A Dream About A Home Invasion

Have you looked into the persona series (particularly p5 and p3) as well as the umbrella academy?

Ah, I am vaguely aware of and have viewed the Persona games, but I hadn't considered the possibility that it may be a kin source. Thank you for this suggestion, maybe I'll have to refresh my memory on this series as a whole

As for Umbrella Academy-- I can't say I've viewed this one before. I'll definitely add it to my source list, and if any fictionkin or fictives wish to share their own memories from these sources, the door is always open..

An Incredibly Informal Post About Neuroscience, at 5am

Using a precise technique that involves recording electrical activity directly from the brain, neuroscientists have identified different clusters of neurons that appear to process language on different timescales. Isn't that fascinating?

So, they had recordings of electrical activity from 177 language responsive electrodes– and this was across six patients that they recorded electrical activity in using the electrodes that they implanted in their brain, and then they had the participants read four different types of language stimuli: complete sentences, lists of words, lists of non-words, and sentences that looked grammatically correct but were just kinda word soup, you know? So then they found that in some of the neural populations, activity would fluctuate up and down with each word. In others activity would build up over multiple words before falling again.

So basically, they could potentially map these timescales. Like sensitivity to features of single words or relationships between words. This is just the beginning, they for sure are going to have a follow up article coming out saying they did another test and compared the data, hopefully within the next year. Maybe by then they'll have some of the questions I'm thinking of answered.

URGENT HELP🚨🚨🚨🍉🇵🇸

Hello,

How do you do ? I hop to be in a good condition.

This is my special campaign

We hope to help us by donating or sharing to others.

Every donation makes a different even if it a small.

As you know, the war began on October 7 and lasted ten months. During this period, we were unable to obtain food, drink, or treatment because we did not have money.

There is no source of income for the family at the present time, so we are unable to buy food, clean water, and medicine, especially after we are afflicted with the ongoing infectious diseases spread in the north like Hepatitis C disease.

Our house has been damaged a lot since the beginning of the war. We are from the north of Gaza and we are still in the north and have not displaced to the south. We displaced 10 times from place to another seeking to safety .

We hope for your help and support, even if only a little.🙏🙏

Vetted by Femme intifada on telegram.

Also, vetted by gazavetters on tumbler and my number is #60

My campaign was recently vetted by butterfly effect group on Instagram and my number is #964

This is the link if you would to read our story well 👇👇

https://gofund.me/4e896ac1

Thank you all

Abedallhferwanagaza's donation page is available on GoFundMe.com

A Dream About A Ghost

I wake up in a dark bedroom, standing in the farthest corners of reality- stop me if you've heard this one before. It's not the shadows that thread themselves in my corporeal form that surprises me, nor is it the way the room seems warped with some macabre version of what you'd see in the daylight, when your fears aren't taking the steering wheel to your mind. 

No, it's the reaction of who I'm visiting that gives me pause for a moment. He's scared, yes. Just like the rest of them. His eyes are locked on me as his breath hitches in his throat.. but then his face smoothes in recognition. It's so jarring that it makes me pause, uncertain if I should continue on with what I set out to do, or if I should stay rooted to my spot like the ignoramus I am.

See, I had been under the impression that there were rules to this. I don't get to leave until I've played my part, and they can't leave until they play theirs. It's why they lay there paralyzed while I stick my fingers into their eyes. Most importantly though, is that we can't speak. And yet he looks at me with fond eyes and says, “Which one of him are you? You've visited before.” 

I feel deeply ashamed, like I should remember visiting him, but I don't. There's been times that I suspected I had these dreams and yet all I remember are vague shadows and screams when I wake up. He must've just been lost in that haze, because I'm trying to recall his memories, and I'm coming up with nothing. I want to ask him just how many of ’me’ are there out there? Who are you? But my tongue is weighed to the bottom of my mouth. 

So I settle for the next best thing, and wade in, closer. At this, he winces slightly, and I realize he knows exactly what I'm going to do to him, and as easy as it can be to lose myself to this… thing, this headspace I get into.. It's hard when he's reminding me that there's a part of me that's still human. I stare him over; the way his throat seems to twitch lightly with his breathing, the way he's watching me close in on him, like I'm nothing more than a tide coming into shore. He gives me a sad smile, but these waves are crashing all the same. I lift my hand over his face, and take a second to drink in his expression, hoping maybe somehow he'll do something to stop me. 

He doesn't. He just smiles and says, “I know you have to.” And I do, so I plunge my finger down into the pupil, and let myself break down into the quickening of his pulse again. 

It's all so hazy, like when you move a polaroid camera too much before taking a picture, but through that haze I can see that our gaze is deadlocked ahead to the water’s edge. The wind is howling, so much that I almost don't hear the faint calling of a name carrying over the crashing of waves against large broken down black rocks that speckle the shores. My gaze stays locked on the horizon, and there's nothing for a sickening moment. There's just the chill of the fog dense air weighing me down. I feel like a bug stuck in molasses, and it just doesn't seem fair. 

This guy, he tried so hard just to keep his head above water, to do the right thing and now he is trapped here, doomed to watch his life pass him by in a cave of his own making- and could anyone blame him? For letting the emptiness swallow him whole, when he had nothing but good intentions? The chill sinks down to my bones, and yet he doesn't shiver, he's just perfectly still. Like a picture. His breath is slow, but he's in shock, and he's just staring dead ahead, ignoring the calling of his name over the quietness of what could be forever. Could I be stuck here forever? If I stay trapped in this memory, in this body will I ever reach a point where I'm found and the nightmare is over, or will it go on and on until it feels dull and empty?..

There's a part of me that looks forward to these dreams. It feels healing. It gives me life and meaning, but this? I couldn't watch this, it was too much. So I tried despite everything to get him to move. It doesn't work like that though, It's a memory. I can't change the course of a memory no matter how much I try, and I was still trying to kick and scream through the waves that were weighing down my body. We aren't too different, this man and I, because he too is somewhere deep under the sea. Something is holding him there, and while it may not be the eye of god, we're still being held there by the very same thing- fear. This man truly might be doomed, I had to claw at the walls of this grave he's found himself in, and steal him from this fate before he was lost to the sands of time.. and I was shouting despite everything, despite it going against my very nature, 

“Don't be afraid..! Don't be afraid!”

I, of course, woke myself up. I was crying in my sleep, which took me aback because usually when I have these dreams, I feel like adrenaline is lighting me up, and the acrid taste of fear in the back of my throat- I didn't taste anything. All I got from this dream was a profound sense of loss.

A Dream About An Archeologist

“I had a nightmare about being an archeologist a few nights ago.” The world falls dead silent as I wait for a reply. They’re typing back, I can see those three little dots dancing at the bottom of the screen. “An archeologist? That’s an interesting career for sure. How’d the nightmare go?”

“The beginnings of the dream were inconsequential, mostly going about my job at the digging site. It was actually a calm sort of pleasant in that part of the dream. The tools seemed a bit dated.. But it was when the team uncovered, in their excavation, two bodies that things took a horrific turn into nightmare territory.” I paused for a moment, thinking over how to continue with just what I saw.

“.. I’m not sure what you’re comfortable with, so I’ll just leave this part censored. From how deep down in the earth they were, it was impossible someone had buried them there, and the earth we had dug up was unturned when we started this project. People were panicking, calling for 999, and here’s something more horrific,

“The reason I bring up them being too far down, and the earth being unturned is how fresh the bodies were. Under all that dirt, their skin was soft and blueish. Bloated from the very beginnings of decomposition. Her hands were gripped into his arms so hard they broke flesh, and the most terrifying part for me was their eyes. They were wide open, allowing the dirt in.

“Their mouths, their faces still twisted by fright in death, they were alive when they somehow found themselves under all that earth, and that terrified me because by all means, I have no idea how they had gotten there.”

 I lean back, looking at what I copied and pasted. There’s guilt here. It's an unusual thing, the need to tell people about what I’ve seen in the dreams– a new development that makes my stomach roll. I don’t like having to spread this feeling, that’s not me.. But fear can really turn me into a monster when it’s left unattended. After a moment of waiting, the weight of what I wrote suddenly hits me somewhere deep beneath my ribs, and I feel anxious. 

“Julius, we think you really oughta take a look into The Magnus Archives; https://the-magnus-archives.fandom.com/wiki/The_Buried.” I’m sulking. I’m a grown man, and I’m sulking over this reply. Something about that source recommendation makes me uneasy and I don’t know why. Shouldn’t I want an answer? Don’t I want to understand? Before I can dwell on this factor any longer, I realize that they are still typing.. And what they write sends a chill down my spine all at once. 

“We’ve seen this,

These people buried deep beyond the limits. 

They were in space, and they met with a fate worse than death… and then they weren't in space anymore.

They were sent home.”

I don't get why nothing is working, I was supposed to get better this was supposed to work. Why am I not grateful? I nearly died just a month ago and somehow I'm discontent with my life and I'm discontent in my own body, I don't get it.

An Otherworldly Garden of Lights Emerges from Hemp and Resin by Ross Hansen

An Update (Part 2);

I am scaling the walls of my enclosure. I misjudged how this time off would affect me. I wish to be broken free from this mortal prison

Ocean Eyes

There is an eye at the bottom of the ocean, belonging to an old god whose name has been forgotten, but still leaves echoes in the memory of man. It's there, under the rolling waves and aquatic life. In a constant staring contest with our sun that's dripping crimson with the blood of so many who have given into their fears, the eye gazes not just on that sun but through every life that has ever lived in this reality we've found ourselves in, and so many others.

 When it finally blinks, the world will end. This is a fact. The Earth will begin to swallow us whole, and nature will take back what we've stolen from it. Bridges collapsing and headlights careering into the star filled glinting sea, into doors that were never meant to be opened. Fear and panic in the air, do you feel it too?.. and when that eye blinks, our sun will too. I want to look down into those depths just so I can reassure myself it's fine. ‘It was just a dream, a terrible, terrible dream that you had because you went into cardiac arrest,’

But it's still wriggling in my brain, pulling in and out of my periphery like a tide. So I think..

I'm going to run a little experiment. I've mentioned my urges- 

My fixation with hearing others experiences and memories, my drive to feel that connection, and to pick at the more distressing details of said memories. I would like to stop completely, just to see how uncomfortable I'd get. I want to document how long it takes until my resolve cracks, just to get a sense of how trapped I really am in this cycle.

So, if I don't post for a while, my blog isn't dead! I'm simply trying not to fall into a pattern that I've been feeding into for the past 3 months. I will post the results when I feel I've gotten satisfying results.

Hey!! i stumbled across your blog (or you across mine lol) and i wanted to wish you luck on your fictionkin/otherhuman journey!

I’m fictionkin myself but i have a bit of a weird relationship with past memories or lives etc etc so i’m not sure i can help much on that front, but as for your unknown source, could it maybe be Supernatural? I’m a Dean Winchester kin and it sounds like your memories could be pretty parallel to SPN themes???

Thank you so much for reaching out to me. I have heard of the source material, and I won't deny there is a fair bit that lines up. Truth be told, the concept of horrors hiding amongst the mundane monotony of everyday life is something that speaks to my very soul, and the theme of trying to track down said horrors in the first place. I have and probably still will look deeper into it in order to find familiarity. 

If I may also give a recommendation for sources; the SCP Foundation, and a bunch of its canons, have a ton of 'doomed timeline' stories. I am specifically more versed in the Church of the Broken God and Sarkicism groups of interests, but I would also recommend looking into the O5 Council as what you have described may align more with them.

-@sssssaarn

I apologize for the late reply, I wanted to take a proper amount of time answering this one because truth be told, I had a bit of SCP phase back in the early 2010s, and of course I happened to take a peek into the fandom once again when liminal space aesthetics and ‘The Backrooms’ rose to prominence. I remember back yesteryear, how my peers would all sit around one kid while they played the game and desperately wishing for that kind of kinship, but I digress. There is something that certainly allures me about the SCP fandom as a whole. The aesthetic, but also the anomaly classification system.The idea of bringing order to something so naturally chaotic really intrigues me. All you need to do is just look at one symbol in the classification system and you immediately know what source material you’re interacting with.. Thank you for the recommendation, I certainly will consider it.