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Well, isn't this something.

Sep. 27th, 2013 | 12:13 pm

So I am newly single, for the first time in about ten years, as of today. It was a hell of a struggle but I've found freedom again at long last, and a universe of possibilities has opened even as the difficulties of poor-ass single motherhood have presented themselves again. Nothing is free, but at least this is a price I'm willing and able to pay.

I haven't even thought of this journal in an age, but when I got up this morning there was a message that there was a spam-post in one of the communities I moderate, and when I clicked through to reject it my password manager still had my login information. So here I am, two years later and tired as hell, posting again. I might as well take advantage, I could use the catharsis, though I'm sure most of my LJ friends probably moved on ages ago.

It will be a couple of days before I can start posting in earnest, as I work today through Sunday and then have a ton of shit to do on Monday. But I will be back, and I have so much to discuss.
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Addendum

May. 11th, 2011 | 12:06 am

No sooner do I make that post about a dream two years old than spiders attack me in the bathroom: I was ganged up on by two exceptionally ballsy little assholes and dispatched them both with Raid.

Hopefully there will be no more spider-related hijinks.

love
kimmo

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The Dream of Bruce Willis Being a Dick

May. 10th, 2011 | 10:21 pm
mood: apprehensive

In this post, Bruce Willis will be a dick to me.

All resemblances to persons living, dead or undead are purely the result of my secret inner prejudice against Bruce Willis. He's the real victim here, not me.

This dream is only notable because of the appearance of a symbol - broken glass - that made several prominent appearances afterward. Most of it was unpleasant and forgettable. This happened in 2008.

In this dream I was for some reason having sex with Bruce Willis. It wasn't pleasant sex, I was prostituted to him in the dream by someone else, a woman. It was brief, embarrassing and unkind.

When he finished, he jumped out of the window, shattering it, and got into a car on the street below. I was infuriated because he hadn't paid me, and leaned out of the window in a rage to yell down at him: when I did this he leaned out of the car and threw something at me. As it arced toward me in the harsh light I realized it was a broken bottle.

Somehow it shattered the window again between the two of us, though I'd just been yelling at him in the open (through the window he'd already broken). I staggered back, and the movement crunched. It hurt like hell, everywhere in my body, and I could barely move: as I staggered back and the woman in the room behind me started to scream, I realized that my body had filled with shards of broken glass. Every time I moved it was nervewracking agony all over my body, and the blood was everywhere.

Bruce was laughing at me down below, the tires of the car screeching as he drove off. I fell backward onto the mattress, stunned, horrified.

I realized I needed a doctor, but there was no phone there, so I went staggering through the streets, crunching all the way, searching for someone who would let me use a phone. At house after house I was turned away, over and over, ignored and avoided. There was blood trailing behind me everywhere I went: I couldn't even put clothes on because of the broken glass, or shoes despite the shards that bit into my feet.

Quite horrific...

love
kimmo

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The Dream of the Spider Woman

May. 10th, 2011 | 09:48 pm

As I mentioned before, I had a mental event a little while ago that was accompanied by some truly insane dreams. I'm still deconstructing what happened, but I thought I'd write them down here so I have a copy. There were plenty of others, and they won't go in any specific chronological order: all of them happened between 2004 and 2010. It was quite a fucking adventure if you count psychosis and dissociative episodes toward that sort of thing.

I don't play a lot of bizarre video games or watch weird movies, a lot of these dreams were over-the-top for what I was dealing with environmentally at the time. Whatever it was, it was a rough time psychologically.

Anyway:

The Spider Woman

I was in a mall, or possibly an airport: it was a large building that started out full of people going in all different directions. When the relevant part of the dream started, there were huge webs that had begun to show up all over the place, big ropy white webs that looked like something an alien was responsible for. They were a mystery to all, but quickly frightened everyone.

I was standing near a large set of doors at one point, doors that led out to the parking lot: the webbing was strung thickly across them, you could just make out people trapped under several layers of the stuff, hung unmoving like giant dead beetles further in, still struggling toward the surface. There was no sign yet of what was spinning the webs; they were corrosive and impassable, they would burn skin on contact and they were everywhere.

Toward the end of the dream, I was alone in the mall - everyone else having been killed, wrapped up in fat white blobs that hung above like party decorations - which was so thickly webbed over that it looked like the inside of a cocoon. It looked ethereal and weird; the lights in the mall set all the white webbing to glowing, and the effect was really Christmasy and surreal. I still hadn't found the culprit, and was making my way through the tunnels of webbing when I encountered a guy in a brown trenchcoat wandering around carrying a flashlight and clipboard.
The guy was a detective/occultist/scientist/cop, and was looking for the thing that was spinning the web in the mall. He wasn't planning on killing it but capturing and containing it, either putting it to some use or studying it for scientific/occultist purposes. We decided to team up, and he gave me a weapon of some kind (it was a shotgun, I think).

Soon after we met, the spinner of webs showed herself.

We came to a tunnel of webbing that extended down a lit hallway, and he stopped, indicating that the thing we were looking for was down that tunnel. I turned toward it, and heard a growling come out of the tunnel: something huge was in there, almost as big around as the hallway. A weird light was coming out of the hall, so the area was almost completely lit up by all the webs. After a moment there was a heavy rustling, and then a rapid meaty hammer against the earth and walls as whatever was in there scurried suddenly toward us.
The man behind me said something, his voice steady and firm. I lifted the shotgun.

And here it came, as huge as it sounded, a gigantic quivering white spider...thing. It had the fat thick body of a spider, and eight jointed legs that it reared up on, but the torso of a woman from the waist up was mounted on its body. The whole of it was dead white. The woman's body was muscled and fit, with a shock of white hair like cotton standing out from her head, and four bright red insectile eyes on the front of her flattened face. She opened her mouth wide to roar at me, and there were four fangs in her mouth, upper and lower canines; her hands were three-toed claws. She had four breasts on the lower front of her torso, and on the front of the spider body below was a gigantic red cut jewel.

There was a chaos: I fired the gun, heard the man yelling and moving quickly behind me. Its roar was deep and barrel-chested, but there was a screeching, plaintive undernote, like the scream of a raptor. I was up terribly close to it, close enough to grab the jewel, its whole body looming up around me, leathery and trembling and powder-pale.
That's all I remember. Pretty freaky.

love
kimmo

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All In All Is All We Are

May. 1st, 2011 | 09:54 pm

I just had the niftiest thing happen.

On an internet forum yesterday, one of my favorite actors from the one single television show I watch replied to a thread I posted, cheering me on and agreeing with me (his was the only reply). I knew it was this actor because of a thread some months ago asking who on the forum was famous: he replied with proof, and since he's one of the two men on that show I have the hots for, I took note of the username.

This is just too awesome for me. Of the millions of people who use the site, out of all of them, it was that guy. Fucking lovely. ;D

I found myself at a loss, not knowing if it would be rude to point out that I liked his work or knew who he was, so in the end I just thanked him for the support. Inside I had an event though.

love
kimmo

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You and Me Against the Atheists

Apr. 26th, 2011 | 06:33 pm

I seem to have this thing lately of hating on atheists. I don't know what's got into me, it's been like this for a couple of years...I'm not in the least religious in the traditional sense, my mom was a lapsed Catholic and God was like a distant uncle in our house.

Hell, I was an atheist myself for most of my early adulthood; atheism itself isn't what gets me, it's as good a guess as any.

I think it's the evangelical nature of modern atheism that's pissing me off. When you come down to it, right now, we wouldn't know what to look for: no one knows if there's a God, for all we know we're the equivalent of viruses in a divine petri dish, we're the larvae of gods, who knows? What is a god, what is its natural equivalent, if you want? What tool would one use to look directly at a god? What scale do they exist on?

Atheism claims to know, and not only to know but to know better. I spend a lot of time on Reddit, whose userbase spends a lot of time on treating atheism as a desirable label, and I wish I could express my frustration at how common it is to use the (anti)ideology to abuse, belittle and mock the opposition, rather than propound any acceptable alternative outlet for man's archetypal self, or new mythologies with which to frame our perfect ideal. They don't need to put that effort forth, they say, and they have me here: they aren't artists, not iconographers, but iconoclasts alone. How void!

I don't hate atheists and I don't think they're unilaterally wrong, or even wrong to feel antipathy toward organized religion. I'm not crazy about the modern method of using 'no' as a shortcut to saying something, though. Shit like this brought Greece down y'know.

You should see my hair today, I look like a maenad. That's not in a complimentary way. I have got to get a haircut soon: I actually took a picture, but the cord to get the image on the 'puter is in the other room and I'm doing my writing in the bathroom again, so that's too far. I'll upload it later, against my better judgment. You should see it though, I look like:

OOOOOH!


Comparison shot later. I think Mim looks better, to be straight with you.

love
kimmo

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Merlin's Boson

Apr. 23rd, 2011 | 02:06 pm
mood: hrmph

Ancient civilizations get a bad rap for being too mystical, attributing natural phenomena to the work of gods and spirits, exsanguinating people to cure the common cold, and so on.

But you know, in the future, this will be remembered as the age of particles, the elements too small to be seen so readily replacing the angels and pins, the age without magic. We too will be remembered as short-sighted and preferentially blind.

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I should have stayed on the phone, should have listened to my old man...

Apr. 22nd, 2011 | 03:11 pm

I'm sorry I'm not posting more: I actually have a fairly nasty cold right now, despite my copious free time I can't seem to focus very well. I've been doing retarded things for two days: yesterday I put bread in the toaster and then walked away for some unfuckable reason: I start to make Jeremiah's supper, and ten minutes later realize I went into the kitchen, stood there like a lobotomite and then left.

I'm doing that all the time, starting something and then entirely forgetting everything about it. It's like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind in here, with fewer hollering psychiatrists (thank God).

Things are better, though. I told myself I wouldn't go into it this time so I won't, but every now and then I see the light at the end of the tunnel...reflecting off of the walls of the tunnel...but it's a direction. Mission number one is to stop psyching myself out, I think.

Love
kimmo

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Psalm to Our Lady of the Broken Mirror

Apr. 19th, 2011 | 10:27 pm

...Maybe I'm wrong: maybe I oughtn't to be so angry with Mike. He couldn't have understood what I meant when I told him that I couldn't live with him: today I'm right furious that he didn't at least try to hash it out with me or talk about it (he rarely if ever does that), that he made the horrible decision to stay in spite of my wishes, but my anger is not doing anything for me at the moment. No help there.

What really blows about this is the fact that when things fell apart, I isolated myself: I lost touch with my family, with almost all of my friends, almost everyone and everything, so there really isn't anyone right now to help me (not that I need help, necessarily, having got myself into this) or to talk to.

I told my mother that I was uncomfortable and needed to get away - she has been in abusive relationships, so I thought she would understand - but she has taken Mike's side in the matter, right or wrong, so no help there.

I don't want to hurt anyone, I never did, that's why I asked him to go to begin with, and almost everything I've done since - giving up the car, withdrawing, cutting, going into the hospital - was because I didn't want to hurt anyone. I can't tell which of us has the underlying problem, him or me: at least one of us has serious problems though, because normal people don't stay in relationships where strangulation has become an issue. To be honest with you guys, if I had a car and any money left at all, if Jeremiah were older or if Mike had ever hurt him in any way, if I didn't think he loved me and Jeremiah, I'd be gone by now. Life is so short and I'm already starting to give up on making anything of this one. I don't know why I feel this way.

I know this bitching is tedious, I don't want to write unappealing things any more than you guys want to read them, but this is the only way I have to really work this out. I'm in the kind of condition that people are afraid of getting into, lifewise: the kind of condition too shameful to grapple enough to change.

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The Three-Hour Tour

Apr. 18th, 2011 | 06:58 pm

I wrote some seriously fucked-up shit over the last few years. Much of it is bad, yes.

If you're clicking through my lj-cuts and wondering why I'm sharing such poop, it's because I've been keeping this journal for almost ten years, and more importantly I was keeping it back when my shit was as together as I can expect it to ever be. There's a larger picture here, a rise and fall in psychic tide that might tell me what ominous moon nearly(?) made a lunatic out of me...it's the only consistent record I have, a shame I wasn't posting more in it than I was.


(It was the fights...)

...maybe.

I don't think about these things, except for in this place, this journal. All the more reason to, I think.

I've taken to posting in this thing in the bathroom, partially because I can smoke under the vent fan. It's fitting somehow; many, many of my recent nightmares have taken place in bathrooms. They're a place where writing ought to happen: where the primitive is dispensed with by the civilized. The only place in most houses where water stands in a pool, has a presence.

Many of the nightmares I had occurred in bathrooms where the plumbing was clogged or blocked: in one I struggled to find somewhere to take a shower, amid rows of grimy water-stalls caked with filth: when I finally found a usably clean bathroom, it turned out to have a live rat and a horse's head in it, and the piping was all exposed.

In some dreams, like that one, toilets were overflowing: the sense of backed-up dirtiness and foulness was everywhere. I often sought in vain for showers (and later on, the ocean).

(It was the fights...)

And what's to stop them now, aside from my strained acquiescence?

More later...

Show him how we do it...Collapse )

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