Wrong?... with me??

So, I was speaking with someone who is far more intelligent than me. And he was talking about how we only have one thought, or such.
I then I thought 'But don't you have thought layers? I mean, there's one loud thought which is basically you reciting something, and beneath that is the memory you're taking this knowledge from, and beneath that is the one of you thinking about your thoughts, and then under that there is the one that you know is there but before you can reach it, you get distracted by one of the higher ones".
So it's like.
Layer 1. 'I kind of want to go to ..... 's house' followed by why you want to go there, who will be there, what you'll do.
Layer 2. Is a memory, that you're thinking about, like the last time you went there and you're still thinking about this while the top thought is playing.
Layer 3. Under that is you thinking 'Hmm, why am I thinking about this, it's really weird for me to mention ..... in my thoughts, I mean, it has nothing to do with the situation whatsoever, oh man, what the hell am I thinking about now?'
Layer 4. ---malfunction--- You know it's there, but you can't quite catch it because a soon as you're about to layer 1. changes to 'Man, that girl is wearing the most fucked up clothes' and so the other thought layers change.

I'm not too sure how to explain, I guess, but I certainly have thought layers. I never have just ONE thought. Now, on pot, the 'subliminal message' thought, the 'bottom thought', shall we say, is intensified, so I can catch it and the stuff at the bottom of all my thoughts is rather negative and paranoid so I now believe THIS is why I can not smoke pot.
On acid, however, the thoughts all become ONE. :) I get everything at once. It can become rather 'intense', but it's much better than having them all split up so's I dunno what to do with them.

Anyways, more to the point, when I denied my friends point and brought up the thought layers, he said he didn't have it. :/

Is there something wrong with my thoughts? My head? I thought thought layers were normal???

The man in the corner.

I'm the one everyone secretly wants to kill.
Ripping out hair whilst curled in a ball, screaming to the man in the corner that I don't want it anymore... Trying to figure out what the hell happened.
Wake up feeling tired and realizing I've made some awful mistakes in the past week and wishing I had a set of arms to fold myself into. Just for one minute, so I can hide my face to cry and not let these thoughts dropping like flies force my heart to stop.
Fuck it. I know I am on the very fucking edge right now. I want to jump, jump because it will make things easier but I'm so scared I'll make things so much worse.
Crying to the man in the corner to do it again so I can feel something real.
Wishing I was back when it all started, when everything was perfect, when everything was simply wonderful... Or, when I thought it was.
Screaming to the man in the corner to explain to me what the fuck I am, and all he does is smile this dirty smile.
I know I got what I wanted, because I didn't want it. Why do these things? To fuck myself up worse than before, obviously.
Then cry to the man in the corner that I want my mind back.
And something else, too.
Fucking build up. Take some of this pressure off me! Sometimes I wish there was somebody else in my life I wasn't terrified of other than imaginary friend.
Oh, but there is, but he's gone for good. Gone for good. Gone for good. Gone for good. Up and left me after turning me inside out. What a fucking cunt.
Begging the man in the corner to make things better, to make things worse, to cut me up and lick my wounds. And he obliges, dark materials to cover up the marks he left, a perfect disguise behind hevay painted eyes.
I'm sick. Of me.
Why won't I just fuck off!?
Crying to the man in the corner to heal my fractured mind, to take away the constant anxiety because evryone is out to get me, ad if he can't fix me up nice and proper...
Well, why not just kill me?
What a cunt.

Some random old shit. You know, back int he day when I didn't make any sense and couldn't word my thoughts properly... Owait, still can't. Well then. Back in the day when I'd never touched acid.

*****************************

28th March, 2008

The past could not be changed. Really, the past is whatever has happened. If you were to travel back in to the past and change what once happened, all you have done is added more to your past. You didn't change a thing. The original scenario already happened.

You can not change the future because the future is what is going to happen. If you were to see in to the future and see a thing you were to do, rebel and say ''Instead, I shall do this', then nothing is changed. The original thing you were to do will never come to be, and so it is not in your future, instead is what you changed your mind in to doing.

You can not change what has happened, or what is going to happen.

If you traveled back to your past in the future, then your past lies in your future. If in yesterday, you looked in to the future, your future lies in your past. There is no present. Every hundredth of a millisecond that passes is now in your past, and every hundredth of a millisecond ahead of you is in your future.

You waste time every second that passes. But what are we supposed to do instead of living, or remaining inside our heads boxed by thoughts? Life only lasts so long, and I see no meaning in it. Nothing is ever accomplished, every thing fails. Time never stops, it will just keep going. No pauses, rewinds or fast forwards. Even when nothing exists, time will continue. It is something we created that we can not escape. We trapped ourselves with our invention. A straight forward, ever-lasting adventure in to desolation.

How many days have passed? Does it matter, when every one is the same? Everything gets right back to time. All around me, life is moving forward, and I am not involved. To say it is moving forward may even be false, for it is going no where. We do not understand and we do not care to. I don't know if I am real. This could be a dream, I may wake up. But to what? My thoughts? I feel as if I think this all to confuse myself. Nothing makes sense because sense does not exist. It's only a word, and a word is only yet another of our mindless creations. This is like somebody's game.

The more I think, the more I am sure I do not exist. Near certain. This is all a blurr and I imagine this because I see nothing else.

29th March, 2008

Today I feel disconnected. At first I thought this only meant I felt nothing, but then I realized it meant I feel alone. The world has set me aside, and maybe it's because it doesn't want me, maybe it's because I do not wish to be a part of it. I'll one day realize what the deep down reason for wishing to feel this way was, until then I'll just believe that I am the only one who exists to me, yet I do not exist at all.

It all narrows down to what you believe in. If you believe in something, it's real for you. A wish shall only become true if you have faith. More importantly, 'God' only exists if you want Him to. Me? I know to much to believe in a something that doesn't exist. I doubt my own reality, why would I believe in a superior being?

I am getting closer to the end, yet there will never be an end for it is unfolding. All doors, beliefs and possibilities are locked today, I do not even know they are there. But tomorrow, I may find a key which shall unlock another piece. Then I will ponder the wherabouts of the next key, the next step to enlightenment.

And so I do not remember my dreams, but are they that? A wise person once told me that 'matter' in scientific terms, is just what is there. Do your dreams matter to you? Then think about this. That means they exist. But if they exist, what is our waking hours? Do they exist?

Maybe I am trying to discover too much at once, and ending up jumbeling the ideas around my head. But I am drawn to the center of this maze. For what reason, I may never know. Maybe when I am at the end of the tunnel, I'll find out why I was so desperate to know all along. Know what? Just know.

I don't know anything. I know nobody understands. I don't expect them to. I don't understand a thing, not even myself. I don't agree with what I am saying, but I have just managed to see past the every-day routine people have placed themselves in. I don't see the point in living, like everybody else. It is not that I wish to be dead, it is that I wish not to feel, not to think these thoughts that continue to torture me. Possibilities, possibilities. Never ending and so vast. I find little enjoyment in anything at all. I have to force myself to, pretend to. But we're all pretend, all make-believe so what does it matter? It doesn't 'matter'. Exactly. It does not exist.

I'll lose my effort in this, lose my urge to find out. I'll stop writing, maybe even stop thinking. Just this small step was a huge toll on my energy.

I believe in nothing.

**********************

I'm well aware of how ridiculous this all is, yet, I post it nonetheless because I have lost my ability to write anything new and decent, and when I came across this on an old website I thought it could be a filler? Because, I'm far too busy doing nothing to try and write anything.

;D

I tend to address myself as a bloke a lot. Wishful thinking, I guess.

I see a certain someone I sort of looked down on has more potential than I realised.

I found a new subject to dissect.

I just set the packet of smokes on fire, and I'm not sure how.

I completley fucked up my opinion of a crazy-ass motherfucker to the point of which I have no idea weather I hate him, fear him, admire him or respect him. Probably all.

I had a rough week.

Oh, and you'd be so much better in person. Come back. :)

For the record,

I have no fucking idea what's going on anymore.

Failed plan is fail.

Well, yes I do. Well yes I do!

Of course, it doesn't matter at all what I do if you're not in this with me, right?

Oh, sigh, I picked up a bad habit and lost this good one, here.

I can no longer draw, write, speak, smoke weed, remember dreams... Besides all that, my lungs which heave and hack up fucking yellow shit every 20 minutes beg me to give up with cigarettes. But fuck 'em.

Love.

:)

Holy shit, what the fuck was I thinking? Wait, WAS I?

Haha fucking ha.

I miss you. Please come back. I'm sick of missing people who'll never even remember me.

But regardless, please come home.

I need you.

Let the sickness run down your legs.

Rest in pieces.

Life is about balance, pretty much. Everything should be kept within moderation, and in this manner, everything will be okay. I feel hower, like I'm slipping out of my usually perfectly balanced self and I blame acid.
There should be a fair balance between knowledge and compassion. However, due to too much acid and too much time left to kill researching aimlessly, I've began to stop caring about other people. It's not that I don't have any problems, and it's not that I'm optimistic, but I also have stopped caring about my own problems. I've gotten to state in which I believe everything I say and think is correct.
This all occured to me when a friend noted that I should be careful about my studies in physics and chemistry, because my heart may close up. This makes sense. I no longer care about being happy, and therefor, I am happy. All I care about as of now, is learning. This ruins my balance. This ruins my goal in life. Learn, teach, argue, learn, teach, argue. I'm SUPPOSED to help people, instead I study them and lecture them on what I think is correct. Regardless of whether or not I'm right, I still need to see their side of the story, learn from their points.
... And there I go with learning again.
This IS a problem, but I don't care about it all that much because... I don't care anymore. It makes me happy to not be effected by other people's problems and not notice my own. It is calm. It is safe.
And since I am TERRIFIED of everything, feeling safe is important.

I should stop taking acid, it would do me some good, but I'm OBSESSED with knowledge. I have 13 tabs up right now, including this one, and I'm jumping from one topic to the next, filling up my head and DISTRACTING myself. Much like my lovely little acid loop a week or so back (which some of you may have witnessed), the cure is to sit alone and recollect my thoughts, remember that I'm okay and that it's all in my head, and SLEEP. But I don't want to, because I'm too busy being distracted, but this is making me anxious and paranoid.

I know now how to get out of a loop if I find myself in one again. It has happened twice now, and both times, people tried to sort me out, but only I could do it right. I'm not very trusting. Both times, I took myself away and went rhough the events of the trip and previous ones until I remembered that I'd be fine. Why this helps is because alone, with only my thoughts and a secure setting that doesn't change is, nothing distracts me and takes me off course and I can figure this out. Now, if I could do that everytime I started to loop, I would learn great things. But eventually, I'm too busy thinking about how long I'll be in that loop to remember the question I was figuring out before I got distracted. This is why I will spend the majority of my next trip alone, to take the word of the fire god, and will probably do it during the day, to take the word of the doctor.

I know I may have said to many people I would discontinue my acid use, at least for a little while, but the things I learned from that last trip just needed thinking over. Both 'bad' trips have in many ways, been the best I ever had. I learn a lot more from fear than from when I'm enjoying myself on acid. I know I have advanced greatly due to my previous 'bad' trips and for that reason I will run fast into the midst of the drug, prepared but excited, ready yet curious and whatever happens during that episode, I know will be for the best, at least knowledge and experience wise, which is my goal at the moment.

In other news, it appears my 'demon' has left me for good. I guess that means a part of me has dettached itself completely. Maybe why I feel like such a fucking tool. I feel like you people. People I used to frown upon, or perhaps people I used to admire. Now I am just like you. It isn't pretty, but what can I do with my 'demon' having left? That was all the good things of me, I just never realized it until it was gone. So, goodbye instincts and safety and compassion and looking-at-the-future. Because, I am pretty much used up and dead inside now, like you people.

Rest in Pieces, my demon friend. Maybe I'll come visit you in Exitland one day.

Newest Gameshow. 3

Well, I must admit, when the lesbian killer vampires said they'd be coming back, I assumed tehy meant some time later this week, not the very next hour. Unprepared!

I can do italics on here, let's prepare ourselves for what is to come. Do we have the facts? No, because there is none. We're basing this on personal belief, arrogance and of course, science. So where are our facts? The laws of science don't meant shit when gravity doesn't exist anymore, dumb fucks. What the hell would your science mean in a place any different from here?
"Calm down, you'll wake the children. Roll yourself a cigarette and stop this shit. You're so sure? ".
No, every thought makes me more uncertain. But I love her, I do.
"So you want to abandon everything that makes you socially acceptable, because you say it doesn't fit with your beliefs and it's all brainwashing bullshit to keep you on a leash. Okay, I can understand that, then what ARE you going to do, if not live life like the human that you are!!!".
Agfthedjfejg. Stop abusing me just because my head is scrambled. I'm getting there, just wait for me. Please? Please don't go without me... I don't want to be left here.
But you love her, you do. Want a cup of tea, buddy? Will sort you out like a right chap.
No tea, please. Just give me you word.


"There's no such thing as my word, mat-e-o, nothing exists anymore. Crawl out and face what you wanted. Time has stopped, nothing is real, you're just observing without that human body you despise so much, why are you not happy? Did you think you'd still be able to feel happiness? So ungrateful, so ungrateful. You who takes nothing for granted suddenly uses up all the joy in the world like it were free. Because you know it is".

Thankyou, I'm done for now. You may finish your tea in peace.

Thanks, mat-e-o, I'll see you after The Finish.

They'll never appreciate the beauty here.

Just stop and think about it a little before you put your cold, sweaty palm on that greasy doornob. Just stall time and wonder what your body will look like if he gets a hold of you this time. Wonder if hell leave enough unmarred flesh on your pathetic figure for anyody to ever recognize you.
"What is this pile of shit?"
"Iunno, let's make some hamburgers".

Slices in your back, pretty criss-cross. Slashing the back of your legs with his fucking badass machete, fuck yeah, like a dog well-trained and pissed off. Faceplant in a puddle of your own blood and start struggling to breathe as the blood exits your body.
He smiles above you, squatting, dark hair and green eyes, someone you would like to fuck. He places an elegant finger to his half-smile. "Shhhh".

The floor beneath you, you realize in your last moments in your mockery of a life, is a canvas. A blood-smeared, body-printed canvas. Medium? Your body. He raises the machete and says, with a smile, "I'll let you stroke it". You dirty bitch, your glazing eyes fall to his crotch. He'll fuck you baby, but you're not going to be alive to cum. Instead, he gently lifts your wrist and places it on the blade, dragging your fingertips lightly across it's edge, split, split, split. Blood pisses as the fingers split like venom sacks.

He leans over the canvas, pretty body of a pale bitch laying in her own crimson bath. She's dead, but the fun isn't over yet. He sits, flipping her onto her back, tearing the incision across her pregnant belly. A beautiful flow of organs rush into his lap, he feasts upon her insides. He's rather aroused, you see, and is almost tempted to take it out on the half-formed child. He brings the blade to her hips and removes the skin, the flesh, leaving the bone. "Now that's what I call love handles".

Gripping her to him, he pulls her slender legs over his shoulders and pounds into her cunt. "Damn bitch, missing out on all the fun. Why do they always die so soon?". He'd found her wet and ready, though that was probably due to all the blood splatter...

He leaves his official mark across her face, and with dripping cock in hand, he admires the final installment to his masterpeice. "Beautiful, they'll never appreciate the beauty here". He arranges the flowers across her corpse and kisses her cold lips. On his way out, he locks the door, no sense in allowing things to disturb her in her resting place.