Another's eyes are enough to prove. You are no one. It's in the air. Last cut continues. Teething forever, savor the blood. Slowest failure. Collect scattered rays. Stuck in today's memory, we had nothing else. Perception transient thankless martyr. Human exploding machine. Invincible invulnerable get me out. The street selling cards. Trees hung over the neighborhood walls. Distant beach, concrete structures, fields of grass, infrastructure for electricity. Your normal. Rockets take off. ... We dressed as Nazis in the classroom. A cat kept trying to bite me. Lucid with other kids in the middle school bathroom. Truant, test week. I rode an air glider into the mountains. I dug a large strip of dirt and grass upon landing, around a meter. Met and stayed with a kid and her mom. The two had a weird competition. Often times I don't know what I should do if I'm lucid, but very far from where I want to be, especially in an open space. If there were a wall, then I could just imagine what's behind it, but I can't turn around and believe I won't see what I just saw either. It feels like I waste my time a little. I need to imagine a drilling or swimming tool. It's often in viscous places this is an issue. ... I'm feeling disillusioned today and logic won't fix it. My body isn't mine. This requires sensitivity. It isn't coming up here. Everything keeps falling. I keep needing to catch it. Judgemental. Unemotional. Dead. Fuck. This is a poor cry for help. My brain is screwed. I want to crush you with my thighs. I want to have my upper body touched. Infinite time in a pocket of space. Ears ringing. Lips chapped. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHH. Procrastinating fuck. I need drugs. We're out of nachos, sour cream, rice. Have to go to the fucking store. Why are you complaining about this in a dream diary. Go eat some grapes or something faggot. You are no one. I am proven. ... Recently, one of my dreams came true. It was a longer one from a couple months ago. I had some sort of fight with my parents before running outside barefoot and trying, failing to get myself hit by traffic. I cried on the pavement until being picked up in a car and talking with what was either a police officer or a social worker. I don't recall. That was the dream originally. I didn't get to the social worker part in real life, Mom found me instead. It felt surreal. It feels surreal. As much as I might wish otherwise, the self in dreams is just a more emotionally vulnerable version of the self in reality? Do I wish otherwise? ... Incoherent fuck. Plane Trigonometry is a hell of a drug. Eating at your computer instead of the kitchen is a hell of a drug. Irregular sleep schedules are a hell of a drug. Untreated mental health issues are a hell of a drug. People are dying. People are dying. People are dying. No, that's wrong. No one is dying in this world of I. It's just a fucking BOX AHHHHH A BOX MOTHERFUCKER GET SOME SUNLIGHT KISS YOUR MOM EAT SOME CEREAL TAKE YOUR MEDS DRINK SOME WATER PET YOUR DOG. Microsoft restarted my fucking computer without asking me and then everything got fucked. I watched videos of corpses while the food got cold. I'm such a bitch. Fuck me like a bitch. I've been training my asshole recently so I can be your bitch. I had Kiki's Delivery Service all set up and John H Microsoft's inconsiderate ass closed it. What the hell is their problem? Let me watch some cartoons. I'm such a weak shit. I wonder if I locked my cock in a chastity cage I would feel anything. I already don't. I should try sounding. Oh yeah, babes love it when you have a wide urethra. Cuno doesn't give a shit about fuck-gimp's faggot fantasies. I use a retarded system of encrypting files inside of encrypted files that results in a big nuisance of password entering every time I want to watch anime and movies. When my computer restarts, it encrypts everything from scratch which means I need to spend five minutes screwing with it. It isn't a lot of time, but it's often enough of a hurdle to say fuck it and watch the most hogslop YouTube channels in the world instead. I don't ever login to the website so I'm not subbed to better channels than the ones that just tumble around my brain and beckon me like witches. I hunger. It's too hot in this fucking city. I'm such a sissy. Yeah, that feels good, keep saying it. Sissy. Ooh, that got an adjusting of the knees out of me! Just listen to that sound of rubbing legs against fabric! A real emotion? A true reaction? I have to be awake until around noon, but I'm pretty tired so I'm just killing time. Yep, you know me. I'm a real businesswoman. Lots of appointments and meetings. Hahah, leaders like me could use the venting. The thing I meant about disillusionment was just that I watched a commentary by Stomach Book of her album and it made me feel awkward. I listen to this album because it's sensitive to me and I feel strong emotions because of it. Watching a couple of dorks talk casually about it made my stomach turn. I felt my sensitivity was betrayed in a way. I'm such an emotional girl, you know. I get that's irrational, but then music is just another art form. It's supposed to make you feel more than anything else. Does that sound right? The other thing is that I found out how political Dreamglow and its members were. It isn't the sort of emo theming I'm into. It's just unusual. I don't like thinking about that sort of thing, and I don't like participating in that culture. It upsets me. I was disillusioned by Bunny Boy earlier this year or late last year. He's a bit too much like me. I guess I expected him to be God, but he was just a normal person with their own problems and life. I'm in an extended disillusionment that I can't tell where it starts and ends related to Lily. It's hard to explain. I still treat her religiously, and I feel I have good reason to. I don't think it's fair to say I'm disillusioned of her, but I'm being active in trying not to let her captivate me. Maybe that isn't the right choice. Sometimes I hurt myself to make the looping and bad thoughts stop, and it's pretty effective, but probably not the healthiest choice I could be making. I'm not sure. My therapist said music and screaming were okay. Violence with a pillow is okay. Something about resorting to something so external upsets me. Writing is okay. It suits me. I have bad memories with food so I don't feel comfortable using that as a coping mechanism, even though I really need some. I haven't eaten in nine hours. I don't think therapy is particularly helpful. Getting diagnosed with something and getting on medication would probably be better in most cases. Therapists are just bitches. I'm probably not the best patient. I dunno. I've done a lot since going. It's a lot. Life's too much. Need to walk my dog. I'm the only one who seems to care about walking her. Need to put on sunscreen. Need to do a million things. I need to become Google's fuck-gimp and just start using their ecosystem for everything because my current system is trash. Fuck Richard Stallman. Gonna eat nachos? Erm, hello? Can you make an assertion for once? I have a few script drafts that I wrote out for whatever the art thing I'm doing next is, but they all feel half-baked and lacking in a strong emotional underpinning. It feels like it needs to turn into a suicide thing or there's no point. Maybe that isn't all bad. I dunno. It isn't easy to talk with my family members or friends about that subject. I've dealt with social workers coming to meet with me against my will once already as an adult, and I don't think a repeated call is particularly appetizing. I guess I can trust my friends. I'm in a weird spot right now where people are relying on me to act a particular way emotionally in some cases but not others. I just need to eat. I don't think I have more left in the tank. Need to either stay up longer or just give up and sleep. I'm meeting with someone on Saturday around noon, so it makes sense I ought to at least stay up until a couple hours past then. I'm such an idiot. I have a website, but I just haven't made it public. I need to edit a couple things is all, like make sure there's no sensitive information. So tired. I'll probably regret this. I just have to get over that.