Circuitous Circuit, Feed Back!

Okay. Starting now.

I guess Dad could get violent at some point. There’s no real saying he won’t. Probably toward our mother first. It’s been psychological so far (so, only effective on people with a psychology (which I discounted myself from for the longest time)).

Everyone needs a refresher once in a while. Of course, that refresher could be a knock to the jaw.


Going places. It’s nice, and sometimes it’s the being there that is nice, sometimes it’s the going there that is nice, and sometimes it’s the returning that is nice. Venn Diagram about those three cases for your favorite trip!


Asian-American culture. Don’t like it. Well, it’s harmless, but what I mean is I don’t like anime and K-pop. They’re harmless. But not in my taste.

Watch the racism lawsuits hit the door.

Oh my.

Ugh. Oh well.

Sorry if I offended anyone.

What else.


Yes, I still vape nicotine. Huff. Puff. Blow. Inhale. Et cetera. The same thing, over and over and over again, in my lungs, down my trachea, to soothe my agitated mind. Agitated like a turbid liquid. That kind. “Kind” is the Dutch word for child, and it’s pronounced “kint”. Neat, huh?

Duolingo gets two points.

Funny thing: I came to the conclusion that I would rather know I were alive than to be alive. Alive as in really passionately alive and active and doing the goods. It’s a subtle distinction, I guess, but it suits me better. Being alive is more about living in the moment; knowing you’re alive is more about self-confidence and thought. Maybe it just boils down to introversion. Introgression. No idea. Guess that’s a made up word.

Sorry for the lack of ampheticals.

Disgusting.

IN any case…

I also still have acne. I’m 30. So. Just so you know. It’s all over my back and ass. Hot, right.

Yuck.

Grasping at straws here…

Maybe my life, aside from the rollercoaster ride of my illness, isn’t so interesting.

Do people focus on the “normal” things when they’re sick but writing about themselves?

God. Stitches. I get these shitty tactile hallucinations, which come in two flavors: 1) Perceiving that I’m being touched inappropriately, and 2) Perceiving this very sharp sensation bordering on pain. They’re more spatial sensations than tactile sensations, but what’s a spatial hallucination? Probably ahead of the curve, as far as what psychiatry knows on the matter. There. I’m a cutting edge psychiatrist. NOW go sue me.

No, please don’t.

Pretend it’s all a joke, and no one feels bad, and everyone’s healthy and nothing is wrong.

This pressure. God. I have no idea what it is. It’s odd because my father complains about the same thing. Interesting, right? Are we both crazy, and if so, what are the odds of that? Now pretend I’m adopted and draw another Venn Diagram. Tres fascinant. I need to bust out the foreign lingo more frequently. See? That wasn’t that bad. But watch out. They can summon demons.

That was what it sounds like when my thoughts race and I’m ahead of myself (my writing).

Did I just identify my identity with my writing?

No idea.

Actually, no clue what just happened.

I’m glad I’m glad about writing now, more, so, actually, than ever.

This rivals college.


I’m on a strict work schedule now. I’m on sick leave from my place of employment (which actually doesn’t sound grammatically correct (could that be the sole problem?))–THAT’S disease. THAT’S work. Identify. Right.

What was I saying?

I’m on sick leave for my illness of the brain–maladie (Fr.)–so I’m not allowed to do any work for the company. So I’m pretending I’m self-employed and like learning computer and foreign languages and doing lots of productive stuff. I can’t reveal too many details because that might compromise my confidentiality on here. I can’t tell if it’s forwards or backwards. Huh?

So, like, the productivity is great. I hate it. It’s great (I would’ve repeated when I was younger as a writer–but oh how my tastes have changed (recent epiphany: nested parentheticals do not make you a genius)). But I just did? Am I in a rabbit hole? I can’t believe hole is spelled h-o-l-e.

I’ll share my self-made website with you once I make it. I need to design three before I pass my web design certification exams. There’s like three languages to learn. Computer.

K, no more details. (“I shun’t’ve said that, I shun’t’ve said that”–name that quote).


I heard, or, “did you know that”, most of the pollution in the ocean comes from primarily about four rivers in Asia? Yeah. Blame Asia.

Sorry. Not culture-bashing. I’m sure they’re running some very slim profit margins under strained critical resources. It’s tough. Running a country’s tough, whether it’s a Democracy or an Autocracy. It wears on you. Whoever you are.

What if Superman (or Woman) owned a country?\


I really need to reacquaint this gender-of-protagonist thing with myself. I wrote some nice stories in my time.

Now I sound like Grandpa.

Fuck. Nother stitch. God. Fucking painful. Sharp.

Ouch.

I don’t want to end it yet.

Hmm.

You know what’s funny? I can’t really tell the distinction between fake things and real things. I just hear, see, perceive, and process. I’ve never like reached a brick wall because something was fake. Does this touch some chords? I at all costs do NOT want to talk about politics on here. National identity is about as far as I’m willing to go. (And yes, once again, an open invitation to leave comments.)

Vape vape vape…

I like writing. I really do. I know what I like. I’m just too fucking sick in the head to do anything I like. And here’s what I mean: I’m not a sociopath. I’m more like… a handicapped person. There’s this brick (made of shit) in my brain that won’t let me:

  • read
  • write
  • play sports
  • interact socially
  • feel love
  • be gainfully employed

.

Hope that clarified that misstatement. Did you know double entendres don’t have to be sexual? Try it out some time. Good language is good fun.

Yes, I am working on my literacy.

Obsessive note: whitespace Italicized or not?

Side note: First word after colon capitalized or not?

Yeah. Priorities.

Now I sound like a teenager.

Well aren’t I self-characterizing (French influences (direct object before active participle(?))) fucktons today. Brickloads. I need more enumerators.

Uniqueness: I wasn’t aware it would go away, and I was never encouraged to do anything with it. I followed the system. I’m good inside the system. Except lately, once I got brain sick.

Artosis.

200-300 followers, but definitely not 200-300 visits per post.

Bleh.

Well, who cares.

You can tell my inspiration is running dry. I just like talking. That’s that.

I had a crepe wrapped in plastic for dessert. I opened the plastic before eating it.

So.


I can go longer. Just have some patience. Maybe you will recognize my voice some day. Hahahahaha. Oh gosh.

I could really use something delicious. Like really delicious. Something. Hmm.


Might need to start doing my own web crawling instead of using Google to isolate the really hot shit websites. The hot stuff. But not the hot zones. Avoid those at all costs. Hot shit good. Hot zone bad.

Web crawling. Very cool. Cool to be able to pull off on your own. I dabbled. Made my foray into the computer lingo. It’s not so hard, but understanding web design would probably help. Which is a happy coincidence (and I just now thought of this), since I’m learning web design.

Why would I want to leave?

My joke is somebody’s heart attack.

I better not.


I just thought of this: polygamy is sort of like military strategy except happy and good.

It is seeing more than just two perspectives simultaneously.

Mind-blowing. What a misfortunate term (inal).


How to say this. I mean, I wanted to touch upon a subject/topic which has been very hot for me lately: censorship.

How to go about this circuitously…

I have been dealing with intense censorship for at least a few years now. My thoughts are interrupted, I can’t really, I’m not allowed to, put things into words. Painting is only allowed in certain parts of the house. Hmm. Yeah. I think you get it.

So that’s it!

Enjoy the rest of your [time of day].

5 thoughts on “Circuitous Circuit, Feed Back!

        1. I had an epiphany today: The superheroes of society are the people who are the most normal. Humans ARE superbeings; just, the ones without flaws are the normal ones. They look normal. But they have such skills–empathy, communication, literacy, mood stability, self-control. Etc.

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