👁️
Oh My… what do we have here? A washed up, half baked, passion project strewn on the sandy shores of the local landfill, hm?
Says as much. I’ve moved house since last reporting in, not that you’d know it. It’s sunrise as I reprise my trickling stream of worthless thought. It weighs so little it drifts like Everglades springs at the years start, when winters heels are just about dug out of the lands dirt - and the groundhog comes to bare wishes of fresh harvest and good fertility for an the meek animals such as hare, foraging birds and squirrels, and deer.
Imagine if this was how Life on Other planets will retell our history.
I bet none of you can imagine if quite like I can.
Which is another thing! I guess, ya know, I’m a bit narcissistic. Now, I’m not saying that fore the sake of ‘I am so uncaring and aloof’. Actually. What draws me to this point of focus is my ego.
The damn things frailer than glass frozen over then reheated in rapids. Tsk. Not that that means anything. My doctor once made a wonderful point by claiming ‘We don’t diagnose Personality Disorders in Teens because every Teen is a little narcissistic. They are supposed to be.’
People are quick to write off a slap on the wrist as a blister not their boilings worth, when - really - It’s just the worlds way of rounding you out. Learn, don’t cry for a doctor to write a note excusing your actions. Who is your heroes, hmm? Your mother? Someone wealthy - popular? Someone well articulated and highly renowned? They’ve all done something stupid, regrettable and more often than not, deplorable. Wipe your dribbling chin, no one cares when you screw up. You’re not name brand, you’re a tale of a mishap or bad decision in the makings of a statistic. Fore as unique as the world is, history repeats. Universal experiences are as rare as three leafed clovers, so when you somehow get the short end of the stick, of if the last laugh isn’t your own — Marco Polo was once in your shoes over something, and Queen Victoria too. They died, and no one gives a damn about ‘on this day, Jane Doe had a messy break up—‘ or ‘—John Doe couldn’t get erect-‘
Who will be putting that in your biography? Besides, if someone did… you’d be a legend. If you aren’t the best, be the worst. You at least get a title, and second place is as good as loosing anyways.
What, are you going to be a Burger King in a world run by McDonald’s? So be it, I won’t lambaste you.. I’ll be DQ. Separate, sweet and sustained.
Ice cream is right up my alley anyways.
Anywho, never hold a grudge. If someone wrongs you - violently, sexually, any other was - sure, go ahead and damn them to hell. What I mean is give time to all tales told treading chippy water. It settles under the bridge for a reason.
Your taste buds change every 3 days; subtly. Subtle is the way your cells die, shed and reproduce. Let your soul do as much too. Reach out, try again! Fore it’s cancer that occurs when you deny the usual cycle of rejuvenation; recovery.
But I’m merely blabbing, aren’t I? Take a look at the date, hmm? Whats it say.. let me check too. In a matter of 5 days I will be 18 years old. Am I thrilled, sure. What would it ever matter to me. I’m ready to go as the wind blows. It’s been that very wind that’s dried my clothes for many years now, drying my hair out the car window on melancholy day on way to a doctors office.. that’s a memory of mine.
I see my sources as.. milestones, in a way. To just feel better. ‘Oh, I’m this age now—‘ what does that mean? In such an isolated experience, I do not know what this would be like for someone in the real world. What are people my age doing?
Well, I’m 17. When I was 17 as Usopp, I was running amuck with the crew of the going merry and routinely getting into the most horrible ordeals imaginable. All while bagging a sweet blondie who’s cooking has a real kick to it. Heh..
FUCK YOU LOVEJOY FUCK YOU
At 16, it was Me, Goshiki. That was wonderful, and 16 was such a good year. I was skinny. That is all. 15, Mineta.. fun
14; Ernest Vega, 13; Mable Pines. Funnily enough, these are similar to how I really did live out those younger years, even before I was aware of I such a mindset.
Moments ago I thought, ‘Pfft, whom am I 18 as in media?’ Then it hit me, and I felt dumb. Keith ‘Two-Bit’ Matthews from The Outsiders by S.E. Hilton.
I can live like that, yeah… I already do, shit.. most of my lives are me ducking around and being a little scummy.. a little gross. I’m dirty now, hell, I won’t hide it. Im w8ing for 20 to be Tamami, I’ll admit that.
19.. Usopp again, or I could be someone else, if I check my list of MEdia appearances — THATS BRILLIANT!! Star Achievement in that making of a title and acclaim.
I miss some people sometimes. I try to catch wins of them these days, but I can’t. Like 411, I am on your trail only for it to drop of a sharp edge. No meaning, no reason and no promise they’ll come back. Yet i campaign, “no, keep it open! Keep the search going, don’t close the case…” but it’s a fight against a clock past its minute mark.
Do you like how I say things that make sense but it’s all a little bit askew? Do you feel it’s akin to speaking with the Cheshire Cat from Alice and Wonderland? Hm.. that or the Mad Hatter, but he’s so overused! All for what? I loath characters with no depth and low quality rank tossed up to make them appeal to Hybristophilics. “Oh, he’s crazy! He’s dangerous!”
Psychological horror is the main damage done in incidents of any kind. The trauma heals as much as a body can, but a mind adapts. Having a brush with death, or having a jarring experience will last life long, even when managed and treated and set to ‘rest’.
A sleeping bear still can stir.
The Cheshire Cat is much more likely to expose someone to torture beyond a physical realm - with his ability to disappear at will and manipulate objects, it’s good to say he’d be a real champ at mind games. Lest we get into how his charm and smooth talking could be labeled trademarked as a stamp of a serial killer.
After all, we always hear it. ‘He was so charming’, ‘I suspected nothing’, ‘a good neighbor’. People wear clothes, so try guessing where my mole is on my nude expanse… a needle in the haystack, you cans be sure what’s hiding just below the surface. It could be imbedded sewing end up in you foots sole next step you treed across barns open floor, or it may be a smiling face whom is harbored just next door.
I believe shame - being duped enough to be found allured into a killers clutches - plays a huge role in weakening the stamina of people. Anyones a bit weak in the chest and arms when embarrassed. It’s like a cold pale of water drenching you dead of night.
That brings me a sense of contentment. I’d even say it boarders delight. Pleasure. Dread spread smooth through the cardio vascular system like butter on crisp bread freshly heated; golden brown as your cheeks are rosey red at whatever revelation sparks up that little flame of gnawing guilt and humiliation — you can see slack jaw set in and eyes doe eye as they seek escape from the impending emotional cyclone surely to follow. Think of people being caught selling drugs or even meeting kids online. You know their life will be eternally affected and this moment is what they will reflect back on forever. They will always get a soft splash of this cold, cruel reality when recalling it. That’s the feeling that pushes me to meet white bliss in bedsheets.
Why on Earth would I post a page like this… No one knows of this, surely. It’s such a nestled link in my Carrd.. well, if you DO stop by… leave a Lemon Emoji in my StrawPage with a single word reply on my working brain.
See you Soon, Lots of Luv, Logs