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I feel like I live a polarized life, emotionally. It doesn't seem bipolar, however. It is just best characterized by the extrema, interspersed with countless immemorial experiences. Everything else--remember, emotionally--seems to just remain in that distant past, at the time when it occurred. Nothing seems to stay around for long. It feels like my skin is a fluoropolymer and the substrate of my soul is...
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chrysis:
TALKIN' BOUT YER SOUL.

I KNOW WHERE IT IZ.

I SHOW U.
chrysis:


When I made your soul on Thanksgiving -- I was actually going to send it to you. So I kept it around. BUT THENNNNNNN I needed a notecard for my cookie recipe, and didn't realized I'd grabbed your soul, and, and .. so. I wrote down the ingredients on the other side and flipped it over to write the baking instructions and was like, OH NOOOOES. But it was too late. :/

So I stapled another card to it, sam'miching the soul inside. And wrote the 'structions on the outside of that one.

So it is inside!
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The sky looks like smoke, today. Then again, maybe it looks more like the single-color canvas of an avant garde painter flaunting his inaccessibly vapid message, and he is brimming with satisfaction for the "cleverness" of it. Rather like the prior sentence, the creator often works to serve themselves rather than the individuals who may read these words. Writing serves no purpose if it reaches...
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chrysis:
Pointing fingers at various other people and things doesn't detract scrutiny or attention as well as you'd believe. So while you may have been doing this on some level, .. well. Like you said. It's a kid's trick. We've all done it, we all do it, and everyone is similarly keen to it. Sometimes that is even more transparent than talking forwardly and straight about yourself.

I have some bones, however. Probably 206 of them. A few, I have to pick with you. Such as .. your recent need to not only dissect your actions and motives behind them, but completely tear these things limb from limb because they are somehow either not good enough, or actually -bad.-

So, first. Not writing to entertain? On the one hand, I want to say, all writing is meant .. to a point, to entertain. I suppose. Depends on definitions. Otherwise you wouldn't take care to polish things, wouldn't string your words a certain way, and -- PAUSE. Actually, didn't one of your last blogs talk about how you play -too- much to other readers? Yeah. So you're obviously talking about the other kind of entertain .. the more Disney kind.

And how many people do you think have to set out to do this? Is that really where you are, right now, that you are lamenting not sitting down and just drawing up stories for people? What could you write that would be SOLELY entertainment and WITHOUT any other motive in it that would serve you at the same time. Storytellers [and the like] are just telling parts of their own, or manipulating an audience. It's still catharsis. What's so altruistic --

Anyway. Don't tear your writing apart. Especially if this is like a journal to you. You could go through six months where all you did was bitch or scream about something, and as long as it was true to what was going on, who could fault you? Until you intentionally wrote something with a different tone just to misdirect.

As far as aiming to impress people -- that starts to chip away at any honesty, so unconcern yourself with it. That's not your doing anyway -- it happens or it doesn't.

I'm sleepy, and I'm not sure of any sense in anything I just said. But it makes sense in my head.
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I've been rather quiet. For a prolonged period of time. Yet again. At least from this context.

Can't say much lately. I have been consolidating my thoughts and in turn, myself. Trimming a little here, moving this thing over there, and generally fiddling with that thing over here. Basically I have gotten rid of some clutter. And I moved the drawers from over there to...
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How can such a short time feel so long?

Exposure--in retrospect and denial (to completely forego any notion of context, much less a specific temporal focus, because that is the only way I will get this out)--is for me a trade-off between a willingness to feel vulnerable and a need to have sensation. I guess it would be synonymous with disclosure, yet the choice of...
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flaker:
I actually really dig reading your Blogs, as well as blogs by Chrysis...however, I have to do this. frownsmile


chrysis:
Funny. I do have thoughts on the parallels people draw with those behaviors .. in order to allow for some of it, and how they don't actually allow for the truth of the matter.

Such as, re: BDSM. They can allow for "bondage" if it's a "kink" but in their heads, it's only okay if it's something you experiment with. If they're liberal, it can be hot, but it's suddenly not okay as soon as it's a lifestyle or something you're really into. A fetish. You're a freak.

Drinking is okay if it's social. It's not okay if it's a lifestyle because then it's a crutch. You're addicted. You're sick.

A lot of people can even understand if you went through a period of self-destruction, be it an eating disorder or light cutting [where the scars are invisible six months later] at some point in adolescence or young-adulthood. These things happen. But if -you- have accepted it as a lifestyle and a coping mechanism .. it is frightening and upsetting, rejected, .. a different animal. Not a fluke.

These things are only okay as rogue instances. If they can be dismissed. If they might not be there the next week. But when you can promise they will be -- it's a hard pill for the other person to look at straight and still swallow.
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How can such a short time feel so long?

Exposure--in retrospect and denial (to completely forego any notion of context, much less a specific temporal focus, because that is the only way I will get this out)--is for me a trade-off between a willingness to feel vulnerable and a need to have sensation. I guess it would be synonymous with disclosure, yet the choice of...
Read More
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How can such a short time feel so long?

Exposure--in retrospect and denial (to completely forego any notion of context, much less a specific temporal focus, because that is the only way I will get this out)--is for me a trade-off between a willingness to feel vulnerable and a need to have sensation. I guess it would be synonymous with disclosure, yet the choice of...
Read More
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How can such a short time feel so long?

Exposure--in retrospect and denial (to completely forego any notion of context, much less a specific temporal focus, because that is the only way I will get this out)--is for me a trade-off between a willingness to feel vulnerable and a need to have sensation. I guess it would be synonymous with disclosure, yet the choice of...
Read More
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"Write what you know. Write about something real," he says. Among the best advice I have ever received. It is not always easy for me to sit down and just start typing. The desire is always there, however. To make pen and paper meet is always a bit trickier. But the catharsis of spilling out into the world your own unique perspective is the end....
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chrysis:
Yes. Yes!

Dude, next time I say "let's play hookey" -- let's go to Seattle. Because, I'm glad you understand what I mean.

Less inner noise. These other things going on in the atmosphere that ring with your bones and your blood. I love the culture there. I like the life on the streets and the fish markets and the locks and the coast and the ships on the horizon. I like that it's all real, whereas in Ohio, first of all .. there is nothing even comparable. We have nothing that is ours. But if there is anything to be found, it is plastic and replicated. It is something that someone saw somewhere and reproduced on a smaller scale .. It's a lamenant of a real thing. I want the real thing -- it tastes and smells and feels better. First thing in the morning.

There would be mountains. There would be .. things! There are no things here. Truly there aren't. We have parks, and I love parks, but that's all there is.

I love rain. Like someone else said -- they can't knock it because it helps them paint? It helps me write, it helps me think. It helps me calm down. I get very anxious or overly hyped in the sun sometimes. I can do rain. It lulls me [does not lulz me].

There is wildlife. Different wildlife. Big wildlife, and oceanic. There are aquariums! There are sealions! Ugh. And I'd be walking in puddles of coffee. ;]

Yeah. This just isn't the place for me.

I do want and need to get away from winter. My friend [from SG] doesn't live in LA, she lives in Sacramento. .. which is nine hours north of LA. She hates LA too -- says it's just way too much for her, vapid, etc. There's more culture and a laid back atmosphere in Sacramento, and it's more affordable. So I'd consider it. I really don't understand where that'd put me in relation to Washington, because it's so different from the east coast [where driving four hours puts you in at least one other state, if not three].

But.

But.

Yeah.

I have thought of, fuck, going to Europe or something [who does that? People, I guess -- but I certainly couldn't in reality -- just that no state was far enough]. Everything is so hostile here, and I think it's really just.. going to stay that way. It's a fog and it's as simple as stepping out of it. I'm not all jammed up -- it's just the air, y'know? -I'm- fine. :/ I don't want to get to the point where I do stop moving, though, and settle into the fog.
chrysis:
I always find myself with things on the tip of my tongue as I'm walking out the door.

Like now.

Nothing really heavy or even really answer-shaped. I am actually just curious about things. Also, .. not large things. But regarding the blog. Ish.

Fuck, headache. Cannot .. coexist with .. articulate .. thought.

Kbye.
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There are two different people inhabiting this body. I call one 'the good one' and the other, 'the bad one.' They somehow function in their cohabitation. Yet at the same time they are the cause of a great deal of friction that usually spills out into reality. When two people live together long enough, they can become similar in many ways. Such as the way...
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My favorite part of Autumn is how warm the sun feels. Most days during Autumn have a hint of chill in every breeze, and the sun's warmth is a welcome reprieve of comfort. Today when I was walking, and while I did I would pass between shadows and sunlight and I found myself quickening to get out of the shadow, only to slow down in...
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chrysis:


I think I've still got a shot. -_-;
chrysis:
Coffeeresponsetime.

SPOILERS! (Click to view)
Um. I guess just, thanks for saying that. Because, that actually was .. -oddly- hard to do. Not that I was, like, y'know, sleeve-wiping the tears away so that I could see the screen or anything. It was nothing I hadn't been over and over in my head a million times, privately, either while the whole thing was happening, or in the time after. I knew every detail back and forth and through. But some things you just put in such a weird place in your brain, and you can't pull them out and translate them into something that will fit out of your mouth.

And that is so .. fuckin' foreign to me.

I sat there with a blinking cursor at so many points. Just sat. Sometimes in the middle of sentences, at a loss for ONE WORD. That I had no concept of. Not that I was being picky. Just no concept of what I was ..

I don't know. I don't -do- that. I write quickly. I don't think when I write -- the way you don't sit there with a "blinking cursor" in your brain when you speak [most people don't?]. Which is why people can write me something and ten minutes later have a two page response. It's in my head as I'm reading, and I throw it down.

This was kind of a disturbing thing.

But I felt seventy pounds lighter, after. Not in the small way I always do after writing. In the big way. In the healthy way.

I don't often feel shame. I simply don't have many sources of it in my life. Other things that are related to it and come close, yes. But this hit me hard. I think for that reason. But to be honest with myself means not cutting around and babying sore spots, right?

Anyway. So that was a first.