Post entries from your diary desu

From May of last year
A few days ago I had two really incredible dreams. In the first, I was just sort of aware of the world having gone through a nuclear holocaust and, though it wasn’t really from a first-person perspective, more like a visual tour if anything without myself there for anything other than the emotions. The dread and sadness was unlike almost anything I’ve experienced in a dream just as things were coming to their conclusion (the view gradually panned up to a grey sky, with dead trees drifting gently out of frame), there was not a shred of hope - a strange visual effect to be paired with the emotion, I think. I woke up with a gasp in the middle of the night, scaring the girl, but I fell asleep pretty easily after that. The next day, I dreamt that I was on a spaceship that would take a tour past Jupiter - exclusively for sight-seeing purposes. Max and some of the other spliff squad people were there and conspired to smoke cannabis on the ship despite that it was illegal and dangerous. I remember hoping desperately that they wouldn’t but later, just as we were passing Jupiter, which appeared in the dream with multiple storms the size of the Great Red Spot, the ship erupted in flames and try as I might with the fire extinguisher, nothing could be saved. Two rather spooky dreams, I reckon.

8/10 bait

I like this
It is an interesting concept
I have a lot of issues with depression, and I've never thought about that aspect of it, but reading about it I realized it applied to me perfectly

Holy shit, rereading through this journal is nuts. I remember this period of my life, but rereading this is bringing back the images vividly. From a few months later, about more dreams:

Over the last month or so, I’ve been having occasional and extremely vivid nightmares. About a month ago, somewhere near the top of this document (starting late-ish September - I figure I’ll move this to a larger document soon enough), I mentioned about that doomed one with the nuclear holocaust and the other one about taking the trip past Jupiter, but those were rather less graphic than at least the two most recent ones. In the first, I was looking at tub/shower with a glass panel over it as blood began to run down the walls and a blanched face, skin stretched painfully over an over-sized skull, appeared in the shower and killed someone violently (how, I don’t know, but there was a real excess of blood). In the second, which immediately followed the first - I did not wake up at all and it moved seamlessly into the second - there was a filthy, sunlit ballroom, with people all around and a white spider-like began to run around, jumping into people’s bodies and exploding out of them, larger than before. The shot was from above. I woke up, briefly terrified, wishing, for a second, that she was there, just because it’s better to have someone there to remind you, viscerally, because the illusions don’t fade as quick as the instant snap from sleep, that it’s all a dream and I lay there for a minute before I was able to rather quickly fall asleep again. In another (these, from here, are from a different day) I dreamt that my eyes were horribly out of focus and I was running around this apartment, trying in vain, in panic, to get back to my room, with a total sense of dread and fear. And immediately (illa ibi), after a second of wakefulness, I began to fall back asleep and my body got there before my brain the same sense of dread came over me and my vision started to fade out and I tried desperately to scream but I was only able, maybe only in imagination, to get out a pathetic little groan and I felt myself fall off the bed, over the floor, and down into a grand darkness and my vision cut out. I woke up after what must have been a short time, still on my bed, really surprised. I guess this was half a lucid dream. Maybe last night or the night before, I dreamed I was on the sidewalk in front of a large suburban house and after some kind of lead-up I called this big buzzcut guy a faggot and asked him what he was going to do about it and then there was a portion in which I was being chased around that house by him and his friends and eventually someone, apparently on my behalf, murdered the guy with a hammer, sending pieces of his brain all over the wall, and the dream was over. I haven’t had any pleasant dreams in a while. All of these are sort of interesting (there was no dread in the last one, actually) but it is quite weird.

I guess I'm just really angry that, at the end of the day nothing really changed at all. I always felt like you never really valued me and when I finally started to think different you just kept on showing me otherwise. I'm angry that I wasted so much time on a person who clearly never cared about me, who always made me feel like I could never be good enough in anyway, a person who's probably hurt the most in my life time and time again and let others hurt me as well without a care. You've been so fucking awful to me and caused so much fucking suffering that I'm starting to think it wasn't all worth it at all. You weren't worth it at all.

And to fucking top it all off I feel like no matter what I say to you it's never gonna give me the catharsis I want. Any anger I can muster just feels wasted now. You've made me feel like anything I fucking say or do is wrong now. I don't feel right at all even speaking to you let alone yelling at you. You've managed to fucking rob me once again of getting any goddamn closure.

So at the end of the day I won't say any of this to you. Because it won't make me feel better. Instead I'll just keep writing about my feelings to myself and hope that I can one day feel nothing for you.

It's weird because beauty has not for a long time been actively important to me but now for some reason I'm conscious of how much more physically attractive I am than everyone around me. Maybe I'm using it to compensate for relationship shite? Weirdly I do feel like women are threatened by me, like they think I going to steal their boyfriends, but I'm not because their boyfriends ain't shit.
Making people feel bad #justcuz was never a priority before Liz, then it became one. I hate that-- the primary benefit my body was giving me was hurting an enemy. I have always said "beauty is a commodity" and it's so true. It's an axis of power like any other commodity because it gives you an edge on manipulating people. I'm very pretty and very bright-- I can get whatever I want.
I think because it's comforting to have some concrete as evidence that you are "better than" whatever is giving you a hard time.

-pay time warner
-test modem
-buy tarot
-try to add orchestra/email Margaery

I don't. It seems like a weird, self absorbed thing to do.

I had a dream a few nights ago.

I was standing with **** in a concrete room. The room had bunk beds in it.

Then the lights went off and on again, and lightning flashed at the windows.

The room was a gas chamber. Nail scratches and markings could be seen all over the visibly thick windows. All of the bunk beds had turned into twin beds.

And I stood, bare chested, eyes on her. Then we hugged.

That was the end of the dream.

You think I can make this shit up?

[end of passage]

Someday in June, 2005

I moved to this place and lost my life again and again. It seems that I don't try, but I try on different levels than others. I am still trying to gain some acceptance, but it seems that I do not deserve it. I learned that I am insane when I moved here, a basic excuse for the things I do. OK I'm going to say something. My Mom will never learn to become someone if she doesn't think that she will. She thinks so lowly of herself that I can't help but get angry and treat her the way she acts; like an idiot. I think she doesn't realize that when she isn't at least somewhat confident in herself, no one is confident in her. She just puts me into a rage every time she does that. I don't seem to get angry anymore, it's more of a torrent of hatred. I can't even seem to stay in the angry phase anymore. I just feel its overwhelming wave splash over me and carry me away into a place I don't need to be unless I am alone. My hatred seems to be controlled by the behaviors of my mother. She will do her pitiful act of "I'm nothing" and my blood boils. I can't seem to figure out how to separate my hatred and and turn it into a useful one, like an energy. I keep saying "I can't" when I forget that I can do anything. My mind is a pool, it is heated by other sources of heat, so I must be getting angry at what others are angry towards. My feelings toward "the meaning of life" are pure hatred for the fact that I don't know it. I have a feeling the true reason will be very ironic. I think of my Mom and I see a person who gave up. I HATE HER FOR THAT! I don't understand that I am getting stronger in body and mind and she is getting weaker, did she miss something that I learned long ago? I feel more intelligent when fueled by my anger, and I think it's true. I hate my existence, I think I am angry because I cannot blindly follow a religion. I am angry because I am ignorant, and I am angry because I am not ignorant. I see so much that others either ignore or don't care about, and I hate the world for it. I hate myself for having intelligence. I know therefore I am Hatred. I have hatred for so many things, but I cannot even find an illusion of love. the situation i am in is simple, yet complex, and that is why I hate everything. Everything has another meaning. I don't know what they all are, and that is what puts me into a rage. I will probably write some more later.

That's the only diary entry I have ever written that I can find. I was fifteen.

oh yeah, i recall around this time, my mother happened to have ovarian cancer, she got better though. it was a trying time, though. she's a bulemic.

One day I just wrote a bunch of aphorisms:

When was the last time you felt like you were in your own body? Is it any wonder you can only judge eventualities by others’ appraisal?

Perhaps you wish, instead, that some earlier self will return - do you ever feel that someone \emph{else} is doing all this?

One must worry when his abstract thoughts shift from philosophical to psychological - and can only be interpreted as the latter. Plath is a commentary on her condition - we read from her symptoms information about her and those like her, not the world.

[I have no idea what the fuck this was supposed to mean:] Sesame seeds are culinary gestalt.

That inclination is first a hope for a cure - one wants to be ‘himself’. But isn’t any memory older than a year quite hazy? And I have been afflicted for a year!

You cultivate resentment so that you may justify non-participation.

You only worry about not having money because you use it as a proxy to judge others and cannot imagine that others do otherwise.

You are too serious - and imagine that the cure is more seriousness.

A good depressive calls every attribute a flaw and every reality a symptom.

You at least imagine you are not afraid of death and yet are terrified by nearly every possible life.

“Quitting is not enough - you must change.”

To be laconic is not Laconic - \emph{they}, after all, spoke briefly because they preferred action.

Superficial cleverness - well enough, but tomorrow you will feel exactly the same way.

You read your old journals and it physically painful because it is clear you are actually still almost exactly the same person - it all seems to have been nearly inevitable!

Reading what you thought sex was, it’s an absolute miracle you never did at the time - you would not have been able to return to real life after the first orgasm if it were even 30% of what you’d hoped.

To live is not enough - you demand beauty. To die is not enough - you demand total erasure from memory.

You managed to choose the most social career; in the subject which interests you least; with the least valuable reward, in the the greatest quantity; with the worst work schedule; with the least possible thought for the consequences - if today you are a failure, it is at least a strange one.

Christ - I can’t live the rest of my life like this. If it continues this way, write below my birthdate the first day of college.

I feel like I’m barely here - but I experience the anxiety vividly.

You lack the courage to do anything - including give up.

You used to write that you wouldn’t forget - now you write that you might figure out what happened.

The future scares you because you think it might bear any sort of resemblance to the present - you hope that this will all someday be a strange dream, totally foreign and incomprehensible.

I view it as a cheaper form of therapy. Seriously, you should try it some time.

tbqh your journal reads like it was written by a 14 year old, which is probably was, because it's from 2004 and I doubt you're over 27. I can't really make out what point you're making, but I can definitely feel the anger.

I had a dream about spiderman. I was watching a funny home videos show on TV and the camera alternated from a wide shot from a security camera facing opposite the entrance to a warehouse,and the other one on a car parked in the warehouse. The car camera revealed a man dressed poorly as spiderman put the camera there as he said he was going to prank his brother who was going to film a porno. He immediately trips and falls into a trash compactor next to the car and we see him flail around before he is crushed his morbidly obsese brother trips over him and into the trash compactor ,and the woman who he was going to film the porno with (of equal weight) screams as gibs fly out from the trash compactor.

>14
>2004
it has a date, and i specifically say how old i was.
i'm sure i was just frustrated and someone told me to write in my diary. I never could write without an object in mind, it just fucking goes on and on. Now I don't take up a pen without a plot in mind.

Some of these are lovely (some pretentious/incomprehensible).

>perhaps you wish, instead, that some earlier self will return - do you ever feel that someone \emph{else} is doing all this
That hurt. Also the plath one

>Maybe last night or the night before, I dreamed I was on the sidewalk in front of a large suburban house and after some kind of lead-up I called this big buzzcut guy a faggot and asked him what he was going to do about it and then there was a portion in which I was being chased around that house by him and his friends and eventually someone, apparently on my behalf, murdered the guy with a hammer, sending pieces of his brain all over the wall, and the dream was over. I haven’t had any pleasant dreams in a while.

This is pretty funny.

Here's some short entries from a short lived dream journal I made awhile back.

I had a dream where I was doing what I do when I'm awake. Reading, sleeping, reading, playing, checking. I hate it.

I had a dream where I was at murder hill. A place where you abandon your identity completely to "die".

I had a dream where everyone was making fun of my loneliness. Rubbing it in my face I had nobody to talk to and that they wouldn't talk to me. I thought I was gonna die from the pain.

I had a dream where me and like twenty other people had to line up as a living digital clock and change every minute as the time slowly ticked by. Woke up feeling more tired than rested from being so bored from it.

I had a dream where I died and for whatever reason because of the mistakes I've made while alive I was being chased by angels or something for the rest of my afterlife. Booooooo.

I had a dream where I was a shark. All my friends were fish though. I was so hungry and there was nothing else to eat... I'm sorry little fishies. I'm so sorry.

I had a dream where I was driving a car and crashed it into a wendy's where I then started to raid the place for all of it's food. I-it's fine right?

I had a dream where I was on my computer waiting for someone to talk to me when apparently I started getting hacked. There was this guy on my screen and for whatever reason he kept going on about fucking water of all things. Why water? I don't understand. Just hack me and steal my info already I don't GIVE A DAMN ABOUT WATER OKAY?

I had a dream where I rode a bike to the store. I haven't touched a bike in so long. I should actually try it sometime it'll be fun.

I had a dream where I was in a room filling with water with like five other people. There was no way out and eventually we all drowned. Yay.

I had a dream where I was walking up the stairs of a really tall building. I just kept climbing and climbing. I finally made it to the top after what seemed like forever and just looked over the edge. It was nice.

I had a dream where I was driving then my mouth started to fill with water and I was choking to death. Then I woke up and I was still choking. Hurray for choking on blood!

I had a dream where I was signing up for a job. I don't think I got it.

I had a dream where I was just walking down a road at night. No light except for the lampposts around me. Very peaceful.

I had a dream where something bad happened and I tried to kill myself. My parents stopped me though. Then out of anger and frustration of being unable to die I started to break glasses to vent my rage. What the hell.

I had a dream where I was watching some weird movie thing about a boy who keeps bothering this girl with pranks and generally being annoying until her birthday where she's really paranoid about the next prank but to her surprise the only thing she got from him was a cake. I liked it.

I had a dream where I was trapped in a building with some guy who wanted to kill me. Yay

Lots of dreams.

MLK thread.

Yeah, there is nothing more self-absorbed than preserving memories

Today is the first day in which I am entirely free from the dreadful landscape of intellectual death that is a blue collar work environment. Surprisingly, I feel like complete shit. The origin of my disoriented, depressed, unfocussed and irritated mood is completely unknown to me. I experience a pulsing headache during all my waking hours, and nothing seems to mend the rending senssation that invades my brain constantly. This makes reading, writing, and even listening to music a difficult task. Thinking seems to be an activity that lies outside the realm of possiblity. In addition to all this mental horseshit, I am almost always hungry; which could simply be a side effect of practically anything in my immediate surroundings (stress). The primary culprit for these obstructive symptoms is still nicotine withdrawal.

Apt #469
Nov 2015 - July 2016

Excited to thrive.
Rolling on in
Beat up floors,
Garish paint
Gone roommate.
Paranoia loneliness
CN tower views
Before it was cool.
Pigeons in the window
She said it's unhealthy
Struck out first time
It goes on and on.
Sun shines on walls
Warms face
Tripped so hard.
Violent vomits
Put in work
Stretching on floor
To tribal drums
Coughing neighbors
Uoft girls laughter
Sounds like dogs
Roommate still gone.
Stress insanity
Writing nonsense
Procaptialist texts
4fa frenzy
Ironic bigotry
Dulled sensitivity
Can't remember their faces
Was I with any of them?
Old new years
Dancing youths
Out of place
Roommate lost,
And found
Woozy walking
Joint burns to fireworks.
What a way.
Red underwater kitchen
Sinking into blue couch
Still can't break through
Late mornings
Felt too much.
Long blue coat
Hoodies and ambivalence
Dances in underwear
Stress grips heart
Will I die here
Knives sharper than mind
Time rolls
Red hair
Dance with youths
Burning parks
Don't fit in
Walks by full restaurants
Harness contempt.
People all around
ADP opportunity
Next step cancelled
Trip like balls
Wiggling walls
Dynamic paintings
Static world lives
Breakthrough failed.
Here again
Conscious
Drugs and distractions
friends alive can't vibe
Work and French girls
Mundane high life
Still can't love
Pick paranoia like scab
Days disappeared
Nothing happened.
Condition madness
Structure frays
Can you get out
Stop thought
Hurtle streets
Sardine subway
Spend and earn
Sun is out
Warm views
Night dances
Universe will provide
It did
No joy
Last night
Painful loss.
We're you mistaken,
Why leave me?
This sterile place
Cool space
Owned pace.
Will we survive? Unknown emotions. Like oily bubbles. Ooze u.p Felt in throat. Cautions optimist. What's next?
Apt #47

Yesterday I drank some shitty insta-cofee that came with my chegg textbooks, and as a result I had insomnia. Right now, I’m on no sleep, I’ve been up since 10:00 AM yesterday, so approximately 30 hours. During the night, I was able to come to a startling revelation. You see, it started when I was watching Dr. Strangelove, little did I know that there is a whole hidden meaning to the movie. Afterwards I was reading an analysis of the film afterwards which dealt with the Freudian themes contained in the story. Essentially the theory was as follows: the cold war is sex. The phallic images of the airplanes “penetrating” Russia with the “payload” of nuclear bombs. Note that in this case, the “man” of the cold war is America, and the “woman” is Russia (hence why Russia is the penetrated and America the penetrator). The whole war room scenario is foreplay, the pilot riding the bomb is a sexual climax, and the nuclear explosion is the moment of orgasm. Note that after the male orgasm, Russia instantly responds with its doomsday device; a network of hydrogen bombs rigged to detonate in response to penetration, a device so powerful that it will end all life on earth if triggered. In this situation, the doomsday device is the female orgasm, hence why the male orgasm is a single explosion, while the female is many. The male orgasm destroys an ICBM plant, while the female orgasm destroys the entire world. So it is clear that the female orgasm represents some sort of existential terror to the entire male female dynamic just as the doomsday device is an existential threat to both Russian and America, but the question is “why?”
The problem of the female orgasm is that it totally upsets the largely patriarchal structure of society. A defining trait of masculinity is a powerful sexual appetite and as such, sex is the female serving to quell the male’s appetite, thus rendering the man dominant. And yet, men not only have weaker orgasms then women, but they are also capable of less orgasms. Combine this with recent studies that suggest that women respond to a wider range of sexual stimuli, and the idea of men as having the stronger sexual appetites begins to crumble. If women are truly more sexual then men, that would imply that women are actually the dominant sexual force, and as such it is women who use men as a means of satisfaction, and not the opposite as so many people assume. The implications of this cannot be understated. This would imply that women are actually the stronger sex, ergo the world we live in is actually matriarchal in nature, not patriarchal. Just like America in the cold war, even though we were the “stronger” nation on paper, it was Russia with the nukes, Russia with the all the leverage in the form of its doomsday device, its female orgasm. This is the titular “Strange love” that the sexual dynamic between men and women is actually the opposite of what common sense would dictate.