Выходные прошли быстрее чем я думала. Мало работала, ничего не сделала. В целом как обычно. Я осознала, что от ошибки не убежать и оставила подписку на П. Думаю, стоит еще как-нибудь его наведать. Подписку. So, here is a question of the day: am I delusional or did he walked around me an entire time I was there? How many times do I have to see him in a span of ten minutes to consider him interested in me? What is the area of the room to the time gap between two looks ratio? Gap. I need to overcomplicate this, of course I do. I need to know the numbers, I need the exact answer, no 50/50, no maybe, probably, most likely. Does he or doesn't he.
Песня дня:
Alan Walker, Noah Cyrus, Digital Farm Animals feat. Juliander - All Falls Down
In the kfc. Predvkusheishen of the favorites foods.
Отнесла деньги Э
Слушаю Эру милосердия
В супермаркете надо масло сливочное купить
Поход в парк лучше отменить
Мне нужно понять , в чем моя стезя, потому что я себя к сожалению воспринимаю только в связке с кем то, а отдельно себя не воспринимаю. Значит надо понять, с кем же я на самомо деле в связке.
I can't sleep again,
And there is a faint light in the window
Of my personal jail
With a view on the streets
(Sudno)
Flashbacks.
I write here sitting in the Discord voice chat, listening to the lads chattering, and it dawns on me again.
It's 2007, and I'm standing on a pier with the lads, watching them practicing the drown-and-rescue exercise. They are happy and chatty, basking in the rays of the fleeting summer.
Myself, on the other end -- I am not.
I can't fathom what I'm doing among them, although I'm perfectly accepted and valued -- I'm but an alien.
I turn away and stroll towards the City -- not to see most of them ever again.
"My personal jail with a view on the streets"
I've built it.
Left hand is still numb
Left side of the face as well.
I was mowing my lawn, the heartburn felt very sudden, and the numbness followed quickly.
It was on Monday, and now is Wednesday.
Honestly, I'm mulling around letting it play out, after all it's what I want, isn't it?
Or is it?
I can't really pin any role on myself, even that of a self-destructive middle-aged card-carrying moron.
Maybe it's better to let it stop the natural way.
But then I think about those who will regret my passing and I suddenly feel angry and unfulfilled.
That, and not wanting to die just yet.
Silly of me, truly.
I burn down.
Sometimes slowly, sometimes as fast as gasoline fire spreads, leaving only burnt out terrain in its wake, but it's the perennial nature of it that scares me the most.
"Tea, cookies and slow decomposition" -- the keyword was "slow".
It's not slow anymore.
It's fast as if you're riding the waves of your own destruction.
I feel like I'm back somewhere in 2016 but with less time to spare.
I was supposed to be retired quietly, rotting almost alone on an island full of green, not this.
It's the feeling again -- you're surrounded by walls whenever you go, and they are slowly moving towards you.
At some point they are going to crush you.
And I pray that I do'nt hear my own crack.
I do.
She shines
But for her it's dark and grime
On the inside cries for help but
On the out her eyes are dry
The world is one big horror story
But you got me by your side
I wish it was different.
I wish we could have been whole, I wish I never had those partial information games and the life full of some weird shit.
But it was pre-decided way out there.
I had no chance.
We had no chance.
It's so ironic I really understand it only now that all of the dies are cast.
I have no real purpose, no real meaning, no real life, forever lost in variances of variances of variances &so on..
I'm falling, falling, falling on those sharp rocks under me, trailing smoke from under my shredded wings, and it seems that the fall lasts like forever.
But it does not.
Once I reach the ground level, the landing time will come.
And only time will tell whether I will walk away from it.
I had no chance.
Truly.
I was robbed of many things by the people that I now feel the obligation to support and even somewhat revere.
I truly had no chance, being an outcast, an exile at my core because it's what I was being taught to be.
Decades later, a grown-up version of me reluctantly gives up on the dream of fixing it all.
Decades later, a grown-up version of me is a hermit, living alone in the darkness of painful thoughts.
I am still in a cage made by my own mind, that mimic the teachings of those I hate.
I shiver thinking about the possibilities if only I would have followed them.
When I die I would really like to have a chat with the Devil.
If He would care enough to chat, that is.
Each day is like a creepy nightmare,
I'm ripping off the layers of emptiness,
I'M GOING TO...
The Awakening.
I'm not going anywhere.
And this track is hard to even find today, although it reverberated through crowds of people a decade ago.
As if this timeline is not fully the continuation of the one I lived through.
I would not have been very surprised to learn that it's actually the Gods-honest truth.
The memory of a generation was erased, twofold, without replacement.
We're hollowed-out shells, doing shit of all kinds and forms.
Long ago, when I was young, I didn't think that it would come to this.
Now I cannot fathom the emptiness that it left in us.
As if we were dead already.
Bullshit.
In and out.
In -- and out.
The days got brighter, the music got darker.
I lost myself in more ways than one.
It's like I'm way younger and trying to invent an adult me of the pieces of my childhood that's already past me.
And failing -- so far.
My plans went to shit in more ways than one.
I will curse myself for the rest of my life for the things I did (or rather did not or did less) this year.
I'm back to the state when I want to drink. I want to drink myself to oblivion, just like in 2010 when I had plans to make some money just to live a year in a heroine bliss, and overdose and die when the stuff runs out.
Maybe in the end it would have been much better that what had transpired, Lahesis
Procrastinating, listening to the sad tracks, trying to find myself in the world and all.
I can't.
I am so lost I can't realistically put any role on myself.
Professional crisis that coincides with the personality one, not a black swan or a perfect storm, but a powerful combo nevertheless.
I needed to get out, fucking get out of the weird games I played back while it made sense.
Then I probably would have been dead, but happy.
That's what I always portrayed myself somewhere between 30 and 40 y.o.
I'm not the one that can live in peace with my ghosts. They will come for me, they will humiliate me, they will rip my throat and I will drown in my own blood-- only to wake up again.
And again.
And
Every time I try to stop thinking in russian forever, a little kid appears in my head.
"Please, don't kill me" -- he screams. And I would have ignored him readily, but he makes sense, because that kid is my 1x old self.
A tragic situation, truly, for that lad was not inherently bad or something, he just was there, in the wrong time in the wrong place. I spoke about the necessity to isolate and, if needed, to destroy the russians, but I faltered when my past self pleaded me for mercy.
That's why I always say about the generations needing to die. My generation needs to die off before that particular cancer is defeated.
Truly death is a tragedy to an individual but a huge benefit to societies.
Looky here.
_Those_ people are forever gone.
You would never get that chance, you would never have that conversation, you would never watch that person do the things you so much liked to observe.
It's all gone. They're all different, You're different. Life is a cruel, pitiless, vengeful bitch.
The conservative in me wants to flake stones and make ropes out of animal skins.
The progressivist in me wants to escape to the fucking space and use atomic energy to solve all the human solvable problems.
Meanwhile I procrastinate, and work shitty jobs, and try to forget about things and stave off decisions...
Now I will go to sleep and then I will try to do the boring, necessary stuff I'm so bad at.
I would've chain-smoked one after another, wanting the smoke to take it all away.
I would've drank like a maniac trying to get rid of the faces of those he coldly murdered.
It's past midnight, we're sitting on the granite porch of some building, pretty boozed, relaxed and so fecking young.
I look into your eyes and you look back at me, your eyes the pair of void pistol bores, staring into my soul.
They flash, those eyes, and I'm instantly done for.
We had pretty crazy stories, even then, at those early times before we were twisted and taken away from each other by the implacable forces or fate.
We had it in us, right, Lachesis?
Right?
The smooth rustling of the island wind is my only answer.
My friend never explained anything to me. Perhaps he thought I was like him. But, unfortunately, I cannot see sheep through boxes. Perhaps I am a little like grown-ups. I am getting old. 🐑
Weird things are going on today. Despite bad sleep quality, I have enough energy and have to literally hold myself from working my ass off. My attitude to myself has improved, there’s much less of usual tyrannizing self-treatment and concomitant fatigue.
This state resembles a maniacal stage of BPD, but I neither deem myself a second Bodh, nor imagine any Martian stone behemoths.
Anyway, I like this state, and it wasn’t arbitrarily granted to me - I was working on my self-loathing for last week or so.
A trip down the memory lane to my guilty pleasures.
Slowed down track of a traitor to things dear to me.
In 2006 there were a lot of things that seemed off. Different
We vehemently opposed those things that we later would support
I remember. I remember the weight of the knife on my hip, the heat of the June sun in the mountains, the conference center where we planned our little expedition..
It's all gone now. I would not be like those fat old farts from my childhood that were forever devastated by their world gone forever.
Mine isn't.
It's just changed, it's always, forever changing, and the gardens planted a century ago would not resemble the ones we see today.
Only the gardeners persevere.
Noticed a lightweight attitude to myself, seems to be a variant of an infantilism. I don't try to form a final opinion, I often make it clear that my opinion is not to be taken seriously, shifting the responsibility for verifying my opinion to whoever else is involved, and a blind certainty emerges that they are more qualified than me to make a decision. There's an underlying fear of being blamed and scolded for a mistake and for possible grave consequences.
Also, when someone authoritative says I'm wrong, I instantly change my mind without thinking thus remaining a weathercock.
What !F users say
Only today learnt about !F and created an account. Have to admit, this site is interesting and special, indeed. The idea is quite the thing! I'll be keeping my diary in spite of anything. I like this anonymity so much!
Fikus
I really enjoy reading other participants, it's so much more sincere here than in any social network.
Дынька
Such a funny idea, to keep an online diary, which can be read by anybody - and nobody at the same time.
Daryel'
I like a lot that there are no comments on !F. Here I have an impression that I am writing just for myself. I have less concern that my message will be evaluated.
!ХуеРы
I like Fragmenter very much. Now I have extra motivation to change. It's a big difference – just write to myself in a paper notebook, or write in order to share my thoughts.
Fragmenter is cool – I start to think once and again why I'm so depressed and how I came to be like that.
Туле 🌱
Fragmenter is the best thing that happened to me this year!
Aart 🐦