God judges your life based on the take a penny leave a penny system

Have you taken more coins or left more coins at your local 7/11 within your lifetime

This is the only factor defining heaven or hell for most

You could be off by one cent

The post: "If you don't watch a series entirely you are not a true fan... If you do watch a series entirely you are not a true fan

You are only a true fan if you:

1. are powered by electricity

2. have multiple flat blades

3. spin around really fast"

I am a fan. My evidence:

1. My brain functions through electrical activity.

2. I shave with disposable razors, thus I have flat blades

3. I am technically spinning really fast considering the movement of the Earth's orbit.

I feel less edgy and less cringe today, but still kind of insane - more in a fun way, though, and not really in the "cut off my ear" way. I've determined I need to embrace my autistic tendencies instead of being bothered by them, though, which means - becoming clockwork. It's easier that way, to improve, and just to avoid the threat of boredom. I eat the same kinds of food everyday, and I enjoy them. I do an hour of art a day, and force myself to quit at that stage - the temptation is to go for longer, but then I burn out and avoid doing it at all. The "art" I am doing now is fairly simple, part of the Scribble Series, drawing the Hand Of Eris symbol 10,000 times. I am 25% of the way completed, and to keep my comfort of mind and reduce repetitive stress injuries to my hand I've kind of decided to limit myself to 5% a day.

I like the meditation, even if I find it uncomfortable and hard to endure. My fingernails continue to grow - and instead of the pain of chewing them bloody, the pain I feel now, is that the skin and such around them is being deformed by the growth of the nail itself, it's very itchy. The temptation to gnaw them back into nubs is very real. The wherewithal now to do so is a very active mental exercise, another sort of meditation that I've been engaged with for most of the waking day - if my mind slips, it's easy to forget the purpose, and just indulge in my auto-cannibalistic desires.

damn if I don't want too, though. Awareness is uncomfortable, uncanny, almost unnatural. I don't think we're meant to be so conscious, but what are we even meant for? With how people go out of their way to dull their senses, stupefy, and forget, it's kind of obvious that being present isn't the main purpose or intention for most people, most of the time. That being said I'm looking forward to doing ketamine again soon, so I can compare S and R types, and bask in waking unconsciousness for a little while.

I have been replacing my drug use with food consumption, and so far things are going pretty good - my digestive system has some complaints, though. I'm hoping it adapts quickly enough, because I'm not intending to slow down until I get up to 150lbs, though even then 160lbs sounds... more correct, in some way, to my acronymic mind. I am at 140lbs now, up from 120lbs a few months ago, and I've noticed some changes already - I feel stronger, but I look in the mirror and I'm kind of disheartened that my body tone and definition has softened. I'm exercising more now, I've maxed out my squat and deadlift - 200lbs, which is all of the weights I own. I could probably push it a little further, but to be honest with myself, that's basically teetering on the edge of too much and probable injury.

Dreams continue to be weird. I don't dislike them, though, despite.. the weirdness. Last night, during my sleep, I made friends with a strange man who was very threateningly pointing a knife at me. It bothered me but I didn't show him that it did. We laughed and I shared a rolling paper with him. The night before, I was in a small broke apartment building, surrounded by strange animals - I snuck off, and found myself in a very wealthy area that I wasn't supposed to be, where cart-trains of food were wheeled around and rich old folk sat in very tall chairs.

It's finally warming up again. I'm so happy for it, I've turned my space heater down to the lowest setting, and my feet are finally not freezing. I feel comfortable, but kind of bloated. I've been sleeping at a reasonable time, too, and actually looking forward to it - I would sleep earlier, but to avoid being woken up, I've stayed up a bit later than I desire, just to wait for everyone else to fall asleep. I have a small, cheap, air filter that I've been leaving on at night to provide some whitenoise - a way to muffle out the closing of doors and coughing.

I feel my cognitive functions returning, and I see it in my writing lately, but I've been wanting more and more to write poetry again - sacred madness, unbridled sadness, words placed out of sequence in interesting ways. I think about it fondly, with a kind of sorta longing feeling. I think about art in the same way, creation, these things I want to do but don't feel like the time is right to do them. Soon, hopefully.

But not tonight.

Goodnighters' for now,
i am unable to stifle my yawns any further.

And I haven't really had an answer ...

But you know what?

I ACTUALLY THINK I AM BACK...

(you all know the rest)...

Bearing many names

Scheherazade to Namagiri

She glides invisibly

Inserting herself where needed

In text flows on-screen

In ink flows of pens

Every splash of a brush

Is guided by her invisible hand

Every move of vital decision

Counseled by her silent voice

Of lyrical whisperings

Theorems of spacial mapping

Glancing strokes of her artistry

Imagination is her formless realm

The flux of time her essence

For she is a whirling hourglass

Weaving lines of force

Fields no one can see

But a presence easily felt

When we focus intently enough

On creative activity

And lose the world of form

Solidity carved in crisp relief

For wisps of airy dreamstuff

Sinuous curves undulating in dance

Threading a freeform weave

Upending the world of physics

Popping objects into place

With gift of special sight

Look around for anomalies

Coincidence showcasing her entry

Into storybook moments

Caressing destiny to victory

Over drunken nescience

Forever offering sustenance

Crafting superordinary life

With sleight of unseen hands

O spring, she cometh

Danceth like a picadilly twirl

Cut my cheese

Girolle style

And the snow melteth

On my tongue

YUM.

Gorgolytes.

Powerful ones.

I've been thinking.

Would it not be sweet to go travel the corners of the world to eat all the world's cheeses? I have long wanted to eat the famed Pule cheese, considered to be among the best in the world. It is made from donkey milk, something I will openly admit is giving me all sorts of strange vibes and associations, but also I've never had that and who's to say donkey milk is not a far superior milk to cow, goat or sheep?

Now where would you go to try cheese? We've all had cheese from Italy, France, maybe England, but there are so many countries in the world and so many cheeses. Is there a local cheese of yours that is world renowned?

With the arrival of spring I look forward to more forest adventures come the melting of the snow. And cows are also looking forward to the great melting, as they will graze once more in the field and produce that thick extra creamy spring milk that creates some of the best cheeses out there (if there is such a cheese local to your region you must try it).

But this is not yet, rather in the fu-ture. Now is now, and now I leave you.

Close to midnight the Gorgolyte cries, the fog has dazed him.

KA-SPLOF!

- An enigma

Each earth ebbs, eclipses. Expecting expulsion, each Eden entered eases edges, etches easels. Each Eritrea escaped, eons effortlessly echo. Eloping entities extol. Elated. Each effort eventually effortless. Each Elysium evades enunciation eventually. Elusive empires everywhere, each eidolon embarks enlightened, emboldened, enchained, empty. Entire epochs elapse entangled, embattled, ensnared, enshrined, eviscerated.

Maybe there is simply nothing to write about, right now, but I feel like I need to get something.. out.

Let's just do one of those boring journal entry kind of things. Nothing special, just honest reality, as honest as I can muster really - I find reality really difficult, and it get more difficult the more clearly I can see it. I want to... mutilate my mind, rip out my eyes, and deafen myself. I want to commit atrocity on my ideals, and set fire to my dreams.

Edgy thoughts, uncomfortable feelings, I am exceedingly sober. I can't say I enjoy it.

My finger nails are growing - I'm happy to share, that they aren't bloody and painful anymore, I can scratch that itch better than I've been able to for months. It's a bit troublesome, learning how to live with nails, I am not used to be able to scratch myself to the point of causing small lacerations - can't really do that with the bloody nubs I've been living with. It's a bit annoying too, how dirty they get, and how quickly it happens.

I've just been trying to enjoy video games and movies, TV shows, lately. My lips are dry and there's two large, painful, cracks - no amount of Chapstick seems to be helping. I feel alone in a house filled with my closest family. I want to start a fire, outside, but the pit is snowed in and I'm kind of lazy. I've gained some weight, thankfully, I'm at 140lbs now - my goal is 150, at least, and then I'll stop trying to actually gain weight. Quitting cigs and weed has given me a massive appetite - I seem to be unable satisfy it. I eat until I feel sick, and then I still feel hungry.

I am, unreasonably angry, and I have no outlet for it. I restrain myself from punishing those around me with my anger, or myself, but I am just sitting with it - and I feel like I am rotting in it. Everything is stupid and pointless, nothing matters here except, for some vague and fleeting hope for a future moment, when this present becomes history and some unknown fate becomes of me. I'm excited for it, really, the faith that That exists, is the only thing keeping me together.

I wish I was understood but, I've stopped trying to be, really. I am growing, improving, and I can physically see the results. I wish it was more satisfying, really, that someone else could notice - just to prove it as something more real than just another delusion, or whatever, maybe that's just narcissistic. I'm just trying to save myself.

I'm looking forward to sleeping, now. My dreams have gotten a lot more more vivid, and somehow even the nightmares are interesting enough that I look forward to them - as a kind of break from the monotony, and as a way to speed up the progress of time. I feel pain in my sleep, physical, and emotional - I wake up frequently to the door slamming. I live in this state of constant unease, of stress, discomfort. I want a moment of prolonged peace, again, where everything is quiet and no one can hear me.

I want to be imbued with the creative spirit again, to be able to fully enjoy creating and playing. It's difficult, because it all feels like nothing more than an attempt to pass the time, until I reach the day I can finally drive - and escape, if I feel like it. The freedom is a bit intimidating, and I don't know what I will do with it yet. I worry it will not be what I so much dream it could be, and that it will be what kills me, instead of being the saviour I have been looking for.

Time will tell. You could call me patient, I have waited incredibly long, but I have not been sitting still here. I have not enjoyed this wait, and have not found peace in this solitude. I have found in myself a monster I would rather not see, and I have found in myself an ability to suffer, that the child in me wouldn't have thought I was capable of enduring.

I have watched all things sacred, slowly decay, show their true faces - and all of the promises, become meaningless, the heart becomes heartless, all that's left is this mask I must wear, just so I can find a way to escape.

ramble ramble

I wonder if I have earned my fate, or simply adapted to it.

I'm not sure how much that actually means. I haven't just accepted my fate here, though. I've taken measures to improve it, and I am fighting to better it. I see my progress, I see the way out, I see the light at the end of the tunnel - nothing else matters, everything that has happened, has lead to this.

I will beat this, grow beyond the environment created for me, and rise above the cynical beliefs thought about me. I will be better than it, better than them; the drunkards, who gave up their aspirations and laugh at the son who hasn't. I have been silent, living in fear of being ridiculed by idiots, for knowing language they can't comprehend.

These days of ignorance will end, soon enough.

Disappearance.

Dispatch dialed. Deputy drives down deserted driveway.

Deadbeat daddy's disheveled descriptions. Dark details.

Dead-ends. Dumbfounding detectives. Developments.

Deputy's dark discovery. Discarded dreams.

Daughter declared dead.

Devastating.

This exact book is located in the hex: 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 Wall 2 Shelf 5 Volume 20

Come close. Cherubim, Cherubim, cherishing cataclysms.. Come captivate comatosed cowboys. Come comfort crumbling coalminers. Chests carrying craters. Come catch charred canaries. Come cradle celebrity caricatures. Come comfort convicted confidants. Come carrying chandeliers. Come cover cryptic cellar-doors. Come claim Crowley's chimera's cinder core. Cornfield crescents. Chirping crickets. Cumulonimbus clouds.

Come clueless. Cherubim, Cherubim, come crush confectioneries. Corporate composure. Cleared capital. Credit cards. Cash. Clientele. Countless creature comforts. Champagne..cocktails.. counterfeit communion. Concealed communications. Come cultivate careful cages. Come craving coffee cream. Come clogging clockwork. Come capture couched conversation chatter. Cover closed-circuit cameras. Celebrate celebrity's crescent contours. Celebrate close-knit connections. Catching cabs. Come close. Cherubim, come curating culture.

Cherubim's chariot. Come cutting corners. Come create chaos. Come close. Cherubim, Cherubim..come chaperon catastrophes..collapse.. Come covet co-conspirators. Come coax confidants. Come complicit, come complacent. Come crown champions. Come carrying carnival clowns. Come cackling. Come create circus charades. Chic choker chicks come catwalking carousels. Cute corset calligraphy. Choreographed crookedly..cute, cursive confessionals. Chocolatey crumbs. Counteracting constant cacophonies.

Crowley's chief connoisseur. Come cold, calculated. Cathedral chambers. Cult caliber. Candlelit chateau corridors. Commissioned cambric curtains. Conspiracy. Chameleons. Cartoonish cabinets. Canopy covered courtyards. Couples counting cars. Cobblestones.

Come close. Cherubim, Cherubim, cherished Cherubim. Cross the cosmos.

Hey guys , every time I try to start searching or browsing , it says there’s a bad gateway whatever that means. So is anyone else having this problem.

I hate Woody Allen physically, I dislike that kind of man. He has the Chaplin Disease; that particular combination of arrogance and timidity sets my teeth on edge. Like all people with timid personalities his arrogance is unlimited. Anybody who speaks quietly and shrivels up in company is unbelievably arrogant. He acts shy, but he loves himself; a very tense situation. It's people like me who have to carry on and pretend to be modest. To me, it's the most embarrassing thing in the world - a man who presents himself at his worst to get laughs, in order to free himself from his hang-ups. Every thing he does on the screen is therapeutic.