harmonyresonant

[harmonyresonant]

The suppositions of romance in a dead schema

Media is the anti-thesis of feeling. It is a devil more insidious than exploitative pornography. It supplements us - so that we refuse to engage in, or with, anything real in this wide world. Yet stress builds, it murders, it creates heavenly paradigms - and programs the inevitable tsunamis of guilt and failure. It begins with failure to feel guilt. A rush - as a Norwegian model flicks her hair, thin, model like, toned and lush, girls look on as tones of elegance extrude. Boys look on. Men look on. Father's look on. Mother's look on. The false dichotomy. What if black women were the most rich? Capitalism adapts - like a rat - a composition of herds of sewer infested individuals scurring to accrue power and wealth then torturing their pathetic attempts with an overwhelming need to justify themselves and their opinions and their selective ignorance with nothing less than absolute exertion of control. They will do this until they are defined by nothing but this exertion. They will fragment into the disparaging acts of grief which every boomer seems to be fated to. It is grief that binds us, guilt which drives us, failure which molds us. At least - this is a default. I like to think that I can understand any persons point of view based on the breadth of my experiences. This is wrong. I cannot. There are a few examples I can recall, 1. When discussing that I wanted my Mum to die with my friend, and exclaiming that it was grand he loved his mother - he mentioned he could not perceive a life without loving your family. 2. When discussing about confidence vs self reliance Irina did not understand the sheer difference in the way people treat you if you are beautiful. I will not know this perspective. Specifically - I will experience heavy cognitive dissonance if I attempt to acclimate this perception. 3. The thought with Emily - that helping someone die who is hopeless - is actually a mercy. She seemed genuinely surprised this is a real rationale. It suggests she has never experienced the idea of seriously ending her life. To be this naive is a perception I cannot know. 4. The comparable cycling of pets, as if they are organisms to be discarded at inconvenience is a tyranical molestation of our power as human beings. There is nothing more sickening to me than to destroy and restrict- our of self-gratification. This is masturbation through torture. The perturbed beginnings of every horror. I cannot entertain, or even comprehend this, on a conscious level, yet on an unconscious level, it knocks on my door at times. Suggesting extreme violence as approximate recourse - good enough - to reclaim a sense of manifestation of will. Still, these are all perceptions, with which, are apparently conducive to survival. The person who knows war. Knows the limits of violence, and the limits of co-operation. The person who knows science knows the limits of systems. The person who knows people knows the limits of limits itself. Which part of us is worth preserving? Which part of us is setting aside? Have you lost love yet?

[harmonyresonant]

The suppositions of romance in a dead schema

Media is the anti-thesis of feeling. It is a devil more insidious than exploitative pornography. It supplements us - so that we refuse to engage in, or with, anything real in this wide world. Yet stress builds, it murders, it creates heavenly paradigms - and programs the inevitable tsunamis of guilt and failure. It begins with failure to feel guilt. A rush - as a Norwegian model flicks her hair, thin, model like, toned and lush, girls look on as tones of elegance extrude. Boys look on. Men look on. Father's look on. Mother's look on. The false dichotomy. What if black women were the most rich? Capitalism adapts - like a rat - a composition of herds of sewer infested individuals scurring to accrue power and wealth then torturing their pathetic attempts with an overwhelming need to justify themselves and their opinions and their selective ignorance with nothing less than absolute exertion of control. They will do this until they are defined by nothing but this exertion. They will fragment into the disparaging acts of grief which every boomer seems to be fated to. It is grief that binds us, guilt which drives us, failure which molds us. At least - this is a default. I like to think that I can understand any persons point of view based on the breadth of my experiences. This is wrong. I cannot. There are a few examples I can recall, 1. When discussing that I wanted my Mum to die with my friend, and exclaiming that it was grand he loved his mother - he mentioned he could not perceive a life without loving your family. 2. When discussing about confidence vs self reliance Irina did not understand the sheer difference in the way people treat you if you are beautiful. I will not know this perspective. Specifically - I will experience heavy cognitive dissonance if I attempt to acclimate this perception. 3. The thought with Emily - that helping someone die who is hopeless - is actually a mercy. She seemed genuinely surprised this is a real rationale. It suggests she has never experienced the idea of seriously ending her life. To be this naive is a perception I cannot know. 4. The comparable cycling of pets, as if they are organisms to be discarded at inconvenience is a tyranical molestation of our power as human beings. There is nothing more sickening to me than to destroy and restrict- our of self-gratification. This is masturbation through torture. The perturbed beginnings of every horror. I cannot entertain, or even comprehend this, on a conscious level, yet on an unconscious level, it knocks on my door at times. Suggesting extreme violence as approximate recourse - good enough - to reclaim a sense of manifestation of will. Still, these are all perceptions, with which, are apparently conducive to survival. The person who knows war. Knows the limits of violence, and the limits of co-operation. The person who knows science knows the limits of systems. The person who knows people knows the limits of limits itself. Which part of us is worth preserving? Which part of us is setting aside? Have you lost love yet?

[harmonyresonant]

Boop

I am two days off my anti-depressants, and my modafinil should arrive soon. It leaves me with an untempered focus mix. But at this point, before I return to a numbed existence- I feel it's pertinent to record these circumstances and some of nuanced truths lying behind the information saturated of each days realities. My companies name was/is, "Full Circle Drawn", It is an idea. Certainly an idea of psychology in gifted individuals. It is the disintergration-reintegration cycle - a complement of the way children think and formulate. As we grow older this cycle does not change - it simply adapts to bigger and bigger problem sets. The paradoxes of life and living. Death and Dying. They represent tones of truth. Hues which when amplified distort even the most basic pictures. It is why this process is so difficult to approach, let alone complete. And of course for each full circle that is drawn - another encompasses it. Another curtails it. Another breathes behind it. Upon it. Through it. And it could be multiple, or it could be singular. A human life is full of transections and intersections - it cannot be quantified and compartmentalised - especially not to a gifted person. Every presentation requires context. Every context requires meaning. Every meaning requires purpose. Every purpose requires God. Every God requires a domain. Every domain requires a Universe. Every universe requires life. We begin at the beginning of the circle again. A chain of dependance. Each perspective a challenge to the perceptible limits of interconnectedness, and relatedness, and I have come to learn to blatantly obvious as it is...that our society gives no room for this. It does not tolerate this in a systemic progressive way. It demands that we, as a breed of people, crash and tumblr and burn and survive our way through mental landscape which is riddled with previous trauma, exponential decay and a forever crushing demand for MORE energy. It requires. So we give. What is our reward? A happy death. A complete death. A welcomed death. It speaks in my ear, it whispers with a defeaning authority - "Be free" . When enough failures and mistakes and successes and pleasures have been endured, and when enough development has been done, we realise

[harmonyresonant]

Romanticism

I feel a turmoil. Something within which is unsettled.

Though I know the future is simply a product of now. There is only a certain level of control I can exert.

The rest is simply happening. It is not my fault. It is not my responsibility. It is not the measure of my worth. It is not the final precedent for connection.

What is it then? What thing of substance has unsettled me?

I think - that thing, is the desire to be wanted. To have been wanted. To not experience that tension in another.

We want so much. To expect so much. Value ourselves so much.

It is easy to allow someone you trust - to twist these things.

She is like me. Gifted in getting to the point, or playing games. One is love. Another is toying.

Her realism is profound, yet crushing. It has worked for her because she does not know a bigger world. An absurd world.

That is where she is. At the beginning of her actualisation.

Do I put in effort to make me a priority in her mind?

Do I simply allow the tide of life to wash away that which is impermanent?

I oot to keep myself company, I desperately desire direction, yet it hinges on a promise.

I do not believe in promises.

I do not believe in words. They are approximations, excuses.

I believe in the power of a dream.

I believe in myself.

[harmonyresonant]

Riffraff

Thursday, alike no other Thursday in history. Yet reminiscient.

Picot distributions would have 20% of the language word database used 80% of the time.

Mathematics is universal in this regard. These distributions occur in complaints feedback. Assuming complaints feedback is a general biofeedback of universal biological systems.

I implore you to suggest to yourself how not a far fetched prosition it is that the human mind exhibits itself from the genetic foundations of its DNA, unto and conjoined - affected - in its expression by its environment to culminate spontaneously into the living create that experience as an embodied human.

Our very self able to extracted and abstracted to end up redacted from a reality that bleeds illusions. Perfect composure of total exposure seredepitous calculations some seen as foresight. Sensitivity.

20% of what happens to affect us in day to day life impacts on 80% of our perception at its summarary cognitive conclusion.

I am perceptive to a fault. Next to a fear. Next to a God of death. Next to a God of life. When you're sensitive and highly absorbant of feelings, thoughts, atmospheres, ideas, beliefs, philosophies, values - the 100% which makes up each persons day becomes a tear drop in an lake.

Where my lake was running, changing, eroding, flooding, drying, eddying, it is now frozen. Glass of perfect crystal.

I choose the 20% that affects me to be the cold stillness and absentness of turmoil. I play god with my own life.

There is no forgiveness. There are just bad actors, good actors, and then the wealthy.

We are a minority. Yet a majority.

We are a force of entropy. Of rapid stillness. Perfection of energies.

We are adrift.

Which brings me to love again. As it does most times.

No need to feel alone. No need to feel sad. No need to feel useless. No need to feel desired.

Perhaps that what I cherish the most. Yet she must offer me something. Perhaps something more intimate than smiles or laughs. Something that 2 hours or money cannot buy. Something trust and loyalty rules simply wont consecrate.

She must help me feel happy and believe in myself and maybe, I should be a person who makes her happy and helps her belueve in herself. To make her feel desired, beautiful, special in her own way.

I can make all the right choices.

I shouldn't be afraid anymore.

[harmonyresonant]

Pertaining to pertinence.

Where any intricate sub-plot would do. Our narratives are our architecture. In so far at least, that are any relation to our authentic expression, however misguided or flawed that may be.

A mandate to survive.

I must stay alive.

I must stay alive.

Yet it creeps. The weakness of solemn solitude. Confusing reationships for connections and connections for relationships. Depression. BPD. Bi-polar. Therapy.

Therapy.

Corrections of concoctions. Useful distortions to qualify an alternative potential. Yet the alternative never ceases it however continues to remain just that...the alternative.

What I heard Sarah say made me a little sick on the inside. That you could hit someone and love them simultaneously while she applauds your aggression. Anger is a product of being disrupted such that a threat transcends into an actual loss, or potential loss either of self-concept or materialism. Therefore if someone actively abuses you - they must care about you. You must affect them. You must be there one and only source of comfort.

It's a steady slide. A slip of one or two steps - that even when controlled plunders us into the canyon of misery. Nothing is as it seems down there.

Yet, I laugh. As if I am 'too much' for most girls. 'Too everything'. 'To difficult to love'. The same way Sadie is. I don't belong. Yet, I know somewhere at some time I do.

It's slowly getting better. Spirit.

I've started to passively flirt too without it getting weird.

Some are selfish in their intentions though.

There is a line between preference for independance and selfishness though. I am forgiving and I am working to become more forgiving of indulging in fun and pleasure. Finding authentic healthy ways to experience those things again.

Sarah was a narcisistic bitch. She couldn't say no because she couldn't take responsibility.

Emma was fucked up.

Shae was fucked up. (Actually not when we got together)

Laura was fucked up.

Deanna was fucked.

I became their support workers.

Sometimes I feel what I need isn't a someone. It's a something. A nurturing of the spirit or of the mind.

Emma wanted to have fun.

Sadie wants to have fun.

But I wholly am not sure what fun feels like.

[harmonyresonant]

A letter to Sadie

Maybe an explanation will help me make a decision, I'm not sure.

We're more alike than maybe you realise. It's not me as a crazy admirer, its what you've described in your experiences. Loyalty, honesty, raging energy, intellect, perfectionism, a love for the thrill of flirting with hedonism, for the sake of rhyming haha.

There is little that wasn't taken from me. So I rebuilt twice, once after my Mum died the other after I burnt out. Few friends understood let alone encouraged me in the right direction - instinct was thrown aside for what was fun that turned into consistent grinding. Though I'm not a special story, I've found I'm a rare perspective.

You fit into a void my Mum left at the age of 15. A kind of, valuable friendship based on the fact that you exist helps build a trust in this world, that maybe together (people like us), we can find a way to tame our ridiculousness and accept the fleeting goodness and badness of things. You inspire a hope in me. Yet people like us tend to move quickly, plan and execute nearly instantaneously, and we never wait for the okay.

Can you trust unpredictable?

Can you trust predictable?

Does trusting in yourself eliminate these questions entirely?

I'm pretty done with the metaphysical questionaire syndrome that ensues after a prolonged state of quasi-existential dread. But I'm not done helping. My work with Autistic children is a game of dynamic puzzles and I'm a boss at that shit.

My dream later in life i.e in around 7 years, is to start a foundation/dojo of kinds to help empower the smartest of us shit-stirrers. The ones that live near the borderline personality disorder n spergy n spectrumy areas. That say, "Fuck the police" while ripping a cone in the sanddune of a beach around a bunch of close af friendlies, then losing our shit after cause irony is the greatest humour ever but bongs need focus.

Sexuality is something I've found goes hand in hand with emotional intelligence. Most girls I know who are - lets say for the most part, functional - who fit the kind of intensity I'm talking about invariably are either hyper-sexual or aren't confident enough yet to seize their sexuality.

I guess in total - I've been tortured by loneliness, maybe even imprisoned by it is a better phrase. I get angry when I see those around me who deserve to crush their dreams or desires with indomitable will - who are beautiful people - getting destroyed -- arguably, by themselves -- as a part of growth. The problem is what it costs. For Renee, it cost her business. For Emma, it cost her youth. For you, it cost your life.

There isn't time for regrets, mistakes and psychological frameworks can be altered, drugs can be taken. But Time cannot be borrowed or put aside.

While you inspire hope, you awaken a weakness within me. A question...do I deserve to be loved? Am I loveable? You fill that void my Mum left partially - but it's not your place to do so, and its not your fault - its your virtue that makes it so.

I'm just growing tired of confusing friendship for love, and love for disappointment.

Maybe that virtue is enough to keep me coming back :)

[harmonyresonant]

5 months into Antidepressants

I sourced an infinite supply of drugs - assuming the world doesn’t collapse in the next 25 years. Effectively I’ve begun to run my own business, however, despite the relatively wild development of events - and I suppose - satisfaction of having developed my skills and self in such a way as to hold myself together - as well as take advantage of opportunity --- I remain relatively alone. I’ve begun spending time with Sadie in the chat-rooms, periodically dumping up to $300 a time to have a good time, and stick around afterwards for the joy of listening to her and laughing at her humour. The idea that sex is used as a tool to sustain relationships in a conscious manipulative way as a means to secure attachment is pretty horrific - but also - makes total sense. I wondered why Sarah wouldn’t even attempt to bother with me, but I guess it’s because she’s terrified. If disinterested too. But I call bullshit on that. My sense of self has only been augmented. While there exists a piece of me that is missing that - most individuals have - much like a sphere moulds to be the strongest shape against pressure I’ve managed to melt the bullshit away from my life and the assumptions everyone has forced me to endure as doubtful truths - and built on the absence of what was left and core sense of self. It is a miracle. It is a uniqueness. It is something I am proud of, and indeed I am finally proud of myself. Confident in myself once again - not out of dissociative blind impulse against depression fuelled by the narcissistic pangs of relationships built on “I give you everything in your crisis - you give me your soul”. When the girls eventually matured out of their difficulties and realised i was in their way and their problem - it was inevitable my empathy confronted my fear. My guilt against my rage. I would lose as they both annihalated her and myself. The cycle has finished. I’m not sure I want a long-term relationship, but I do want a relation. I suppose in this day n age sex and all it’s complexity - is just a fun game. An activity of sorts I suppose. I am a sexual person, but - increasingly - I am far less driven by raw sexual desire to escape my feelings so much as boredom and stress management - indeed - upon sporting days - it is often the case I’m too tired to bother. Normal you would say. There is a kind of congruence in my lifestyle now. The funds I’ve injected into “things” have been healing. Sadie has helped me. Pixie has helped me. I guess in a lot of ways it’s a reconnection to a vulnerability of intimacy and a holding of desire/lust in my hand - along with aggression. Both of which are undoubtedly parts of me - which I now accept. Perhaps I am simply not built for the moderate love of a long-term relationship, whatever that means. Even the term relationship makes me cringe. The thought of forever bonding is lost on me - at least - forever bonding as a way of life to meet my own needs. I need to keep doing what I think I need to keep doing. Following the instinct. Finally. The door has opened and I will never walk backwards. I will never look backwards. There is much to do, but plenty of time to do it on my own terms

[harmonyresonant]

No meds for 11 hours.

Time seems to disappear now. Perpetually in the moment.

My basic motor skills are normal. Precision and high intellectual level tasks such as language require more meds for consolidation.

Tonight has been an experiment of floating around in my thoughts. My headspace so to speak.

I dreamt of multiple fires last night surrounding me. Surrounding the kids in the house. Me desperate.

I find myself with less fucks to give than ever.

Although my sense of self-respect and esteem is rekindled. My sense of truth is still....without reward. I would pay for the company - indeed - I most certainly will. I will not however play a bullshit game.

Sex to me is something natural - its a feeling of intuition, desire - attraction. Reciprocation.

There is nothing like what Emma and I had. I miss her so deeply. I miss her hair, her smile, her faint smell, her lithe beauty, her grace, her intelligence. I miss her laugh, I miss her quiet, I miss her mind. I loved her mind.

Sometimes I feel if Sarah had more self-esteem and actualised more efficiently she'd be more akin to Emma. Emma was perfect and flawed - she made me as she makes me happy to even think about. I did love her very very much. I do love her. I will always love her.

[harmonyresonant]

Titled

Being told I was confused as a married man sent me a few waves back. Though I don't strive for validation in a clinical pervasive way, it was a nice thought.

I think of Sarah and I can't help but conclude that she simply doesn't think she's worth me. Every now and again the fight comes back in her, but she looks at me with a kind of sadness.

I know what it's like to be Emma now.

There isn't much else to be honest. I take each day as it unfolds now. I'm not in a hurry to go anywhere or do anything or become anyone. Over the last 4 weeks I've had to confront and look deeply at my beliefs. They were challenged, and in some ways changed.

Now I'm just ready to play. The truth is I don't think I could play with Sarah, and as her friend that fills me a deep sense of sorrow for her, but my empathy has all evaporated for her as has my patience.

Though I haven't got it all figured out. I do have a lot figured out. I feel my age. I feel secure in my self. I feel as complete a nuanced as I should be. There is no sense of compromise or irrational sef-loathing or judgement of myself for believing one thing and doing another.

There is a chaotic perfection to the way I want to live my life - and this is the direction that will take me to that vision for myself and my gorgeous beautiful girl. It may take years. But I know I can love and be loved. I just need more and more practice, and more and more interaction.

I simply want to enjoy my life now. The goal is not more or less complicated and in addition I think I've come to embrace the excess of me, i.e me too much for my own good haha.

Sarah helps me do these things. One day, she'll wake up and realise what she could've had. When she's ready. If someone else doesn't steal her thunder.

Till then I'm doing me.

[harmonyresonant]

lleee

Defined. Textured. Articulated. Raw. Fire. A strange thing to begin with. Last night I went to the brothel - to see Pixie. She made me laugh a fair bit, was a good time. Unfortunately - my meds had all but run out at that point. And from what I realised - I had vastly underestimated the impact of not abstaining for a few days prior. Sex was indeed just sex. Like playing cards but more fun and pleasurable. Indulging in the raw lust of things. Friends that fuck. It’s ironic that I still hold the idea that a girl who fucks multiple guys on rotation is just as bad as a guy that does the same to girls. Emotional manipulation is the just the aim of the game most of the time. Everyone longing for appreciation. Me - simply wanting to become competent. Knowing I can, because I can. And choosing to not, because I don’t want to. I guess there’s a sense of intrinsic power - sexuality is intertwined with life after all. How did it get so mixed up? I obviously wasn’t listening. But I heard the message pretty loud and clear last night. A few more times and I’ll start to get it. Although it hasn’t clarified life. It has made things far less serious. I have to indulge it, just like my aggression. It needs to be accepted and managed. Not ignored and chastised, as much as my inner critique would call it weakness. In reality it’s a truth that - it’s ignorance had left somewhat disorientated. My dream is different now. It features a greater precision. A darker theme. A less moral. Less wholesome theme I find myself standing over the city sky-line - A suit of kinds on. A black silhouette. Not in contemplation. Not in paranoia. Not in fear. Not in a race. Still. Balance is something I will never achieve. I’m at a stage now where I accept I will never have a normal relationship. Though we don’t choose the people we fall in love with. We do make the choice to engage in the chase. It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that in the way a Leopard remains still. Thoughtful. Poised. There is a time and a place for sexual pleasure - and generally it is a need rather than a want. I accept I am much like a Leopard in this way. Although I am not a sociopath. I have a level of introspection and perceptive ability which predicts global events. A general IQ that can get most things done. And a history that has zero correlation with who I am now - despite being MY history. I think my biggest fear in truly going after my dream is not that I’ll end up lonely - it’s that I will end up without a soul. I have a tendency to dance with the devil and flirt with peoples and scenes which can get me killed. Or that can get others killed. My sister calls me a Lion that’s come back from a nearly endless series of battles to protect himself and his family. This is true. I am not defeated though. My pride can be my problem. I think I can do things that I can’t sustain without significant cost. I’m only just now learning to accept my limitations and how to operate most efficiently. In this life there are simply things I enjoy doing which make me feel good. Then there are the things that don’t. However with trauma - the things that should feel good simply don’t. That confusion needs to dealt with. I accept now that I have ADHD in a minor form with an enhanced emotional sensitivity. My trauma history has been peeled back and ripped off to let the wounds pus and blood drain away. It’s an open wound now that hurts far less than the infected ignorance of cognitive dissonance and dissociated personalities. At wits end indeed. Those fights. They do have an err of ridiculousness about them. A savage uselessness. I would laugh but I’m all out of child. I would take it all more seriously but I’m all out of willingness to be reasonable. Perhaps this is a normal turn of events. Each person themselves totally unreasonable. Totally abstracted from their reality, their perception adulterated. I clearly want friends. But I also clearly don’t have space for them at the moment. Both physical and timeliness wise. I will need to either create or find that space and time. Life is too short to generate opinions. There are just progressively more efficient ways to achieve the same result. I suppose your ability to maximise efficiency in terms of minimising harm or disruption in limited primarily by the human flaw of impatience. A reward system designed to enhance hunter gatherer time-line concern contemplation - not decade or century long cultivation. Of course I prefer designing and planting a seed and watching it grow. Engineering life has always been something I’ve wanted to do. Perhaps my Dojo is more like that than I originally anticipated. An elaborate planting of the seed. Elysium Nerve The idea that we are destined for greater than the pathetic squabbling of human chitterchatter. Shitting - Eating - Squatting. Elysium Nerve will be an epicenter for cultivation of the finest and most lost minds. A way station in the middle of nowhere. A research center - of science - of self - of life. It is designed to create individuals who engineer their world how they see fit. While it could be said it’s about control - it’s actually mostly about articulation. There is much to do.

[harmonyresonant]

Perception

What facet of life do we measure our impact. If Life were any less vague I’d be speaking of bread. Plain, Nutritionless, Created to sustain instead of nourish. Much like the excuses I create for myself.

Why I shouldn’t or can’t do things. Why things annoy me. Why I’m upset. Why I get irritated.

Today my patience found it’s limitation. The thing’s that annoy me - are now out of my control. I can only try to regulate my response to them. Why I get irritated - seems to be the question. I  know that too much sensory information without enough sleep can leave me at a loss. Irritable, as any individual is. TALD being my go to. Seeing Sarah every day is a kind of exposure therapy in itself. I guess a consistent reminder that love doesn’t mean it matters or that it’s reciprocated. I guess that’s a fairytale I told myself when I got involved with desperate for attention girls. There is a jealousy - perhaps more so an envy of Matthew. That I could beat him at anything means nothing. An envy of a person I’ve never met. Yet being in a relationship with Sarah would be catastrophically exhausting. A magic vagina suits her image well. It’s what happens to doll faces.

The supply of attention funneled her way is nearly limitless. There are few people like me in the world. We are ghosts - and yet - our presence commands respect. I am sensitive to when it isn’t provided. It is a slippery slope when it is lost. When I refuse to participate in this social game of ���whose more attractive than who’, an animal instinct to bounce around social circles practicing the art of pretend giving a fuck - so that maybe you are somehow impressed by someone of a capacity to provide and attractiveness you deem acceptable to let into your pants.

of course that’s a girls perspective. Or which I am increasingly becoming exhausted by. From a guys perspective it is a predatory cat and mouse game. Make it hard. Don’t roll with the punches. retort. If only I had the energy to give a fuck. I simply don’t now. I need a break. I think about things that might make me feel less acutely alone. unfortunately my two lack of, and desre for, validation - as usual in people - used to come from some innate sense of worthlessness. To be honest. Life is easier with that sense. It eliminates the need for consistency or morality. Perhaps if I find myself in unforgiving moral situation I should remind myself that - despite the fact that it clearly matters - it has nothing to do with me. The ME - part of the equation becomes sealed from the THEY or IT. It is an incredibly difficult exercise of perceptive control. It is noticing something like an apple - feeling hungry - and so wanting to eat the apple - but realising that my hungry is me - and the apple is it. AS two distinct entities. I am growing impatient and outright hostile to Sarah. While she doesn’t not deserve it. There must exist some kind of rudimentary instinctive hatred for her. She lied to me. and I think the fact she lied with affection means that I lost all respect for her. Everything she does - to me - feels - wrong - I guess - out of sync - unwise. ANd her presence generates off-balance forces. It frustrates me - and mostly makes me feel sick. I guess she is a reminder of the fact that faith is not in people - it in the universe.

She has let me down and disappointed me. She lied to me and that’s her fault. it’s not my fault.

I guess I figured trauma would stop you from throwing around affection like it’s candy. Then again it would appear I’m entirely mistaken. Affection is not love. And love is something precious - in short-supply - difficult for someone like to muster the energy to provide. And it was abused. Taken then discarded. I feel sorry for Emma. But the reality is is I loved her. I fell in love when I met her. And - I suppose that’s something I should use as an example of faith. The by a miracle - we met - and - what we had was of a specialty not many peope will ever experience. I think Sarah is capable of that. But she has had too much of her distorted by what happened to her. She is this fragmented youthful chaos. And I like playing with fire, I like sorting. Fixing. Aligning. and she just isn’t interested in that.

I see potential as if it is real. I treat people like their potential is real. I shouldn’t forget that Emma and I saw each others souls and loved each other in a way that - no matter where we are in this world - we will still find each other in our hearts. I miss her.

To be honest I miss the feeling I would get when I saw Emma. The relief - the easy talking - the hmm. When I’m feeling jealous or sad or insufficient or useless or so hopeless I want to die. I should remember Emma always. Beautiful Emma.

[harmonyresonant]

That crave for affection. The menial nature of it.

Interesting people interest us. A sensitive person - sensible. Insensible. I take enough drugs to make a horse feel sick - my battle is to reduce - not to accelerate. Defined. - This is my new theme, I guess my new word. My style is discipline, calculation, precision of execution. Preparation loves victory. I am waiting. Though I am able to rmeind myself I shouldn’t be waiting for the validation. I shouldn’t be waiting for someone to sweep me off my heavy memories and appreciate me. Unfortunately - those in my situation are unlikely to make it. They are far more likely to recluse and die, or atrophy into a holding pattern to rectify their mistakes, I suppose it all depends. There is little room for assumptions in my world - and even less room for judgement. It’s not that judgement has become anything less important. It remains paramount to stabilising my lifes ongoing work. It’s just that a lot of the time I would judge to calculate things based on fear. The idea that I would be left alone, abandoned at the sight of my true nature. It took a long time to be able to trust myself both on and off my medication. A long time. Some part of me - still holds on. It wants that security, to know, not to want. To have instead of desire, but I find increasingly that having is something that I never really wanted in the end. What I wanted was companionship. A group of friends that can trust me, and who I can hang around without feeling compromised - or disrespected. I think that word - Respect. Means something else to me than it did before. To me I command it. I command it from Darren. From Renee. From Sarah. From Terry. No one is above it. It’s a command that has it’s roots in what I know I’m willing to do for loyalty. The sacrifice I’m willing to make. I know I can kill, because I have killed myself. A steady hand. Steady breathes. Fear and Anxiety are trivialities. I said I was willing to become homeless instead of burden myself with the bullshit of the world. That seems to have remained a truth when tested. I dreamed of riding a sports bike with boardies and a t-shirt - I did that. I did it illegally a lot as well. Trouble with the police. High quantities of illegal drugs in my backpack. No licence for 6 months - just haven’t told anyone except Jackson. The knife-edge is sometimes a bit too thick for the thrill. So I find myself wanting in the mornings. In the evenings. Craving novel. Different to the original. Different to the original idea of what will make me happy - what will reinvigorate my soul. But I know the truth about my soul. So does my sister. There is an emptiness there. Biological. Psychological. Electromagnetic. It’s a failure of propogation. I absorb the chaos of the external world and give out nothing. It is swallowed into an endlessness. A flow - unlike gas or fluid. It is a movement of death. I don’t understand yet how that can be helpful. Perhaps - in the way that my presence here under immense pressure has been helpful, I am not care-free, but I do not longer care. Psychological processes take time to reorientate. CBT done spontaneously with precision. They will reflect my new attitude. Perhaps I just never had to tjhink about validation when I was younger. I never wanted it. At least consciously. When Mum died I was happy. And her crushing burden lfifted to allow me to be free and ignore the world. It became my playground. BUt i was unhelpfully shielded. As such - what happened afterwards cost. I haven’t been raped. Or sent to jail. I haven’t killed. I am kind. I am these things because I am not stupid enough to get raped or sent to jail. I haven’t killed because I can engineer people out of my life. I am kind because others have been cruel. This is the respect I demand. It’s a capacity for violence which I’ve seen let go only once. Everyone living their perfect lives. I no longer want perfect. I want my life. I have seen beauties, scenes, people, ideas, conflict, war, destruction, solutions, hypocrisy, tales, romance, love, hate, kinship, comradering, languages, hopes, failures, dreams, realisations, progressions, regressions. There is a...vastness. I used to believe this vastness was a reason to feel...in control - that through learning and knowledge progressive - I would understand the nature of all things - know and grow to learn and understand the truth of the reasons why I was experiencing what I was experiencing. I identify hope and capitalise on joy where I found it but I found little joy where I wanted to. I found joy in the little things. Little things I could only dream of having. Relationships I would never have and stories that would never be my reality. I realised more and more that I was alone - and that unbenownst to me - my desire to Know - had led me to a set of truths which confronted me with little else besides one solution. Tolerate your mind. So that your mind and body might be of help. There is nothing redeeming or joyful about the cosmos or the universe. It is a plague on the way our minds are built - concepts such as space - time - infinity - finite numbers - dimensions - quantum physics - black holes - humanity - green planets - solar systems - the big bang - entropy - the unnecessary need for men - or their greed. The reality of the imbalance of powers. The limitations of cognition. General IQ. Social structures and the necessary bottom-end chaos/regulation needed to maintain them. Social mobility - economic structures. Human impulse. Sex. Over-population, fisheries depletion, ecosystem degradation, extinction rates. Artificial Intelligence. Big data - Cyber-security. FIAT money. Geology. Aqua tables - imperfect evolution - change. Systems theory. Chaos theory. Heuristics. Medicine. Curiosity. Nuclear weapons. I dont trust anyone who doesn’t recognise the flawed nature of themselves. Nearly all guys wont. It’s against their neural code. Most women wont, because to appear weak is against the social norm now. Judgement. and so I am here. Experimenting with truly not processing the world around me. I’m too over caring, wanting, hating, jealousy, sadness. These things don’t help. I always could do what others wouldn’t let alone - couldn’t. I don’t give a fuck because I don’t have to. And because frankly I don’t want to. It truly is baffling to wake to the same scenery each day - it’s progressive changes over time. Green is beginning to seed back. There is a slowness - a rhythm - marked by the sunset and sunrise - the clouds - the swap of trees - the rush of waves crashing - the reasons - the growth - the death. Each it’s own a part of the harmony. Though life is no easier at this pace. It makes more sense and it feels less delicate.

[harmonyresonant]

Huh.

This new Hubble photo of the Sombrero Galaxy

[harmonyresonant]

The day is over.

I've learned to trust myself without the pills over with them. Though they hammer the daily responsibilities. I require an element of anxiety and pressure for them to properly drive me.

There is more to do before I die. I often wonder what though. My life is just this thing that happens between pinnacles, highlights of a day done. Sarah is an element. So is Lara. So is every other single girl. Life between pinnacles. A fuckboi lyf 4 me. Mmm too be honest. My moral code has gradually eroded. I no longer care about normal or right.

Best thing I can do is become sexually active again - definitely need to get that boxing bag/escort sorted. Porn is good enough intermediary. Renees right though. I need a fuck to get back on track.

With next pay I'll sort that out. Monday here I come lol.

[harmonyresonant]

Its late and I'm exhausted

I can't sleep.

I keep thinking about her fucking him.

Why wasn't I good enough?

Am I good enough?

So unsure.

I know I'm attractive enough.

But Ive always sent out relationship vibes.

That's the main reason.

The second is Sarah despite her beauty has always been toxic because of how emotionally reserved she is.

It's impossible for me to find someone attractive without that ability. No matter how insanely cute.

The problem is that I weight so much emphasise on the emotional connection. Which is important. But I just need to accept the for most girls sex can lead to relationships.

Its a fucked uo world we live in.

And Sarah really is a total fuckwit hahah

Fuckin dumb slut. God no wonder she was beaten and stayed. Just because I get why you'd fuck around....doesn't mean I'd do it....but I guess that's where it's at.

Sarah the dumb slut fucking Matt the cum machine in a non-boyfriend boyfriend situation. Fuck this Matt guy too though what the actual fuck.

I guess I'm just this perfect catalyst for accelerating normal processes. What happens happens for a reason now and I have faith in that.

I need to accept I was wrong. That not everyone wants to move to where I'm at, and certainly will not share the same desire to connect the way I want to.

The matter is, I'm extremely sensitive and highly sexual. So a hug is enough to get riled up and ready. I WANT it. But I hate the feeling of knowing I'll be discarded as an experience. I wanted to be far more than that with Sarah.

I cant watch porn atm because all I see is Sarah and Matt.

Clearly this is what it feels like to be cheated on. That emotional investment thrown out the window with no bother for its affect. I thought Renee would be more helpful but she clearly is uncompromising about the reality.of how brutal casual sex needs to be for it to work properly.

I can't help but think something deep inside me is fundamentally broken.

I know why it is.

But I don't know how to fix it.

I need to learn.

Edit:

I'm afraid of wanting to feel pleasure in sex.

Does it really make me a shallow person to feel that way?

To want to feel pleasure? Of course not.

But it does mean respectful relationships don't necessarily mean soul relationships.

Just because I wasn't right for Sarah doesn't mean I'm not right for someone

For girls masturbation isn't as easy and certainly doesn't do anything to validate their desire to feel confident and happy in their body. Good single girls will always have fuck buddies because being sexual active is better than abstinence.

The problem is I'm alpha as fuck, I don't accept being a fuck buddy. Or being disrespected the way Sarah disrespected me. And make no mistake she crossed so many lines I don't tolerate that Matt can have her. Course I'm pissy about losing that little contest. Mind you the game was totally rigged and the prize was average af.

Lol I called it early on she wasnt gonna make it as a partner together with me fuark. I need to accept that unless a girl can contain her bullshit calmly without being a total dipshit or slut - and be emotionally aware enough to differentiate sex from not sex times ' she's definitely not the one hahah.

As if the one is even someone I can find anymore. Im at a point now where J just need to not feel so in pain or disbelief or disappointed or personally offended. I didnt count the level of trust of trust she actually has in me. We still have that and that matters csuse thats real. But like Ive come to learn - just csuse its real doesnt mean its fun. ;)

Course I measure earned affection by that realness. If a girl isn't ready for it though. She isn't ready. Its got fuckin zero to do with me hahah. I'm just an extremely intense catalyst for personal growth.

Aight. Imma try to sleep to sleep again or cum whatever works. Maybe now I can actually watch porn without vomiting into my mouth.

[harmonyresonant]

The prequel to second letter to Mum.

Ah facebook we meet again

On the subject of mental health and functioning in the society we have.

I've met a lot of different people from different walks of life. Each of them unique as much as they are the same.

The media and movies feeds us an endless alternative reality. They are plagiarisms of real, retold in folded textures, the same elements - the same themes. They give us the foundation for what to expect out there. Outside of these walls.

I laugh at the idea of a psychologist now. It's my belief that after a certain threshold of self-awareness and time spent with ones own mind , that further indulgence is not just superfluous but hazardous.

I realised today that my Mother left me without providing me the sense of validation necessary for a child to allow themselves to feel like they're worthy of love.

Deep down in me I know I don't just not like who I am. I actually hate who I am.

Today I ran at the beach and after 5km of soft sand running I stopped and felt an overwhelming to scream in anger. One of the things I hate about myself is that I can emotionally regulate those impulses so I never get the chance to express that shit properly.

Each day is a fight to tease out the real of things. What do I discard? What do I keep? What part of me must be relinquished to adapt? What is safe to allow?

I've a lot of suggestions from a lot of well meaning people about how to approach depression. My depression is the kind that follows me like a shadow, but in the night, it becomes even darker. Anger is colourful, anger motivates, so does self-pity, but I have neither. My depression is as imaginary as it is real. It matters as much as it doesn't.

I have delineated my Mothers expectations from my Dads from my sisters from my teachers etc..as I grew up - I am at a point now where when once everything was a fucking mess I see people and things as crystal as when I was 15 - pre-cognitive dissonance.

I've spoken to 6 people about the hole that I feel in my soul. When victims of borderline personality disorder children who grow into adults speak of their experiences they say it is like living with a soul eater. My mother was very intelligent and taught me everything I know about hurting people. When I am hateful or spiteful or feel disrespected beyond what I can tolerate, I dramatically over-respond. It hurts people and destroys others. But mostly - it isolates me.

Because I require validation every day from the moment I wake up I am either driven by anxiety of not being purposeful enough, or anxiety of stopping so long that these thoughts flood back. Usually. The thoughts are themed and stem from a disrupted framework - usually an older unhelpful one.

Suicide is not something I will move towards easily again, but the argon bottle I used is a gentle reminder that if I'm not dead, I can help.

The girls in my life have all seen me in two different ways, one is medicated - relatively relaxed and enjoyable. The other is tired and fragmented. Its when my self-checking erodes and I let my real perspective fly. What I see is the decay of all things that grow. I see the patterns people do to each other, the sickening feeling of watching someone allow themselves to be abused or used then discarded. The fall-outs from being alive and human. But I don't see only that. I came face to face with the meaningless-ness of it all, I see it every day in my reflection. It's in my clothes, in the air I breathe, the food which is chewed. There was no useful reason other than warped neuro-chemistry - biology and life events out of my control which pushed my Mother and Father to generate the childhood and adolescence I endured. They had something special and because they had the urge to/didnt know any better they destroyed it over two decades. Little by little - gradually eroding my self-concept.

I have countless stories of their failures to set up even basic precedents. Like the self-critique I experienced with my grade 4 report - seeing ticks not in the excellent column. I swallowed my heart because I was raised to be perfect. Failure was a failure to be a son, which was a failure to be a person. She would say, "You must well behaved and do well on your reports because you reflect on me." Later of course that day when I would do my reports - she would scold me for failing to be interested in dragonflies at 5:30pm.

Writing a report seemed difficult at the time. As I was doing 2 different after school sports in Port Hedland summers.

Validation. I seek it as a need. Its not approval - I often laugh at people who say I've done a good job when my lifes been a total fuckup compared to its potential trajectory. Its more a sense that Im worth loving. It's unfair to ask that of your partner. They aren't there for that. Sure love is an essential part of any relationship of substance - but that solid inner sense of self worth needs to be there from the beginning.

No matter what I achieve in my life. No matter how well i do at anything. I have never felt divorced from the feeling that it is all a waste of my fucking time. Only today I figured out why.

My mother is dead though. Any chance of finding that validation is gone. And as any child psych knows - anger has healing properties too. Today I am fucking furious at that pathetic bitch. Let alone my autistic father. My Mothers legacy haunts me still. But luckily, today, I can put my foot down on her bullshit and say to myself, "I will never receive my mothers validation. Her spirit is lost to the universe. I will never be convinced by someone else I am worth loving. So stop waiting for someone to gift it. Or expect that you can manufacture it. I am already dead."

It's hard to conclude anything else. When such a fundamental part of your core self is the fact that you will never love yourself enough not to be in pain. Not to feel peaceful. Never to rest. Always to worry. All that's left to do is to hate myself truthfully. It is what it is and I accept that the only thing left to do is to accept I feel like welcoming death. That I am drawn to it because it is salvation. Everything is a trivial distraction. When I hear Sarah's voice now I hear her everything and I just don't have time for it even if I did. Unfortunately Im a sucker for complex girls in need. The difference is now I know why. They want validation like I did, the two of us made a pair in that way. Except Emma n Sarah didnt need it.

Love is pure. But it is not always heterogeneous.

The psyche of a mind balancing the globe on a tightrope

It screams for help.

While the faint shimmer of dying stars be as they are.

Not beautiful nor elegant.

Not evil or mysterious.

It screams for help.

While the faint shimmer of dying stars be as they are.

This glimpse is worth breathe.

It screams for help.

And the deafening roar of the silent universe whispers back;

Never will anything mean less than what you've become next.