facings

 i went out today, like a normal human being who does normal human things. isn't that psychotic? i went out an was normal. i nicked a lot, including a signed [by warren ellis] first print of transmetropolitan: lust for life. i didn't know any of those things when i took it, but i am amazed at that luck. since i'm in the middle of a full frontal manic breakdown; i have been doing a lot -- a little too much. my brain hops from one thing to another, my brain vaporizing and materializing objects and deciding that i need to read anything and everything, while also drawing, and also having my brain set on thinking about severen from near dark and postal dude from postal, a game i have never played. but i am being true to that miserable character; smirnoff and whisky shots and a lot of shot glasses.

 i am manic in a backwards way, there isn't productivity outwards, only inwards hence i seem entirely useless to the people around me. it seems like i am cultivating clutter and purpose with no meaning, no one is following where i'm going or what i'm seeing. i'm back to being fixated and obsessed with numbers and patterns. 3 / 6 / 8 / 12 / 16 / 18 / 23 / 33 ... i have a fixed understanding of all of this, but have been thinking of the idea of the "post-self." you have the face, The Self, an perhaps the "post-self" which emerges after The Self is active. the "post-self" is the pain, the fatigue, the exhaustion, it is for me as my Self is a bit strenuous and lopsided. for you, your "post-self" could be riding on a high for a good while after The Self's impulses. the "post-self" is the consequence. [note; there are no moral abstrictions to the word "consequence," there is no moralism here] it's just the aftermath ... 

 but i suppose, realize that it can be true that i am insane and none of this means anything, these are the ramblings of someone who is genuinely mentally ill. but if i turn to the pillars of my worldview; focault would argue the so-called-mentally-ill are the true seers and philosophers of the world and camus would argue this is the splendour of escaping the absurd an living life free of the search for meaning. my brother says to always veer on the side of mental illness, i suppose that that is the occam's razor solution to my passive, potentially post ironic poisoned thought processes. i think i make sense, but no one else seems to agree that i make sense. the verdict seems to be that my thoughts on these topics are my post-talk justifying my own psychosis. i want to be right, but maybe i never will be simply bcoz i am not mentally well. oh well, i guess. what the hell am i supposed to do about it? i have an inability to imitate perception. 

 by this i mean i cannot become what people like, hence i am consistently isolated, i cannot replicate the functions of other people and so usually i'm isolated. and lately, i think my mania has created a hole in the egotistical veil and revealed to me that my brother, who i consider my best friend and the only person who gets it, only stays with me bcoz he's scared whatever decision he makes will cause me to spiral. he said this tonight; but there is no way it could be only tonight. for how long has he been with me solely outtuv fear that i will spiral? what if we are not so close as i thought we were? it would devastate me. but it could be true, so i am choosing to back away instead. maybe i will learn to be alone. i love you. good night, it's 3.26am here. so maybe, good morning. nyon loves you/i love you/harley loves you.

 float around the world in you dreams.