It is hard not to see the Tall Man in the many stands of trees, though truly I doubt He was there.

He is after all so busy elsewhere, is He not?

When I enter town proper, there are more flashing lights, and a siren. As I pull up to a red light, a fire truck speeds through, going from right to left across my field of vision.

There is not much else to report; my sense of dread seems to have been unfounded.

Of course, when I finally arrived home, there was a wild, swinging party going on at my neighbor's house, and no parking to be found the entire block. This was unusual only in that their gathering made any noise at all; in months prior, it had been deathly silent in the house located at the epicenter of the lost parking, and only the leaving visitors were any indication of where to lay blame. Tonight I had to use a back alley, and come through the back fence. Every shape seemed ominous until identified. Even the large tree was vaguely threatening.

I have no tolerance for gatherings, even at the best of times. I am not invited to such parties because I have no interest in such parties. I must confess I do not like people very much, and I have grown very tired of having to solve their problems over the course of my employment. Except that I am still in need of revenue, I cannot say that I will be displeased to become free from my tether.

Every day I am forced to think because another person refuses to, I find the façade cracks a little bit more, and I care a little bit less.

I am just so tired of people.

Friday, February 25, 2011

DooM ddO nA

 Oh ... dear. This will be difficult to transcribe.


.god yzal eht revo spmuj xof nworb kciuq ehT    s'tI
 So,               SIHT    !!!!ATRAPS SI SIHT      ynnuf
I'm                SI                                  htiw ssem ot
planning         ADNIK                               elpoep rehto
to get           NUF                              "You                 
(X) contacts    ROF SDRAWKCAB         write in tongues"
 .lol.       ZLUL EHT                          Indeed.  oopsie?


yadot ereh eb t'ndluoc shkeN ~ olleh ,olleH   w
ehS .eb ot tnaw t'ndid ehs esuaceb   h
dna thgisni reh morf tupni detnaw  oo
teg t'nod I .tobor a to hcum oot s'ehs    p
  I'm losing track of which way goes forward.       .hcum tuo    s
 It's fun to write like that. Feels oddly natural.         senihprodnE
 era sllip esuaceb tsuJ    oops    .taerg era
dna cigam ni eveileb I                   evitceffeni
raelc a no llaf niar gnikam                  Oh, hello!
kcab gninaeL .yad ynnus   If you're looking for 
  gnihctaw dna ecnef eht no   my angstbucket, she
ILLOGICAL fo tap-rettip elttil eht    wanted to be not-a-
NIAR             An Odd Mood         robot for the night.
on htiw       what the robot states is   I don't think we've
  .sduolC    Feb. 22, 2011, 12:14 AM                        met
she keeps her inner
child around her neck.
I worry sometimes about things that probably aren't
real. Is that wrong?    gnieb rebmemer I
ytreporp etavirp otno gnikaens dna elttil
tub ,yhw rebmemer yllaer t'nac I ... ot
saw I dna ot desoppus t'nerew ew
erew ereht hguoht neve enola lla
a saw ereht dna tsrif ta ereht sdik rehto
tuaeb os          saw ti dna ecalp terces               
  i               eht ni ecaep eneres fo tnemom tahT
luf    tnemele ruo otdetcennoc tsrif ew nehw loop
and green, a vivid, emerald, green. I never wanted to leave.
nomroM taht no eert eht htiw gninummoC
eybdoog gniyaS .pirt gnipmac hsilrig
secalp dliw gnitisiv ssim I .das os saw

Why am I writing all this BACKWARDS?
Hello!   ¡ɥnp   'unɈ   ϛ,+!   əϛnɒɔəє|         +ϛə+    ɦ+!|ɒuoϛɹəd   əuo    əɥ+
¡olləH                       rof gip gnicaf sdrawkcab a s'tI     I think the Sharpie
fumes are getting to me.
.nwod os eb ton ot ecin sleef tI ecno rof thgir lla m'I
.ti ekil I . larutan ylgrisirprus sleef sihT

So, you 
DO write
in tongues.
Great.

E    T
N   hi
D    s
O   mad
R    ness
P   brought
H   to
I    you      e   __0
N    by     e //   |=|
E           e  //    |=|
S       e  //        |=|
whee  //           |=|
0==//              |=|
YHW
DLUOHS
EB TON I
? YPPAH

I'm 
pretty 
sure it's 
not my 
ears that
are ringing
but my 
bedroom
I don't 
hear it
anywhere
else.
Kind of
has a 
pattern to
it like
dataz

Hello, hello,
hola! My
place con
vertigo ....

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Foreboding

The other night, I had the oddest sense of foreboding.

It was dark, of course, since I leave work after sunset.

The parking lot was mostly empty, and I park a ways away from the entrance to the building. Every sense was straining for some kind of movement, some anomaly. I felt a little like I was being watched, but there was nothing there. No one.

Of course now I pay more attention than is really reasonable to the distant tree-line.

Fucking trees are everywhere. 

When I got home, the whole neighborhood was empty. No cars parked in front of my neighbors' houses. Trees remain abundant, like tall people with black arms stretched up toward the sky. It's a midwestern suburb. Of course there are trees everywhere.

The neighbors probably just had somewhere else to be.

Which, you know, never happens really.

But whichever.

It was just so ... quiet. Eerie. So I fished around in my purse to find this thick chain necklace (think: necklace made of chain mail) I keep because hell, getting hit with it hurts, and it draws less attention than anything else I could have on me. I don't think 'jewelry' properly qualifies for weaponry, but hey, if I can make a potential intruder disagree, I've done a good job. No? Plus it looks pretty cool.

Nudged the door open with my foot, turned on the light - that humanish figure I was seeing is just Mom's mannequin. I knew that. Grab my sword. Poke around a bit, make sure there's nothing to find.

Don't really have the courage to check the upstairs alone.

Decide I'm really alone.

Jump out of my skin when Mom opens the door.

There was nobody here.

I'm feeling kind of silly right now.

You know?

Oh. Friday's post is going to be a bit ... odd.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

2/15/2011 EXPLODING QUIETLY

My thought patterns are a little bit disturbed right now.
If you want a normal happy blog you might want to check back Monday  
NEVER




HA HA HA
LONELINESS:
You are not alone.
And yet you are alone.
So very alone.
LONELINESS:
You are not alone.
And yet you are alone.
SO VERY ALONE.

SO
INSIGNIFICANT 

I hate
everything
There's a RINGING in my ears
I'm probably going deaf. 
You know you say that but you really do have good hearing. How else do you hear the noises in the walls when all else is quiet? 
The sensory tests ... that call the quality agent couldn't even hear words in, raising your hand because you heard a phone ring in the next room over despite noise-cancelling headphones, your night vision is remarkable. Writing normally, by GLOWSTICK. All four glasses tasted different. Hearing the high whine of an "off" TV. Perceiving that there are worlds on worlds of color.
Oh god.
That drawing.
Any kind of free thought is unsettling. Like that simple pencil drawing on black paper. You got an honorable mention for an hour's work.
 I hate everything.
I try not to think too much.

There is static in my EYES.

Usually I can at least outline the chaos

I bet you $20USD I can't read even half of this in the morning.

my head hurts
everything
hurts
Oh my god.

can we pretend (airplanes) = (shooting stars)?
                                     Getting Paid
                        Raspberry Cheesecake Cookies      BEAR!
Life is pretty good right now really, for me.  HAT! COOKIES!
  Think of 
HAPPY
THOUGHTS
Is this what going mad feels like?

If life is so good why can't I just focus on 
That?! 
I should try to make friends in real life.
Beneath the pleasant happy surface you are FUCKING INSANE
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Everything hurts
nanananananananaBATMAN

I feel so alone especially when there are a          I CAN SEE YOU
lot of people I can't talk to around.                        I CAN SEE YOU
OTHER PEOPLE CAN'T RELATE TO ME IRL.          I CAN SEE YOU
                                                                                 Noises in the walls.

I'M NOT             I          Darkest just before DAWN
PARALYZED     CAN'T     oh my god I think
BUT I SEEM       SEE       I'm actually going
TO BE STRUCK   ANYTHING     insane
BY YOU      So ALONE    can see you. "Going"?

So if it wears black clothing, dyes its hair black, is deathly pale, and cries a lot, is it a pathetic emo kid? I think it is. Stupid whiny bitch.
 99% of everything is SHIT                                                                           shutupshutup
So tense. Keep clenching my fist. And jaw.                  shutupshutup
              emphasize everything
Had a bit of a freak-out last night when I got home. Shaking and jittery.
"I'm having a panic attack!" Maybe it's the caffeine?
Is there anybody out there 'coz it's gettin' harder and harder to BREATHE.
Shaking cold                                trying to ... BUFFERING ... 
       BOOM                  .youarenotprepared.                  Dare you to read this.
ramming always works (with a bat)                     Assume it IS just    Then assume
                                                                                       an ARG               even one "Masky"
                                                                                                   takes it as srs as you do. Never sleep again.
If Mom died I'd fall apart. "Daddy" wonder what that's like. 

OHGODOHGODOH
GODOHGODOHGOD                         
OHGODOHGODOH                             Think of something else
                         GOD                          ANYTHING ELSE

Do you really think you could survive?
So when is the flood coming?


DON'T                The                  lol                f
NEED              rap has              plants          o
ANY              eaten my            grow              r   Red Robes
THING           Pandora    c        better           g         HANDS ARE SMALL
OR                   PAN         o             to             e          NOT YOURS
ANY                DOR         l         DEATH       t              MY OWN
ONE                     A         d         METAL       the              IDIOT
                        EAT YOU                               world        I hate you
OF                      Insignificant           what           More out of space than empty space
HIGHER       Little Blue Planet           am       Set the world on fire
PURPOSE                                              I?
       There is no one to answer.   Have always felt like I'm being watched
I don't feel safe.                 PARANOIA IS BAD OKAY. 
I don't feel safe in my house right now.            Shaking
I can see the light flickering every so often.         Cold            Automatic writing
I walked in tonight and I went straight for my sword.                        Shaking
                                          HANDS ARE SHAKING COLD              Cold

Sleeping with the light on again.
Blood red.
I DON'T FEEL SAFE

 MONSTER
INHUMAN 
YOU'RE NOT SPECIAL
YOU LIKE TO PRETEND YOU'RE SOMETHING SPECIAL BUT YOU'RE NOT
SELF-
IMPORTANT          YOU PEOPLE ARE ALL SO DAMN 
    FUCK 
EVERYTHING

Mom claims to have spoken to a psychic I never met who claimed that she was descended from some kind of red-robed ... folk. Powerful folk. But she's protected. BLOCKED. An angel guardian and an island of blissful ignorance. I am not protected. I don't think.
 I feel sometimes like there is something waiting beyond sight, waiting for me to drop my guard.

COLDCOLD
COLDCOLD
COLD
COLDCOLD
COLD

CAN'T SLEEP

So Cold

I think I'm really going mad.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Irrational

Can someone be said to be suffering from a crisis of (absence of) faith?

I think I have diagnosed a key problem with my psyche: I have significant difficulty with belief.

I have been raised as I think most Americans have, with an odd duality. At once we are told to believe only in the rational and quantifiable and logical, the hard data and concrete proofs in the world, yet then also we are told of Santa Claus, God, the Devil, tarot cards and Slender Men, and we are supposed to sort which of these are fiction from the facts.

I don't believe in God. Not really. I don't believe in God or Jesus, Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy, Slender Man or the Devil himself.

But I also cannot so blithely discount myths and legends, magical and unquantifiable lines of reasoning, just because I have not personally experienced anything that counts as hard, logical proof. There is an incredibly large chunk of my mind that simply wants to believe in something ... more. Something beyond the dull mundane world of phone calls and little handheld computer-phones and sleeping peacefully in my blissful island of ignorance. Some part of me wants to get the chance to talk to Cthulhu, no matter how much it would shatter my mind. I think there's a very real desire to be special or important, and I think most humans experience it, and I think that's part of why we devise our little religions with us as the center point.

This inability to decide leads to an ... unease, we will go with unease. There is a schism in my personality, a hard line between a very serious, stony side which believes only in that which I can see and feel and touch, research and prove, and a more ... childlike innocence, a willingness to believe and an enchantment with the fantastic.

I love the idea of magic.

I hate the idea of magic.

No, I really don't want you to try and convert me to your religion. What really makes you think it's all that much better and more true than any of the hundreds of other lines of illogical thought? What makes you think that believing in an omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent deity (who actually still gives a damn about humanity, not to say a reality that, being omniscient, he/she/it knows inside and out, from start to finish) that rules over everything is any more reasonable than believing in an omniscient, omnipresent deity that gives out material wealth to small children over the course of a given holiday season (be it the Easter Bunny's chocolate Cadbury Eggs or Santa Claus's gaily wrapped presents)?

Yes, I really do want you to try and convert me to your religion. There's a certain ... comfort ... to belief. There's a joy in feeling as though you are a small part of something larger than yourself. The idea of being a large part of that selfsame entity is intoxicating, if foolish. There's a wonderful relief to the idea that a man with a gun might not completely and utterly end your consciousness just because your brain - and all of your chemical, emotional responses - have been shut down. I only ask for the one thing no religion seems able to provide: proof that cannot be explained by any other means. Proof that does not rely upon confirmation bias and self-delusion.

There's a reason I identify as Agnostic but actually don't try to think about it too hard.

My head hurts.

Now excuse me while I go sleep with the lights still burning because I can't disbelieve in the Slender Man just because He's probably fake.