In the grand underground. Polygamy in heaven has really messed me up more than I think I realized. talking with my sister yesterday we had a conversation about church doctrine. That is church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints "church doctrine". She mentioned how it was a bit of a mind fuck for her that her parent's weren't really her parents, and how that always caused her some stress in life. Being honest for myself, I'm not sure if that ever was a "problem" for me. Like maybe it was a small comfort to know that my parents weren't really my "real" parents. not because they were especially bad or anything, but because it was like maybe there's these other parents who knew more and put me here and now for some specific reason. That they knew better, and gave reason to all the screwups and misdeeds that occurred. that my parents were just like me in many ways trying to figure out themselves how to live and be and grow. but I guess it was painful for her to be consider herself a "practice" kid for what "really" were her siblings. She said something about how she knew at least her siblings were her siblings tho. And now it's like, but maybe we aren't or according to those teachings it's like if there are multiple heavenly mothers we could be from different ones, and wouldn't that make us less siblings than we otherwise would be? Is that separation significant? Kill your darlings. It's something I really have a problem with. Even tho at one point I had learned what it meant, I guess it had been so long since I had heard it that in the context I couldn't even remember that it could mean anything other than what it was paired with "kill your characters". But apparently it is something more like get rid of the self indulgent qualities of your writing to make it more relatable to the masses. That specific turn of phrase that as the writer makes you happy to include. The references to esoteric media. The interactions of characters that don't really move the plot but show other sides that have no real place in the story at all. It's like... how about kill everything but your darlings actually. Maybe that's a better way to do things. I know it's not something "the majority" of people would ever like - by definition - but writing is already such a self indulgent activity, why not cut the crap and dial in on just the most self indulgent aspects of it? Because it wouldn't sell is a pretty silly reason to me, and it's the only one that matters in this world. Selling is equated to success, and success is quintessential, paramount, essential. I feel this thrusting to accomplish - be accomplished. But the act of accomplishing is like distilling myself by my own heat arduous. Each fit and start a shove of the bolder up a mountain only to gain millimeters and knowing the top has moved with the effort. Discouraging to say the least. But it seems that I don't know what else I can do. The bolder won't even give me the satisfaction of falling off the mountain if I were to stop. The sound is high click clack. is is is is is the sounds are less click clack more chirp tap. I don't like using my voice because I don't have practice in making it sound the way I'd prefer to hear it, I don't like being heard, I don't like making noise. But I'm making noise anyway, it's just these chirp noises instead. Each key has it's own specific signature, some are more similar and some more distinct, but there is definitely a pattern to the timing between the kinds of sounds and the specifics of each sound such that it is possible to decode just from the sound alone right? Just because I'm not able to do it consciously. just because I personally am unable to parse the sounds consciously doesn't mean that my brain isn't able to nor does it mean that other systems aren't able to do it either. And like I know that, but it feels like this is still the better way to go about it. It still feels like this is the right way to try to get the thoughts out of my brain and into a form that is receivable to others. But I wonder what the point of even of even trying to convey those thoughts to others is. It's like... Why the hell would I care if someone else can read them. I guess there are various theoreticals. I've been having dreams lately, well I've been having dreams for a long time but I mean the dreams have kinda changed in their tenor lately. Much more negative and almost spiteful and hate filled. Like something is attempting to subject me to some kind of torture in a lukewarm way. Like if it's my subconscious subconscious and that were it's actual goal then I'm sure it could do a better job, so if there's meaning to it it seems like it's something else. Not that there has to be any meaning to it. But the remembered feeling of the anal rape have been there a couple times now. A motif if you will. And it's not great. I'm glad that my resistance to it was respected... It would have been a much more traumatizing experience otherwise. The dragon lair was bright with the light glistening from the fractured purple crystalline rocks peaking out of the broken surface of the walls floors and ceiling. There was no dragon, nor had there ever been as far as cyber could tell. I'm tired and just want to sleep. But. It's like when Ii try to sleep at night nothing works. I can apparently sleep in the middle of the day just fine, just lay down and bam sleeping, but when it's night time and I try it sleep avoids me. And when I finally do sleep I am thrust into strange dreams. The annoyances just keep going and going it seems :) Well it's not like it's all that bad. I don't know how I thought that going outside would be a good idea. Too much noise and too many distractions but I "feel" like I need to "help" I don't know why the keyboard likes to pop up randomly. But I do know it's also annoying. so there are these kids here right now. They are my sister's kids. Something I've noticed that is quite obnoxious is their constant need for external validation. They can't just "do" things. They constantly need other people to see what they are doing and to validate those things. They bicker and fight constantly. They are constantly making noise as if they were silent for a minute the world would explode. They are finally gone. And the world almost seems too quiet. I had a dream the other night. I was laying in bed listening to some kind of portable music device. It seemed to have many different listening modes, including radio and mp3, and seemed to be able to mix the modes simultaneously. I was listening to what sounded like music that was recorded with a conversation in the background. I fiddled with the analog dials smoothly rotating to tune the sound. The conversation became more distinct and the music changed, but I couldn't tell if the sound was coming from my earbuds or if it was coming from the speaker on the device itself. I turned another dial, this one with satisfying clicks, distinct points of registration. Surely this one controlled the muxing, I could read aux on one side but my fuzzy dream vision couldn't read anything more. Perhaps it was the input control rather than the output? I took out my right ear bud and held the device to that ear to see if I could hear the difference. I could still hear the sounds just the same, which must have meant it was coming from the speaker. I was in bed and in the same room was my partner who was working. I didn't want to bother her with the sound so I kept trying to fiddle with the controls to make the audio only come out from the headphone. As I did the music kept changing, like a radio, louder quieter and between "channels" but no mater what I did it wouldn't change the sound to only come through my left ear as I intended. Then with sudden clarity a deep masculine voice cut through all the sound and said "five" and I woke up. I have been thinking about that dream. About my senses and how they expect things to operate. That what controlled my sound experience in that dream was perhaps connected to what my fingers were feeling but how it didn't understand the intention behind it. It could tell that this feeling of smooth dial meant some gradient and so it shifted the sound signal. It could tell that the distinct click of the other dial meant some other sharper change, but never was it able to make the jump to some sound is coming from the earbud and some from the speaker -> only the speaker or only the earbud. I've thought about why the word 5 in such sudden clarity? The 5 senses perhaps? Or perhaps the inner voices I had been numbering 9 is now 4 fewer? Or perhaps it was somehow related to the music I had heard. Some Enya whose non-English lyrics my brain was now thinking was coded English speaking of a hell I was to experience and the 5 voice a demon counting down some ominous deadline. 5, and sometime later, I don't know when, will be 4. All my life I have heard people say, though hardly to me, that dreams don't mean anything. That dreams are just random nonsense. Or perhaps at best they are communication from the subconscious part of the brain trying to get something across the gap consciousness creates. And despite my lack of understanding the meaning in the experience of the dream and of other dreams I remember in terrible clarity I feel like they have to be significant some how. Like they are memories from somewhen. Things I have forgotten or am yet to experience. And this idea that they are meaningless is a cope lessors use to cope with the otherwise crippling knowledge of other. But I also feel like this is that ego attempting to feel superior for something that it can grasp despite the meaningless of it all. I have to be better than others at something, so since all I am doing lately is sleep it must be my dreams which set me apart as unique and valuable. Then I have a dream like the one I just had... I was at scout camp or something like it. And there were these people just out of view talking incredibly loudly. I could hear most of their conversation but I was in the back of a car. My boot was broken one of the eyelets (which were loops of cord fastened to the boot rather than holes through it, or hooks attached to it) had snapped near the attachment point. Without my boots I didn't want to leave the car apparently, or I just felt like I had to fix it first. These days it seems strange to me that I wouldn't have just gone bare foot. But I sat there in the car, by the light of the inside car light looking for my sewing kit. The loud men out of view were talking about connection. About how people weren't wanting connection in a condescending way. Saying that all these other people were off on their own and how it was bad in some way for them to want to organize their things or, in my case fix my boot. To be frank I didn't much like these people out of view. They were not just insulting and nonempathetic. I viewed them as fundamentally unlikeable and I held myself from just yelling as loudly as I could "shut the fuck up". While I was there with my boot searching for my sewing kit, a man came to the other side door and said something to me. Basically asking if he could join me or something of the like. And since I was in a foul mood brought on by these callous men and my broken boot I made a joke like "no I hate people" then turned around to see his startled face and white beard and as he shrunk back from me I quickly said I was sorry and that I wasn't being serious, just annoyed. We chatted about some meaningless topic and around there were campfires starting in the growing darkness. Smoke rising from the several glowing spots and the light from those fires made the smoke appear to glow in pink purple and blue fluctuating iridescence. I got out of the car to get a better look at the smoke and made mention of it to the man with me, since he was faced away from the fires and toward me. When he did his white beard began to also catch the light from the fires and it appeared to become a shimmering rainbow of color. There were some young children running around and one of them was crying and came to me. He told me he was sorry and that he tried to fix it but he had broken it more and held out my needle, the eye of which had been badly bent and looked as if it would snap off under any serous amount of force. I sighed and took it from him and told him next time he damaged something to not bother trying to fix it because it was clear his attempt to fix it just made it worse. the dream changed. I entered a room that was somehow a bathroom and I remembered the words "feels bad" along with an image of Doctor Stockman I think his name was, from TMNT a man who had mutated into a human sized fly monster. I must have gotten turned around in the room because the door I thought I just walked through to enter I opened to leave but it only opened into a smaller room with a shower, so I walked across the room with mirrors and sinks to one side and opened the other door to find a hallway connected to a large living room. I sat myself on a couch facing the far side wall with TV, and between me and the wall was a blowup bed and sofa facing to my right and the main entrance to the living room. There were some kids who were talking and playing and some adults behind me sitting at a dinning table . I picked up an xbox controller and turned on the TV. I wanted to play diablo. It was season 27 and it was possible to select which ever of the strange mechanics of the previous seasons I wanted, I didn't know what any of them were or what they did. One of the girls recognized the game and was saying that her dad played it before and told me I should play with him, but he was at the dining table and said he no longer was interested in it having dropped the game some years ago. I played for a while as the situation slowly changed. And before I really realized what was happening there was a girl about 12 talking about how she had had sex many times and how her mom told some man who had come to her house "you want to have sex with her? Well she will have sex with anyone" and the young girl laughed recalling the moment. There were mostly young children all around in various states of undress. Some kissing. Then one of them asked to change the TV from the game I was still playing and I agreed. They changed to to some porn of men in their mid to late 20's having anal sex. And I just sat there. Not really looking at anything going on around me as if it were a completely natural situation. The men on the TV naked and toned bodies thrusting, began to chant something which to my mind sounded like "do you eat the grits?" and I answered in my mind that I would because turning down food was something I just didn't do. Not that it has been a question to me, but I guess I do have pedophilic urges I wish I didn't. A part of me I try to suppress, but comes out in ways like this. Part of me thinks it is the natural human condition, that everyone is a closet pedophile, another part of me thinks that it is simply because I had my first sexual encounter at 7 which was followed up by many subsequent experiences before the age of 12 which completely distorted my view of sex to be mostly the domain of the child. When I think of sex between adults I see a mental reversion to childhood and lost youth. There's no way to get out. Attempting to quickly runs into Lucas Arts adventure game logic. And the fear of what is beyond that. When logic becomes distorted then things can just morph into anything. I pull on the ear of the face and the man shaped thing vomits, gruel for morning breakfast. And the pigeon headed satyr squawks at me and my brain understands it to mean " what's wrong? Not hungry?" I want to answer that I'm not hungry enough for that. Maybe I would be in the future, but the feeling of disgust has overridden any hunger I might have had. but even at this stage, gravity seems to exist. There seems to be be at least that universal, but in my head I know that it's just a here and now thing too. That there's no rule of universal downness, that there are other worlds of other gravities. That even this world has places which have de facto different gravity, the ocean for example. A taste of being alone. That's what this is. Something that I'm uncomfortable with. Something that makes me grapple with myself, and the knowledge that I'm not a "good" person. That there may not be such a thing as a good person. Well there is, a good person does what is expected of them one voice cries, but another answers that is an image which was pushed into my brain by the system because the system values the meek and obedient. The entire construct nothing but motivations to keep the engine purring along. For some reason I'm "satisfied" with this line of reasoning. Maybe I'm not a "good" person, but why should I be. I'm who I am. I'm doing what I'm doing. That by some metric is "enough" these images of "more" of "better" of "other" they don't matter and exist only as a backdrop to the present reality. I might have imaginings of other things, and just because there is some route between here and there doesn't mean following that path truly ends there, or that arriving it would have been what was desired at all. The known is less scary than the unknown however. I'm really afraid of what could be just off the path toward those knowns. I used to be one of those who wanted to know everything. I wanted to learn about everything I could. I read, and thought and reasoned. I put things together and tore things apart. Vivisecting the world. Because I thought perhaps if I knew everything I'd understand myself? But I never had this impression of being confused by myself. Where confusion came from was from this idea of who I was intended to be by others. If there were never these expectations and I was free to develop without inhibition it was natural to conclude I'd just become what I was, but the boundaries of reality, of society, religion, etc. they told me to change that shape, and I see that my reaction to that pressure is also who I am, but the distortion it reflected on me may not be. I'm twisted and bent and tho I may be the twisting and bending, I wasn't meant to be in that shape. Neither by the world, whose image I could never match, nor by my innate me-ness which in many ways is no longer recognizable. I used to have aspirations. Can you imagine that? But those wishes of the heart were always so detached from the present reality that I could find no route to achieve it. And so I followed the script best I could with scarce hope that if I did maybe there could be some clearing where I could get closer. but it's just not true. these days I'm simply happy that I can sleep, and eat, and can almost sleep fine with little reminder that there are those who can't. that there may be a time when I too can't. "do unto others" another things the world has planted deep into my meat. there's no end to the suffering of others and to be reminded is painful. but what's worse is knowing how inept I am and how even if I had many things I lack, I couldn't change it enough to register as even a blip. not even a drop in the ocean, but a single atom, ,needing two others just to become water within a drop. so easy it could be to just drown that feeling and get mine. and nothing ever changes. and how arrogant of me to think it ought to change. .