Dream/Journal Yapping

ImSchizophrenicThough

ImSchizophrenicThough

Nusoicaca
Oh my hecking soyence sootysoot giving me my own heckin' personal old-school 00's nostalgia internet forum bloggerino or something? Am I awake or still dreaming?

Logistics & bureaucracies harass me in my dreams.

Last night, I was dreaming about the price of train tickets (some time ago I took the train regularly) and complaining to a friend about the price (15$ a piece, needing one each day to go to work and back again). He then explained, confused, that he had a week-card, which cost only 50$ (as opposed to 15$/workdayx5=75$/week). I then calculated this card would save me 25$x52=1450$ every year, and told him I never heard of it before. He insisted I should get one, and that this was possible at the helpdesk of every train-station.

Later that same day, said friend had already left, I went to get mine. The woman at the glass helpdesk was very young and told me that she'd never heard of it before, but admitted she was a new hire and that her supervisor, who'd come back later, would be able to help me. In the meantime I stood in the waiting room, now noticing every wall was made of glass, and the furniture too. I searched for a chair to sit on but there were none, only knee-height glass coffee-tables (IKEA) that I knew come with chairs. When I got a little more tired I decided on crouching awkwardly behind one of them.

When the supervisor arrived she was explained the situation by the new hire and assured me she was on it, and proceeded to stare at an Apple monitor for about half an hour. At least the new hire got me a coffee by way of apology. An hour or so later the supervisor literally threw up her hands and groaned, and told me something was wrong with the system, and she didn't know how to get me one "the old way" but that a recently retired employee only lived two blocks from the station, and that he'd be happy to help me out.

The supervisor went to accompany me to his house, which was indeed close-by. The city had however been hit by a storm in the past week, and his street flooded with vile yellow water. She pointed down the river and told me it was the third on my left, past the yellow vessel repairing affected homes. Shocked I wanted to ask her "What so I'm supposed to swim there?" but she'd already gone, and I was left to decide on my own, coming to the conclusion that 1450$ was worth more to me than staying dry, so I started swimming.

Swimming towards the seniors' house the workers from the vessel called out to me, saying I couldn't swim there because of a loose shark. I didn't believe them and thought they were just messing with me, but I justified my reason for swimming in the stinking yellow piss to them by explaining the entire story (the week-card etc) and that 1450$ was a lot of money. One of them admitted that it was a lot of money, and that it was nearly his yearly salary (2000$) and got an excited sparkle in his beady eyes and blinked one of them at me and smiled telling me that he'd ignore it.

I continued happily until I realized the doorbell didn't function, so swimming towards the window to knock I saw the retiree sitting, a vegetable behind the tv, unresponsive. Realizing this sack wouldn't be able to help me even if he wanted to I swam back the way I came defeated. Nearing the point where I entered the water the worker from earlier shouted at me, and so I stopped to see what he was fussing about, but he was just waving his arms and incoherent. Then I saw a fin peek out of the yellow river, in disbelief I waited, wanting to be sure it wasn't, but then I saw the grey body approach me through the water, and the jaws snap once, then open fully and I cursed the supervisor and the retiree and the new hire for being useless. I'm pretty sure I then died.
 
Gonna try to keep this going except when I dont have any dreams.

I was in a small supermarket (more of a gas-station shop than an actual supermarket) where Sam Hyde was about to box some black guy. He told me a story about how, in the past, he'd went to do the same but moved around like a cartoon character (bending over, standing on his toes and shaking his ass like a 1930's animation) to the amusement of the guy he fought. Ironically enough he repeated this dance while telling me the story, and when he was done his trainer (?) pulled me aside and told me that Sam Hyde wasnt some alt-right wierdo badass, but just a normal kid, a little gullible even. The boxing was about to begin and his opponent was some hoodrat so I distanced myself and rejoined my friend who was picking out sweets.

I proceeded to have a lengthy argument with him about which chocolate was the cheapest or the most value for money (I really like calculating shit in my dreams for some reason). Culminating in him making 2 bad choices, which he argued were actually the best. I didnt argue any further because it wasnt my money. His first choice was a chocolate bar wrapped in gold, expensive, and a cookie wrapped in black paper, the most retarded choice by far, because it was a single piece. The cashier scanned the chocolate bar no problem, but when she saw the cookie she made a weird face and opened it up, revealing moldy, reddish-white sludge where once a cookie had been. She explained the cookie was 100 years old and expired, and not at all edible, but my friend insisted he wanted it, the cashier said she couldnt sell it in good consience, but my friend pointed out a dry, light-brown part of the "cookie" seemed edible. The cashier, an elderly lady gave him a wry smile like the one she'd give her grandchildren when giving in to some petulant demand, and told him that he could try eating part of it for free. He then pulled out a knife, cut the "edible" part out and ate it looking really sad and dejected.

Then I roke up.
 
Slept badly, incoherent dream.

I was inside some sort of really realistic vn or something. Or at least I felt I could make choices like I was in one. Most of it I spend rizzing a goth vampire chick (now I think of it the entire esthetic was 19th century gothic) who was really, really cold. Her vampire family was also some kind of mafia clan because they had a ton of goons, never questioned it though.
Then after succeeding the existence of vampires was revealed on tube-TV by a rotund guy in a hat who brought a ghoul to a live show. As the ghoul started eating the victorian crowd the newscaster and some cops started shooting it, and he danced around singing "all I want is world peace", eventually leaving the tent being broadcast from due to the violence and dancing circles around it.
Watching all this with my vampire gyatt (still cold) from bed I regretted getting involved because of the inevitable vampire pogrom.
 
Dreamed I was a thug in an altercation with some other group. Just as the situation seemed to fizzle out one of them disrespected me and I knew I had to beat him up to save face, whereafter I got arrested and put on a boat to some barren island. (Falkland-like) On the fare there it was explained to me the island consisted of a southern and a northern part, and many more smaller islets, and that the prison was a giant tower located on the uninhabited southern part. Because it was cold I was allowed to posses a jacket.

After a while imprisoned I had to my own surprise, a visitor. Another hoodrat who'd bought off the guard so he could beat me up. He told me some shit that sounded really important but I cannot for the life of me remember, and the beatdown turned into him lecturing me while I was on the ground. I ended up strangling him with the chain between my handcuffs and started planning my escape. I remembered from the boat-ride that there was a dangerous current around the southern side of the prison island, so I'd die if I swam the wrong way.
Climbing down the tower via fire escape I saw the guardsman's figure in the distance coming back.

I made it to open water and swam around aimlessly for a while, until a yacht passed by in front of me and a voice commanded me to grab hold of it, which I didn't think was possible at first. The vessel took me as expected to the northern island, which looked way more metropolitan than I expected, with high-rises and neon lights etc. I went to a bar/casino/hotel thing and stole one of the customers clothes from the drying rack. Then I cant remember shit.
 
Dreamt that I was in a skyscraper with a dysfunctional lift (medium-sized gap inbetween the door and the lift itself) and my only way out was going through said dysfunctional lift, I was shaking uncontrollably as the lift descended at a high speed for some reason
That's all I can remember, this was a few days ago
 
Dreamed about the rat computer (a contraption where rats in a maze trigger levers opening or closing doors to ground/voltage source, the battery is just a giant reservoir of rats) and about being one of these rats walking through the cores of the computer. I wondered what the MMU'd look like to a rat and got sad that I was the only rat who knew how the rat computer worked, and the rest was just pushing levers aimlessly hoping there'd be a reward somewhere.
 
So I havent dreamt the past few days, but I've had a mildly interesting idea
I'll try to keep it as short as possible.

How do you define yourself? Or how would you to someone else? You take their perspective, look at yourself from a birdseye view and categorize your actions, you turn this into a list of hobbies and interests. You lie a bit to influence their perception of you, leave out some of the bad, overemphasize the positive. This is what you do to others every day; reduce them to categories.

But what if you're wrong? You are operating under the presumption you are an object - either acting or acted upon, an agent or victim. But your actions are highly dependent on the context, which you cannot represent accurately in short-form, and that is assuming anyone even cares about the context. Your afflictions are neither a good representation, these things have happened, but you're continuing to act as if they are currently going on, or constantly calling everybody's attention to your victimhood, which is annoying.

(You) yourself are that context, that perception, and there's more nuance in that perception than agent or victim. Instead of imagining yourself from a third perspective, and treating yourself like a stranger, the real (You) is the world around you. You're constantly projecting.

(You) are not Grimace-shake enjoying bowlcut college student of applied physics who heckin' trvsts the science, you are the evil chud you project onto the guy you dislike, you're the bitter black coffee you hate, the rainy streets of new york, the bum smoking a cigarette. The color that taints your vision says more about who you are than the fact you like Grimace shakes; There are probably a couple thousand of Grimace shake-enjoying bowlcut applied science students who love dr Fauci.
 
ImSchizophrenicThough said:
So I havent dreamt the past few days, but I've had a mildly interesting idea
I'll try to keep it as short as possible.

How do you define yourself? Or how would you to someone else? You take their perspective, look at yourself from a birdseye view and categorize your actions, you turn this into a list of hobbies and interests. You lie a bit to influence their perception of you, leave out some of the bad, overemphasize the positive. This is what you do to others every day; reduce them to categories.

But what if you're wrong? You are operating under the presumption you are an object - either acting or acted upon, an agent or victim. But your actions are highly dependent on the context, which you cannot represent accurately in short-form, and that is assuming anyone even cares about the context. Your afflictions are neither a good representation, these things have happened, but you're continuing to act as if they are currently going on, or constantly calling everybody's attention to your victimhood, which is annoying.

(You) yourself are that context, that perception, and there's more nuance in that perception than agent or victim. Instead of imagining yourself from a third perspective, and treating yourself like a stranger, the real (You) is the world around you. You're constantly projecting.

(You) are not Grimace-shake enjoying bowlcut college student of applied physics who heckin' trvsts the science, you are the evil chud you project onto the guy you dislike, you're the bitter black coffee you hate, the rainy streets of new york, the bum smoking a cigarette. The color that taints your vision says more about who you are than the fact you like Grimace shakes; There are probably a couple thousand of Grimace shake-enjoying bowlcut applied science students who love dr Fauci.
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What I'm getting from this is that how we perceive the world reflects us and can tell us more about who we are than if we went off of actions and experiences.
Everyday, I find examples of people (including myself) categorizing others and basing what they think of them off of characteristics they think belong in whatever group they saw fit (possible projection). For example, today I was talking with my indecent in library guy friend about how I found my middle school crush's address when he said to me "Why are you so special?"
Being called these things wasn't really new to me so I paid no mind to it but after reading this post, I started to think: (misuse of punctuation award) What does Indecent Library Guy perceiving me as "special" say about him?
By Taking my actions (in this case, what he calls stalking) and sorting them into groups ( I'll focus on special people things), he projects his own character onto me making him the special kid he projects on to me. He even admitted to being special himself a minute later (though I think that could be debatable).

Sorry if bad grammar, I'm in a bit of a hurry.
 
Had a nightmare, they're always insect-themed.

I was smoking in the backyard of the house I grew up in, reminiscing and getting all melancholy and shit. When it was finished I walked back to the garbage can because I didnt want to pollute the yard, when I felt it move. A giant roach crawled around inside the cigarette butt, eating it. Looking away for just a second, second guessing myself, it turned into The Second Banana (Tm) from the hit videogame "Team Fortress Two", except covered in roaches, eating it. I dropped it on the ground. Thats all.
 
I am so done not having any dreams I'm just gonna make shit up.
NiggerRigger said:
Why are so many of those dream journals actually so boring?
Click to expand...
Text is boring by default, typing is boring too, but reading stuff you have to put it together which is usually a drag.
Visual media just instantly beams shit into your mind, making getting the dopamine hit easier.

Made up stuff (1/3):
I have been caught, hopelessly, and I have seen the crew of boorish but valiant Englishman no matter their education, my countrymen, civilized people, dismembered, beaten, sodomized even by savages vile and decrepit, and instead of doing the same to me they have jailed me in an animal cage made of bamboo.

If perchance anyone happens upon this message, leave this cursed atoll at once; it is the home of a violent, unintelligent race, and their stupidity has afforded me the chance to warn you as even language is foreign to them. This race of mongrels creeps about the jungle with crooked knees and hunched backs, leaning forward. Their eyes are entirely blackened, showing no intelligence or even thought aside from the most base and animalistic impulses. It would not be difficult to mistake them for monkeys from afar, but the price to be paid is too steep; do not gamble with your life or the ones that may be under your command, and leave at once.

I am condemned to die here; I have seen the instrument to be the cause of my passing, and it seized me with a fever; a giant, bamboo cross with rope for constraining the hands, the feet and the neck, and at its’ foot a pyre. It is this instrument which I have already seen torment my captain, whose body, charred black, was savagely consumed, dismembered even down to the toes and digits, and whose nails they threw at me into my cage. His daughter, a fine woman and a poor child, has watched her father suffer and die, and she has cried and screamed silently for days and nights, for they have cut out her tongue.

Thus you remain my last companion, and I would, in absence of a priest, confess my sins to you and die a repenting man, but the horrors I’ve seen here exceed any sin or wrong hitherto bothering me. Whenever I close my eyes to remember my childhood or my parents, I instead see blood spilled, saturating the beach, the captain set aflame screaming, the fire burning his constraints loose and him making his last attempt to flee the inferno, only for him to fall unconscious and disappear into the pyre, twitching still, he moves the burning logs and they cast embers into the sand, and the savages laugh.

More shit nobody cares about tomorrow.
 
(2/3)
I was rudely awakened around midnight, the backside of a spear jabbing in between my ribs, at the other end a despicable mongrel, entirely invisible save for the glint of his copper ornaments piercing his every orifice. When he saw I had awakened he grunted and jumped up like a bunny, flailing his arms in the air, then scurried off on all fours, gripping the spear with his foot he clumsily hit the bamboo bars of my cage with it in his hurry. At the opposite end of the beach a pale-blue figure approached in the surf, with each step crossing leagues, closing the distance rapidly even though he was strolling casually, his back straight and shoulders wide and his head turned facing the infinite expanse of the ocean. A glint between his legs caught my eye, and before his genitals swung - a silver crucifix, its’ chain wrapped around his balls and his member. He stopped right before my cage, then suddenly dropped his massive body to squat before me, and he clutched before his belly a tall gentleman's’ hat, and he then addressed me.
-My son, do you have any regrets? Anything to confess, in order for you to pass peacefully?
-Don’t you, or any of these mongrels? Haven’t you seen the lady next to me mutilated, or the other one they sodomized? And you ask me if I have anything to confess?
-Sins that evident -and he gestured to the captains’ daughter -Are quite clear, and as such confessing them is unnecessary, superfluous even. Neither are their sins for me to judge, and even if I did want to, I am but one priest, and they are many. All I can do is pray for their souls, and I will pray for yours too.

And he clasped his hands and closed his eyes, the silver cross jingled softly, and he crossed himself before turning his attention back to me, and seeing I was speechless he continued.
-There is much hatred and indignation in your words, and as it stands you will die miserably. You would much prefer taking revenge on a couple of savages and die heroically, but even if you had the chance to do so you would find their screams too much alike the captains’, their blood as red as your own, and you would die no less savage than they.
-I have never sodomized a man! -I protested, but he ignored me.
-You will find peace only if you can forgive their sins. And if you cannot do that, then maybe it will content you to know all people of this race die painfully to violence and disease, and they’ve never experienced the comforts of progress you have, and have never seen the light of Christ, and know neither morality nor courtesy. And it may content you to know that they live in dirt and feces, and that they know not shelter, for they have no homes. I’m here precisely for that reason, to carry that light to them and teach them the word and love of Christ. You’ve seen the task at hand, the work I must exert to save their souls and remedy their wicked customs, and they attend my sermons, and some already are baptized, and take part in communion, and though the words are alien to them and the rituals foreign, surely the spirit of Christ has already infected them, and one day they will be savages no more, but men.
 
(3/3)
The next morning I had the misfortune of witnessing the extent, nay, the full extent of their savagery. A quartet of beasts had dragged the captains’ daughter out of her pen, and her ripped clothes laid spread out in rags upon the beach, and she was fully naked, kicking and flailing against the savage dragging her by her armpits. And they acted in concert and harmony, every one of them erect and one stood aside and pleasured himself to the scene whilst the other dragged her into shallow water. I had then thought I grasped the savage act about to occur as the one dragging her stopped and cupped and molested her breasts and she let out a rasping scream. Now another approached her legs and squatted onto them and heaved up his hand and produced an obsidian knife and the one masturbating now ejaculated into the ocean, and her chest heaving air with deep breaths was pushed down, and he set the stone knife against her skin and cut open her abdomen. She twisted and struggled with her entire body like a fish upon dry land until the pain and blood-loss forced her unconscious.

He continued cutting and removed her skin and her muscle and threw pieces of her flesh next to him, into the water, and when he had carefully crafted this red orifice he handed the stone to the savage next to him and brandished a needle from his earlobe and he started pulling her colon from her body and handed one end to the man next to him and he walked backwards whilst the other, still kneeling, guided it outward. When the colon had been removed he pushed his hands deep into her viscera and struggled and cut her liver loose and deposed of it and reinserted his red hands deep into her body and reached upward into her chest and frowned and grunted, cutting off another organ her chest moved with his hands and depressed as he pulled them out and from the depths of her body he dragged out her heart and he smiled and looked at his companions triumphantly and clutching it near his own he stood up and lifted it high up in the air and he opened his mouth and his lips moved silently, hesitating, but then he extended it wide open and screamed.

-Heart! Heart, heart! - and he shoved it into their faces and they mumbled and pronounced the word after him and when the dim-witted creatures all understood its’ significance they became ecstatic and screamed wildly, and others of their race gathered around and her heart was passed along from person to person and the one who had cut it out ran as if hit by lightning and when he returned he was dragging the priest by his arm and repeating the word incessantly, jumping up and down. Upon seeing the body he shook his head and took off his hat and closed his eyes in prayer and the confused islanders imitated him poorly. He then turned to the man who had brought him and the priest nodded and affirmed it was indeed a heart and the former lifted it into the air again and the crowd cheered. The priest pointed to her body and made a digging motion with his hands but the islanders shook their heads and one of them walked backwards and then took off and kicked her mutilated corpse with his heel towards open water and the crowd joined in kicking her repeatedly until the water became to deep and she drifted off. They lifted her heart up high one last time and screamed the word in unison, when the man holding it pulled it down and bit it and using all his strength he ripped off a piece with his jaws and consumed it. They erupted into joy and danced ceaselessly upon the reddened waters. The priest shook his head once more and reached down towards his cross and stroked his lord and savior.
 
ImSchizophrenicThough said:
At the opposite end of the beach a pale-blue figure approached in the surf, with each step crossing leagues, closing the distance ***idly even though he was strolling casually, his back straight and shoulders wide and his head turned facing the infinite expanse of the ocean. A glint between his legs caught my eye, and before his *******s swung - a silver crucifix, its’ chain wrapped around his ***** and his member. He stopped right before my cage, then suddenly dropped his massive body to squat before me, and he clutched before his belly a tall gentleman's’ hat, and he then addressed me.
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Could jannies uncensor at least "rapidly" and maybe all the other words relating to male genitalia? Its thematically relevant sooty soor
 
Preference and Order.

Lists, rankings and preferences really made no sense to me up until recently. To me it seemed these numerical, subjective (all too often snobby) expressions of preference were stupid, because it anticipates a choice you'll never end up making. If you prefer coffee over beer, for instance, expressing that or producing a "list of my fave beverages!!1" never matters because the chance you'll actually have to choose between either coffee or beer is very low. The longer the list the more stupid it becomes, because the chance of all these opportunities assaulting you at once tends towards zero.

Until recently, well, I still think its pretty dumb, but also a lot sadder, when I was at a big market or something, and I saw a few people actually make choices like this, but these people only formulated their preference BECAUSE the opportunity presented itself, and I realized all those people making buckets lists, or 9x9 collages of their favorite anime, were simulating the interaction in their heads, and since the formulation has no real world application (because they dont go outside), they just scream them into the void.

That is if they're making them sincerely albeit.

This got me thinking about Order. As in World Order. The Order of all things, people, activities etc etc. And I wondered what the essential difference is; Order, same as preference, is just a long list of objects ranked by their quality. (not objective Quality, quality here just refers to the extent an object embodies a measurable aspect of itself; a hammer might have an edge, but a knife is a lot sharper; therefore, measured by the quality of "sharpness", knives rank higher than hammers; there's after all nothing Absolutely, Objectively better about a knife, the value depends on contexts "Do I need to hit a thing, or cut a thing?" anyways) The totality of all objects, things measured by all possible aspects is the Order. (all Order, the One World Order)

I think the difference between preference and Order is the same as that between theory and practice. Theory can be either right or wrong, but practice yields objective results through feedback. Your preferences when judging an object by its quality can be correct, but only practice can truly decide if it is. The choice of whether a hammer is sharper or not than a knife is a pre-made one, you have absolutely no say in it..

One of the most important orders is the social order, and it might be the strangest of them all. You have a say in it but are chained to your slot in it. There is one societal order, but there are a lot of smaller ones, even the social outcasts, downtrodden, druggies, have their own pecking order. As pathetic as it sounds, there is a King of all bums alive today who would be instinctively recognized as such by all other bums. The social order is pretty scary too; we are essentially ranking by how much we trust someone to make decisions for us. Not in the "I pay taxes, I elect goober to parliament."-way, but more in the subconscious "If this person says so I'll accept it as truth and do whatever he asks"-way.

Yet nobody bothers to rank people on the social order. Nobody dares to make a 9x9 collage of their top picks for god-emperor/totalitaryan dictator. No, we're all equal, you cant even suggest there should be an effort to classify people this way. Obviously society still has to fill its' managerial slots, but this cannot be done by objective standards, and so the entire process of running society is left to the unconscious of strangers.
 
I found 0 math threads on the shlog so I'm posting the general formulation of length of any function f(x), yes I've checked and it works because I've based it on pythagoras and because I've got huwhite skeen 'n blu eyes o algo.
∫( √(f'(x)^2+1)dx )
 
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Welcome Brudern, to ze new TRVMP era. Soon ze Vierte Reich vvill be resvrrected too, lauching ze vvest into a neue zeit!

Unfortunately my dream didnt foretell this.
I was back in middle school, and we were out on a field trip, we were standing on tracks or something, and had to do ((something)) with the trains rushing past at incredible speeds. The assignment was naturally impossible for lil kids like us but the teacher insisted until the rush hour passed, and we were allowed to go home.
Instead me and my friends fucked around on the train tracks, and eventually we came across a black man riding his bike between the rails, swirving erratic, barely maintaining equilibrium, he approached us on his rickety ride. Because I thought it was funny, I made the E(ast side) hand sign at him, and he returned it to much of our surprise. Having passed us by another black man, walking approached in the opposite direction, and the bikenigger made the E sign to him too. But this negroes brow furrowed, and his face in shadows he raised his own hand before the sun, and formed a W(est side). As soon as the long shadows of his dark fingers were thrown before us the fight had started, and it was bloody, a violence middle-schoolers are too unfamiliar with, and we ran away to our own bikes, only to be caught among the bustle of home-goers. They too, like the bikenigger had forgotten how to ride, and they were everywhere, with kids, grandpa, every inch of the road was occupied by maniac cyclists.
 

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