good morning. the sun is coming up. i was hit in the head a bit hard, and i have a headache now.
my dreams slip away from me as quickly as seawater through my fingers. i search constantly for an instant of respite in a bit of pleasure, but it eludes me. food is like wet, cold soil in my mouth, so i must spit it out.
protestors have secured capital hill in seattle, several hours north of me. the police have abandoned their eastern station within the district; it is now occupied.
6.6.20minneapolis is forcing through a plan to defund and disassemble the police force.
6.3.20good evening. i tried steeping two dried peaches in my pot of chai. the peach flavor is subtle but present.
tear gas is in fact a powder, not a gas. it is heavy and will dwell close to the ground. be attentive to the direction of wind and of adjacent high ground, and direct retreats in that direction.
unactivated tear gas will remain on clothes and in hair. strip clothes inside out without touching them, ideally with disposable gloves. double bag them. if possible wash body and hair with soap and water immediately. tear gas in hair will be activated by sweat; if washing is not available, bind brow at the hairline.
this photograph is powerful and beautiful to a degree that doesn't seem possibly real. the rebounding stream of light from the canister is repeated in the open stance of edward crawford's legs. the procedural images of a man seemingly arrested in astonishment, haloed in radiance, to a man triumphantly posed with a similar opened stance, to the extremely dynamic pose of edward crawford. the effect is a succession, mounting in rapidity and tension, of divergences. edward bears the semiotic bold primary tones of the american flag, literally, on his breast. feathers of ruby red light (the rear lights of a distant car) appear to propel edward through a dim purple brutalist twilight. it is an image with classical and biblical tones, and in fact, edward crawford was assasinated by the united states government.
remember to be alert of arranged cover. remember to maintain long sightlines.
will the united states military be deployed against the american people?
how could they fail to be repulsed by the intimation?
my dream was very vivid, very moving. my dreams are coming back. i have to record them immediately, or i'll forget them. my dreams when i'm not on ssris are astonishingly profound. for a huge majority of my life, they were my only refuge from horror.
combed my hair and applied rose oil. no buses into the city today. there was no curfew alert today. hearing it makes me anticipate imminent cacophonous explosions. it sets my teeth and makes me sick. it is night.
i have thick curly black hair, and sometimes women despise it. im derided incessantly for being so hirsute... but i notice; the women that abuse me for it, without fail, all wear wigs.
could the same be so of my bizarre dictive style, which owes to my developmental delays? i know women know intuitively i have these delays, because im called retarded wantonly in their abuse. eugenics is in the water.
i havent slept in a long time. i cant remember. im in the bath now, and i must wash my hair. the lack of sleep is affecting me... i cant remember why i was writing...
my favorite soap is rose, vanilla and lemon scented. my favorite perfume is jasmine. i would like to bathe in some calming lavender oil and chamomile so i can go to sleep. but everything is closed because of the plague, so i have to wash with dish soap. it makes my skin sting.
ive felt weird all day and failed to stay ahead of protests news...
i cannot shop at the store, because the cashier that works every day once exploded at me screaming, and now i seem to have an obliterating panic attack if i go near it...
i miss the hIlls of my home, the odor of the vineyards, the bliss of oak.
6.2.20it is 6 am; i was not able to sleep again. black tea smells so fragrant, and heat puddles upside down on my cheeks. my pink cup is dry and hot in my hands.
violence continues to escalate in america. there are reports of either a marshall or lapd officer being shot and killed by a white man. i don't care that a cop is dead, but tonight will be very dangerous, i think.
i continue to get national emergency warnings every day on my phone to inform me of the curfew. the president, who hid in an underground bunker friday when unarmed protestors demanded answers of him, has announced in a televised speech he will deploy the united states military against the american people if state jurisdictions fail to control rioting.
it is tiannamen, very like tiannamen. there are images of youth standing off against tanks and turning them.
however, the chief of portland police knelt in ostensible solidarity with protestors in order to obtain photographs of this behavior, as and immediately after using chemical weapons on non-aggressing protestors. to some extent it seemed to have been staged primarily for the cover image, but partially as a ruse to catch protestors off guard. there are videos and personal reports in the form of tweets of protestors being corralled, unable to escape, and subjected to chemical weaponry.
by the way, use of chemical weapons violates the geneva convention.
i'll define a little better how i access images and reports. i'm writing my account of these events because they seem so profound, i think if there is any history any more in a few years, it will be historical. i can't predict what context a future reader might have. i'm in the vicinity of portland, oregon as i write this. i have a social network within portland proper. i am reviewing a stream of private and region-sorted content, and there are videos and photographs that appear authentic and candid. i also have access to personal accounts from within the city. i do not accept these at face value, generally, but assign credulity proportionately with the amount of corroboration i find.
i'm afraid, because covid infection and death will spike enormously. it should be starting around now; we've been protesting for six days (development of covid symptoms typically takes place 2 days-2 weeks after infection.) the police are denying protestors medical care, so a lot of care is being conducted amongst ourselves, and our resources and knowledge is limited. we don't have the routine of laboratory grade sterilization down pat, and we don't have disinfectant, masks, sterile tools...
this is important. a tourniquet can't be applied to a wound of the abdomen. it's important to have a non-permeable material at hand to inhibit bloodloss. clinging plastic wrap is a good option but requires practice to apply.
something i'm really concerned about, also, is when to employ cauterization. it is extremely subideal for an amateur in a field setting to perform. when will it become worth the risks to perform? i'm also not prepared to extract bullets. ah, it makes my heart race. i'm not prepared to perform surgery. i don't know sanitation procedure enough.
if i try to think of things that will happen, that history tells me will happen...
i haven't given stitches before, but i have sewn, and i have sewn heavy materials with dense thread. i don't expect to encounter a lot of shallow, long cuts though. the police aren't killing us with swords.
i need forceps and i need topical antiseptic and i need sterile bandages. i NEED sterile bandages.
it's really the end of the world. i feel a little scared. i feel so sad for children, who didn't choose the sins of their fathers, and for the animals humans won't be able to look after, once they're gone.
george floyd, beloved father and "gentle giant," was murdered by a white police officer, derek chauvin, an acquaintance from his small community.
this was a few days ago. there are protests every day and at night they're inclined to become riots. american workers -- in particular, black people, the foundation and innovating drive of american culture, who bear the brunt of the covid crisis and resultant financial fallout, are organizing the effort. young people are out running through the justice building, jumping through the smashed glass, playing like children, chasing each other. i've watched the videos a lot.
i don't have the cognitive tools to deal with intense emotion, really, and i only feel intense emotion, perhaps abnormally intense, often inappropriately intense. my heart is in my throat. i'm so sorry and so sad, to think of those young men and women that look like children playing beneath the fire.
this paired starling couple built a nest above the door. humans removed the nest, but the starlings don't understand. they return again and again.
i confess, when human hands took my child from me, i told god to scourge the earth of humans with this sickness. i am sorry. i'm so sorry for the children.
there's an enforced curfew. the american police state is meeting peaceful protest with chemical weapons and potentially lethal violence. i get the alarm on my phone every day that i must be inside before nightfall.
it makes me sick. the cowardice and ignobility of pigs shocks me, without cessation. it is shocking. may every cop come to know what he has fucking done. spiritual suicide is committed by whomsoever wearing a mantle reading "serve and protect" slays good, wholesome men and innocent children.
hell is real, and you are the very traitor gnawed upon by the emperor of the kingdom dolorous. hasten, you, pig, for you are full of your pernicious submission and sycophantry and putrescent and your evil infects everything you presume to love.
i can't get to the protests, because it's too far to walk to, on my legs and feet which sometimes won't stay under me, and i am ashamed to say i don't feel ready, don't feel steeled to see the blood of little girls, to remember the first aid procedures, to remember all the sanitation procedures and procedures for reducing viral exposure, for the cries of frightened people ... worse there is, much worse, and i don't feel able to endure it.
i read japanese reports on the american riots, and i cannot read japanese well at all, but i read "tiannamen," over and over, commented on images of the city on fire.
i wish i had prepared! why had i not prepared, or been prepared? i think i know what to do, but i'm not properly trained. i don't even remember my training; i can't remember cpr. thinking about the limits of my knowledge, my breath falls short. i wish i had time. i wish i could train at a professional level to administer field medicine. i'm woefully incompetent, i don't have almost any experience, and i don't know how i can arrive there...
for the past few days, my nightmares are extremely vivid, and i cannot sleep except a little, early in the morning.
it is my goal to apply myself with extreme and myopic dedication to improving my understanding of first aid and primitive medicine, very quickly for a very short time, and steel myself to see what happens in the outside world. i don't feel ready. i feel sick to think of a person being hurt.
reader, i apologize for the weight of my journal entries. i expect you don't approve. i'm sorry for my emotionality and bizarre and anachronistic speaking style. it isn't affected. i'm sorry, though i don't think it's wrong or bad, because it causes people to despise me.
i think i had a nightmare about claire's corpse being stolen. i woke up in a state of complete directed suicidality a few days ago. lol
i'm really depressed still... i cannot feel any motivation or satisfaction...being awake/alive is impossibly difficult a lot of the time... the neutral state of my body in my house in unbearable. i really want to be dead. lol
i managed to do work. i've drawn a new ponysona. this is my drawing.
this is an angel pony, her name is creamy and she smells like whipped cream. she was born with marvelous hair that reflects light in prismatic rainbows. so she was murdered, so her wonderful hair could be harvested.
i have an ulcer again. the last few days, i couldn't sleep, because if i lied down, acid leaked out of my esophagus and it really hurts. but i managed to eat 3 meals today and i kept it all down c:
i feel a lot better. i still don't feel not depressed. was i ever happy? is it worth abstaining from xxxxing myself? i honestly can't remember, but i don't think so. without claire, i only have the oblivion of death to look forward to. i hope i can die really, really soon. it would be good if my death could be used to punish someone bad, like if a pig murdered me and got in trouble, and maybe was murdered by a vigilante. that would be good.
i think death is very good and i think a lot of people deserve to die, if not all people. i look forward to the extermination of humans so little helpless animals which humans destroy and torture, like rats, can live peacefully.
i'm very ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ today. i woke up crying. i think my dream was really bad.
someone stole claire's dead body. not in my dream, in real life. it was about a month ago.
i can't endure it. no aspect, no object in my environment will fail to violate me given the chance.
was my body made just for the pleasure of others? do i scream and cry and beg for death for other people's amusement?
i also like to look at images of ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛, because my ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ were taken, and i can't really find them.
it's difficult to stand and walk. it's impossible to complete tasks. i can't search for them. i'm trying, but my thoughts stop after just looking around. i can't follow the flags of a task. i can only think about the obliterating volume of pain.
my teeth are really short from using them as tools. i try a lot to ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛, but it isn't easy.
i can ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛though. but i don't want those. i want to ⬛⬛⬛ so i can prepare myself for the "main event."
it's challenging to ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ . anyone that asserts it isn't is naive. with combined practical and personal obstructions, it's really extremely difficult.
guns are ideal. please do not shoot yourself in the temple. bullets like to skirt the circumfrence of the skull. you should ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ or you could just paralyze yourself, but be dragged back to prison again..
if god is real, he should kill every human that exists.
oh...but i think perhaps, he is doing that.
i'm very sleepy, so much i can barely move. i had a pretty disturbing dream, though i can't remember the narrative well. there was a girl artist that i hated so violently when i saw her my body moved without my permission to attack her and kill her. i chased her even though everyone around me cried at me to stop and tried to intervene, and she mocked me as she evaded me. i was so furious i was completely insensate. i could only move toward her destruction, unable to diverted, like a somnambulist.
it's noon. i wish my body could wake up. because of the covid19 pandemic, my gym and pool are shut down. it's really painful for me to not be able to swim. there's nothing i like better than to swim. i feel like my flesh prison isn't stirring out of winter sessility because i'm not getting the proper stimulus of sunlight, cold water and intense activity. i feel so weak and tired, like an amber of melted candlewax, used, inert, and prone.
i'm pretty frustrated i can't wake up. i want to clean and sew and exercise and practice taekwondo.
i heard a clatter at the window, and saw that it was a little grackle hen beating and clawing at the pane. she did not fly into it and get injured, so far as i can tell; she beat her wings to remain parallel with the glass for about 10 seconds, scratching with her little long nails. did she want to come in? the electric yellow ring of her eye was very distinctive, though her plumage was dun and bandied and unlike her unseen husband's glossy black raiment.
i opened the door to put out some seed for her, and she flew away...
good evening. i'm very tired. i'm very, very hungry, but there's no food.
kind of depressed... i really wanted to write an entry, but i have nothing to say except depressing things.
i've said that religion is ancient dialectical behavioral therapy.
expressing gratitude is the semantic mechanism humans employ to organize and orient their trajectories, specifically chemical trajectories. gratitude represents resolution and the shelter of mundanity.
i'm maternally catholic, but not practicing. however, i say my prayers every night. it causes me to remember where i am and what i'm doing.
my dream was really strange, but i can't recall it, except my house was being built, wearing plastic sheets like cerements over wounds between skeletal walls, and there was lots of activity and growing plants outside. in my daytime dream, i cannot leave the house, because my neighbors do really bad things to me
dear lord, thank you for my big rainbow sweater, it's very comfortable. thank you for some rain today, and the clean odor of flowers and petrichor unveiled with the **** washed away. thank you for the cute little birds.
(saw an american goldfinch today)
vanno laggiu vers un paese strano che sognan forse e che cercano invan. ma i boemi del ciel seguon l'arcano poter che il sospinge e van...
i made my new website today. i'll be hosting my visual art and writing here. hello, everyone. i hope you'll like my site.
today i'll cook pasta primavera for dinner. because there's no milk, i can't drink tea, and i'm so tired...
i've been playing resident evil 4 on nintendo switch, and it is fantastic! i haven't really played it since i was a child.
i didn't remember it being so astutely assembled in terms of pacing and offering such a wide variety of gameplay.
there is platforming, sharpshooting and puzzle game elements in addition to the survival horror/adventure thesis.
here's an interesting video about the intense and pleasing emotionality of music in horror games i am watching.
i'm feeling very tired... when i get milk, i'll make a huge pot of chai simmered with cinnamon, clove and ginger.
it's friday today. i hope everyone has a great weekend. this weekend, i'll force myself to draw.
perhaps i'll draw resident evil 4 fanart. leon looks like an adorable ganguro girl.
goodnight c: mary ann
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