thestuffmybraincomesupwith

[thestuffmybraincomesupwith]

If I'm too much, tell me. If I'm being too much, please let me know. I'm sorry I mage you constantly, but you seemed to reciprocate, until you didn't. Are you tired of me, or just tired? I don't know how to be less. I don't know how to shrink myself to the size of a thumbnail.

I really like you and your friendship. There's a limerence to being around you that I can't help but be addicted to. I'm sorry, I know it's clingy and a lot. I'm sorry for not knowing how to reign it in and pull back. I'm sorry for being so much.

[thestuffmybraincomesupwith]

The world may not be kind, but I can be.

[thestuffmybraincomesupwith]

Mentally I'm on a beach somewhere. This isn't a nod to being mentally on vacation, more like mentally stranded. I'm alone, I'm mildly panicked, I don't know how to get back, the sands are hot and wet and cold and studded with sharp shells and my bare feet hurt and my socked feet are wet and my shoed feet are full of squishy unpleasant sand. I can't, I can't, I can't. Should I try inland? The waters are endless and haunted. I'm haunted. I'm hunted. My mind is a rabbit and there is a pack of starving dogs on my scent. I'm alone I'm alone I'm alone. I'm not alone and I'm terrified. There's something lurking in the waves. If I leave the beach now, it'll sneak onto land to hunt me. The sun is muted but it's loud. The maelstrom is thrashing me about and there's no shelter. The sand is hot against my bare feet. Something hopes it can sneak out of the water while I'm distracted by the chaos of the storm. I want to lay down on the sand and fall asleep. I'm hunted I'm hunted I'm hunted. I'm so tired, the sun has stolen so much strength. How do I get off this beach? Where else was I supposed to be? I'm sotired. Something is waiting beneath the waves. I'm scared to close my eyes. I'm scared to look away. I'm haunted. I'm so tired.

[thestuffmybraincomesupwith]

My heart aches with something like heartache but also like infatuation but also like grief but also like longing.

It's weird to know that you can Love people a certain way in your mind, but what's happening in your heart and your head isn't the full reality.

I Love them as I experience them. I Love the person I have constructed in my mind that they are. They might not truly be that person in their hearts or their minds that I imagine them to be. Their identity might not match the notion or concept I have of them.

I think this is where the heartache and the longing come in. I experience endearment so powerfully that I just want to envelope myself in the other person, I want them to know every little detail of my life just as I want to fully immerse myself in who they are. Obviously, I have boundary issues, but we're working on that, stay focused.

If I Love someone, and as I discover more about them, what happens when my mental conception I have of them doesn't match up with reality? Will my views shift and adjust? My heart is set on loving a specific person, and if this person isn't what my heart loved, can it let go of the other "person" so easily? Is it reconcilable? Will the Love evaporate as the mental model fades away and the reality never takes hold of my heart? Does this mean I lose my Love for them forever? The grief has found its home.

I indulge the infatuation and the limerence ride it takes me on for now. The rest will happen as it may. But I really want them to stay in my life, so hopefully it may stay close to my heart.

[thestuffmybraincomesupwith]

Is it so pathetic of me to post things to my public story just because I know you'll look at it? And is it so pathetic of me to keep checking for your name on the "viewed" list?

[thestuffmybraincomesupwith]

The world may not be kind, but I can be.

[thestuffmybraincomesupwith]

Could it really be infatuation if I didn't want to completely immerse myself in the object of my desire? If I didn't want to know everything about them, if I didn't want to hear every story, if I didn't want to memorize every expression and line and tic? If I didn't want to show them every piece of me, every thought, every memory, every expression?

[thestuffmybraincomesupwith]

The grief has not passed. It has not left. It has left a million posted notes with your face, your laugh, your fingers on guitar strings, the things you've said, the purse of your lips, the offering of shared food, the deep rumbling snore, the kind words, the cruel words, the begrudging wishes of love, the messy hair, the creak of a recliner, the wet washed dish being handed to me, the days in a box truck during the summer, the love, the love, the love. The posted notes are all over my life. They've just done that thing where they don't stick out anymore, because they're ever present and part of the wall paper now.

[thestuffmybraincomesupwith]

You are not betraying your loved one when the grief gets easier.

[thestuffmybraincomesupwith]

The world is shaped like a human, an ant, an animal, a plant. Like the stars and the dirt and a planet (of course, because it's a planet).

[thestuffmybraincomesupwith]

A strange day dream (a bad one):

I had a fear that the man who is obsessed with me saw me and chased me. I ran to my favorite shop and shoved past customers to hide in the basement. I texted the shopkeep and told him I was hiding in the basement, and would be here until past close, and to please let me know when everyone was gone because I was scared.

The day dream stopped there. I don't know what the reply or response would have been. I don't know if the man would think he lost me and continue searching outside, or stick around, or go to haunt around my car until I came back for it. I don't know if I would cry or get mad or just sit and be quiet, if upset. When I dream at night, I don't have main control. I am a reactive passenger, and even my reactions aren't all under my control. When I day dream, I usually just the let the narrative take me where it will, but I still have some semblance of control; I can normally push the plot along and think of "what could happen next". I didn't this time. Couldn't. "What if the shopkeep came to check on me?" Nothing. "What if he suspected I was down here and told the shopkeep he was a friend, looking for me, and the shopkeep hadn't checked his phone?" Fear, but nothing. "What if he left and you didn't see him again for months or years?" Nothing. "What if he was waiting near my car to talk to me?" No. "What if he waited out of sight and followed me home?" No no no no no.

My mind does not want to spin what could happen next. It's almost like it's saying "we will not manifest this into existence. We are not even going to imagine it and give the universe ideas."

Living in mild anxiety and trepidation over scenarios that will likely never happen.

[thestuffmybraincomesupwith]

The app I was thinking of was called Wombo. I used to play with it in like 2018 or something, because I loved the abstract pieces it produced.

So I know my profile looks fake and generic. While I'm not too worried what people think of that, I would kind of like to personalize it, something to fit the theme. But like, words on paper or whatever is not how I feel about the writing here. The closest I feel matches the vibe of this blog is, unfortunately, probably something ai would generate. The mish-mashed colors that kind of look like you're painting a rainy day without glasses on and your palette is all galaxy colors? Yeah one of those. But, while these kinds of things ("paintings" done by ai) seemed cool to me back in say 2017, I do not agree with using them at all today. Not generative, not to create. So I guess I'm keeping the blog deliriously bland and baseline to the point of looking fake for now.

[thestuffmybraincomesupwith]

So I know my profile looks fake and generic. While I'm not too worried what people think of that, I would kind of like to personalize it, something to fit the theme. But like, words on paper or whatever is not how I feel about the writing here. The closest I feel matches the vibe of this blog is, unfortunately, probably something ai would generate. The mish-mashed colors that kind of look like you're painting a rainy day without glasses on and your palette is all galaxy colors? Yeah one of those. But, while these kinds of things ("paintings" done by ai) seemed cool to me back in say 2017, I do not agree with using them at all today. Not generative, not to create. So I guess I'm keeping the blog deliriously bland and baseline to the point of looking fake for now.

[thestuffmybraincomesupwith]

Do you think his blood was flesh colored?

Do you think Clifford's skeleton was red too?

[thestuffmybraincomesupwith]

I really need a profile picture and cover photo, but I don't want them to be characters. I would prefer to put up my own art but I don't really do art. 🤔 hmmmm

[thestuffmybraincomesupwith]

Concept- hero/ villain movies fail somewhere because while they explore complex emotions regarding villainy and the build up to that point, they fail to validate those emotions but explain why the corresponding actions are moral failings. It's seen more and more often not only in idolization of relatable villains (Loki, Killmonger, etc.), but also in the increase of "justifiably anger- motivated actions" in real life people ("kill them all" sentiments,  "round them up and shoot them", "they're all a threat", etc.).

It's more often now a days juxtaposed against a hero with similar losses or pain, but chose a higher moral road than the villain. Unfortunately, most movies leave "the villain chose the wrong path" at that without exploring the "why is that the wrong path?" It's almost as if it should be obvious. But while most people would say "of course it's obvious why hurting people is wrong!", those who share in the justifiable hurt of three- dimensional villains go "mmm, but is it really?" Because when someone's been through that much pain and ostracization and ridicule and whatever else, like a bullied middle schooler fantasizing about punching every bully in the face, they too would like to see retribution for the wrongs committed against them. Movies fail in this aspect, generally. Killmonger is a fabulous example, having grown up in poverty, surrounded by loved ones fighting against the white man who systematically oppressed him and his people, watching his loved ones die in that generations-long fight, eventually being himself up as a token in wars that white men either started or stuck their hands into. The movie starts with him stealing a mask from a museum, telling the white female curator he's stealing it. "How do you think your ancestors got this?" His motives seemingly justify all of his actions. He has a righteous fury, his anger is justified. His actions, however, are not. In the aftermath of Black Panther's release, the failure to address why Killmonger's actions were not justified was apparent, if no where else, on social media. Many not only completely sympathized with him, but they also sided with him and made calls to arms to truly represent that mission in real life.

I think the closest I've ever heard a movie or show address this out loud was in Supernatural. There is an episode with the ghost of a vengeful girl trying to murder some boys who bullied her in life. When this fact comes to light, there's the traditional sympathy for the vengeful spirit, but Dean (a main character) breaks the romanticization of this notion by saying "yeah, these guys are complete jerks, but that doesn't mean they should die!" And suddenly the reality clicks into place. The romanticization of the just-desserts is addressed and the disconnect between the negative emotions and the extreme actions is lit up for all to see. It's a proverbial calling out of an abusive behavior.

Highlighting a jump from feeling rage and hurt to causing intentional harm is very literally at the core of identifying abusive relationships. Which, when media fails to properly explore, leaves the opportunity open for abusive relationships to be seen in a rosy-tinted light. Almost like 50 shades of grey- critics online, both professional and at-home commentors were quick to point out that the relationship was incredibly abusive, controlling, and in no way should have been made to look glamorous. However, since the series itself never condemned the acts committed in the name of jealousy, control, fear, and possession, they quickly became "relationship goals" for many out there who related or empathized with said emotions.

Those who can easily take a step back and see the troubling cross over from hurt to harm are either appalled or skeptical at the thought of falling into this pattern. This can be equally problematic. These two reactions tend to cause people to dissociate from those who do make these mistakes. It's almost like they put them in a completely different mental category. Those people become criminals. Those people are thugs. THOSE people are animals. And now, there's a dehumanizing effect, with a polarization between "people who are bad and do bad things" and "people who are good and don't do bad things". Or, seen from the other side, "people who did everything the way it was supposed to be done according to all the messages they've ever received in life, just like a fairy tale movie" and "heartless bullies who deserve to be punished for their life-ruining judgments". Or, seen from a step back from it all, "human beings with human flaws" and "human beings with human flaws".

No idea where this was going, i'm falling back asleep now.

[thestuffmybraincomesupwith]

6:00am alarms are the worst

I always thought that when I grew up, I'd be a morning person. It's really still during dawn. Not many people are up yet. Bakers, newspaper people, and people drinking their coffee. I wanted to live above a bakery, and drink my coffee as the Baker prepared his bread for the day. Like in Kiki's Delivery Service. Except I had decided long before I ever saw that movie. Enjoying the world before light touched it. Early morning mists and hazy twilight and uncautious deer. Maybe I haven't grown up yet. Maybe that's why I can't wake up without a weakly thrashing struggle, or why half way through a full moon's trip I'm still staring at the backs of my eyelids desperately hoping my thoughts will turn sluggish and loose and dreamy. I can't chase the dawn, I have to let it come to me, unstartled and unafraid, to lick the salt from my palms. I've hunted myself so long, I've forgotten the scent of morning pastries and the way coffee smells different before the sun has burned the air. I live like I'm running out of time, instead of drinking it straight from the hourglass.