Does Veeky Forums keep a journal? If so give us some of your entries

I kept one when psychosis was an issue but it was so cringy and weird I threw it away.

Why throw it out? That's who you were at the time.

What do you do when it hits you? Maybe you've got some good books to recommend? I'd love any suggestion.

Ah, well I didn't notice anything out of place. Are you experiencing anything in particular that put this in your mind? Aside from wanting to "Be fucked like an animal"?

Ah! Well happy Canada Day to you sir, though I will say I like the new flag better.

The red ensign. Kind of like australias flag but with a different emblem.

From my dysfunctions journal
----------
I started today with a wank over Sam (femanon) but didn't get there and finished with B (other femanon) instead. Fucking miss spooning, action stations or no. The squash photo highlighted how little I have to do with the club now. Got to admire Hayley's arse though, hips rolling. Hung out with Sam after a brief pang of guilt for thinking about tugging her lycras off not half an hour earlier. Sandwich shop, James, smoke, put off work, consider shagging Caitlin. She said something about the bed being warm enough. Should have jumped on that. "You look like someone in dire need of a cuddle/fuck." Alice came home about 5 minutes later though. Jesus, the drama that would fall out it I shagged Caitlin, grip her wiry mess of hair and bounce away on her mattress on the floor, pumping. Fucking terrible idea. Anyway, back to Sam's for 10 or so joints and a chat about it all. Aye, gorgeous. Good banter, I think. Easy to be honest with. Probably thinks I'm a gay best friend. Speaking of which, James came over. I felt like a dog seeing his dude. Tea, cram in a chat about the day, legs resting together, nattering on. Rolled about on Sam's bed for all of 5 seconds. Kinda thrilling. Sam quietened up a bit. Sensed I was talking shite and thought they were making faces when I weren't looking. She told me about her knackered ovaries. Too much weed, not enough work, sex or triumph. Paranoid, I reckon. Or anxiety. Cookyourhand.com. If me and Hannah ain't chatting then we can't chat.

>bong bong bong bong

...

Writing that out felt great. Have another:
---------
I was sat in shorthand class today when I botched an 80. My pen was slippy, or maybe my fingers were sweaty, but nothing felt comfortabe. I felt Beth, sat next to me, thought my jumper smelled of smoke & bad cooking. When I slipped up again she lent me a pencil, and when I threw that down in frustration she lent me a red biro which helped. When Linda looked up at me for ow I did I couldn't explain myself. Flailed, really. "Leave me alone, " I said at one point, which Beth "awww'd" at. I felt something building in my chest, or felt more like fissure gaping open in my back and a swarm of bees burst out and nested in my head. Everyone was looking and judging, or so I felt, making room and politely edging around that smelly tall guy with something wrong with him, *that* kid from school, Andrew Birch, ugly & unfunny and off. At this point, someone else might have started screaming and crying, shrieking to let the bess out but really only making them more angry, making more noise. Which, I suppose, is what a mental breakdown is. I couldn't do that. I thought MBDs weren't a choice, like watching a bridge collapse. It's clearly a choice, or maybe it's slipping down a icy path on a hill. I wish I was braver, brave enough to be okay with myself, whatever I said. I told the group today they were all shit at InDesign. I think I meant to say they were shit at subbing, finding mistakes, headlines, pulling the barn together. But it came out as it did and they looked offended after that. James, and any other man I know really, knows what he wants and says it. I puke out scrambled eggs or keep quiet. Lungs hurt today. Would be peak if I had cancer.

Oh what I wouldn't give to have the word "shagged" added to American vernacular. It's such a perfect word.

I have found my comfort in spirituality. I am not a man, my purpose is not a man's purpose, I should not compare myself to men. It is like comparing a freshly sliced pineapple on a hot summer's day with a still-warm pineapple upside down cake in December. They are both wonderful and they contain the same showcased flavor (humanity) but they are worlds apart.

I like the way you phrased it -- "a woman before being human". I usually say "lesser human" but I think your way is more accurate, and less heartbreaking to ponder.

Oooh, are you just typing passages from My Twisted World? :^)

Pineapple is truly the best fruit.

Well some time before I wrote that I was having tea with a male friend of mine who is outspokenly much more of a feminist than I dare to call myself. Tea became vodka and we got more intimate, where he really pushed the lines and held me down and wouldn't listen to my no's until I slapped him. The whole situation was so bizarre, it got me thinking. How fragile we are in holding onto our ideology in practice. Not just him, but me as well - how weak I felt and acted, especially in the aftermath when giving polite apologizes back and forth in desperation of keeping him as a friend.
And how when thinking back on it I constantly switched between being so, so mad at him and being excited. And how hypocritical it felt switching between those two polar opposites that way. I still don't know.

>I am not a man, my purpose is not a man's purpose.
I'm a man, but I find this sentence very intriguing in that I can't twist it in a way I'll understand. Do you care to explain it to me?

It's very Simone du Beauvoir, The Second Sex as you might guess. She hit the nail.

I hope there will come a day when this comparison and gender-grounded existential crisis will lay off. Some days I think there will be a comfort in growing old. Ugly or beautiful, being a young woman you're constantly evaluated and given attention by your looks. Getting older you become more anonymous in that sense, and you could relax and think of other things. I get why older women put on weight and cut of their hair, in a sense it must be a liberation - letting go of the constant effort of looking youthful, sexual and attractive. I'm exited to see how my perception of my own womanhood will change as I mature.

Men are judged in very similar ways. I think it's more of a human issue, than just a women issue. Then again I'm a man, so I can't 100% understand what being a woman is like.

The problem with tragedy is that it only shows the collapse and ignores all the slight teeterings of life. Classical tragedies, for the sake of unity, explained only little - just enough to understand the great destruction, born from a single action, ignorant to histories of suffering. Conscience made its way into Shakespeare but even then tragedy was on the heels of success, and the downfall always came, as if by a rule, when only the current reached a head.

I am not sure a text can capture, in physical details, the anguish of a single day, the resistance of the world to the body, the difficulty of waking up and the inconveniences of breathing, bending, and striding, all intertwined with the excruciating papercuts of memory and the coldness of strangers and all the unwanted responsibility of being alive.

If these are captured, they appear ridiculous because we do not have the words for such mundane agony. We immediately send it up into lofty existentialism when we should be striving to make it common. That is where its heart truly lies.

But it cannot be. All attempts turn out overblown, or, on the opposite end, gutsy. The small tragedies of life must remain in the language of the body and the soul, felt beyond utterance, festering without any "talking cure." They are invisible tragedies that tear us down so that we are relieved when we have grand tragedies like those in literature. At least with those we know we are not equipped to survive, whereas our struggles against the mundane tortures of existence constitute most of the torture itself. In these cases we at least feel there there is hope, that we are equipped to triumph and persevere - we simply refuse to believe that the pain *is* our equipment, that it grows stronger as it devours itself, and that it rises from the ashes whether we hope or not.

I Lucid Dream a fair amount and keep a diary of the events as I remember them when I wake up in the mornings.

Posting it in text doesn't outline the process I use, so the entry is the image I've attached. The indents represent distinct transitions from place in the lucid dream. The transitions typically are not fluid, and are sort of a "reset" to the dream state where the slate is cleared, and I don't really remember the past dream (though, I can remember most of them upon waking) while I'm in the current dream.

It's mostly nonsense, but having gone back and read these, even as far back as a five plus years ago, when I started focusing in on dreaming; I can still remember the dream in vivid detail as if it were a physical place that I visited just by reading what I wrote.

June 29th: My life is shit.

June 30th: My life is shit.

July 1st: My life is shit.

I think I can guess the next entry.

I love you

>I get why older women put on weight and cut of their hair, in a sense it must be a liberation - letting go of the constant effort of looking youthful, sexual and attractive.

if you don't think men also go through something like this, you are gravely mistaken

07/02/2016 1:29 AM
I had a dream the other night that I've been dwelling on since. I began as many of my dreams do, by meeting a woman. She was radiant and graceful, with golden blonde hair that fell a bit beyond her shoulders a few vertebrae down. She was kind, funny, smart, and genuine, I of course have no specific event from the dream to back any of this up, but I knew. Her smile seemed to make the knot in my chest disappear and fill the hole in my stomach. I don't remember much of the dream beyond the feelings it stirred up in me, but I do remember us embracing and gently kissing eachother, not on the lips, but our chests and necks and hands and navals and temples and feet and foreheads, we just held eachother and lost ourselves in the comfort that one can only find in someone who loves them unconditionaly, from our temples to our toes.
When I awoke I tried desperatly to get back to her, to feel her embrace just a few moments more, but was unable to. I know I won't see her again, mostly because she doesn't exist, but for whatever reason I feel okay with that, for at least for a night I felt truly loved once more.
Wow I'm a faggot.

I don't know I think we have it easier. We stay attractive longer. You can have a movie like "Oblivion" where a 50 year old manlet is paired up with a 33 year old model. I saw some feminist article that was perhaps justifiably butthurt about this, that actresses' careers are usually way shorter then men's. Maybe it's because we can still produce offspring until old age?

This is purely anecdotal, but one of my mom's friends is single, and apparently middle aged men are in higher demand on dating sites compared to middle aged women because they can date a wider range of ages.

i don't disagree with you at all, just saying that many men also go through the same type of thing mentioned in

A

>>Maybe it's because we can still produce offspring until old age?

This.

It's unfortunate but true that our value in society has more to do with our "reproductive fitness" than just about anything else.

Otherwise Hawking would be getting as more tang than any NFL or NBA player.

as much or more*

7 January 2016
19:50
Everyone is busy with something. Are interested in something, do something; go somewhere. Find new acquaintances, date. Should I be surprised I’m lonely if I do not converse with anyone, don’t go anywhere and the scope of my interests is rather narrow? Today once again this feeling hovered over me – I’m 23, and I spend my days in four walls or aimlessly wander in the vicinity of my neighbourhood.
I’m convinced that people get to know themselves only through interaction with others.
20:45
How odd it is – to be someone’s dream.

I usually keep a journal of ideas by my side. When days pass over an entry, I am almost guaranteed I cannot understand the content (let alone context) again, but it intrigues me because I must have seen something about it that deserved writing about. The thing is very unorganized, very wild, there is no end-goal to it as I see. It's a very small journal and it is mostly comprised of small enigmatic quasisentences or objects, fragments that hooked me from books, publications and their like and all sorts of miscellany. Here are the first two pages - WIP ideas are omitted.

- in medias res: "June is a month the world over, and the mulberries bloom,"
"the summer showers pour down-"
"storm was something (ferocious: crossed-out) fierce"
A murder would be nice of course.
Do you like rainbows? Then this is the spectrum.
Borge & ingenuity: comedic display.
Straight fire.
Point of Certain Failure
LINGUAL FIDEISM
Cantique des cantiques. / The sweet smell of leaves.
WORDS: narcotic, eaux de vie.
Menckenian humor as evasion of having become overruled for obscenities.
-acrid
"Nature swallowed them easy."
"And the wind turned the sky black."
------ "And the bottom dropped." (some emphasis here)
Madonna of the Cherry Blossoms
: DANTE: wide of the mark,
WORD: terse.
Constantinople - Jerusalem - Stalingrad (?)
"A man in a house with two too many..."
XXXXXXXX thrownness (viz. The Inward Morning, Bugbee) (beyond existential)
Japanese: MUJI
"Erstwhile friend"
Optical illusion: Rodchenko's Rezinotrest poster. Eye inverts, fluctuates between modes. Sug: Color vs. geometry. (?) Investigate.

And this stuff goes on and on. There are more developed concepts some twenty pages in, but I think this gets the idea across.

I usually write down quotations I like so I can ponder them later and refer back to the section when needed

...

Stuff like this should motivate me but it does nothing.

Because motivation is for weaklings who are unable to postpone gratification.

I've been pondering this since last night, and I think it boils down to this.

Cultural/societal rules tell women to be so submissive to men, to suppress our natural reactions and desires etc so much, that we end up leading men to want to have sex with us when we have no desire to do so. Hence situations like you found yourself in.

Then I started thinking about "regret sex" rape accusations. Drunk men fuck women all the time and when they regret it later they don't reframe it in their minds as rape. This phenomenon is because of women's habitual submissiveness. We pretend we lack opinions on anything until the pretending allows something to go too far, and then we get mad at the other participant, because we felt "guided" or "encouraged" or "pressured" by them.

Sex feels different for women than for men. Letting someone literally inside of your abdomen is an intense experience that requires a lot of trust. That condition where women can't relax their vag enough to fuck seems to be related to trust and expectations. It is the same for all sexual encounters. To relax enough to let a man fuck you, to get wet, you must submit.

And submitting to a rapist is actually more exhilarating than submitting to a man you want to fuck, because it is a high-pressure situation. Submit, and get fucked, or fight, and get hurt and possibly fucked anyway.

Non-violent rape is about whether women have agency or not.

When I was a lot younger I was. . .improper with a girl. I was a pretty mild mannered, gentle guy, but I'd had too much to drink and I was alone with an older girl in her room and I got pushy. I climbed on top of her and held her down and touched her abdomen. She didn't say "no" but it was clear she was not consenting to it, twisting away, and trying to talk me out of it without ever being explicit. Before I did anything irreversible I came to my senses and went home and slept it off.

The next day the RA called me into his office and there were several other RAs in the room, including the guy in charge of the dorm block the girl and I lived in. They told me that I wasn't going to be punished, but if I did anything similar with her or any other woman I would be thrown out of university and arrested. I went and gave the girl an abject apology. It was heartfelt, I couldn't believe what I'd done.

She forgave me, brushed it off, really. She was still friendly to me after that, she stopped to talk to me when we ran into each other out walking and she would give me hugs. I wonder if she felt the same as you two in any way. I remember I got involved with another young woman two years my senior, and I being 18, wanted to fuck everyday, but she wasn't always up to it. I asked her why it sometimes seemed hard for her to go to bed with me and she said, "I have to give myself up to you." We tried bondage once and a week or two later I initiated something I'd done when she was tied up and she shook her head, and I asked "Why not? You were fine with it last time." and she shrugged and said, "Well there wasn't a lot I could do about it." It seemed like such a sanguine thing to say about a violation like that.

I remember being a little boy and walking around the countryside with my parents and another family and seeing dragonflies mating, and my mother saying, "they don't stand on ceremony, poor things" in a soft voice. Sex is weird. I was such a brute sometimes.

>June 26th

>There was blood in my stool today -- a pleasant cherry colour that failed to alarm.

>I shall write more on this at a later date.

no

I actually think you might be retarded. Also, you don't know what abject or sanguine means.
Stop posting.

Man dominates because woman submits, and vice versa. It doesnt have to be more complicated than that

fuck a journal. i'm not a fucking narcissist.

6/28/16 1:56 am

You only get hurt when you get attached. Is it better to live fully, to experience the great highs knowing they will inevitably be accompanied by the great lows, or to live detached and distant, never truly happy but never truly sad; just content.

Not sure yet

never thought i would share an entry from my journal, but i suppose if its all anonymous it doesn't really matter

>>i have just finished my sunday shift at work. I was reading through some old journal entries and i was struck by the change in my style of writing. the stuff i was writing makes what i write now seem bland and uninteresting. I seemed to be a bit more keyed on and more stressed out about my levels of drinking and pot smoking. I definitely dont smoke as much as i used to, but my drinking is as habitual and excessive as ever, i just seem to care a lot less about, more resigned to my fate. so lazy. i was thinking ( havent done that for a while ) about the gaps between what i say and what i think, and what that makes me. after i had clocked off i was at the bar mostly listening to the others have a conversation and occasionally chiming in, but most of what i said i would instanly wonder why i had said that, and how dissonant the thing i said was with the thing i was thinking. I think i come off as sounding stupid, and it makes me feel stupid. maybe too many drugs are frying my brains. I took some mdma yesterday, not alot, only a third of a cap. i had really been looking forward to it, it think because i have been feeling kind of shitty and just wanted to feel good but i also wanted to feel connected again, with the people who i feel like i should be connected with, greg, george, michael. i almost fell like i dont know what to say to them any more and these are all people who i have known for years, but i still feel distant. we have the odd convesation but it becomes more trivial and mundane in the everyday and the deep conversation becomes a scarcity. is this life? is this what it is to be close to someone? to know them so completely that hardly anything you talk about is new and interesting and it is mostly just the same old shit. greg, george and myself split a cap 3 ways before we went to the velodrome. i wanted to have a deep personal conversation, but all i got was weird vibes, no closeness and it looked like they both felt a similar way. i wanted to speak but i wasnt sure how, but i suppose that is most of my life. the thought that has been running through m brain lately, particularly in light of vietnam, is the question, am i boring ? or is everyone else boring? I honestly cant tell. I like to think i am pretty interesting but i see how i manifest that in conversation, i often feel like i make people uncomfortable, not people who i have just met but people who i met a heap of times but never really spoken to, or people who i have drifted from, like x, y, z, most of the girls at work.

>>Maybe its just women, i hadnt thought about that until i wrote theses names down just now, although i might just be more aware of it because of that. but on the note of feeling the disconnect between my thoughts and my actions, yesterday was a strange experience for me. there were so many cute girls, and i believe that i want to meet girls and hopefully find someone i like, that why i have been hitting tinder up so hard, but when i see these people in real life i just feel like i dont have the gall/ cant be bothered to start a conversation. I am too skeptical of everyone just being a bit shit and having to converse with someone who is really boring. the other thing that struck me about the crowd yesterday was the sameness of the whole thing. I haven't been to a festival since gtm 2011 and the crowd just blew my mind. everyone there was so trendy, rocking the look that says i am doing something different, very hipster, 70's revival, picture overalls, baggy suit pants, shirts tucked in all the girls having the same short fringe haircut, features on people that strive for uniqueness and seem to represent non uniformity. but seeing everyone dressed the same way in the same space kind of shocked me, it made me feel like less of an individual, mostly because i know that i fit in with that crowd, and it makes me resent that. im probably not the only one that feels that way.
i wish i coul.d go on but it is getting late and i have my first mentoring day tomorrow and have to be fresh. but that still wont stop me from ripping a bong before bed. god i am pathetic. smoke it till it is gone and then i can have self control.
dont cry for me
user

I really appreciate reading this. Thanks for sharing, user.
I've thought a lot about the male side of things. How easy it must be to get frustrated, having a woman next to you, maybe even touching you, but not allowing you the further step. But above all, how it must be hard knowing when you're expected and appreciated for taking on the dominant role - and when the woman simply doesn't want it. The more I told him I really didn't want him to keep touching me and holding me down, the more he thought I was playing into a role.
I know it's not the Veeky Forums thing to say, but I'm glad there's a discussion of sex and consent in modern times. I wish people could take it less personally and accusing, and focus on the discussion and how complicated it truly is. It's sad to see it so simplifies in the media, where everything is rape if the woman says so and then the man must be hanged - and how scared that makes men to actually self-reflect on their part in the culture, and women furthermore.
I've been meaning to read Foucault, I think that would be an interesting read.

Like you and your dragonflies I on my side of things also remember growing up and watching all sorts of animals mating, and how in most cases the female part tried to escape and push the male off, at times hissing or biting. It was always clear her role in nature was to submit.

07/03/2016 2:21 am
If tomorrow some all knowing being descended into my bedroom from the heavens, bearing witness to my pale, hairy, naked ass and dirty room with empty notebooks laying on the floors and surfaces, and told me that this was it, that this was in fact the peak of my existence, I would surely end my own life. I am worth nothing. I have no job to perform, no car to drive, no passion to pursue or even a mate to ease the daily sufferings that accompany being a conscious animal. If I were to disappear off the face of this wretched earth forever it would go almost unnoticed. My family may mourn momentarily, then continue with their lives. My mother would somehow make it about her. The only person who would truly miss me would probably be D. Though he has A so I shouldn't worry too much about him, she is a fine companion to my best friend, and I have no doubt that she would help him get through it.
I wonder what it is like to no longer exist in the way I do now. If I am correct I will simply disappear, not a terrible loss. Though I do, either rationally or irrationally fear, that the pastors and imams and rabbis are correct, and that I will spend the rest of eternity in a fiery pit on anguish if I were to end my life earlier than my "time". Then again, maybe the moment I kill myself is in fact my "time" and I will be right on schedule in a way the bus never could be.
I miss her so much. She seemed to give this whole mess meaning.

Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in a grey twilight that knows not victory or defeat.

I know this feel, user. I have caught myself wishing for tragedy to strike at daily mundanity, the Great Offender. You've articulated this really well, have you written more?

So is everyone's journal's pretentious narcissism, or do some people just write more random thought and jokes for yourself and shit, like Honestly thinking about starting one, but idk if I wanna drop money on a leather bound one for just jokes and doodles in poor handwriting

I've kept a journal pretty much daily since I was 14, I'd share some but there are too many names and stuff

It's such good daily writing practice desu

My memory of that night is a bit fuzzy, but I seem to remember thinking she was just putting up a show of reluctance for the sake of propriety, or that she would "start liking it" if she got physically aroused. My ex was not frigid at all but I had never had a girlfriend before, she was out of my league, and I was beside myself with lust. I was more used to sexual frustration from a distance, being in bed with a young woman tired after a ski trip who just wanted to cuddle and sleep was difficult and confusing. I was only 18.

"Modern Feminism" has some absurd extremes but I think it also has valid points and I wish men and women could find a middle ground more easily. When people angrily say that "All men are potential rapists" I can object to all men being tarred with that brush, but I can't deny that it applies to me personally.

Some animals are pretty violent in mating desu. I learned about some spiders that were really charming though. The male spider binds the female in silk to stop her from attacking him or getting away, but the silk isn't enough to actually restrain her. She puts up with it because it feels good and is part of the mating ritual. When they're done mating, she quickly breaks lose and then he has to make a run for it.

The reason acid is important:
Your brain is always changing. If we agree that the world is a materialistic one, then you rely on constantly maintaining your mind. You can damage your mind (your brain) with activities ranging from those as mundane and innocent as sitting in the sun too long or taking an exotic drug.
You make revelations every few seconds, but you can't remember them
It seems like you are at the brink of eternal wisdom, but without the ability to remember, you're a fool
It humbles you. It allows you to know that the world is irreducibly complex.
It strengthens you. It reminds you that you are good at the puzzle game of life. It reminds you that given the tools, you can influence your friends and your environment in a positive way.
It gives you a fresh sense of doubt and wonderment for everyday existence (absurdity)

i HEAR YOU SCRATCHING

AND BREATHING

You pretend to be asleep

In reality, I think
That you are awake and aware of the issues at hand.

IN REALITY,
I THINK
THAT YOU ARE AWAKE
AND
AWARE
OF THE ISSUES AT HAND.

My face is bleeding
from the new sores gifted to me by my nails and recent break out

I scratch and pick at them
When I hear you scratching
and breathing

I hear these things from you because I no longer hear your words
I no longer listen to music because the only thing I long to hear are words spoken to me
ME

I try to subdue the feeling by listening to a left political safe but cheeky talk radio station

They inform me
And ask me for donations

But they do not speak to me

No one speaks to me

I wonder if anyone ever has
Once I read a poem
It was The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock
It spoke to me

I beleive I may speak a dead language

The only times you speak to me
You ask me if you annoy me

I wish you had words enough to annoy me

treat yourself, my man. it's more fun when it's leather. you don't have to be pretentious about how you write in it

I haven't written a journal in about 5 years or more because it came to seem masturbatory and trite. Just dug up one of my old journals thinking of maybe posting some old stuff but it's embarrassing even by the standards of this thread.

I mean. If you buy a leather-bound journal you're definitely setting yourself up for pretentious narcissism. Just get a fucking notebook.

It's an interesting area. As a guy raised by a single mother with a history of sexual abuse (which I found out about in an incredibly shame-inducing way) I think I was about 24 before I was prepared to take the sexual initiative, at all, ever. Prior to that I was so scared of accidentally raping someone - or even just making them feel uncomfortable - that a totally passive posture in all courtship rituals was the only one I felt was possible for me.

You say it must be frustrating to have a girl close to you, letting you cross certain barriers but not others; for me, that was such a difficult idea to deal with that I never tested any boundaries at all. Never even let myself be caught looking directly at them. All my early sexual experiences are stories of me putting girls off by not responding to any of their cues to escalate - not because I didn't see them but because, no matter how sure I was, I couldn't bear the thought that I was wrong or that my response wouldn't be the one she wanted, or would be disproportionate - or even that she wanted to invite the advance but would still repulse it when it came.

Then I lost my virginity to a girl who had a boyfriend and spent the whole night telling me that I must never kiss her and we must never sleep together because she wasn't a bad person and she loved her boyfriend. She repeated it so often that even I, dumbass that I was, got the message and kissed her. When it came time to fuck she kept telling me no and pulling me closer.

>Just get a fucking notebook.
yeah but notebooks are shit

>pages fall off
>cover falls off or degrades
>pages with lines on them (not completely empty)
>looks and feels like school

got a four-parter for ye, sorry if it's hard to read. had to cut a few names and stuff too
>1/4

>2/4

-There is a point to obsessing about past mistakes, as long you lean something useful from it. Then move on.
-Rousseau: The old gods all had their worldly dominion, Christianity supposedly didn't. It claimed the entire world as it's dominion, and that's why it was persecuted. Christians never really assimilated like pagans did, because pagans, when conquered simply accepted that their gods lost (but still existed), and had no worldly dominion. Emile Durkheim: The totem represents the spirit of the community, essentially all religion is worship of the community identity and morals.
In the modern times money is the new god.

-There are different kinds of girls:
You should always have a Helen (an ex who's obsessed with me, who i am casually banging) around, and cheat on here with a Sarah (a great free spirited girl who i was madly in love with, but who dumped me without calling after a month of dating, i am still really hurt about the whole thing).

-Girls like Sarah don't want boyfriends to hold their hands. You can't really understand them (by them, i mean a very specific type of girl i always fall for, 1. singer 2. voluptuous 3. mentally unstable narcissist), and should quit trying to hold on to them. Just enjoy the time spent with them, assuming it's gonna be short.

-Life is a lot like the Sims, and other life simulators.

-You should avoid arguments about politics with uneducated people. Nobody gains anything

-Everyone says they are open minded, but in reality open minded people are extremely rare. Being open minded is studying, and examining viewpoints you don't agree with. Studying a topic is not condoning it, or supporting it. Nobody is so easily suggestible as to automatically believe something, just because they read it. Quote from a user from lit: Continuing to harbor crude behavior will result in the corrosion of your ability to reason without fault.

>3/4

>4/4

That sounds horrible user. Is it any easier now?

How has it been since, have you overcome your issues?

And naturally curiosity get the better of me..., want to develop on the "incredibly shame-inducing way"?

I used to, but I have since stopped. I just didn't have anything to put into it from my boring life.

damn. that's a lot of writing for one sitting

Actually yeah, it got much better. I think really I was just a very late bloomer sexually, which was obviously complicated by all my neuroses about male sexual aggression.

After that bad first time I started actively pushing myself out there a bit. Also experimented with guys which helped a lot; some experience of the role of the pursued sexual object made me much more comfortable playing the pursuer. So then I spent a few years sleeping around a bit (not a whole hell of a lot by some guys' standards I guess; maybe like 30 partners over 3 years).

I still had some hang-ups, though - through all that time I was never able to orgasm through penetration or any other sort of contact with another person, always had to finish myself off. And I guess I didn't fully believe I was capable of a relationship. I got a bit disillusioned about casual sex and that weird sort of intimacy without trust that it entails.

Then I met a girl on Veeky Forums and we started talking a lot on skype. Neither of us really believed that anything real could come of it, especially because she lived in another country, but we kept talking and we kept getting closer. The opportunity came up for her to visit, and she did. I was terrified that when we met for real there wouldn't be any physical spark, or something would go wrong sexually and make everything awkward.As it turned out, though, all that time building up intimacy without physical contact was exactly what I needed, I guess. I'd already told her about my sexual issues and she said we'd work through them, that she didn't care if it was shit the first 20 times we had sex, that we'd get there in the end. And she was right. We've been living together about a year now.

>meeting a girl on Veeky Forums
What could go wrong?

How disturbing are her sexual fetishes?

As for the shame-inducing way... well, basically, when I was about 9 or 10 I sketched some doodles at school of women getting raped, as best my child's mind could understand that. Like, a badly drawn cartoon woman with her big titties out, tied to a tree with a guy standing next to her with a ludicrous boner, that sort of thing.

I did it because my friends and I thought rape was hilarious, having obviously not really thought about the realities of it - we were kids, and everything about sex was hilarious, so the idea of sex being done to someone unwilling was also hilarious. So I did these doodles to make my friends laugh.

My mum found one of these drawings and confronted me about it while I had one of these friends over; I guess that was a dumb thing for her to do, but she was upset. She was so angry about this drawing and obviously I wanted to look cool in front of my friend so I just laughed; she asked if I thought rape was funny and I was like 'yeah, obviously.'

She broke down totally. I guess my friend left and I just remember this sense of absolute mortification because it struck me then, before she told me, that maybe she had been raped. And I thought about how that must feel, how actually horrible it would be, and how much it must hurt to have your dumb kid laugh about it.

I mean, yeah, I know the odds weren't on my side but I'm pretty sure I got lucky. She likes the odd rape/impreg fantasy but nothing weirder than that.

Not him but I kind of assumed it was something like that. Well I'm glad you're doing okay now.

Have you talked about it with her since? I'm sure she understands you were only a child playing around not knowing what you were doing, but it might be good for your peace of mind to come more to terms with it.
I'm glad things have, it seems for the most part, been sorted out for you. While it may have been a great discomfort in your life, try to think of it for what it says about you: you're a considerate, caring person. That's very honorable.

>him
>implications and assumptions

Yeah, me and my mum are cool now and I don't have too many regrets, I'm pretty happy with the life I'm living now so the route I took to get here is okay by me.

I do worry, though, when I see the kind of rage and confusion that a lot of guys have these days about the masculine role in sex and society. I feel like right now there's no easy way for men and women to relate, or the easy ways are all wrong. I'm not saying we should go back to the days when men were agents in the world and women weren't - I'm glad that we're moving past that - but the process is unsettling. The old roles and certainties are dying but people of both sexes still cling to them. The complexities of consent are just one aspect of that.

Well it's a new paradigm, there will always be confusion and steps taken in the wrong direction, but in the end I'm certain we will get there as a society. Trial and error.
On an individual level it's harder of course. I know no way of solving my own issues, on knowing how to act in the company of men. But I guess one can really just live and see what seems right in the moment. Solitude fits me well any way, so it's not too bothering.

Thanks user. That's the only time I was really thinking of the mundane as such, but the tragic is always there in my diary tee bee aitch

I keep my journal on a usb, it allows me to include images or sound files too.

The conversation about sex in this thread was really nice to read. Not just the refreshing honesty from all involved but the prose was pleasant to read too.

I keep sporadic diary entries whenever something interesting happens then use them as material to write about. I get these published so I'm afraid I can't post them here.

My 'journal' is a mess of ideas.. I can post more if anyone's interested.

(please be interested)

I like the drawings of faces, but the rest looks awful, didn't read much of it though

Just wondering, do you set your mind out to do it messy? It just looks too disorganized to be a genuine accident, and instead rather purposely made to look messy in the artsy way.

That said, Funny Games is very good, you really must watch it if you haven't already. Anything Haneke really. The Piano Teacher - check that out.

I enjoyed it too.

It did, nowadays we're looking the brief spark of a big change in social matters. It is complicated because it existe people thst refuse to change or were raised on other circumstances. Evidently we'll see a change and a decrease in all this type of things which, desu, are really a waste of time.

What is your inspiration anons? Or what do you thin is the best book written as diary, or are there any great published diaries?

I guess this.

It's supposed to be funny
I'm hopeless at organisation of any sort so this kind of layout happens naturally. This does make it kind of hard to decipher later, especially seeing as half-formed ideas are often split between several pages. I don't have an audience in mind.
Thanks for the recs. I still haven't got round to watching any of those films lol

Another page cos why not.

I already read most of it.

Because it's anime and you can't take it seriously or associate with a particular period or your life you'd rather not remember, same

Not this one. I was kind of hoping you wouldn't recognise it.

I figured it was a more recent entry but the content and handwriting is pretty clearly yours.