2001-05-27 - 6:14 p.m. - quotidianus6

Perhaps someplace there is a world of ifs. A conditional world, dividing rapidly with each choice made on ours, or on some other master world...

Ifs buts couldhavebeens. On many such worlds, I would not exist, would not have met my friends, would be spiraling farther into despair, would not be as lucky as I am now. It's a very depressing thought. Not that I might not exist, but... the rest. Why me?

The sun is shining outside but all I want to do right now is curl into the fetal position and lie on my bed and pretend that I can shut the world out. I can't. It's too big for that. And why would I want to? The joy I can find is quite enough...

Deep breaths. They help. But not against the ant-feeling. Oh, how insignificant I am. Am I a plaything for a god? I can't see how I'd be much sport...

This is an online diary. I know people are reading it. Perhaps. I know I'm asking you to do something. I don't really expect you to, because I've got to do it myself - see fighting your own battles and stuff. I. This is how I get the bad stuff out, how I make sure I don't hurt myself: by writing it on paper. Before I would plan elaborately setups for my death. Now I dream an occasional death-dream and pour my blood into a computer for mass distribution.

There's... words are not sufficient for what I want to must try to express. Damn my dreams, glorious fabrics, tapestries... and then I wake, and the cloth is shredded, and the vermillion fades until it's a shadow of the essence... until I'm left solely with some deep-buried order to communicate what I've got, the truths I have, half-buried in sand and chipped away as they are...

...dammit, why can't I just touch people, mesh thoughts with them, impress upon them what I'm feeling, impress upon them that there is something important I need to say if only the babble can be cleared away? My curse? My words... and my saviors too they will be.

Ah God. I don't deserve the friends that I have... what did I do to warrant such care? Lighthouses. Beacons. And finally I am beginning to believe that I am a good kid...

Yes. My depression is a part of me, but look deeper or shallower: there is much else remaining to be seen.

I know that the frame does not reveal it, but perhaps.. perhaps that is why I look to the tall, because perhaps I feel that the tall are not as likely to collapse on themselves? Because perhaps if I can see in others the largeness of frame I can believe that perhaps the foundation is strong enough to be tested by... whatever adversarial force. Bullshit, there's no correlation. I'm fighting the dark with only babble as my weapon and as the madness overtakes me I do not know if I have won or lost...

Because with the greater size, the greater weight, the wind will not sweep the other away?

My colors. My thoughts. They're scattering...

Am I in love with ideas for the sake of being in love with the ideas?

Do I really want to be a vampire?

j (:>

Good dreams recently. Centaurs are back...

And as I was borne aloft

I laughed, bright again....

And to their temples I knelt

Blaspheming the gods

For what it was I felt...

god-emotion, devil-feeling, who knows?

the haze never lifted

and soon they were gone...//

I went today. So out of my element. Left out of awkwardness, I think. Actually, I'm not quite sure how I left. Much better online... still somewhat antisocial out there.