Weird dream.
Three nuns huge absolutely ground tremblingly huge, circling me, very menacing, trying to cram me into a habit, they are dirty and smell bad and have broken teeth, they are sibilance, and they are telling me they are going to make me one of them, and one talks and she spits down her chin when she does, and no matter how I fight they are just impossibly nimble, and I can't get away, they take my hair - my hair! They tell me my independence is a cancer, tell me thought is ruin, and they stink, gods do they stink, like despair, it has a smell you know and the worst part, is that in the dream, I begin to believe.
I have a picture Tyler (gosh I wonder how hes doing ) sent to me of a storm lashing the coast of Norway. I feel like those waves and that wind, like I am throwing myself against the breakers, trying to understand why I am having that dream, what it means, why I start BELIEVING them. I don't get it.
Why am I writing this? Who the fuck wants to read something like this? *I* dont want to read something like this, something that shows the spiky and craven and dark parts of me, the parts that lack courage and smear blood on the walls in eldritch patterns and leave me gibbering at what I find and what finds me. The part of me that is a sad, sick little fuck wants others to gibber too.
Maybe thats why I am writing this. Maybe I want people to see the darkness staring steadily back at them. Maybe I just want to feel I am not alone in this terrifying mind.
Maybe I just want one person to understand. Maybe I dont know what the fuck I am talking about. Maybe Ill have crepes for breakfast. Maybe Ill have a roommate.
I sometimes think I am unfit for human cohabitation then I wonder why that matters.
I spoke with someone earlier today who honestly wanted to know what was going on in my head.
Honestly.
So. I made a mistake and told him. Hasn't spoken to me since.
Maybe I should avoid people when my thoughts spin like sharp little ravenous conscienceless beasts. Some things people just should not know about another, I guess.
But damn, I wish someone could know the shittiness that lives and breathes and breeds in my head, and still be willing to talk ... Sometimes talking to people is the only thing that reminds me why I have to pay attention to social mores.
Like, "Thou shalt not slaughter your neighbor and make a woven rug out of his intestines."
Sometimes talking to people is the only thing that helps me put a face on humanity long enough to turn the mood.
Song of the moment: "Water," by PJ Harvey
"Water
Walking on
Water
For years
Taking it into my head
Living by the right lines
Reading what the very man said
Water
Walking on
Water
Neighing on eleven years
Taking it into my head
Mary Mary drop me softly
I've been reading what your very man said
Neighing on eleven years
Taking it into my head
Leave my clothes on the beach
I'm walking down into the sea
Prove it to me
Now the water to my ankles
Now the water to my knees
Think of him all waxy wings
Melted down into the sea
Mary Mary what your man said
Is washing in all over my head
Mary Mary hold on tightly
Over water under the sea"
Mood: bloody
Physical state: exhausted
Three nuns huge absolutely ground tremblingly huge, circling me, very menacing, trying to cram me into a habit, they are dirty and smell bad and have broken teeth, they are sibilance, and they are telling me they are going to make me one of them, and one talks and she spits down her chin when she does, and no matter how I fight they are just impossibly nimble, and I can't get away, they take my hair - my hair! They tell me my independence is a cancer, tell me thought is ruin, and they stink, gods do they stink, like despair, it has a smell you know and the worst part, is that in the dream, I begin to believe.
I have a picture Tyler (gosh I wonder how hes doing ) sent to me of a storm lashing the coast of Norway. I feel like those waves and that wind, like I am throwing myself against the breakers, trying to understand why I am having that dream, what it means, why I start BELIEVING them. I don't get it.
Why am I writing this? Who the fuck wants to read something like this? *I* dont want to read something like this, something that shows the spiky and craven and dark parts of me, the parts that lack courage and smear blood on the walls in eldritch patterns and leave me gibbering at what I find and what finds me. The part of me that is a sad, sick little fuck wants others to gibber too.
Maybe thats why I am writing this. Maybe I want people to see the darkness staring steadily back at them. Maybe I just want to feel I am not alone in this terrifying mind.
Maybe I just want one person to understand. Maybe I dont know what the fuck I am talking about. Maybe Ill have crepes for breakfast. Maybe Ill have a roommate.
I sometimes think I am unfit for human cohabitation then I wonder why that matters.
I spoke with someone earlier today who honestly wanted to know what was going on in my head.
Honestly.
So. I made a mistake and told him. Hasn't spoken to me since.
Maybe I should avoid people when my thoughts spin like sharp little ravenous conscienceless beasts. Some things people just should not know about another, I guess.
But damn, I wish someone could know the shittiness that lives and breathes and breeds in my head, and still be willing to talk ... Sometimes talking to people is the only thing that reminds me why I have to pay attention to social mores.
Like, "Thou shalt not slaughter your neighbor and make a woven rug out of his intestines."
Sometimes talking to people is the only thing that helps me put a face on humanity long enough to turn the mood.
Song of the moment: "Water," by PJ Harvey
"Water
Walking on
Water
For years
Taking it into my head
Living by the right lines
Reading what the very man said
Water
Walking on
Water
Neighing on eleven years
Taking it into my head
Mary Mary drop me softly
I've been reading what your very man said
Neighing on eleven years
Taking it into my head
Leave my clothes on the beach
I'm walking down into the sea
Prove it to me
Now the water to my ankles
Now the water to my knees
Think of him all waxy wings
Melted down into the sea
Mary Mary what your man said
Is washing in all over my head
Mary Mary hold on tightly
Over water under the sea"
Mood: bloody
Physical state: exhausted
howdy:
sounds like an interesting place inside your head, or maybe i'm just strange. 