The Fallen Angel’s Theme

bow leg boy’s family dedication theme

jay gruska’s americana theme, played on a hand-crank music box

Frank Asakichi Kunishige - Hamadryad, c.1924

what cas’s freeform does when it sees dean.

CONDENSE

when        you are        real

[black n white velveteen rabbit sketch overlayed with the word "you"]                                                                                                 don't                                                                                           mind                                                                                                   being                                                                                           hurt

The velveteen rabbit, margery williams, 1922

in the darkness of my mind I'm unraveling

the angel fall

PURPLE RAIN

seeing through

self harm after one point, becomes a coping mechanism. Its often potrayed as glorification of the result of deep introspection leading to masochoism , or as attention seeking, and a varried array of things in between. All half true, but far too contorted to have been intended well. In all truth, this is just my story.

i harmed myself, underfed myself, deprieved myself of sleep, gagged myself, whipped myself, took random medicines. Everything. If suicide is included in self harm, attempted it perioidically. And frankly, some of the self harm was for attention, i wished to make myself worthy of recieving care. To put myself in such hurt that i could control, explain in lies, and have catered to in small dozes. But more than that, it was a coping mechanism to hurt myself. Because everything else would be misconstrued or result in consequences i did not intend and could not control. A outburst of anger would effect my ties, breaking things was not affordable, or sometimes not explainable,  Crying would lead to intervention into my thoughts. But self harm? no one would know, no one could question, and i’d come out “sane” , “normal”, there would be know “something’s happened to them, they’ve changed” , nothing. i could just inflict pain upon myself in places and ways no one could see, and then go about my day, following my passions, which were truly mine, but also all of me as everyone saw it. ANd there was also relief in harming myself, because , indeed my thoughts had mangled into this crowweb of hatred for myself, and the hatred of my love for myself. It felt real, and the pain felt mine, and sometimes it felt wrong, and so it felt right , because i thought i deserved it, i think so sometimes. Its a overlay between wanting pain, and also forcefully inflicting pain i don’t want, former because i think i’v wandered into masochistic desires and it feels poetic, latter because outside that poem i hurt from pain, but i think i deserve to be punished. so i do it myself.

on the sideway, suicide, just became an option, and once it did, somehow that made everything easier, that its going to end, in my control, so i can just do this, just not do that, just that. Failed suicide attempts have consequences and aftermath , of course they do, and more often then not, the guilt of having hurt others and the “selfishness” of it is already lingering in ur head on its own, the major aftermath is just a feeling of failure, and more ideation along with more self harm. Because maybe if you’re going to fail and then be put to the test for why’s and see others hurt for u, be angry, be troubled, or be unbothered by your pain, better sane up for it, so that the lingering apology in your head manages to find its way above the pain of the reality and you manage to set things right back they were before by convincing everyone so. Once self harm becomes you’re coping mechanism, it just  never really is comforting to be saved.

There must be a way out of it, there is, i know, but how will it be found if we don’t dig a creek in this soft grave and set paper boats to sway here. The sun dazzles, at the edges of such a boat, i know.

Machines

i love machines. because they are simply awsm.

machines can do clever things, if you can manage to look past the unclever things.

maybe we could make each other smile too, if we looked past our tears.

How can I fit my whole life into one box? how did one box fit my whole life ?

me.

people can hate doom scrolling and yes yes sense. go wiggle your toes. clouds and sunshine are nice. rolling in grass and hoarding pebbles seems is joyful and these papers need to be folded or scribbled over. numbers and words are very productive i see. 

but ,honestly the internet is so beautiful. its good to delve deep. find those oyesters.

goto go make origami for my rocks to look at.