tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62017105307904441192023-11-16T03:29:06.841-08:00Everything You Never WantedUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger157125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-83999871770755512132012-04-14T04:46:00.002-07:002012-04-14T04:46:30.351-07:00A LureI wrapped up the food I've just heated up for myself because my mother was in the kitchen doing things extremely violently to show how angry she was to see me existing before her. She walked by me in with fierce ignorance and I felt so inhumane by this I couldn't eat.<br />
<br />
I shoved it in the fridge along with many other wrapped up food for the same reason. My mother muttered something about me doing this and then walked off to go sit in her chair and continue watching soap operas.<br />
<br />
I walked out of the kitchen and said something rude. I forgot what it was but it pissed her off and I asked her if she was going to hit me. I continued to be rude until she got up and I was walking closer to her screaming at her to hit me.<br />
<br />
Then I ran to her with the intention of hitting her myself, I think I was screaming something. She ran off. I reached the spot she had been at and got on my fours like some monster. I was breathing harshly and laughing. I spotted my mother and ran after her around the living room, lunging and reaching violently everytime she had slowed down.<br />
<br />
I was very low on the ground, looking at my mother viciously, my sister saw this and she really thought that I had lost my mind and maybe I did, but I thought I was just acting, my sister screamed in horror and ran away from me. This scared me because I thought she would never get near me again. I dashed toward my mother.<br />
<br />
She ran down the hallway where it got dark with black fuzz. The black fuzz from the lower astral realm. It got even darker in the bathroom, actually I could hardly see. She ran into the masterbedroom and there was the evil pit, the trap that has been waiting for me. There was nothing but darkness and no way out. The infinate colors of outlines of other beings were everywhere and were so intense, they were all vibrating and shaking wildly.<br />
<br />
I was tossed onto the bed somehow, on my back and screaming. My mind fried up and I was suddenly a little kid screaming for her mommy.<br />
<br />
<br />
I awoke to my dad standing with his face inches away from me in the dark. I found this to be extremely frightening and annoying.<br />
<br />
<br />
The masterbedroom had been the place where I saw the thin man.<br />
<br />
For two days in a row, yesterday and the day before that, I had to reach over into the room to grab the doorknob and close the room shut because my dad left it open and that room scares the crap out of me and I don't know why.<br />
<br />
Today something took the form of my mother, but this all took place in this house and I know it was a projection because of the way it was set up and the puppet master didn't know that my mother sat on the couch at home and watched TV all day, the puppet master made my mother take my dad's role, which is sitting in front of the computter in the computter chair watching soap operas. Also I can never mistake that black fuzz for anything else, I've seen it a million times or more.<br />
<br />
Anyway, the boogeyman almost had me and I know I have to get out of this place before he takes me away like he's rumored to have taken many other children. This is why it creeps me out and I'm sure it's him. He turned me into a kid in that masterbedroom. He did that because I got away when I was a kid.<br />
<br />
I'm going to go home today as soon as possible. This is extremely bad, it had lured me into the masterbedroom, if I decide to stay, then that's not a good sign. I need to get out.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-51249481098129216162012-03-18T10:52:00.001-07:002012-04-14T04:47:50.283-07:00They're Not DreamsThese past two weeks I've been falling asleep and waking up in a rhythm that makes me think I haven't slept at all. I'm probably getting two to four hours of sleep a night, and every moment I've spent with my eyes closed are packed full of imagery. They're not dreams anymore. They're not what I see in my meditations either. This is different, like entering that plane where I heard that music, except I'm not going anywhere. It is like a cross over of a lucid dream, astral projection and every meditation and spiritual practice ever thought up and practiced into one amazing one. It's like my brain exploded and the colors are beautiful! It's not sleep either, I don't think it is anyway, it feels way too different. My entire being is weightless, for hours until I get up. There is no pain from mental or physical exhaustion, there's nothing actually good or bad, only that universal estacy traveling through every inch of my being for hours, which would probably be labeled good, but if you've felt it, you'll agree with me that it can't be labeled.<br />
<br />
Also I've been eating very very very little now. I can barely finish half a small of bowl of food. Meat is repulsive. My body rejects it from three feet away. I would find it appealing until I come close and then turn away. It's not that it looks disgusting, it just feels disgusting.<br />
<br />
How I've reached this point is probably because I've been meditating a lot, I've been doing yoga with the intention of purity, sleeping with a candle lit at night, I've also been drinking a lot of dandelion tea and taking fish oil, vitamin c supplements, beet root and biotin. I still have a really addictive personality, I've replaced hard liquor with coffee and I'm trying to replace coffee with green/black/dandelion tea. It's rough to get rid of it completely. I don't know why I'm trying so hard to be healthy. Oh, that's right, I've just recently developed a fear of physical aging. If I find my way around it, I'll jump back into binge drinking without a second thought.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-51619906990235973972012-03-01T13:22:00.004-08:002012-03-01T13:25:18.329-08:00BloodchokeI was standing in line that stretched far to get to the movies. The ticket guy came over and strangled me. He somehow held the temples of my head at the same time. I don't remember why I didn't do anything. The manager came sometime almost too late. The ticket guy went away. The manager took a look at me. He said something about if I was bleeding or not. I waited. I felt something in my thoart. Something, thick, slimy and hard at the same time. I opened my mouth and blood dripped to the floor. The manager said something, I think he cursed. He turned toward the ticket guy who sat on a curb with his back facing us and said he had to go to death class. I saw something pink comming out of my mouth. Some piece of me. The piece was still attached inside my body so I couldn't just hauk it out. More blood, comming out faster, dripping all over the floors. The manager held me upside-down and I hung in the air, hovering a yard or two above the crowd and the manager. Blood dripping from my mouth onto the ground.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-4797641253917930432012-02-29T01:10:00.003-08:002012-03-08T17:12:11.624-08:00Elevator Meditation #03The elevator was of some very old, very hard and very very expensive wood. Dorothy was with me, but she looked distorted. She looked nice and evil, she looked like herself and then someone else in the same body, all the at the time. She just kept changing every mila-second. Maybe I got on the wrong elevator. I've probably redid my entry into the elevator ten times, no change. I went down.<br />
Level 6, the door opened and an anime girl with short dark blue hair and meloncholic expression flitted quickly toward me.<br />
Level 5, passed and she went away, she couldn't get into the elevator.<br />
Level 4 opened into the medical hallyway, same girl, except human and full of gore rushed quickly to me. I forced the door closed with violent concentration.<br />
Level 1 opened. It was just as I've left it. Full of color, and happy, healthy people.<br />
Level 0... The door opened and I saw a horrible distorted verison of Alfred that made me shut the elevator door and just stand there wondering what was happening.<br />
Alfred looked like some transparent spirit swallowed him and gave him hideous and demonic deformities. The entire floor was as if someone blew a bunch of blurr bubbles of different sizes and shapes into the room. Books and paper from the books were all over the floor and was continuing to fly off the wall.<br />
I opened the door again. The diaster was still there, and the only person who wasn't distorted was Roger Smith. He stood a little in front of the area of where the coffee table was, if there was a doorway of that area, he would be at the doorway.<br />
After looking over the situation, I decided to bring in the vaccum. Alfred urgently stopped me saying that I couldn't use it <i><u>here</u></i>. I looked around and then blasted a bright illumination which abruptly flung all of the books and pages back together. Alfred and Dorothy lost their distortion.<br />
I spoke to Roger at the coffee table. I don't remember what was said. I was hoping Dorothy was going to make me another tea, but the impression I got was what I've had should hold me off at least a week or a month if not longer and the effects are still comming in.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-63770591427868754682012-02-28T22:09:00.001-08:002012-03-08T17:11:56.238-08:00Elevator Meditation #02The elevator was different. I didn't see Dorothy. I went down to level one and it opened to a very sketchy city. I stepped out. Filthy, everthing was filthy, sketchy and black. I walked passed some people, I couldn't see their faces because it was so sketchy and black. The air felt dirty, like it was a diease. There was a trash can to my right, it was nearly empty, but was so filthy even though there's hardly any trash.<br />
To my right was million-miles-per-hour traffic. I ran across. I came to a sandwich restaurant. A fat man came out (walking to his car?), there was a sick swell of purple under his eyes. It was as if being a zombie was a disease and he just caught it.<br />
I entered the building because I was curious about what would be on the menu or if I could even read it. People looked sick. I panicked a little, only a little. Everyone stopped and it was suddenly quiet. They all started at me in a violent manner. I panicked even more. Everyone rushed at me. A very gorey woman appeared before me and I opened my eyes cursing.<br />
<br />
I didn't want to go back, but I didn't want to leave a mess like that, especially in my own mind.<br />
<br />
I went back down the elevator, the doors opened at level one and they all reach to me. Gore. They couldn't come in the elevator and tear me to pieces. I took out a vaccum and vaccumed them. They all grew color and instantly became nice, happy people who looked healthy. I did this all over the areas I came to. The million-miles-per-hour traffic came to a steady speed.<br />
I was at the restaurant when Roger came to the door of the place. I saw the look in his eye, saying that right now is a good time to get out of here, I took his arm to make it look causal, and we walked to the elevator. Dorthy greeted me, she was standing just outside the elevator. We went down to level zero and I don't remember so much. Dorothy made me a strange colored tea, the color was thick golden tea color with hues of very light brown with some undertone of very light hues of purple. The texture was very thick but it was also very thin. She told me she made it so it will benefit me in al areas. Roger gave me a large clear vial which he took the cap off of after I drank the tea quickly. The vial had golden speck in it, like the golden specks in Goldschlager, but bigger, thicker pieces. He told me to take it when I hesitated. I emptied it in my mouth, it felt like golden specks, heavy, scratchy. I swallowed.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-24934075726975757352012-02-27T01:00:00.004-08:002012-03-08T17:11:07.720-08:00Elevator Meditation #01An elevator, all in black with white outlines. The number ten was above the door to the right, it was black in a white circle. Dorothy stood to my right. She said nothing. Going down...<br />
9...<br />
8...<br />
7... Colors appeared, shaping the elevator.<br />
6... Lucidity.<br />
5... Dorothy is fades.<br />
4... My mother appears at my right.<br />
3... The walls turned to dull dim mirrors.<br />
2... The mirrors were clear. Too clear. I saw myself, black combat boots, my usual clothes, hair oily as if I haven't showered in days (but I showered this morning).<br />
1... The door opened. People in suits walking quickly in all directions. I'm not getting off here. I stepped back and forced the door closed.<br />
I took it to zero.<br />
The door openned. Alfred was to my left, cleanning something. The walls were shelves full of books going high up into the ceiling.<br />
I went to the south wall and pulled out a book. It was brown and white. "Lolita" bible/cookbook (bible or cookbook was not it's name, but the impression of the name). I flipped through and saw an image of two cats facing me. I turnned the page and saw the two cats facing away froom me on the same page.<br />
I couldn't read the words in the book. I tried hard. I could write it, but they weren't English. I went to contents page. The first page had "cattails", "bunnytails", second page was full titles like, "lolita bow", "lolita shoe". I sat down on a black couch, a coffee table was between this couch and another one seatter couch. Roger Smith sat down across from me. He asked me what I wanted to know...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-7179477510476995372012-02-13T12:57:00.000-08:002012-02-14T00:39:32.244-08:00A Glass Jar Filled With ViolenceMy mother opened the oven (it's broken but is always generating some small amount of heat) to put away a pan since we've been using it as a storage for pots and pans. She saw that I had kept a glass container with thick napkins and seeds in it along with miniature plant pots made of foil and dirt in the oven. She asked me what it was and I told her why I was doing that. She told me it was dry and said I don't know how to take care of anything. My insides felt like they've exploded, I'm not sure if she's right or not, but I've been taking very good care of my plants.<br />
<br />
I was looking for an empty container for the watermelon that has sprouted itself to the top of the oven, I've only been gone for two days and I left with it showing no signs of growth under the napkins. My mother went into the downstairs restroom and I sank to the cold ground and just sat there trying to decide whether or not to throw everything in sight. I got up and punched the wall. I didn't want to make another hole so I punched it open handed. She always knows the right things to say to make me want smash my head open and pull my brain apart with the remaining moments of my life. I think I screamed, I don't remember. I walked upstairs and opened and closed the plastic drawers I've left at the top of the stairs. OPEN. CLOSE. OPEN. CLOSE. I did it fast and hard because if I didn't I would have made a mess that I wouldn't want to clean up later.<br />
<br />
Footsteps, my mother was walking toward the stairs. I got up from the darkness and walked zombified into my sister's room. I sat cross legged on my bed made of blankets. I felt my mother come up from behind me. Did I tell you my family has the ability to appear from out of nowhere? She didn't say anything for a moment, then asked me if I fell or what was all that noise? I told her no, I didn't fall, I just got angry, that's all. She asked me why I was angry. I was incapable of speech at this time, so I just shook my head at her. She asked me again and again and told me how would she know what she did wrong if I didn't tell her. She shook me. I told her it was a little thing, and I didn't know why I got angry about something like that. She pulled me to my feet and accepted that I wasn't going to tell her. She said, okay, then leave it in the past, it's over. She hugged me and I cried.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-85221665605399927112012-02-13T11:03:00.000-08:002012-02-14T00:38:30.053-08:00Dead or AliveI checked my pulse to see if I was still alive.<br />
<br />
Nothing.<br />
<br />
Just warmth to confuse me that I could be warm without a pulse or dead with physical warmth.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-53666807219054586712012-01-29T15:12:00.000-08:002012-01-29T15:12:37.582-08:00Misery (A Story of Miserable People in a Miserable Town)Welcome to the town of miserable folk. Here you will find everything you've never wanted. Lumps in your bed, rare rashes on your skin and tongue, lifeless stares, your coffee will never taste as great as it presents itself to you, there will be an endless amount of bugs in your pockets and a curse of an enternal headache. This is the town of miserable folk, where it is always cold, no matter how many cups of boiling stale coffee you've had, pieces of clothing you wear or bottles of whiskey.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-80044656481108763812012-01-28T03:00:00.000-08:002012-01-28T04:25:55.880-08:00Found ItI know what I want now.<br />
<br />
I want to go to art school. The thought of it had always frustrated me because of all the people I've met and seen that go or have gone to art school. They all think they understand how the world works. All of them do rip-off versions of other people's rip-offed versions of other people's ideas. They are all fucking blind (and not in a good way either!). They are all insecure and unstable with themselves but they still think they know everything. I don't want to be seen as one of those people! The chances of anyone in S.F. thinking the same thing when they see an art school kid is probably just a handful, but I can't help but think that everyone thinks that, even the people that go to art school.<br />
<br />
What has held me back from going to an art school like I've wanted to when I had found out it exists, is the people, the cost and if I could get a job later after spending so much money and time it it. Now it doesn't fucking matter to me.<br />
<br />
I've been drawing since I picked up the pencil. I've been writing since I got locked up in the mental hospital. I've been sculpting since I carved that creature out of wood in my Facilities Maintenance class at Jobcorp. I've been painting since I got my own watercolor set. There is not a day I don't write or draw something. I've been doing this my entire life and this is all I want to do.<br />
<br />
I want to live in Pacifica. I'll drive to S.F. to work as a stripper so it'll pay for the ridiculously priced schooling. It's perfect, except for the stripping part. I'll be able to be by the ocean all the time and enjoy the fog that manifests itself daily. It'll be a quiet place, no overgrown teenagers screaming at each other, no children crying, no one to cringe at except at grocery stores.<br />
<br />
The thought of this puts me at peace. I've never been happy about putting things together, I didn't think I could handle it. Ever since I was a kid I wasn't happy about getting my own place or winning a million dollars, I wouldn't be happy about it even if I wanted it. I'm used to things not going the way I want it to, I'm used to things going bad, so that's what I looked forward to... For everything to fall apart, even me.<br />
<br />
Ocean, coffee, gaming, dreaming, astral projecting, learning, art school, shooting guns, publish books, paint and draw my astral travels and dreams, sculpt figures, parkour and circus training, publish my Serial Killer Romance novels and comic, mushrooms, and photography.<br />
<br />
It sounds really good to me right now.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-63682151740474170892012-01-27T01:13:00.000-08:002012-01-28T03:53:46.864-08:00Running On Two Hours Of Sleep, AgainAfter eating a leftover chicken wrapped in foil with my bare hands and eating chicken-potato-wrapped-tortilla with jalapeno and cheese, I was inspired to start taking dandelion supplements. My grandpa is a herbalist, he owned a hospital before he moved to the States. Anyway, dandelions give you a detox everywhere, blood, skin, liver, they're really good for after you eat fast food. I was thinking about this because the chicken in the foil must have been weeks old if not months, I have no idea how old the chicken-potato-wraps are or how long the cheese has been sitting out here in this kitchen. I think I could really use one of my grandpa's dandelion extracts.<br />
<br />
Since I don't think I'll be sleeping tonight, I've dedicated my time to making miniature polymer clay masks and finally reading Seeing With The Mind's Eye. This book has been bursting with good energy since I've seen it, maybe it's from all of those people that have become enlightened from this book or maybe it's just from the words written inside.<br />
<br />
Very recently I've been doing things in dark I would get up in the middle of the night to get some water and I would do everything in the dark, walk down the stairs, through the hall, pour the water, drink the water, in the dark. It was strangely more comfortable and peaceful than when the lights are on. There was less "noise". Ever since I was a kid I've always been completely terrified of it. It wasn't until a month ago I could finally sleep with the lights off. The lights now, I've noticed, have been the cause of my sickness and my lack of motivation, it is what causes fatigue and my monstrous headaches.<br />
<br />
I've also learned that I can not concentrate no matter how hard I try, around my laptop (even when it's closed). I tried reading a very interesting book today, but I could get a few words down and my mind would trail off. My laptop was closed, I had my book on top of it, but I couldn't focus. I was very calm too. I relocated myself to the couch, where I was able to read three pages before I had a strong urge to get up and do something before I forgot about it. Upstairs, in my room, I am able to finish books in one sitting. I would go away in it for hours and not even notice the words I'm reading or when I turn the pages. I lose this ability the closer I get to the laptop. I think the radioactivity that comes to and from it does something to my aura, to people's aura, maybe (besides the multi-tasking installing short-term memory into people brains) that's why people are so all over the place in the thoughts and words.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-38694035093468812982012-01-21T23:55:00.000-08:002012-01-22T01:42:11.570-08:00You Are Sweeter Than Vomit On An Empty Stomach<div>What I want to do:</div><ul><li>I want to write and direct movies.</li>
<li>I want to be a mortician.</li>
<li>I want to be a microbiologist.</li>
<li>I want to be a marine biologist.</li>
<li>I want to be a shaolin warrior.</li>
<li>I want to be a marine.</li>
<li>I want to be an amazing shibari artist.</li>
<li>I want to be an amazing instant-holga photographer.</li>
<li>I want to open a coffee shop that sells burgers, donuts, bakery, has a smoking and non-smoking room with waitresses on roller-blades and waiters in suits.</li>
<li>I want to open a sex shop that sells coffee, bakery, has a dungeon in the back and movies after 8pm in a nifty room.</li>
<li>I want to work with the blind.</li>
<li>I want to be a great double-bass drummer.</li>
<li>I want to have a honey factory.</li>
<li>I want to publish my comics.</li>
<li>I want to publish books for children.</li>
<li>I want to publish books for the happily depressed.</li>
<li>I want to play the cello.</li>
<li>I want to be a body piercer.</li>
<li>I want to master the art of quick shooting.</li>
<li>I want to be the gunner with a superhuman accuracy.</li>
</ul><br />
<br />
What I'm qualified to do:<br />
<ul><li>Nude Model</li>
<li>Shibari Artist</li>
<li>Camgirl</li>
<li>Stripper</li>
</ul><br />
I want to do more things than I am qualified for.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-64962976011743923012012-01-11T18:39:00.000-08:002012-01-11T18:39:12.069-08:00Acupressure of Some SortI'm currently wearing a 16g black surgical steel spike horseshoe in my right ear only, I was thinking that it was going to hold me back, inhibit or interfere some sort of energy flow, but there's also a chance it could do the opposite, just like wearing a ring on your pointer finger. As soon as I put it on I got a rush. At this moment in time I have more energy than I usually do. I feel like doing things instead of contemplating on whether or not to do it, talk myself out of it, or do it later. Not exactly impulsive, just more drive.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-43730909649084170462011-12-26T13:11:00.000-08:002012-03-01T13:26:53.149-08:00Run AwayI've plotted my escape.<br />
<br />
I'm going to Des Moines, Iowa. I'll be there twenty days, the whole trip is going to be twenty-four days. I was going to buy a bike, but it'll be pointless to bring a bike where it'll snow.<br />
<br />
For hours last night and all morning today my mind was trying to talk me out of it. Saying that I should save up for a car instead and I would be able to stop whenever I want to instead of the five minute smoke break the train gives every two hours.<br />
<br />
Both people I've contacted in Iowa thought I was nuts that I wanted to run away from California to Iowa, but I've passed by it before and I remember how miserable and lonely it looked. I didn't have enough time to enjoy it, so I'm going back and staying for two and a half weeks.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-26864535362326292552011-12-21T14:36:00.000-08:002011-12-21T14:41:42.610-08:00BurntI did not look up from the paper until there was a light rapping on the front door. I became suddenly enraged because it had disturbed my peace and wrecked a straight line I was drawing. The person standing behind the door (and many other people who knock on doors) has an annoying tendency to knock again because they think I didn't hear them. As I rushed and made my hand to unlock the door, he knocked again. I opened the door and told him it was inhumanly possible for me to open the door in two seconds. He just frowned at me like I was some grumpy old man.<br />
<br />
When you draw for eight hours straight because time doesn't exist in many realms, including drawing, you start to mess up a lot, your body and mind will feel as if you haven't slept in days. A sudden interruption will shove you into a pit of rage and there is nothing you can do about it. Then when you are rushing to open the door before the person standing outside decides two seconds is too long to wait and knocks again, your cup of lovely orange juice is kicked over and you can't help but scream.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-53023309578455072452011-12-20T07:32:00.000-08:002011-12-20T07:32:12.129-08:00Cursed Until The EndThe alarm rang and got louder and more violent with every passing second. I wanted to scream and wake up from this nightmare but I can't, I'm already awake.<br />
Stubbornness swallows me whole. I don't want to be here, at this moment I am completely convinced that Earth is part of some sub-sub-sub-lower class of Hell.<br />
Leave me alone.<br />
I don't want to see the world today. I don't want to deal with temperature. I don't want to look at other people and I don't want them to look at me. I don't care if the look is good or bad, it is and will always be extremely uncomfortable to me,. Twenty years on this speck of which we call Earth, our home, I will never get used to it and I will never call this place home.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-31947720975934727782011-12-18T18:22:00.000-08:002011-12-18T18:22:10.299-08:00InsanityI just keep seeing people get shot or blown to pieces...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-31348515890416833672011-12-15T11:35:00.000-08:002011-12-15T11:35:59.950-08:00People Were Never Taught How To ListenIt fills me with rage and violence when people don't believe what I say. How could people be so closed-minded? They can't just stop and think for a second that what I am saying might be true? It will always be what they think, and what they think will always be right no matter what. They won't stand for reasoning, they will pretend to listen, goddamn them.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-11996729969169864082011-12-15T11:10:00.000-08:002011-12-15T11:10:35.766-08:00The Executor Kills His Own GodI had a vicious and vivid dream about an executor being forced to kill his own god. He was being forced to do this by a group of men who crowded him in a small room under the main building. It was grimy. This took place when it was custom to wear hats. There were no fancy clothing so it was probably early 1900's. The executor tied the hands of his god, his wrists bled.<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry," The executor cried to his god.<br />
<br />
His god nodded.<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry too," His god smiled sadly at him.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-22001525377624955572011-12-08T16:14:00.000-08:002011-12-15T11:40:55.044-08:00When One Thing Is Fixed, Another Problem Shows It's Ugly Face.<div>I noticed that the back of my right hand, the one that often gives off the scent of rotting flesh. It's almost heeled from whatever it was possessed with, now it's purple from poor circulation and the skin is ripped, threatening to bleed.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0gXdf-w82sxddOIE1-_8sl4-twMtMUr5q3QA7Z8-nzFtsxNCQpQMmE4JP0Sr42ylfNq-xD-0S77T5i39oAbmj19sh5-JQ3bs535Q6HfD1YRCnRTlTlDe-jx-5Z8rdsyQqfW9rO3iCdWvP/s1600/IMG_7173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0gXdf-w82sxddOIE1-_8sl4-twMtMUr5q3QA7Z8-nzFtsxNCQpQMmE4JP0Sr42ylfNq-xD-0S77T5i39oAbmj19sh5-JQ3bs535Q6HfD1YRCnRTlTlDe-jx-5Z8rdsyQqfW9rO3iCdWvP/s400/IMG_7173.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Due to the bright cloudy sunlight, the purple is not visible, but I'm telling you, it's there.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-15250869559973660462011-11-09T18:40:00.000-08:002011-11-22T23:34:30.466-08:00Creation3:44PM<br />
I don't know how long it has been, but I've been sitting here drawing bunny comics and thinking about how Lionel just completely misunderstands me. I don't know what or how the hell he sees and thinks that I am a "gleeful" person. I'm not. I'm grateful and I was happy to be there with him, but I am just like everybody else, frustrated, angry and depressed. Just because I wasn't frowning every second of the day like someone who has a black and white perception or because I wasn't someone who could only think of why things are bad, doesn't mean I don't understand it. If someone truly thinks that there is more bad than good, and they have every reason to believe that, it doesn't mean they're right, but it doesn't mean they're wrong either. Even fucking bimbo girls get depressed at least once a month. It is completely unrealistic to think that someone has never experienced depression. No, don't even say it, I know there is a big fucking difference between depression and sadness.<br />
My entire fucking life has been rough. There was a time where I cried non-stop for hours a day. Not because I was self-pitying myself, not because I didn't get what I wanted, not because I didn't get enough attention, but because I was blamed for things I didn't do. Because no one ever listened. Because I was called a liar when I wasn't. Because no one ever believed me. No one helped me and I was alone. I was alone my entire life. Do you understand how traumatizing it is to a kid who is still learning about life, to be blamed, falsely accused and laughed at? Do you know what that does to a kid? It makes the kid feel worthless. It makes them feel helpless and it makes them want to leave and never come back. Do you know what that does to a person who is still experiencing that?<br />
How the fuck can someone assume with such confidence that a person whom they've just met, has never experienced depression? How the fuck can you do that? He apologized, yes, but he still thinks I don't understand. I know this because I showed a little bit of sadness on the Tuesday that I had to leave, and he snapped and said to me, "it's not like you're dying". What, is it suddenly not normal for someone to be a little fucking sad that they're leaving?<br />
Unlike him, my life didn't get fucked up in high school, it got fucked up the day my dad threw the vase at my mother and it shattered across the floor. Dirt, water and black ceramic pieces everywhere. Sounds of struggle, loud slapping sounds, sounds of things getting pushed and falling to the ground, the sound of clothing and meat, suddenly the phone flew, hit the washing machine and broke apart. My mother screamed, more sounds of my dad hitting her, she cried. She got away and ran to the room, slamming the door shut. She cried loudly. I remember it all, I remember it all so clearly because I hated myself that moment. I was having a heartburn for the first time in my life. I had just turned seven last month. I couldn't go break up the fight by showing up in the kitchen and just standing there, getting in the way. I've done it before. it works because your parents, no matter how in rage they are, they're not going to be as vicious if you're watching.<br />
From that moment, everything went downhill. We moved constantly and I watched my mother go through all of it, and I couldn't do anything because I was too little. No one wants to listen to a little kid, they don't understand, right? I understood everything. I wanted to help. I wanted to get rid of all the problems, I wanted things to be good again. There was money issues. I wanted to help. I couldn't because no one wants to hire a kid. No one wants to hire a girl for labor work. No one wants to listen. I never gave up.<br />
Forth grade was hell. As usual, I am the youngest in the class. I was one of the top students of the school, no, not class, I said school. I was fast, I was strong and I was good at everything. Then I had to transfer schools because of the divorce. I wasn't in school for months. Then, suddenly I was the new kid. I didn't understand the lesson, I was behind, way behind. I didn't understand anything, I didn't learn about this stuff yet. I was a pro at getting C's and F's sometimes B's, but that made no difference. I was a failure. I was stupid. I was ugly and no one wanted to hang out with me except the other weird, ugly or stupid kids. I finished the grade there and moved to another school. 5th grade, everyone was the new kid because it was a new school year. I was top of the class again, I out-figured math problems and found two or three different ways to solve it before most kids even figured out how to solve the problem by the way of the book. I was top student of the school again. I was also one of the three only Asian in the school, the rest was Mexican, and only Mexican. My mother's friend whom we were living with laughed at me because I said something wrong in Vietnamese. I think it was a grammar issue, they both laughed at me and repeated my mistake. I didn't react. I didn't say anything. I went to my room, I closed the door, and then I cried. I said I was never going to speak Vietnamese ever again. So I didn't. They thought I was playing a game, so they wanted to see how long I could keep it up... Then after a couple months, they got annoyed that I only spoke English, they lectured me, they yelled at me. I didn't feel anything. I didn't feel bad. I didn't think I made a mistake so I didn't apologize and I didn't change my ways. I'm still not speaking the language and I still refuse to.<br />
During the summer, right before 6th grade started for middle school, my uncle took me to get a haircut from some woman-friend of his. Two inches somehow ended up being ten inches. I was confused. I thought I was just getting a trim. My hair was cut to my ears when it was down passed my shoulders. Maybe it was the hair style, this will look okay. She was done. I looked horrible. I wanted to scream. She sprayed some shit on my hair and I had enough, how much more is she going to fuck it up? I got home and looked in the mirror again and again and again. Why the hell was it orange?!<br />
I went to school. I wore a skirt. I got questioning looks. People whispered to each other, is that a boy or a girl? People stared. I tensed. I pushed through. Then... Eventually I got sick of seeing people's faces, the floor was more interesting. I stared at the floor the entire school year. Everyone thought I was weird. My name was Joey. I skateboarded, I played basketball, I skated home, I biked home, I roller-bladed home. I wore a black hat to cover my hair, but it made no different. I adopted the posture of a boy. I dressed like a boy. My self esteem was gone, which effected my grades, which affected how my mother saw me, which affected how I saw myself. I started to give up. I stilled tried hard on my grades, I still tried hard to be the best, but I wasn't the best anymore. 7th grade... I was constantly late for school, I hung out with other skaters, I broke into other peoples houses just because I wanted to see if I could, I picked fights, I stole from stores, I got into arguments. I hung out with a guy who lives out of his car with his girlfriend and he smokes. I refused, but... One day my mother ignored me, she ignored my existence, because I did something wrong... Or maybe I didn't even do anything! She does that a lot, just one day I would come home and she would pretend I was never born and I wasn't standing there talking to her. I slammed the door, I made noises, I made a mess and I broke things. I did all of this because I was angry. I wanted her to yell at me and tell me what I did wrong. That would be so less painful than to just ignore my existence completely as if I wasn't ever born. I took the offer of smoking. I was twelve. And I drank beer... And I smoked a lot. I wanted to damage myself because I wanted to see how far I could push myself, I wanted to see how bad I could go and I wanted my mother to notice what was happening to me, I wanted her to notice what she was doing to me. I ended up being reported to the counselor and ended up in a mental hospital for being suicidal.<br />
My mother was finally worried, she was worried because she didn't fully understand why I was at the hospital or what they were doing to me there. She just knows that I was trying to kill myself.<br />
At the mental hospital, I was quiet, I polite, and I didn't socialize because I was twelve and everyone else was four to eight years old. They thought it was weird, so they kept me longer. I started to get frustrated. I didn't want to be here in this place taking medicine because there was nothing wrong with me. I have every reason to act the way I am but apparently it's not normal to be depressed. Then... I got a roommate. She was obnoxious, she went through my writings, she laid on my bed and she messed up my stuff. I asked her politely to not touch my stuff, she ignored me, I repeated myself over and over until I was screaming at her and I had my hand on her head, pushing her face into my bed as hard as I could. I wanted to break her nose, I wanted to bruise her face and I wanted her to fucking scream for help. She didn't, all she did was laugh. The fifteen minute check in nurse came and saw this, she called people and they came to pull me off of her, they pried my hands off her neck and I scratched her, digging my nails as deep as I could into her neck before they pulled me into the quiet room, I wanted her to go to the emergency room.<br />
I hated this place. I hated the other patients, I hated the doctors, I hated the social worker, I hated the pills and I hated the meetings. I wanted to go home. I constantly reminded them that I wasn't crazy and that I shouldn't be here, that it was a mistake. I screamed and I cried but they only kept me longer.<br />
A couple months after I got discharged, I attempted a couple times to kill my mother. I didn't do anything, but I spoke freely to my counselor, telling her that I often go to the kitchen, take out the knife in the drawer and stare at it, and then put it back. I told her things I wanted to do to a lot of people, and I told her the names and what they looked like and how they treated me. I trusted her. Then she sent me to the mental hospital. When I got there, the staffs were saying "you're back!" I didn't care about being here this time. I was strangely peaceful.<br />
Then... A couple months after getting discharged from this place, I got sent there again. This time, I did it on purpose. I wanted to go back there. I loved it there. It felt right. It felt like home. I told the counselor I wanted to kill myself and I couldn't stop thinking about it and I would do it today when I get home. The ambulance came right away to take me away.<br />
I was expelled from school in the first few months of 8th grade, because someone said I was on drugs and I was high on cocaine. Hours of sitting around a cop showed up and took my pulse. It was fast, but it was because I have an irregular heartbeat and I was nervous about going to jail. He didn't take me to jail, he said he didn't want me to go there and I was too nice. The principle who hated me for some reason expelled me.<br />
I wasn't in school for months again. I went into independent studies school for high schoolers for two or three months and then they said something about my records and that I couldn't go there anymore, and I should come back when I'm in high school.<br />
9th grade... As soon as I stepped onto the campus, I went straight for the office to transfer out. I didn't even go to my first high school class, I went straight for the office because I already know that it's not going to be any different than middle school. It's set up the same way, people are pretty much the same except they look older. The people in the office ignored me, they made me stand around for hours, they made me come back later, they sent me to people that didn't help and they made me wait some more. I couldn't speak to the principle because they wouldn't let me, instead they kept sending me to the mental health counselor and some fat lady who screams at children and suspends them. She told me I wasn't smart enough for independent studies and I kept showing up, bothering her, showing her my grades. I kept showing up at her office so much she threatened to send me back a grade because I wasn't even old enough to be in high school. I stopped coming everyday and came only once a week to the office (not to her office)... And then once every few weeks. I wanted to speak to someone who can get me out of this hell hole.<br />
10th grade, a couple months after school started, there was a new principle. I wrote a ten page essay on why I don't want to be here and why I wanted to be transferred to independent studies and what the teachers were doing (I mean WEREN'T!) and I barely learning anything in this school. He sent me out. He sent me to a part-time high school and part-time college. I didn't get along with two of the teachers, there was an English teacher that wasn't good at English and a math teacher that was better at bragging and judging kids than he was at teacher. I got sick of that place and asked to be transferred to independent studies.<br />
Months without school again... I'm definitely falling way behind. I went out of my way to go to that independent studies school again, and when I got there, it turned into a daycare center. They told me they relocated to downtown two years ago. Stunned. Frustrated. Angry. I just spent half the day to get here!<br />
I lived with my cousin now. My cousin's dad stole money from my piggy bank when I was five, he took a lot, my mother had hundred dollar bills in there and he took it, telling me that it was his and it belonged to him because I stole from him and he's just taking what belongs to him because it's only fair that way. I stayed in the room the entire day, I come out only in the morning and late at night when no one is around. Somehow... I still managed to get blamed for things even though I don't even show my face in daylight. I slept on the hard cold floor mold filled room. I spent my time alone, crying, lost in my thoughts for hours. There wasn't a day I didn't cry for at least an hour without stopping.<br />
Six months into being insulted, laughed at, being disappointed and being a disappointment, weight loss, hair falling out, blacking out, many MANY nights where I can't sleep no matter how tired I was, and ritual uncontrollable crying. During this time I went from 109 lbs to 87 lbs in less than a month. I did psychedelic mushrooms for the first time and died. People don't think it's a big deal to hallucinate a death, but I am a mental being, not a physical. As this is probably more vivid to me than anyone who has experienced death and came back, because I actually remember, I saw what happened to my body, I felt it being sown back together, I saw the other half of me on the other side of the road, I saw the reactions of my death, I felt the coldness of losing life, nothing could warm me. I lost vision, I felt the slippery stickiness of the blood, I saw the walls and floor covered in trails of blood and I saw what I did to people. I saw my mother crying. I saw the hospital, I heard the machines beep, I saw the nurses, I saw the doctors, I heard people rustling around. I think I have had a fuller death experience than most people, because I was traumatized by it for months, it was very lucid, very real, and when I was done being traumatized, I learned a lot and I wasn't scared of being dead anymore, because it's not the end.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-84432630975548685922011-11-09T15:06:00.000-08:002011-11-09T15:08:04.912-08:00Possession3:00AM<br />
I heard it... I heard the music that all the great composers heard in their minds and dreams. It was amazing and I never wanted it to stop and there was no end to it. It began without a beginning, it was like the beginning was invisible. I could focus in on any part and that layer of the music would come clearly into focus. There were so many layers, not overwhelming, but there was enough that... Well, that's why orchestras can be so vast. I was just in my room, just enjoying myself, being peaceful because I didn't realize I had projected because I usually always end up in some demented place when I project. I didn't realize I was projecting until I heard the music. I wasn't sitting, I wasn't standing either, I was laying down, just right above my body, hovering. Which is highly usually for me, I'm usually formless and hovering ungracefully somewhere or I am in my human form (typically with clothes on).<br />
<br />
Astral projection... Something was at my feet, hovering. When I took notice and gave it more attention by trying to see what it looked like and it's size and shape, it gained weight very quickly and pushed down at my feet, making me immobile. I knew it was a man, I saw faint shapes and shadows that made up a head and shoulders, but that's it, the rest is dark shadows and invisible. I tried to wake myself up, it quickly took over my legs and stomach and pushed my chest down. I came out... But... I was already projecting...<br />
<br />
I carried a my black messenger bag. (it was a fusion of my swiss army medical bag -for look- and my camera bag -for space-). I snuck through a building through a horribly small window that was only big enough for my head and shoulders to squeeze through. Somehow I managed (I've been going through tons of windows this year). From entering that window, there was two feet gap to another window that was similar to the one I just opened. Below was the floor, there was some really expensive rug down there. I was very high up, about five business building levels up. I got what I needed from inside the building and went back to the window. My bag was too filled so I had to create enough room to squeeze it through the window. I took out a book and placed it at the little space it had behind the window which had a little space (about two and a half inches to put the spine in place without it flipping and falling to the floor below). I was going to take out more stuff but realized that I didn't need to, I closed up the bag and was going to go through, but someone was coming. I causally walked to the restroom because it was the closet room to me that people wouldn't be suspicious that I had entered. The restroom had three windows (two feet wide, one feet in height). One across from the other and another on the same wall as the door but opposite side. I took the chance to use the toliet. While I was using it a white rat that looks like Ritzu, but a smarter, more graceful rat with survival skills (or tricks) came through the window before the toilet. This window was covered with some piece of white painted wood and thick and thin wires came through it so there is no opening for the window except if you can squeeze through a two inch tight space. I watched it. It was coming my way and I slowly got off the toilet and moved out of the way. I moved slowly because I didn't want to scare it because I was curious to see what it was doing and where it was going to go. It squeaked and made a leap. It jumped on some thick wires that hung midway between the floor and ceiling. It made it's way to the other window and knocked over the fan that was at the window. Michael Myers stood at a truck, his back facing me. Yes, he's erotic as hell, but if he'll kill me. I turned and quickly opened the third window opposite of the door and pushed myself out. I knew that when he turns around, he is going to notice the open window and he'll be after me. He'll figure out where I am, I know it. I don't have time to cover up right now, I need more distance. I came to a house, a little black girl was walking toward the open front door, I took over the girl's body. I didn't fly in, I don't know how to explain how I did it, but it made perfect sense [it still does to me now]. I made her ask her father who sat on the couch not far from the door.<br />
<br />
"Daddy, can we go somewhere?"<br />
"Where do you wanna go?"<br />
"I don't know, somewhere?"<br />
"Just wanna ride around huh?"<br />
"Yeah."<br />
"Okay, but no messing around, okay?"<br />
"Okay."<br />
<br />
I posessed her body so I could escape without being seen. I didn't have to control what she said word for word because it wasn't needed. I knew that I could if I wanted to. When she spoke to her father, I was this formless, invisible ghost, for lack of a better term, that watched from the side. Then I woke up. Exactly 8:00AM.<br />
<div><br />
</div>8:00AM<br />
I laid there recollecting the dreams as quickly and thoroughly as I could, then I rolled over and wrote with great speed what I could remember before I forgot.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-88712087371787269222011-10-28T11:24:00.000-07:002012-03-01T13:26:53.150-08:00[Day #11]I was forced to do porno. The man who was forcing me to do this was also the camera man and the one who I had to do it with. He was over ten feet tall. I was picked up by my legs, hung upside-down and brought into a different room. Naked and being recorded for the public. I was starting to lose myself. I started to forget who I was. Brainwashed. My memory was losing. Upside-down six feet off the floor with something wet on my face.<br />
<br />
A hitman, short cut salt and pepper hair, tight black shirt, dark blue jeans, he sat behind a wooden desk. There were other people in the room but I don't remember them. I held his handmade black cross bow that would tear you into ribbons if you accidentally scrape yourself on it. I made a deal with him.<br />
<br />
Poison. I was poisoned. Blood dripped from my nose to the mask I had worn. Typically, I never have blood in my dreams, there has been scattered body parts, organs, but never blood. The giant smoothly turned into Albert over the time. My head was pounding, my brain was swelling. I crawled to the nearest person and suffocated the bastard. I strangled to death and hit everyone in the room and they didn't come near me. I didn't hit Albert though, as much as I hated him, I left him alone. I wiped the blood from my nose and walked out of the building. My sister was curled into a ball face down on the grass just outside the building. Surrounded by sticky notes that had been scattered across the grass, I had written explaining to her to get help because this and this person were doing this so this would happen. A very short man in a green trench coat and a dark blue hat stood with his two muscle men, pointing and gaping at my sister. I ran over to her and we both took off running.<br />
<br />
I ended up in a car, my sister and I sat in the backseat, three other men were shouting at each other about how I have to get to the hospital right now. I think my head was going to explode.<br />
<br />
My neck is strained in all directions. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move. At least I got some sleep tonight, even though it is freezing cold.<br />
<br />
Mark and I went to go get breakfast at the fancy restaurant the train had. We sat with Scott and his friend. I didn't finish my expensive bacon so Scott asked for it. He looks like the exact replica of Corey Taylor, the only difference is that the anatomy was a little off, he was skinny and his voice. Other than that they were exactly the same, even they way he acts. Nails were the same shape, face was similar but his was rougher. He gave me the impression that he's been in a lot of fights. He dresses professionally, but I see through all of it. I left a tip of two bucks for my ten dollar meal. Usually I don't tip more than a dollar because I have a secret hatred for waiters and waitresses, mainly waitresses.<br />
<br />
Expensive bacon. My heart chakra didn't want it. It held the thing in place and threaten to choke me. It took a good minute for it to go down. I thought I was going to have a heart attack.<br />
<br />
The meditations have regain my abilities to recall my dreams.<br />
<br />
Azura, the guy with the dreadlocks, got off in Sacramento. Mark was out there saying goodbye to him. Laziness held me from going out to say my goodbyes to him too. As everyone re-boarded the train, Azura took out his camera phone and recorded the train leaving, he waved at us and the train, he smiled the whole damn time. My insides were cramping up. Damn him.<br />
<br />
I'm in Emeryville now. I have to take another train to get to San Jose. I am feeling like how I was before I left for Chicago. It is hard to be pleasant. I snapped at a man, I didn't mean to, it just happened. Claustrophobic. Easily annoyed, easily irritated, fatigue with an undertone of depression.<br />
<br />
I'm in San Jose. It's dark outside. There's a pole that's talking, alarming people to be on guard. My head is heavy from the headache.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-53435769361416884442011-10-28T11:22:00.000-07:002012-03-01T13:26:53.151-08:00[Day #10]It's 6:00AM. It's snowing outside, it's cold inside, I think I had only a few minutes of sleep.<br />
<br />
A man held a glass bottle of olive oil in one hand and a cup in the other. Another man, hair short, grey and white. He wore a leather jacket. This leather jacket man came up to the glass bottle man and shoved a knife into him in a simple emotionless stab. This replayed itself, but with emotion. The leather jacket man held the glass bottle man close, in a hug, it was intimate, as if they had been very close friends since kids, the leather man stabbed him, quick and clean.<br />
<br />
Another dream, a man with short grey hair walked into our car with a lit cigar, he stood right next to the no smoking sign talking to someone. He smoked, either he was completely unaware or he pretended not to.<br />
<br />
I think I'm sick. My throat is swelling.<br />
<br />
My thoughts have settled from the week of ecstasy with Lionel. My emotions are settling back to themselves. I am no longer sociable. I am no longer "gleeful" as Lionel had called it, it sounded so insulting when he said it. I am once again tired, bitterness sets in. My back aches. My neck hurts. <br />
<br />
It's so cold out nothing is moving.<br />
<br />
I went out to smoke in the snow by myself. It wasn't as cold as I thought it was going to be. I thought it was going to be freezing, and I'm wearing fishnet stockings. Mark came out in his gym clothes he has been wearing since yesterday and asked for a puff of mine. The snow was so soft my boots instantly sunk in a couple inches. The air was so fresh it was unreal.<br />
<br />
Pulsing, thudding, hot, heavy, pounding, unbearable, monstrous headache.<br />
<br />
The silence is kicking in, I am becoming unsociable.<br />
<br />
I've just finished meditating on my chakras. I took my time. The headache is gone.<br />
<br />
I went down to the snack bar and bought myself a pizza and a coffee. Mark sat with me even though he wasn't going to have anything until later in the evening.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6201710530790444119.post-11600508175262186412011-10-28T11:13:00.000-07:002012-03-01T13:26:53.151-08:00Time to Tear [Day #09]Last night, something very cold was on us. I told Lionel that there was something on top of us. Lionel didn't answer at first, I assume he was trying to reason, then he said, "Yeah, I feel it too". It eventually got off and I looked at it. It looked like the three dinosaurs that was on my side of the bed a couple nights ago, same size too, but this one was just skeleton. It wasn't solid bone, it wasn't hallow either, it glowed a true blue color, aqua. I moved my leg over to touch his. A lot of things manifested in the room, it was so crowded, so uncomfortable that I even asked Lionel to turn on the lights. He said there was no need for that and reminded me that what is creepy to me in appearance is normal for them. I sucked it up. I agreed, I took them for what they are and respected them. They left me alone. I guess I'm no fun anymore.<br />
<br />
Lionel's leg heated up, then my leg went into flames. It was as hot and burned as much as before, I'm pretty sure I would have blistered if I tried to take it on.<br />
<br />
It's sometime passed 12PM. Anger, hate, frustration, sadness, heath problems and depression leaks back over to me. I have not left yet. I'm still in Lionel's room on the floor, next to his bed. I'm usually sitting on his bed, but it doesn't feel right at this moment in time. The word, "depressed", doesn't fit anyone in Lionel's eyes except him. He seems to think I have no right to be depressed because he thinks everything falls perfectly into my lap. This is frustrating as hell, I can't just sit down and spill my organs out to him. I can't just tell him my life's story. His strict rules of who has the right to be depressed and how often he can be very unreasonable judgmental throws me off the perfect balance he naturally gives me. I know he doesn't mean to be rude, but I need to be acknowledged for what I've gone through. I haven't told him about the bad parts in my life, because I saw no point in bringing any of it up, I didn't want to dwell in what I've taken so long to get over again, there is no point, it's done, it's over. To throw me in the section of a persons who has had nothing rotten or rotting in their life is one of the most insulting things you can do to me.<br />
<br />
My liver feels like there's lead in it, my lungs are not taking in the necessary oxygen, my skin is cold, my jaws clench and I am slouching over again. I feel like I'm going to vomit.<br />
<br />
I can't understand why someone would think another person does not have to right or does not deserve to be acknowledged that they do undergo various levels of depression. I didn't come here to mope around and rant about my life and woe is me. I've come here to grow spiritually and mentally, which I have. I guess maybe he found it strange that I told him I liked depressing music and I like being depressed. When you spend enough time in that realm, having rotten events shoved down your throat every day, it turns you into an addict, or worse a masochist.<br />
<br />
I wish that Lionel would not judge me that my life is great and dandy because that is not the life I've lived. Life took a shit on me in 1998 when my dad threw the vase.<br />
<br />
Just because I've been happy to be here and I'm currently not frustrated with the human race and everything within the Earth, I am automatically judge that I have a fine and dandy life. Just because I'm not expressing my hatred toward humanity. Just because I choose to smile and be grateful so I don't look like every other miserable person in America.<br />
<br />
He thinks I'm gloomy because I had his dad's cooking which was probably filled with whatever emotion he dumped in there when he made it. That is not the reason. I'm gloomy because my aura, soul, spirit, something that has attached to him is slowly yet cleanly ripping off. I can feel this detachment, it is painful emotionally and physically.<br />
<br />
The week that I've been here, my energy has been in great harmony. I live in the present, I am grateful for everything, even the people that are shooting mental poison darts at me. Yesterday my thoughts started to scatter and I had trouble focusing and living in the present, instead it flung to the past reminding me of every rotten thing that has happened and then to the future where every horrible thing could happen even though there is no reasonable explanation for why that could happen.<br />
<br />
Lionel is laying on the bed, I am still sitting on the floor. I am feeling more and more empty, like as if my parents dropped me off in the middle of the desert and are now driving away, waving goodbye to me. And I am alone.<br />
<br />
My back aches, I am once again, becoming numb of feeling.<br />
<br />
I'm on the train now, Lionel had walked me to Gate C. He couldn't go farther than the gate, so we had to part there instead of where I had hoped we could have gone which is to the train itself. I wish we could have taken at least one picture together.<br />
<br />
Lionel hugged me at the gate, I had less than five minutes to get from here to the train. I thought the goodbye wasn't going to be as meaningful as I had hoped. The hug was real, timewise I have no idea how long we took, it was probably only a couple seconds but it felt like a lifetime. I hope he had felt what I did because that it was a hug that I could only dream about, until now. I've never had anyone hug me like that before, not my mother, my father, my friends from Jobcorp, no one. It wasn't just the tightness of the arms, he had emotions flow through them and they wrapped around me.<br />
<br />
Lionel wore the same coat he wore when he came to pick me up at the station last Tuesday. I laughed sadly to myself when I saw this, because I couldn't cry.<br />
<br />
Lionel was eating a bagel in the room the hour before we had to leave. He typically doesn't eat at the time, he barely eats. I looked at him sadly, laughing to myself not because anything was funny, but because I was sad and my emotions are fucked up so I can't cry, he told me that he eats when he's sad.<br />
<br />
I can hardly believe that this is happening. I've never felt so horrible leaving anywhere or anyone before. I'm going to call him.<br />
<br />
I am in an altered state of mind right now. It's probably only been twenty minutes. I can barely feel myself. I feel a loss so great it is like part of me just died, like a kid whose beloved brother or dog died... For the first time in my life, I am grieving.<br />
<br />
I miss his presence. I miss his being. I miss his company. I miss his scent. I miss his voice. I miss his energy. I am being torn apart. Torn apart from him.<br />
<br />
The numbness is setting in...<br />
<br />
Lionel had expressed to me that if he had the money he would take the train with me to California and then back by himself. I realized this means a lot since he had told me from the beginning that he would lose his head if he had to wait the a four hour train delay that I had to go through.<br />
<br />
Last night Lionel jumped in his sleep with a muffled scream. The moment he awoke, I awoke at the exact same time and gasped the exact same time he did, jumping awake from sleep at the exact same time. Every moment with him I cherish, the good, the scary and the ugly.<br />
<br />
I got off at the first smoke stop to stretch. That guy from last Sunday that I thought that had been waiting since five in the morning was there. I didn't see notice him until he spoke to me saying, "I see that you are going back the same time I am." I was strangely glad to see him, a familiar face. We were both taking the same route but different journeys, I just thought it was really nifty.<br />
<br />
<br />
I meditated on the train sometime passed 6PM. I got up to my third eye but didn't finish, the distraction I had at the moment in time was too much to focus. My heart chakra feels like it's going to explode from the intensity of the power, size and weight. I could feel it so heavily, it took up half of my chest, hand-size outstretched.<br />
<br />
7:29PM I've come down with the familiar subtle depression that has always lingered with me.<br />
<br />
A pounding headache. I think my head might just explode.<br />
<br />
A man with a short cut hair, squared rimmed glasses, dressed in a red gym shirt and a matching dark blue gym pants asked me if the lady who was taking dinner reservations came by. I told him yes and he should just go to the dining car and ask. His being calmed me, so I scribbled out a note and passed it to him, asking if he would mind if I moved over next to him so we both don't end up with someone weird sitting next to us. He was an interesting creature who smooths any awkwardness he had created by abruptly speaking with a thick British accent. This comes in when he's thinking and speaking too fast and when he's nervous.<br />
<br />
Sometime passed 9PM, Mark came back from the dinning room and asked me if I wanted to join him in the lounge, if he could buy me a drink and that there were "many cool cats" there. I didn't feel like it because my pimple made me self conscious. I refused. Mark left saying that if I wanted to, he'll be in there. Moments later I got up and walked into the lounge. Two religious cult persons sat to my right, a guy with long hair and tattoos who didn't want to hear anything about time, another guy with long hair dreaded who always seemed to be smiling, three drunk girls at a table, another girl who sat at another table, she didn't drink but she seems more drunk than anyone there. A black guy and Mark sat at one table across from each other. I was really nervous and just walked passed them all because I didn't see Mark until he called to me. Mark offered to buy me a drink. I refused the offer. He asked me again, and again. Then I took the offer. I got a mini Jack Daniel's. The black gy had one too. "You and me Julie, we'll do this together, you and me!" He said holding his up. I grabbed mine and scooted toward him. "Okay!" We slammed our mini jacks together and took it. Apparently we were playing a drinking game that I didn't know about and I won because I drank faster and I didn't make a face. He wanted to know about me so he asked me if I saw a movie about a vampire and something to do with a general's daughter. I didn't know. He wanted me to ask him a question,, I asked him what his favorite book was. He listed two, The Day After Tomorrow (it's about Hitler's head), and Filth (a true crime novel). The guy with the dreads wanted to play the drawing game, I think he invented it on the spot. He folded up a paper to four sections (there were only four of us playing the game). He spun my empty Jack bottle and it pointed at himself. He went off to the other table and spent some time drawing on the first section. We all added to this taking our own section and having to draw without seeing what the other person drew. We continued the drawing by using the lines that the person from the top section left. It came out looking like a LSD drawing. The black guy who calls himself a cook made me try out his tuna salad mixture he made from the Bumble Bee can, he added a bunch of sauces to it and fed it to me, he really wanted to know what I thought of it. I told him too much mustard, more pepper! After this, Mark and I went to go brush our teeth at the same time in the restroom.<br />
<br />
I didn't look back once. I should have looked back when I left Gate C. It's 9:30PM, I woke Mark up to use his phone, I called Lionel three times, he didn't pick up.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0