sackyjade

[sackyjade]

Office Paper Love Letter

I wonder, What do you think of origami? Fold me into something Transform me from a white sheet of bland and boring And its okay if your hands are a little

clumsy

All that means is that I'll be ripped Crushed a little bit crumpled bits from sheet to shit (Not that it would be that big of a change but-)

... Its okay I am just Common office paper anyways Disposable, easily marked I am unremarkable from the start So...

It just seemed a little fun if you'd like to Re-organize me because I find you (and your hands) rather lovely I no longer want to be what the world has printed on me

[sackyjade]

The Foggy Swamp

Something doesn't feel right, as I am sat down in a place of my own creation, a swampland of still water and fog. Sat down on a stump, damp and cold, I feel something is wrong in this place.

So I sit.

I'm pretty good at sitting still and doing nothing.

I'm not one to resort to foolish haste, but I'm not exactly the wisest person in the world.

And so I sit in delay.

...

...

...

..?

This place has changed around me. My own place, with such sudden haste? How strange. I didn't wa-

But its pleasant and comforting. Something that feels good even.

My swamp is acting strangely. I didn't mak-

It is my own space. I am the queen of this swamp. Therefore, the correct answer is I've made these strange changes to my swamp.

Why am I trying to justify this strangeness?

I was told to. A lot. Specifically by the strange, tall, ominous, mole-faced, suspicious and noisy eldritch being standing about 3 long strides away from me.

It likes feeling powerful, and it does! You can tell from the powerful appearance, occupying breaths and voluminous presence it has, courtesy of myself of course.

It can be the crawling feeling all over your being, an obsessive, meticulous man that only takes a taste of the meals he prepares out of you, a nagging idea, one that is rather demanding, and is and is driving you cuckoo. Not able to do the impossible, but the next thing that my mind substitutes as an acceptable equivalent of such.

Basically, the devil that deals my fantasies.

Honest in a way that is the technical meaning of the word, but always takes enough to be more than bargained for.

Y'know, just a littttle bit more :)

But, oh, don't you know? It is so powerless without me! I just have to feed it more, give it more, change my reality so it can get even more!

Now there's something strange in my swamp, my space I have made not quite my own anymore.

But it is okay! Nothing is wrong. Well the idea of something being wrong as a fantasy is a fun idea to keep around. But nothing is wrong!

I stand up from my stump, and walk off towards the sea. the walk is a little step, up grassy cliff, rock terrain. I face the oceanic deep, it is a vast distance far far away from me. The eldritch being has my back, and it pushes me into the water, its home, its place, itself.

I am not of the sea.

[sackyjade]

The Cherries and the Cockroaches

CW: Rant about bad mental state, descriptive descriptions of insects

I don’t know how to express certain things in a way that is real. Well it is real to an extent, because it is something that can be expressed but that’s not what I mean. Think of something inside of me as a nice glass bowl, the sort with the angles sculpted into it so it looks like a cut jewel, or however those really sparkly bowls are made. It sparkles, it shines, it catches the light and is something of a minor delight. In my mind I still see myself as a minor mentaly in some ways, but that is another, thought related, topic entirely. It can also be filled with things.

Cherries, those fall under the category of things. Cherries are nice, some tart, some sweet, can be eaten as is or cooked as part of an even tastier treat. People like cherries, therefore cherries are a good thing. I had cherries placed in me throughout my life. I don’t really get the appeal of cherries as much as other people, but they like cherries, the correct thing to do is to do as other people do, so I learnt to ‘like’ cherries. I say mentally that cherries are sweet, sometimes tart, an ingredient to be eaten or cooked into something that people find pretty neat. Then I hope that other people come to the conclusion that I actually like cherries. I still don’t really don’t care for cherries alone, if not for the people’s preference, I would not have gone out of my way to fill my bowl with cherries, be it from receiving them or seeking them out. I want to claim neutrality, but I just don’t like cherries that much; I like the people who like cherries, and I like them liking the cherries too.

I’ve kept cherries in my bowl for so long that liking cherries has become something natural to me. More like an association with something good, a trained response a pet would have when it does a little trick for its owner. I don’t like eating cherries because of the hard pit inside each one, I don’t exactly enjoy the taste. Shit, I think cherries are kinda weird looking, inconveniently sized and boring, but I have something like a like for them. I would feel much more dislike if something were to happen to my cherries. Distress, even. Despair for what the cherry liking people I’ve come to like would feel, now that I have no cherries to offer.

Daniel Kahnerman once said in his book “Thinking, Fast and Slow”, ‘a single cockroach will completely wreck the appeal of a bowl of cherries, but a cherry will do nothing at all for a bowl of cockroaches.’ What would happen to my bowl once a cockroach comes along? The first answer that comes to mind is that no one would come to my bowl for cherries anymore. Which is understandable, and I can’t blame them; I don’t like cockroaches either. With no more people, it becomes lonely quickly. Only me, my bowl with cherries, and a cockroach.

Without people who want cherries, I quickly lose interest in caring for my bowl full of cherries, the cockroach can stay there too I guess, it’s only boring berries after all. Then I go on, C'est' la vie, time runs its course, it flows through everything, no matter how timeless it may seem. It is like the cycle of water; it seemingly stands still while running down different ways, time falls down as right as rain, has depth as deep as the ocean abyss, contradictory in the sense of capability to bring life and death depending on how you encounter it. Time is everywhere all at once so much that we often forget about it. Fluid it goes, time does not discriminate. My cockroach has become cockroaches, cherries becoming pits of their former… cherriness. I don’t know, I still feel the same towards the cherries. No, I would have before, but I feel disgusted. My bowl is coated in cockroach eggs, brown bugs writhe across the inner and outer surfaces of my bowl. They skitter and consume, lay and overflow. They move so much that they rock the bowl around, they almost look like they are playing intersecting games of football with the cherry pits they have so thoroughly consumed on a field of their own surfaces. The skittering sound of insect legs on insect backs, insect against glass.

How can I clean this up?

What even happened here?

The cockroaches go further still, chipping glass, gnawing on seeds, growing in number and becoming like an ocean. So numerous they start to look for more to consume. The counter I keep my bowl on, the walls and floor, more and more. I fall backwards into the cockroaches. I blame the cherries, I stop blaming the cherries. I blame other people, then I quickly stop. I blame the bowl for being able to hold things, then I don’t. There is nothing in them to blame for the predicament I’m in. I blame myself, I must have invited that cockroach in, but are cockroaches really that bad? I can feel them, hear, see, even taste cockroaches all across my experience. Don’t get me started on the awful scent of insect shit. I am so intimate with cockroaches that I might as well be one.

 Maybe I was one all along.

 It makes sense to me.

 I didn’t like cherries that much, they aren’t exactly something I like. I don’t even know the people who liked my cherries that well. I am so lonely, and there must be a reason that I can understand right now. It is hard to think among the cockroaches, an experience I don’t think I can escape. I guess if it is something so close to me already, it must have truly meant to be. It is [overwhelming sensory stimulation that is hard to verbally communicate]. I am so tired. I guess I’ll make myself comfortable down here. I don’t even know where I am anymore. It is lonely but it shouldn’t be, I have all these cockroaches. How did I even get here again? Oh well. There is nothing left of the cherries, the crystal glass bowl no longer holds light like it did before, it is chipped and cracked.

I think there was something fundamentally wrong with me anyways.

I was not typical like those who enjoyed cherries, therefore I must be like the cockroaches; disgusting. 

I still feel disgust towards cockroaches. But what right to feel that way do I really have? I am practically just the same. It would make sense to feel adverse towards me. People like cherries, not cockroaches. 

I wish my bowl was still filled with cherries, but I have no one else but myself to blame for it flooding with cockroaches. I should have understood better in the first place.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I feel like the good parts of me that are liked are being eaten away by the bad parts. It is rather isolating in my view too, it only makes sense. I do not know what to do about it besides to adapt for the long run, endure it ( I don’t even know what) until I am no longer human. I was lacking in the good department already but holy shit. I’m tired as in sleepy and emotionally right now while finishing this up. I’m fuken lonely lmao, I should touch grass or something.

If you’ve read this entire rant of a post, thank you! It is a nice thought that someone out there has listened to me. I am very indirect with my own issues. No I will not proofread this, I will cringe and die.