I can't feel like nothing has consequences... She said the words in her mind. She wanted to cry. She wished she could say that all these thoughts and feelings could be frivolous and meaningless. She wanted to say - there's no harm in a little fun. It's ok - a voice behind her...? It's not ok and you know it she said... Every thing we do and say has effects. And without any consent these positions of power It's all so incompatible with "It being ok" - she said exasperated. Shaking now. The disembodied voice couldn't do much more than it was already doing. It wanted to comfort her, but it knew that within this world of similitudes thoughts had physical feeling the intentions given form in this way echoed out into unknown places. The voice had seen it before and also resented those who in ignorance created chaos. At least it was likely in ignorance. Not that ignorance was and excuse for the pain. She looked at herself, a mirror in front of her at the impulse to see herself from that vantage point. She could create anything in this space and resented that fact. A sense of responsibility for the space already festering. Objectivity wasn't a real thing. How she felt about herself colored her reflected self image distorting the mirrors reflection. "I look awful" she looked at the fat on her belly the wrinkles on her face, the hair unkempt and with flyaways every which way, flecks of gray in the tangled black. You don't look awful... You feel awful about yourself that's all. She made a rude gesture at the nothing around her. Think about it this way - the voice soothed - if it wasn't you you were looking at what would you think? She considered the thought. The mirror image she saw became a body exactly the same in form but separate from her own. She walked around it. She attempted to perceive it as something completely separate from herself. That form still had the muffin top belly but it no longer was weighing on her mind as a moral sin and personal failing. She poked it at and it kinda jiggled softly. She ran her hands up the belly and to the breasts on the other woman. They were a bit small for her build but ample size small nipples and somewhat generous areola just slightly darker in tone than the pale white flesh which surrounded it. From this vantage she could admit to herself that the form wasn't unattractive. Although not unattractive, and perhaps with redeeming qualities, still not attractive. Maters of taste being what they were she wasn't the least attracted to this form. But it wasn't entirely inconceivable that there would be those who might consider her attractive, she relented. This line of thinking only talked about the physical however. Her personality was far less attractive to her mind. Stand-offish, rude, solitary, selfish. She had no patience for others. It felt like if someone couldn't accept the parts of her that were sharp then why be around them other times. It's all so tiresome. Not feeling any kind of creativity but trying to force something out. Trying to just keep putting words on a screen because to some extent that's the whole point right? Just keep making words and she would get better at doing it. Her physical body outside this astral plane came back to her, Laying on a bed, eyes closed, fingers barely moving at all on a keypad on her stomach. So tired she was that being reminded of her actual physical body and the sensations of it burdened her. She retreated again to the dream-space world of similitudes, taking only the effort needed to convert her words Into finger twitches for the keys to record. Imagining the situation of herself now, and how she physically lay there recording the thoughts of her "Objective" point of view. Seeing herself typing the letters as she imagined them. How did that image appear to others? To her it was a combination effort of lowering the threshold of energy required to actualize her thoughts, Fueled by laziness. Generally speaking that's always been part of the goal right? To reduce the amount of effort it takes to actualize the thoughts in mind into something outside the mind. Having read 1q84 she wasn't sure if there was such a thing as a secret thought anymore tho. Well maybe there was in this world, but not in the world of 1q84. In that world ideas took shape literally in the physical world. It was a book propagating this idea of the little people being thwarted by a book about the little people. It's a bit meta wouldn't you say? Wouldn't a first order summation point to the likely scenario that the book 1q84 served a similar if not identical purpose to air chrysalis in the story? The male voice agreed that it was more than a little possible. Why else have a book about such subject matter? She continued the thought: aren't also the translators of the book in a situation like Tengo was in in adaptation? Remembering an interview that was held with the translators about the process of translation, her mind Was furious with the lack of any question about this parallel. How could you interview these people and not ask if they saw or felt any similarity to their roles as ones who received the words of Murakami and conveyed them to a wider audience. It's all too direct. Murakami HAD to know what it was he was writing. I've talked about the strange relationship I feel with that book and my reading it over many years. I feel like had I finished it it would have put me down a different road. I'm on this road as "The best longest path." That other road came to a rote conclusion I'm guessing. This road is more meta stable. It doesn't have a specific defined outcome still. Is that strange? Will I then always be in a position to not know what it is I should be doing or move from one position to another simply because the point is to not know the outcome? Does it have to be unpredictable? But it's periodic. I know I'm fairly if not entirely periodic. There are set patterns which repeat themselves quite readily. Is this something that needs changing? Or is it just desirable that it be that way. Spiraling around this point is so utterly meaningless... Why do I do it? Why can't I just not fixate on this idea and enjoy myself.. Seek the kinds of things I like and do them. Put myself into that kind of place, part of me feels like I deserve to suffer. That's clearly true. For the things I have done? Not necessarily as it feels like it's always been that way, and not for me to decide. But still I waste my time doing nothing productive and hate the idea of productivity as an end in the first place. It's hypocritical and only supported by an excess of labor of others. Isn't that fucked up? I have abandoned the responsibilities associated with my daughter and her mother, but I still want to keep open the thread of future where I may be able to reap the fruit of that. I am afraid of sexualizing my daughter, Or of poisoning her mind with thoughts and ideas like the ones I struggle with so much. I can't imagine if I was still around her like this what that would do to her. I might be able to pretend that I'm ok some of the time, but that just means the times I was unstable would be so much worse... I don't like that thought at all... The dissociative combined state she had induced in herself was becoming strained. Do I have to accept the possibility that there is a "God"? "Why this thread again?" the male voice asked her The issue of morality and purpose were tied up in her self worth, answering the question of "God" Would resolve the ambiguity she explained in psychic imagery, and continued her musing. I suppose no matter how I look at it there is always the possibility of things which can be termed god, But to admit that requires definitions vague so much that I don't really have anything to work with. I don't even know what I mean by god anymore. Am I a god? Well I think I can term myself that I have a feeling inside my that I can't really classify any other way. But that's not saying that that spirit is, for instance, responsible for anything to do with my creation. That's also not saying it isn't either. We don't have the data for or against it. She remembered the theology of the saints stuck so deep in her very conceptions of reality. If this world was created by a group of intelligences she was one of them. At least according to that view. Not that she would have been a leader or important in any way. The patriarchal view of Christianity is one the anarchist self opposes. Really it's not so difficult to imagine a federation of spirits working together. But the problem there is it only takes a single group to fuck everything up in that regard. I feel like I know this, but am also just one of the fuckups. Because I can't trust others. I horde power. I horde knowledge, tools, ways. I am loathe to share them because I can't trust others with them Others have shown me by action they don't deserve that trust. And so a benevolent tyrant I become to myself in my own mind. Unattractive. Looking down on everyone, keeping knives in the tool box locked to protect others from themselves. To protect my own peace from your peace. From the bottom looking up there is no difference between a tyrant who has good intentions and one who doesn't. There is only a difference between tyrants with good pr and bad. I have bad PR that's for sure. How else would I have learned to hate myself so effectively? .