avingon

[avingon]

Somewhat I’ve calmed down since the last days and went to school on Friday and Thursday. No one was there so for the most of the day I sat there, looking at memes and I am going to do so until, presumably, I find work at a gas station or something.

My mother's insanity has gone off the rails as today I found out she is bearing a child. I don't know how to feel about this and what her motivation was but I predict tough times ahead. At least there still are cigarettes.

I also asked a friend about the thing I wanted to purchase. It costs around a thousand money. I could easily scrounge those up by getting a loan or something. As far as I've read it can be returned in around three years. That leaves the problem of everything going smoothly, where to hide the item and if I'll be able to find a job and pay back before the letters start coming in as I do not want my family to find out that I've randomly taken a loan of a thousand monies.

Today and yesterday I spent all day playing TF2 and listening to Sargon of Akkad. It is now 14:11 in the day and I've just ate and smoked a cigarette ten minutes ago, plus I still have stash hidden at my mother's home. Beyond that I am not concerned about school as it is best not to worry about things one cannot influence and at this point I seriously do not think there is much I can do anyway, besides think of a reasonable explanation for why I failed school even though I went every day, as I intend to do so as not to give up how deep I am in and so I don't have to tell my parents about my job, which I won't unless I have to stay until the evening.

There's also an option of getting a job as a dealer in an on-line casino, however I fear I might not be able to handle it and it's during nighttime maybe they pay more but something like a gas station seems easier.

Writing this brings up the issues which I have to deal with and is somewhat offputting from my usual schedule of a cigarette per hour and TF2 or YouTube videos, which I've seen so much of I think I've observed all of the current dank memes and even ran into videos in which the clips repeat.

What am I going to do now? I ponder to myself as it seems as though I am stuck in somewhat unfavourable circumstances for the time being and it doesn't look as though it is going to let up. I thank man for the invention of the Internet, at least there are truckloads of information to absorb as I'm drifting through untamable waters.

Time to play TF2... or at least try as a player has already left twice in the second competitive game I joined. Let me try for a third time, perhaps then it will work.

Somehow I have the feeling that this blog is the only thing that can save me or help me maintain myself, in the very least. Some sort of a form of expression, perhaps I've mentioned this already. Forgot where I was going with this. Back to Team Fortress 2 I guess. Maybe later I will browse that website I never mention full of funny stories and nice photographs.

On the bright side for the time being I receive enough pocket money to maybe pay back the loan but enough for evil deeds as well. For the time being.

I reset my computer and thought I had lost these paragraphs, but luckily I had the foresight to save this in a temporary text file. It is now 20:05 and I just had a cigarette. And now I am going to listen to a song, feel free to join me at your leisure at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-dUEJAGRcc

[avingon]

Today I spent most of the day playing World of Warcraft. It calmed me down immensely and I seem to have gotten over my previous terrors to some degree. No doubt they will still persist as my life in its current situation goes on but I feel stronger to deal with it now or at least something close to that if it isn't some sort of a trap.

Not much has changed since my last post. I still smoke my cigarettes and try to plan out my future as far as I can predict. Though the outlook is grim the cigarettes help me cope with existence enough for me to contemplate it.

I hit up a friend of mine either yesterday or the day before, I cannot remember and asked him for a particular item I had been yearning to obtain and he said that in a week or so we could talk. Seems hopefull and I hope the talk goes well. I'm not going to explain in further detail for fear of tipping off anybody that would try to stop me from doing the thing. If you get what I mean.

Besides that I mostly contain to myself in my room watching videos, reading stories and, as of yesterday, playing WoW, trying not to stir myself. Things could be much worse but at the same time couldn't be any worse, sort of like drifting in waters trying to keep above with the same waters streatching out beyond the horizon. Pardon the loose association if any be present.

Four minutes until my next cigarette. Then some more WoW and videos to keep my mind occupied or distracted, I forget which.

The day is not yet over. We'll see how it turns out once the afforementioned psycho rolls back home. I hope I'm not afflicted. I wouldn't have a leg to stand on in that circumstance. It is currently 20:58. I wonder what I will do when I get back in the city. Perhaps I'll grab some bud out of sheer exercise of my own volition however irresponsible the act may be including reprecussions if detected. I am concerned little as I am not far from hitting somewhat of a rock bottom. The possibility or rather inevitability lurks beyond the horizon of a couple of months. The time has come to ingest my hourly dose of nicotine to make sure I don't run out of it in my system as the halflife is two hours. This works for me, at least for now. Then some more WoW.

Speak of the devil. My grandmother rolled up just as soon as I was about to finish my cigarette. I hope that she doesn't bother me a lot. The garage door opening made me jump. Note, I am not exactly terrified of her as her psychotic expressions are fairly well managed, however once exposed to it and being able to see it then, rather, I am more terrified of the prospects of the evils which lurk beneath. Of what a psychopath can think up when left to their own devices, seeking stimulation from the environment of which I happend to be a part of. How far would she take this before leaving me be? How subtle will the manipulations become after time of me being impervious to emotional prodding due to being numb from smoking, I again wonder as I sigh in temporary tranquility of my room in darkness, writing to whom it may concern. Still, disconcerning.

I can only hope that my fears, or the expression of them may be coherent to the reader to some level. Perhaps these writings will become a mockery. Come of this what may. I...

... got interrupted. Now I feel weird. The subtlety has become apparent on the very day of mention. Perhaps free will truly is but an illusion and my suspicions about the progression of these events are true only once I have subconsciously observed their signs and thusly am incapable of evading them. Even now I feel as though I am in a box only able to stretch out as far as its boundaries would allow me but not further, not outside. As spacious as the box may be I am still trapped within it and its proverbiality, unable to describe in full detail the emotional and psycological manipulation I endure on a daily basis, I reiterate.

It was better, in retrospect, when the words were not pouring out of me, for then my thoughts were my own rather than implanted urges and feelings I am supposedly to feel to satisfy the caprice of a, yet again, psychopath. She feels threatened, I can tell by the questions I am asked. At least I think so. Not sure anymore. My cheeks are flush from the champaigne. At least now I have the power to talk back and silence her as she weighs out her options and finds it best not to pursue the matter directly, what ever matter may be lurking in the dark labyrinths of her sprawling mind, unable to find a solution to satisfy itself fully looking for any means to do so and to execute this fleeting notion she denies to herself but is "allowing to happen on its own". Pardon me if this is gibberish. Peraps the so called game has been lost before the very first piece had been moved. Perhaps it's a determinist's hell, where the only way to go is down, like in pinball as the ball rolls down ledges into a pit. Time to smoke and regain my sanity.

At least one chapter of my life is over. After trial and a major error I finaly came to the conclusion that my family is entirely not worth talking to bar from perhaps my grandfather who doesn't seem to have this illness that the rest of my family is glaringly afflicted by, namely my mother and grandmother. May an external force protect me from the terrors I endure. So with that said I restrict myself to this blog as the only means of artistic expression I am capable of, given my skillset and patience.

Time to play World of Warcraft, I guess. Until next time... maybe before that I'll try posting this on an internet forum, maybe something good will come out of it.

Later.

[avingon]

Words cannot describe the terror I feel right now. Call it anxiety if you will but I am thoroughly terrified.

Today I read up on symptoms of a psychosis and my grandmother fits them perfectly in ways I cannot describe. I don't know what to do about this and am stuck for about a year. No clue how I will manage but I know I want to get out and live on my own. Currently that is not possible and that is why I am stuck. For now at least. And at least I have cigarettes.

If the psycho cannot get her fix surely the bullying behaviour will increase over time until I am made to do ridiculous things and/or get my cigarette pocket money taken away. Tough times ahead, I sense and nothing I can do about it. I have nowhere to go and stay as far as I know. The prodding is something I cannot bare to withstand as it drives me crazy as well interrupting my very thoughts until I'm doing things that I have no idea what I'm doing, pardon if this sentence feels gibberish. I must escape.

I'd gladly work at a gas station if it meant I could get away from the mental trickery I'm put through leaving me feeling mentally used as though my energy has been sucked and... I can't describe the feeling, it's blocking itself in my mind like a parasite. Thankfully I'm already broken due cigarettes but if this keeps up I could remain thoroughly disfunctional and then what? Get thrown out? I hope not. May the supply not run dry, it would be the end of me. One cannot break that which is already broken, I say to myself about myself to comfort myself.

How many days left until my circumstances take a drastic turn for the worst, I wonder and constantly stress about. I am glad I feel nothing otherwise I would feel like a piece of trash for being in inescapable and not-so-good circumstances. If I can completely detach maybe there is a life for me at some point but until then I would rather be dead inside than alive and suppressed by all the instructions that I'm fed to program me into doing things that benefit the psychopaths I'm surrounded with. It does not work that way as I have at least to some degree a will of my own and what I will is to get away. I don't care about the collateral damage anymore as long as I can smoke which thankfully is a strong stimuli as the addiction to nicotine, whic purportedly is even stronger than heroin addiction. That should keep my eyes open to the horror I experience as living or even interacting with a psychopath is, well, terrifying.

Dark times ahead it seems. I need about one pack or less of cigarettes to get through the day. To think of an escape without thinking it so as to not provide an external impulse that would tip the psychos off leading them to suspect that I am up to something other than what I have been instructed to do. Writing this gives me a release of sorts and helps me organize my muddled thoughts after each interaction. For now I sheepishly comply with what ever I'm told without questioning so as not to trigger an outburst or an episode. It's all I can do. Let the damage be what it may. As long as there are cigarettes I can make it through.

I'm calmer now. The darkness that comes to mind when thinking about this issue is indescribably insidious. To immagine the psychos inner world is like putting ones head under water, only past the waters surface immediately lies the very bottom of the ocean with all its invisible fears and terrors that lurk yonder. That is about as close as I can describe it. It's like being in a house on fire and being beaten for suggesting that the house is on fire and being told that everything is fine, such is the wrath of the psycho if triggered.

I experience this every day. I was raised in this environment and it took me years to sort myself to such a degree to even begin gathering information and now I can finally see what I had been blind to my entire life, indoctrinated to be someone elses support when I grow up. Of course it backfired as I had no idea what I was doing, because what I was doing was not of my own will but someone elses and I couldn't figure it out. I just blindly followed what ever was telling me to do what I was doing. Though I am not going to finish school out of too much stress from all this at least I can see it now. A mild comfort, but terrifying for ignorance truly is bliss.

I will not speak a word of this to anyone. Like stated above, it would only trigger episodes of denial and disbelief and would be a counterproductive endevour to maintaining tranquility. All I worry about is the psychos erroring off and taking it out on me as though it's my fault that their minds aren't working properly and I am to blame for what ever I've done - imaginary or not.

Drat. Still stuck in this place. Still waiting as though for my lights to be shut off making me a piece of meat ineffectively following contradictory instructions that overlap temporally. How do I proceed? I do not proceed. I wait out my time and hope nothing breaks. And I still have cigarettes which mellow me out enough to let me think about this without my mind shutting it out for fear of trauma letting it brood until it consumes me and I am subjugated into someone elses bidding. Even if it is my parents, I do not care.

Ten minutes until my last (or so) cigarette for today and I head to sleep and let the same thing that happened today happen tomorrow, which I believe is called "routine". Maybe I will get used to it or maybe it will brood inside me and explode later or somehow escape. Just have to keep my eyes open for the opportunity. Eight minutes until my personal happy-time.

Good night, folks.

I swear I may have left out important details due to the mindblock... nothing stronger than a psychos grip - I swear.

...

Eleven minutes.

[avingon]

I spent almost the entire yesterday in front of the computer reading posts on a website. I do not regret doing this. Mostly I am killing time until it is time to go back to school. I forgot what I was going to type after this, but university is too much stress. That bit I know very well and have almost non-reluctantly accepted being a gas station clerk after this year is over. A cashier's job isn't that bad, right? As long as it doesn't get very crowded.

Only twenty more minutes left until I can smoke again and I hope I don't miss the solar eclipse on that livestream, I thought to myself as I sit still in front of the computer reading posts on that website. This week is going to be harsh until it gets worse when I have to turn up for classes. Thankfully there is a yet unlimited supply of daily one pack of cigarette that I can rely on. Nineteen minutes. Seems like the minutes matter more than the hours although they both count, no pun intended.

A slight feeling that my mind has been liberated since I allowed myself to think of my mother as, pardon me, a bitch. Feels good to be free from her psychotic manipulatory state that she put me in. No stories. Maybe another time. She might snap if she suspects I've been talking smack about her behind her back and I don't want that. It ... I forgot entirely what I was about to type as I had been derailed by my grandmother arriving home from work. Disrupted again...

Half an hour and two minutes until my next cigarette. I am about to sneeze but the feeling wears off. I hope my tormentor desisted. The psychotic mind is strange. It is a human being desperately searching for a cure but unable to find it anywhere it discards what ever it had been paying attention to in the sanest way possible. I know this by direct observation and contemplation but that is all I know. This disease terrifies me to no end. Half an hour remaining. I shudder to myself thinking about the mental damage I am to undertake in such an environment. What scars will I be left with after I manage to escape from it, what damage I shall sustain and for how long will it hold me in its unbreakable grasp. There is nothing more terrifying than a psychopath's grasp. I return to browsing the Internet.

Disrupted once more for unknown reasons beyond my comprehension. Twenty minutes until my next nicotine fix. Am I fixated on those things? I wonder in futility as the plant is extremely addictive. Of course I am fixated but only for the better. Nothing can break me if I am already broken. What comes tomorrow I know not. Hopefully I will be left change for another pack. Back to the Internet. Much text to read and sights to observe. Like the eclipse of the sun. I remember I have reasons for hating my parents, but that shall be omitted only for the most shrewd of you to figure out. Once the psycho realizes it can't get its fix it darts.

It's fine how my creativity comes out when the sun dawns. As though I've meditated for a while and now I can fully express my inner world to the real world instead of letting it rot inside me. I prefer it this way. An outlet of sorts to help me stay afloat the psychological and behavioral manipulation I must endure on a daily basis. Even the phrase "must endure" out of context suggests one to endure without an escape. I suppose those who are tormented themselves like to torment others. Misery shared - misery halved. However it does not work that way and is not the cure to these peoples inner demons. Soon they will find another fixation until it becomes a habit.

I suppose that should be enough for now but I still have six minutes until my next puff that I shall have to keep typing. Watch out for the psychos - they have large, oogly eyes. Crazyeyes. What more can I write on the topic. For now the coast is clear and I can write in solitude without being disrupted from my thought allowing it to live until its end. Two minutes remaining. Perhaps I shall read a submission by somebody on the Internet to kill the time. All must serve the cycle.

Last minute. The time has come and I will leave you for today. Who am I kidding? I shall stay up for another hour to vent my daily turmoil in the format of plain text. It feels nice. Comforting as though someone is out there who would read my stories. What more information shall I put down. As I am a product of the environment then it is not up to me to decide but I have to keep writing. Not out of compulsion but rather out of the urge to create perhaps stemming from natural instincts to procreate as my body urges itself to do so stumbling upon means until it finds the naturally ingrained means of doing so and is satisfied for a while.

Another paragraph. I remember now that my plan was to wait thirty minutes instead of the full hour like usually. That makes nineteen minutes until my fix, I feverishly counted just now. All the better. Hopefully the disease the smoke gives me will be painless and swift so I do not have to suffer for a prolonged period wheezing for air locked in a hospital bed with a breathing apparatus and unable to smoke more to satisfy the craving brought on by the addiction. Maybe one day I will achieve Nirvana and go to heaven or something. Who knows? Maybe I will attain my own personal paradise as if such a thing was true. Can one ever be truly satisfied until the end of their days? I wonder. Perhaps paradise lasts only a short duration, the state of being fading after time and never perpetuating. Seeing as how there is no feasible life after ones demise for one is retured to the void from which they stemmed the state of bliss having to be achieved during ones short lifetime only to be lost either to time or the almighty void.

Might I point out that soliloquy in written form is much better than a shouting contest with neighbours. A story for another time. Or perhaps this time. I once recorded my neighbour shouting about me. For entire days this went on, weeks perhaps. He couldn't get over it. It was amusing to listen to. I even began to respond. It was like having a friend. He definitely wasn't talking about his child. The whole house could hear him yell. It has blown over by now. Memories.

I enjoy typing. It is like an entire world can be created at ones fingertips on the blank canvas of Notepad limited only by the phenomena of ineffability. One minute and I am going to get my fix and then sleep. Good night, folks.

[avingon]

I don't think I've ever felt that down in my entire life as a few hours ago when I found out my chaces to safely score were gravely diminished. That's all I can say. For now I feel dead inside and it's a pleasant release but not good enough compared to what's to come. Commenting further on the last sentence would break poeticism so I shall refrain. No worries though. This blog must live until the very last hour of my capability to produce content for it so I shall go on until the time comes. How I long for that time.

Today I smoked a bunch of cigarettes and browsed a website partly containing the musings of so-called degenerates. It managed to fill the void in my soul quite well so I shall proceed to do so more if I can.

What's wrong with me? I can't tell. Maybe some day I'll find out. Perhaps after. But not today. I'm typing in sentenes now. Perhaps a Freudian reminder to myself of what I intend to do which cannot be executed at the current moment in time. Look at me dropping hints like a pigeon drops... you know what by now.

I don't think there has ever been a time when I've been this bored. So far so that I've shut off my mind totally and become a zombie to the effect of the environment drifting in the everloving wind of the composure of the universe. A song once told me that in shallow waters one should not swim but to lay, so I do that. Good for me. At least there is a blog produced from it, I refer to the medium in which I choose to express myself for sake of incapability to paint a picture or write a program which also necessitates pictures to be drawn, instead I choose to paint pictures in your very consciousness. What kind of chaos is going on there I can only imagine.

So far so good. I've made it this far. Wonder how much more I shall have to make. But what should or ought I make? Fun? Money? A castle? The choice is obvious yet unattainable at the current time due to lack of a-word-I've-yet-to-come-across. Maybe another glass of water would solve the issue of authenticity of action.

There must be more to life than browsing a single website. Perhaps I should start a blog. Look at me running into myself at 22:39 in the evening. I think me writing this proves a significant point that something can indeed be created out of nothing, which is to say that the void makes for a maker. Think about it or don't - that is entirely up to you.

Time to consume more nicotine for the sake of posterity of reason.

[avingon]

It feels weird. It’s live I’ve slipped into some sort of a dream or trance. I try not to think about it, but the thoughts keeps coming back. I can't remember what I dreamed last night. Not that it's bothering me a lot, I can shake it off at any time but choose not to. No clue what I'm going to do about college, I might drop out and build a career on blogging. Not that I haven't flunked myself already, which I have, I'm convinced of it, though I ought ask. For anyone reading this, don't do the things I've done of which I might tell on later posts. I'll live with my parents for as long as I can and at the end of it, well, hopefully by then I'll have some sort of a thing which ejects shrapnel very swiftly by then, if you know what I mean.

The word that comes to mind is "brainchild". I shall have to look it up as I've never read it's actual definition but if I know what it means then I may just be that but what ever I can roll with it. I can do this. All of this.

It's Friday, the 18th of August and I'm far from home thinking about what I'm going to do when I get back. What sort of things I shall indulge myself in, how and when, how I'm going to go about by obtaining what I require for it and so on. For now I only have nicotine to keep me going and not let me fall to the bottom of the well of despair where I found myself before picking up the habit again.

There was I at an anime convention where I found a pack of cigarettes. At first the feeling was exhilarating but slowly my natural dopamine production dwindled down and now I'm synthetically relaxed and stimulated. It had to be that way, one cannot fly forever, at some point one must get down and walk. But not at the bottom. Not that far. Not again. At the very worst at least there would be a nightshade roll keeping my demons asleep and if all goes as wished then a piece of metal as well. If you get what I meant by all this. No hard feelings. Not my bad either.

As I've always postulated - man is the product of their surroundings and nothing else. No more shall I state on this matter as I'm sure you can figure it out for yourselves.

Four minutes left before I can inhale poison that keeps me up. Now three. I wait an hour before each time so as not to bore myself in to absurdities of existentialism which I keep to myself to occupy with. Away with such nonsense. What happens within the brain is irrelevant, it is only the overt action which counts which can sometimes bring unpredicted results, like the police.

The time has come. I'll leave now until my next post, which may come soon or later depending on my level of creative dedication at the time.

[avingon]

This one time I was in the bathtub and slit my artery and tried to bleed out. Luckily (or unluckily) the neighbour's kid shouted something and I got out of the bathtub. I already had something like a tunnel vision where my peripheral vision was sort of gone, it was dark all around except for what I was looking at. White clouds in a tub full of a red liquid. I attempted it again a couple times but never managed to hit an artery again. I was 21 at the time, now I'm 22 and thinking of getting a gun somehow and pulling the trigger at the right time. I did it out of general depression that I couldn't get over. Sometimes I think that maybe I should have stayed and waited it out or maybe I did pass out and it was a voice in my head that woke me up, I will never know.

Afterward I smoked some weed, drank plenty of water. I still remember not remembering anything after the first toke like it was yesterday.

[avingon]

I should try something like Gonzo journalism.

[avingon]

blogging is good i will do that.

no tumblrisms i dont care. this is about me and my hand.

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[avingon]

Perceptron formulas

Change in Weight i  = Current Value of Input i × (Desired Output - Current Output)

Basically

Wn * dn + W(n+1) * d(n+1) ~ 0

[avingon]

About digital simulated neurons and their learning.

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#cocaine

Conrad Bakker Untitled Project: The Crystal Land (Installation view) Oil on carved wood panels, 2014

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