The Harbor Is Mine

Overwatch is annoying,
It hasn't been a month yet?
Wait shit, it's almost been a month?
I'm turning 20 soon.
20.
I have an ID now, that's about it.
The sum of all my expectations and hopes and dreams have crashed, burning,
And honestly,
I'm having the time of my life.
I couldn't give less of a fuck about where I am in my life.
Not to say I don't care about myself, lovelife, friends, et -
But it all seems so relative and useless.
A friend of mine talked about it, I have a lot of fair-weather friends I've let guilt trip me.
Lately, my old friends aren't so friendly beyond the surface.
Without my accepting nature, I'm not sure they'd even have made it this far in life.
They should be groveling, honestly.
Too late, you lost me, chumps.
I'm done as fuck and enjoying myself and her to its fullest extent.
Hope you enjoy your horrible dead-end jobs and mediocrity as you fall to alcoholism you autistic fucks!

Aesthetically, I've fallen back into Hinduism, Cards (thanks Mia), and the murky Nautical/Cosmic themes.
I think I've solidified it in my head because playing this particular song (The Harbor Is Yours) makes all of my anxieties die.
Something about punk, nautical and space themes combining for a dark-comedy lovecraft-flavored approach to art seems fun as fuck to work with.

I've realized my intrusive thoughts are worsening due to not being entirely resolved, and while I'm far from completely secure my insecurities are too forced to be natural.
Testing has proven that, with careful set up, I can predict and avoid mental depressive spirals by instead channeling my obsessive energies towards things that evoke curiosity and swaggering comfort rather than suicidal tendencies and exhaustive problems.
I've fallen into odd social terms with a number of people, mentally, but it's better than wanting to kill them/myself by quite a large margin.
There's probably a problem when I honestly would rather butcher and cook someone than talk about their sex life, no exaggeration.
I'm so sensitive until I get like this, and then I'm really not.
This feels like the old me. Feels normal.
No forced poetic, no abstract malarky.
Just me.

Cards used to make my decisions for me, assigning random values and such.
Now, they lie in wait hoping I'll work up the energy to continue Phase:0 - an experimental D&D/Risk Hybrid of dark fantasy, involving several of my real-life ex compatriots and a lot of focus on the power of chance, misinfo, ignorance and postmodernism.
It's to be completed one day, as the precursory lore for my first real story to be made
Whenthefuckever.
I don't care much if I ever finish it, any more, it's fun to work on.
It's like this massive art piece that's just fun to work on.

Playing instruments, making songs, writing and composing, poems, stories, journals,
I don't know why I assign so much value to getting good or skillful exercise when these just straight up make me happy. I should just learn to relax.

Okay, I admit it.
I'm still not through the Divine Comedy.
Holy fuck it's so dense and dry I'm dying to finish it, like I understand the cultural significance and overall completely get what's happening (I'm on canto 23 of Purgatorio) but it's so fucking boring to read, I feel like just getting a goddamn plot synopsis and/or skimming it.
the beauty of it's lost on me as I'm not his intended target so I'm not getting 78% of the metaphors and references, it's a jargon filled history lesson where he's just waving his literary dick around going YEP I READ THIS AND THIS AND THIS AND THIS AND THIS and it takes 5 pages to say what I could sum up in 2 sentences for fuck's sake.
It's frustrating and I don't like it anymore, I guess I'm a scrub for not "getting" what makes it so good even though I absolutely forgave the style in the beginning because at least it was somewhat interesting during the Inferno.
Now, now I'm not even sure why it's pacing so slowly.
There's nothing going on, random conversations of people who have sinned and are purging their sin.
People he used to know, people who once knew Vergil.
Just random ass conversations and some off-tone ramblings about love.
For fuck's sake I hate this.

I want to play DS3 just to get that Usurp ending and make a build around that Darkmoon blade but I hear it's shit and can google it without the frustration.
Why do I even bother with this shit when I have those 50thousand games to play on PS2?
I haven't played a single classic survival horror game despite that being my "thing."
I don't want to be a shitter but goddamn even my backlog is horrible, halfway through Dmc3.
And I haven't touched it in years.
But hey.
Got that Tracer Graffiti skin.
And this Google Chrome background is Mercy.
I didn't know it had fanservice until post-installation and honestly
Honestly I like it more knowing that it does.

Sex and dirty topics scare me much less than they used to, conceptually, it's other people that terrify me.

My head's becoming more structured and peaceful again.
Slowly.
Hinduism and meditation definitely stop the racing, even if I mainly focus my Smartist energies on Ganesha (Art and knowledge), Shiva (Change, Kali (Time/Destruction), and my 6th (My girlfriend, who I writ up as a cycle-ending Twilight Goddess of nature, light, crescents, crystals and warmth).
Yogas made me feel even better, not that I ever feel like even working out.
I kinda want to read now, but I need to sleep eventually.

Just the word yoga makes me think of this one girl I shouldn't be thinking of.
It's one form of intrusive thought that's bugged me less than impressed me with my memories.
Nothing bad, Mia. She just really liked yoga.

My journal is a thing to behold - my last one, the White Rabbit, was LSD/Dada/Surrealism influenced through and through, with pure psychotic breaks, insomnia, nightmares, frustrations, suicidal thoughts, cosmic truths and existentialism and nihilism pouring out of every crevice.
It's an intense thing to behold, I'm very proud to have made it,
But it gave spawn to this as-of-named (But I forgot the name) one, which features no names, no dates, and stops and starts whenever I want to.
It completely erased all semblance of normalcy in a journal, and has no poems or songs in it, even sometimes having doodles or messages to my girlfriend.
I want to finish it and see where my next series of entries goes.

I finally organized my notes on my phone.
Postmodern Poetry including (A series of poems I printed that are really just interesting notes I took on my phone that are often meta and of a whimsical tone), there were over 400 individual notes. I think. Around that number.
I'll check.
Yeah.
436, now.
I write a lot of notes.
That doesn't include notes on work/tests at school, things I've kept from teachers, books, backlogs, songs, poems saved in various formats and odd places online, my infinite chasm of saved pictures and bookmarks on all media I have, social media likes/follows and musical genre radios I have on my Pandora radio on top of the influences I have on THERE.
I leave notes to remind myself to set and read other notes.
Which I often don't check in place of making a new one to overwrite the last one.
I'm convinced that if I don't have OCPD, I'm delightfully insane and only now finding the humor in it.

Religion's been of interesting note to me, lately, my fixation on Gods has always been a cultural thing since I was a child realizing there are a trillion different interpretations often claiming theirs is right. I find it all very absurd and interesting, my lack of faith singlehandedly keeping me from this spiritual world of ghost, angels and demons. Honestly, the philosophies tend to make sense and the aesthetics are to die for (Pun intended) but the obvious psychological effects people dress up as mystic baffle me as to how people actually believe in magic and miracles.
Ghosts? They wear clothes, they come back just to do a thing? They have rules, they have physical properties?
What even is a soul?
Souls don't exist.

I've based a large part of my philosophy on this idea of balancing your Heart(Emotions)
Your Mind, your Body and your Soul (Beliefs/Spirituality),
But lately, it doesn't even make sense.
Your body and mind go hand in hand, your heart's not your emotional center which is ALSO connected
And there is no such thing as a soul, so realistically even my metaphor sucks ass.
Basically, I lost faith in my own ideas.
I know my Persona ideas are on to something, my looks into the darker sides of humanity, the armor piercing, meta identity concerns, the human condition, psychotic breaks, existentialism, a lot of the ideas I have I've even found legitimate studies and names for or reasons to continue looking into them, but souls?
Color me Soulless.
(I need to read the sequel, still early but stopped to finish the Divine Comedy.
Fuck the Divine Comedy...fuck you, Dante, I hope Beatrice cucked you).
Laveyan Satanism (Spelling?) is always slowly calling me, and I still like the ideals expressed in Christianity paradoxically.
Hinduism is the single most agreeable faith, to me, although I've found great concepts in Wicca, Neopaganism as a whole, Luciferanism, and, somehow, Thelema.
Aleister Crowley had some nice ass ideas for his cult.
Weird.
Like, I actually agree with most of his points and would totally join that cult.
I also really felt weird admitting it, but after a real shallow look into Freemasonry and the Illuminati (Real, shallow studies) - I kind of agree with their ideas of having competent people ruling over idiots.
It's pretty much what's happening here, except the rich and powerful would also have to be somewhat intelligent and therefore might not entirely fuck everything up.

I stopped following politics for a while, it's boring as fuck just watching Trump piss about doing nothing particularly useful or amusing.
He's so boring. Even Colbert can barely get me to care, and especially not the SUPER biased Turks.
I don't have a right-wind speaker that isn't a cunt to listen to.
And I know, THINK ON YOUR OWn well what news isn't spun one way or another in the first place?
The news is a massive propaganda/information war the masses will always lose, and short of hacking into sites or fucking up my computer trying to use the Deepweb I'm afraid I'll always have to pick apart the stories on my own amateur noir senses.

My rapping has becoming some combination of Sadistik/M.I.A./Eyedea/Aesop Rock.
I fuck with it. Mostly Sadistik, though.
I would love to be as chill and deep as Witness, but my chill always loses to hyperactive mania once I get the ball rolling.

I haven't contacted the super cheap recording studio-utlilizing local fucker,
(I have no money, even though he's super cheap) but for all intents and purposes I've been done with my mixtape for months.
Like, legit done.
It's called Constants & Variables, named after Bioshock Infinite, and features thematic elements such as Cosmicism, Quantum Mechanics, Mental Disorders, Duality, and has a fuckton of battle raps over weird beats in-between pomo lyricism.
It's a weird, fun time I hope to capture the bizarre elements of as I intended.

I should've slept a long time ago, and I need to got to a Walmart job fair thing sometime tomorrow afternoon.
My girlfriend will be disappointed with me staying up.
I wasn't tired.
I also had coffee.
I'm not entirely sure why, I think I went down for a snack
Yeah, I went down and just saw it there
And went
Well, why the fuck not?

These streams of consciousness entertain me more than you could ever imagine, but this one will be ending now.

I'm somewhat horny, bored, tired, and I want acid/booze.
I don't want to get a job but have to, and rather than being depressed or fixated on the typical dark topics I just kinda find that I overreact to a LOT of shit.

I just need to chill and study like I used to.

Goodnight, dearest reader!