writing on speed is the best desu! 1/11/24
Mentor got me to flirt with the demonic today. Entanglement with the analytical realm, im natures mechanically toiling droid impregnating flowers with lukewarm ligaments. I thought it would be more of a "high" but It's a rather tame experience. I feel like a concentrated version of myself. I want to take myself by the hand and lead her to a pragmatic realm where occam's razor will shave the malignant tumors of catatonic indecision away. Lighter and lighter I grow as the chatter of conversation between nail, key, and me envelops my mind.
Some conclusions about the fate of this page came to me in the form of disappointment. I was really enthusiastic about the opportunity to build a website for my father, and pervertedly delighted at the opportunity for one of my parents to bear witness to the morbid fruits of my labor. But alas, he seemed to, at most, just be annoyed with my offers. I have no idea what the ideal version of myself would have been in my parents eyes, but histrionic chud social recluse probably wasn't in the cards.
I don't know either how common the feeling of being a disappointment is, I suppose if anyone deserved to feel it, it would be me. Everytime I think back to my happy childhood roaming forests and splashing in streams, of hiking with my dad and hanging on my mom like a monkey, I feel that natural gratitude for the love I was given. But as soon as I am enamored with the happy visions of this story I supposedly lived, I am too thrown into the mirror house and tumble into the many monstrous reflections of past horrors, the many crooked visions of my faulty life taunting me. I was never once good or normal from the start to the current. And who is to blame for this? Is it me? Or am I it?
I need to give up on receiving validation for this thing and continue to shape it through desperation and love. If my parents ask, this website is classified. Remember when charlotte from milady asked me what I had been writing? That tense feeling in my chest, the utter absence of content in my soul to share, theres still nothing there of value to consume. I am a product only for myself. And master… he says that this is a productive hobby >W< I tricked him into thinking that me dairying is anything than the fecal matter of my mind :P
I work day and night to craft chairs that are unusable by human means. And its tiring too.
Terrible gym experience 1/11/24:
Sammlerin — Yesterday at 22:19
I took the blue pill earlier in the day, which I found to greatly impact my physical performance given this is my most taxing of my two leg days. Then I’m deadlifting and some guy laughs as he walks past me… this demolished me mentally given I had a suspicion that my form was bad, I ask the mentor to take a look and after rebutting the “you are a paranoid schizophrenic” claims, he proceeded to confirm that I indeed looked as retarded as I had feared. So I wanted to move to the rack that Mentor was using as he was done and I needed to use the mirror to check my form. As I’m unloading the bar pondering the previous events, a crash erupts and I hear mentor yell. A man limps away from the other side of the rack, wincing. I suddenly realize what has occoured and immediately go to make sure that he is unscathed.
I wish I was a religious woman so that I had the privilege of asking god for forgiveness, or repenting for my sins, contextualizing any of it really. But instead, it could only be said that accidents occur, and that women are prone to committing them. Lucky he was fine, but the incident was deeply shocking and embarrassing.
The adrenaline made me sick. I could only think of how it would have felt to have heard a chorus of screams, look over expecting it to be something else and discover the pooling blood and million twisted faces blocking out the outside world as they circled the scene. A cacophony of yelling and shrieking and blood and wide eyes and all I would be able to do would be cry and close my eyes and beg for forgivness
1/12/24
For the first time in my life, I'm being careful about my tolerance. I poped one 11th and I'll pop the next one the 15th. There is something infinitely warm and comfy about indulging in a recreational substance habit >_<~~~ its like going on weekly playdates with myself. The psychonaut app says that my tolerance should have lowered to at least roughly half by then.
I hate being around normal people but I've grown so well adjusted that being around mentally ill "people '' makes me feel disgusted, maybe I'm just better than everyone, as always, sincerely yours, the humblest midwit, and worst at having an inferiority complex.
ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈)✧
1/13/24
I want to learn about the human race from a second hand perspective but the closest I’ll ever get to experiencing that is the unnerving intrusive horror of observing the primate in everyone. During daily reveries I flit my eyes to and fro, as if I were a glassy eyed bonobo, attempting to analyze the structure of my mate’s face as it is, not as I see it. I endure the desire to occupy the extraterrestrially dissociated lens of a “universal geographic”. A nature show made 10000 years from now designed to enlighten future-goers on just how barbaric and un-evolved we are. This rumination is the hum of future radio frequency throughout my subconscious, the faint reverberation of that narrative drone illuminating the bestial barbarity of half man half ape.
Streaming soon to microchips in you…
I don’t know how something so removed from my existence as "the future" can ignight such terror within me to envisage. On all fronts we are unfortified to the assault of time. There is no place to hide where the future won’t find you one second at a time. Whittling away until your gift subscription to flesh and light expires and you are once more consigned to the complete lack of sensation from whence you came. time escapes quicker when you start to care about how you use it.. most people want a long lives but are not willing to spend it within a torture chamber where it would feel like an eternity.. they want an easy and long life but the human brain does not catalogue the "good" a fraction as much as the arduous. what constitutes time anyway? If not our memory of the time passing then,, the decomposition of our bodies? the decay is inevitable and as objective as it gets I think, given our reference for what constitutes time is only in reference to the duration of our lives. im on sophia time pst. theyre adding it to the clock app if you ever want to know what is happening on my side of the world. why would you want to spend a long time decomposing? Is your pathetic life worth immortalizing?
My only life goal has been to do something which made myself proud as opposed to others. Every modicum of energy I could muster went to self fulfillment, meanwhile I discarded everything else that I could rationalize to be “useless”. Conveniently this included all responsibilities… All I wanted was a purpose that that I fully cared about, and all I could tolorate were vapid things like hobbies.
But even in my interests, I still fail to muster the kind of passion and dedication I respected in others, even if I devoted my life to pursuing them. I didn’t care much about anything but the internet (like everyone else) and my attention span had become so fried from it that I had no choice but to indulge in my addiction. I still hate working on anything useful, but I at least now recognize it as one of the steps I'll have to take to continue in my trek towards adulthood. Hobbies were considered absurd untill the 18th century, so my life is like loser royalty. And even though I feel guilty for being such a burden, some part of me says that if you want to take that away from me, you'll have to pry the crown from my cold dead hands... infantalized sped temper tantrum
1/14/24
Placed bricks today and the 13th for an accumulated 5 or so hours. I wonder what manual labor does psychologically..? It feels good to toil in moderation.
Today I feel as if I’m a train puffing away each hour of the day. One pungent coal cloud of a thought at a time floats up into the air and away. My only mission is momentum, the only direction is forward, the only action is digestion, consuming earth’s energy in order to propel my waste spew further. Imbibing the air behind me with the hot smog pouring from the smokestack atop my head. Sub-human and deer are propelled into the bramble by the indelible inertia which is foisted upon the mechanisms that compose me. All organs whipped like a bitch into submission by TIME, the master manipulator. Always watching carefully over my shoulder, the bureaucratic system taking its due tax on my rented system by the hour. As soon as I wake up i’m clocked into another shift at the sophactory, and i don't know what job i’ll get if I quit… housecat or indian man…so I’ll toil here for a few more decades.
The only diary like mine that I’ve bothered to read is marl barl’s. But I’m not nearly as interesting as her. When I’m 40, i'll have completely forgotten about the first half of my life, and delete this website permanently. I assume that reading it would be like hearing your teenager say “I didn't ask to be born”. Drivel from a stupid nihilistic child with minimal life experience and even less of the capacity to interpret it. If I find writing about myself so entertaining then I must be larping self-hatred.
On the 15th I get to take the second dose of the speed potion. I wish I could take a break from this website but everytime I think about getting an education somewhere on earth a kitten dies.
