Ah…
I’ve been somewhere in between reality and dreams. Mostly floating in between dreams, imagination and whatever the magic could, would and should conjure.
Every once in a while – seeing posts on social media to be like – “Aaah, right, there’s that…” and the warm sense of feeling would wrap around my heart, so fuzzy and yet cold, filled with longing, yanking me into reality for a moment there.
Oh how it’s all over the place. Oh how mind is all over the place. Oh how reality is daunting. Ah how it’s all so troublesome and meddling, so slow, yet fast, chaotic, yet organised. It’s work of art within the great cosmic canvas. Something feasible, though fleeting. Time, events and situations.
Brain does not want to do the work of analysis. Or rather I feel I reached another stage of burnout, or maybe there’s the moments of reverting back into high functional depression. It’s like – I see it all and understand, I feel it all as if that’s mine, but I’m simultaneously numb. Like “I understand you”, but “I’d just cut it off, than feel more of this inconvenience”.
“Research your feelings Je-fa-fa” – If you have come across stand-up doll Peanut, with Jeff Dunham curating him, you might have heard this phrase.
It so often comes to me, just wanking it in my face to remind me to check in with my feelings. And I try, but as I look inside – it’s like I’m observing the being that’s either hibernating, or more like, the bones of whatever it was are there, with moss and vines growing over it peacefully, as it did it’s best to get disintegrated into earth. Now being the new thing for the growth of plants around it. A fertile base for new life. Yet having the “spirit” of it maintain its place, just lingering there.
Don’t know how many people will understand this whole visual aid option, but that’s what it sort of feels like. Being alive, existing and being, though more often than not – ephemeral way of being, rather than physical way of being. Like, experiencing whatever is there, wondering what’s it all about, understanding it, whilst questioning it all, having longing, urges, desires, yet as it’s all there – it simultaneously is not.
When now looking at things posted it’s like: “Ah, that’s new cool accessories, bags, items…” and you remember about consumerism, about buying, creating, paying all that. From inspiration to make to making your inspiration your business, sustaining it, keeping up, doing best.
Then you look at all those Idols online and feel like: “Whoah, they are human. It’s quite visible with puffy reddned eyes, outfits, etc” and you think about how they are human, how they are also worried about family, friends, career, pets, creating new best hit, getting something hyped about, what they post online with comments that support or otherwise. How they can get upset, how they also sit there questioning what they are doing, if that’s what they want in life, or what they wish to do when all the fame fizzles out, or what they want to use the fame for. Or how they sometimes cannot handle the hate online, how they worry about the fans becoming hostile over some word that was interpreted mistakenly. Just human. Being tired, hungry, sleepy, happy, in love, in need of physical closeness, mental/psychological closeness, with all them stomach issues, colds, headaches, tantrums, sass… Humans.
And suddenly when you look at the Idol you previously “worshipped”, it’s like the whole veil of putting them above crumbled, and you see them, alas, as simple mortal like you. With past, with present and future. And you’re like “Whoah.”
All that madness of delusion in own head about meeting them, about some whatever ideas of being able to listen to them endlessly, or looking at them non-stop… You reach a moment of being like: “But would I really be able to have a conversation with this person? In whole honesty as we are? What if this person snores? What if the flaws that they have misaligns with my flaws and small details do frustrate me? What if I frustrate them? Would I even be able to be their friend?”… And to those who imagined dating their “crush” that’s existing on screen for them for most part – would you be alright being human next to them? To eat without worry, to burp, fart, be sick, allow them to see your ugly sides? Allow yourself to see their ugly sides? Would you?
It’s not all endless fanfiction, not all is “delulu is the solulu”, not all of it always remains there… Comes a time when the imaginary worlds get a slap of reality. And you wonder. A lot. About self, about them, world, society, people, world in general. And “puff” – you’re in a paralysis from analysing the whole painting, taking too much time to look into all the small details of every brush stroke, every dot, every gradient. Unable to get up to see the whole picture. Questioning the intention behind every choice of colour.
I’ve recently been flabbergasted by the self and the knowledge, by the book I read. “21 lessons for 21st century” by Noah Yuval Harari (yes, managed to absorb the whole trilogy), and then I just had to slap myself even harder with “Quiet” by Susan Cain.
“Why would you be angry?” – you might ask.
Oh, let me indulge in being a very chatty being here.
When you give yourself time to think about society in general – to look at religions, politics, states, laws, consumerism, relations, ways of life – you come to same moment as the Author – that it all is mostly structured on Fiction. We Imagine collectively things and believe in them. “Ana, you’re absolutely off your rockers.”
Nah mate, listen, if you for a moment imagine that we stop believing in “Money”. What do you think would happen? What would happen to debts? What would happen to stock markets? Assets? Credits? Hm?
Like – money all of a sudden is not of value. Crypto currency is of no value. There is no euros, no dollars, no yen, no ruble, no won, baht, none of that. Like – it’s no longer of any value – we no longer believe in it. It’s just paper, just numbers, just bits of metal. Nothing it has has any power.
How would we buy anything then? How would we pay for rent? For the medicine? For our coffee? What happens then?
What if we stop believing in the hierarchy? In European Union? In the political structure? In those with big guns? In Religions?
What do we work for? What do we live for? What is the whole lot about for?
That’s what I mean by – we believe in story. How fecking silly is that?
We believe something because there is a story about it. The lore of origin. The legend of creation. The tale of a myth of a fable of a narrative… About anything, everything. And depending on who tells that story – it can turn and twist people.
How? They believe in what they wish to believe. In what aligns with their experiences, with their mundane bits, with their inner believes… Whatever gets the chemicals and hormones in the body to be excited, to be willing to come to action. Anything. Everything. All at once.
Someone makes a book – someone else believes the contents to be real. To be actually what really happened. Then this person convinces a handful others that that’s the reality. That handful convinces more and more others to accept the new idea that they could believe in. Voilá! Religion. Political State. Laws. Regulations. Brands.
How would you react, if you get to know that the way of things are in such a way, because a bunch of people decided to make it so? That’s the state of things at any given time, sure… But listen, have you ever heard about (the mountain chicken? – no, you drop that TikTok video right this instant) Extraverts and Introverts?
Most likely you’ve come across the whole 16 Personalities online? (I’m INTP-A, by the fecking way)
So imagine that the whole lot of “being outgoing”, being highly chatty, sociable, cheery, being able to market self, sell anything, being that Golden Retriever energy with a lot of ways to “jump into it”, “do it right now” and all that – that’s for most part the sh*t that people imagined. The Extravert Dream. That people, for most part all over everywhere – should be Extraverted. To be able to be within all convos at work or out of it, to be a people person…
What sack of bullsh*t.
For me it’s been a whole life of being told sh*t like “you should speak more”, “you’re too quiet”, “be more sociable”, “Smile more”, “why are you such a loner?”, “What could be so hard at pitching anything? IT’s so simple!” … Bitch, it never was simple.
To me – facing people is already an event I pull off by thinking about a next week or so that I’m so spending in my room, wherever, being borderline Hikikomori, without a single with to even talk. And that’s how I try being “ambivert” in the parts where it’s inevitable to work/speak/encounter people. But I don’t necessarily enjoy it. It’s awkward. And it’s very much readable on my face, as it just shows. (Excuse that resting bitch face issue)
I have not been able to “market” my things (books, writing) very well due to the need to be this “outgoing” thing that’s “chatty” and oh so wishes to share the “excitement” with everyone.
I AM excited to share my books, don’t get me wrong. But I ain’t got the strength to make like 20 short videos, or posts online, or approach some humans about it (that’s the hardest/worst) for me it just does not… I ain’t got the strength for it. I can make a post, sure, but like – that’s all.
That’s where people who say “Be consistent, post more, write more” blah-blah – babe, with all due respect, I post when I am inspired. Yes, working the magick of getting writing into a habit is a cool thing, but to me the whole act of writing leaves me in tatters. It drains the soul out of me, as I bleed said soul into my writing. My stories, fiction, poetry – it always reads either with that whole emotional slap, that poetic abstract essence, that grabbing of heart, that making the brain wreck self, or that thing that makes you just read it at the level where brain registers words and lets it go. Because when I write with just my head – it shows, when I bleed on a page – it shows. The difference is very much there, as you read it.
And that’s why I cannot explain why I am not posting more. Sometimes for me to recover after some of the stories I write – it takes months. The longest was 6 months to a year. Why? Coz that book made me filter the whole lot of emotions through my own heart, making me be the characters I write about, to be them, to feel like them, to make their life story become mine, so I can accurately show their habits, their emotions, their actions, attractions, moments. That’s the depth of my art. I am the characters I write. The ones who curse and harm, the ones who bleed and cry, the ones who are cold, the ones who are passionate, apathetic, ruthless, kind, fallen and triumphant. All of them go through my heart filter – for me to feel each of them like it is Me. And I do not settle for less.
That’s one of the ways to use my maladaptive daydreaming as a tool. That’s one of the ways to use my knowledge of life as a tool, to use my own experiences to my advantage. It’s all that.
Though making my writing have it’s “15 minutes of fame” – that’s yet to be figured out. As a writer of my own work – I love it, I wrote it, thus I cannot be objective of it. And Marketing it falls into the pit of “but how should I call it? tell about it? describe it?” and we’re back to whack of not knowing what to do. Staring at a camera for a whole minute, with shoulders up and down, as brain short circuits and known no words to let out? Yeah, that’s the accurate moment of what’s up. Aha.
I dream of a day when my books have fans. With fanart, fanfiction, with TikTok cosplaying, reading out loud lines, acting out moments…. I dream of it. Someday I’ll reach this moment. For sure.
Though with cold reasoning and reality – I understand that I’d love to have a personal assistant/manager, who’d be the one managing the social media with posts, the one to know what to say out to the wild of internet, that knows the bits of what’s up in that whole mad word to help me reach my readers. AS I’m doing a whack job at it so far.
Sometimes I wonder – maybe the witchy ritual of some sort would help attract the interest, the people and the “fame” to my works? Ahaha. But will it count as cheating or a buff? Hm.
Having moments when I think “what should I do?”. Knowing that it’s hard for introvert to live in the extrovert society. No sh*t I’m drawn to East Asia – they’ve got whole lot of stuff set for introverts to live well. How considerate.
In European Union? Not so much. Cult of Extroversion dominates.
I know for sure that writing in my life is the one thing that shall not change. That’s there for me.
All the rest – the matters of living, working, breathing, learning, communicating… It’s so weird. Requires a lot of effort. Takes a lot of energy.
“I just wanna live” – as the old Good Charlotte song reminds me of itself I sit here, with small puffer under my arse, typing at my laptop, with a half-stray-getting-domesticated cat on the sofa, sleeping. Middle of the night. Lemon tea in a cup, aching knee letting me know that mu scrunched legs should get more circulation in them…
When reality is not as colourful as the imagination that runs wild, perhaps we choose that imaginary world a bit too much. But then as we come back into the reality – we dread, we wonder – “what is reality?”.
Is reality me here, with hands, with blood circulation, nerve system, brain, skin and bones? Or reality is whatever I have in my dreams when I sleep? Or that which my mind conjures in daydreams? What is real? How do we know it is real? With our human perception – there is so much we’re unable to “see” and see. Parallel realities existing with multiverse of possibilities, how do we know? Do we even know? Or do we keep assumptions?
Bloody assumptions… Also a deadly silent murderer. It’s so annoying to “assume” anything. From how the day will go, to how we want things done, how people will act, how things in life will progress, how we want things to be, etc. And when all those assumptions, expectations do not align with what we had in mind – “boom” the doom and gloom of disappointment and sadness.
That’s when I get in my head every once in a while the bloody phrase: “You only control what you can change and do by yourself. You cannot control and change things that are to be done/changed by someone else.” . You never know how another will reach emotionally/mentally/physically to whatever you do or say. It’s only within your capability and power to manage how You react/do/act. Though, if we look at biology – we’re quite a pitiful being influenced by chemicals/hormones in own bone and skin bodies.
Programmed by nature/chemical/hormonal alterations.
Fascinating creatures. Humans. Whining, surviving… Fighting, laughing and celebrating. Crying… Loving and cherishing, so very adorable, so very deadly.
What guidance is right or wrong? What concepts are right or wrong? What path is right or wrong? We’re plainly try, try and try – with failing and winning, with learning and making next steps.
“It’s for the plot”… the new thing online got me smiling. It reminded me that somewhere along the way, when I was teen I read the line “We are a book, so we make/write our own stories” and that had me in a tight grip. That was the force that drove me to do some of the most outrageous things, some of the cowardly things, miserable things, courageous things, happy things, sad things. Out of kindness of heart. Out of greed of heart. Out of anger. Out of love. Out of curiosity. Just to be able to add it as a story in my own book of life. And that is how I treated my life most of the time. I wonder if I still treat it the same. But I think I am making choices from a different place of heart now. Unlike back in the days.
I wonder how people are thinking “Oh how I’d like to go back to the time…” and they go into reminiscing about past. Whoah. I did think back to “would I return to my past?” a lot back in the day. But with age – I figured – There ain’t a single thing I’d change, nor would I wish to go back. I’m here now. Right now. SO what’s the point of living in the past. Past is way off behind in the past. And I don’t know what is up with the future, but I hope for the best.
I got the moment of time where people around me kept saying “I wish you the best, that all the things work out in your favour, you deserve it”.
I do deserve it. I’ve been through trenches and gutter that’s mentally so taxing that I literally would not exist way back when, if I’d not pull myself back with own promises to self, to just keep going. That’s also why a lot of things I don’t wish to remember. Coz un-aliving attempts in my life were multiple. So much so that even presently – I am not afraid of death. I wonder at times though…
How much more different would the lives of people I got to know would have turned out, if I’d be gone from like – 2005, or like, 2009?
There’d be so many people who would miss out on being annoyed by me, being cuddled by me, walking with me, being told off or cared for, loved. They’d not have any of that any more. How would their lives turn out?
As the experiences we shared – would no longer exist.
My books would not exist. My photographic influence, my art… none of it would be in the world. For I’d not be in the world to create it.
Poetic. That to me sounds poetic. Thinking about other people who I encountered and how their life would not go through the trials and turbulations all because of me. I’d not have ex-boyfriends/girlfriends. Ahaha. They’d encounter someone else who’d be all in their business. Live a different set of events, circumstances, emotional ups and downs, lessons of life, believes, experiences… How cool is that?
I can talk about it all, write, with a smile on my face. I genuinely do smile. Topic of my “non-existence” does not bring sadness to me – it brings me sense of wonder. Most life I loved and still love observing people. So to not exist and wonder how they’d be – is a whole lot of a different set of curiosity to observation. Like a scientist, who observes the ant colony, or bird watcher, or even lab researcher – I do feel close to that, when I look at people in my life. That makes me look at all from up above, knowing the lot of a story, observing actions, as well as lets me in on the emotional content of the side of things, even psychological. That’s fascinating. Maybe scary, but fascinating.
And then there’s the egging question “What am I?”. Do I really feel like a human? Or maybe I feel like a mad scientist? A being of quarks and atoms? An energy ball within the universe? Animal on the planet Earth? Am I bringing change that’s chaotic or that’s positive? What are my attributes?
Most times I opt for the answers that are simple, that are just there in the eyes of the beholder. Sometimes, I just believe in my own story. In the lore that was created in own mind. With minds eye being the observer to own life. Like I too, am a being under the eye of Observer, noting existence, experiences, course of alterations in the now with possibilities of how it might change/be in the near future. Aether that’s all and nothing simultaneously.
And what are your thoughts today, my dear sweetheart?
I know you’re reading wondering own bits of life, own story writing of a lore of own life. You’re doing splendid, my love. Don’t doubt self or your actions. You hold self in own hands, you hold own heart in your ribcage, for its, like my own, feral with desire and wishes. Don’t fear. I’m alongside you. In the feeling you get after you touch your heart – that’s where I hide beside you. Within the beating heart. Just like you’re within mine. Within all and nothing at once. Creating. Observing. Being.
ArcDreamer 
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