bluescreen

[prismaticbleed]

Well. Apparently the universe really, really wants me to stop relying on computers?
Within 24 hours I have lost virtually all work access to both my laptops.

A few weeks ago something kept telling me, loudly, "print out your Dream World work." I wholeheartedly agreed, but once again shadows kept conspiring to stop me. First my printer had a fatal error (he's still shot), then the ink ran out for the family printer. Then when I got it to work, I couldn't get on my computer to print! My schedule seemed to fill up at the exact times I'd be free enough to type. And when I could type, my Vista-- Abbey-- would often crash, freeze, or refuse to let me format documents correctly (she's a bit ditzy to say the absolute least). So I didn't get to start typing in earnest until about a week ago... and as of last night, Abbey no longer recognizes anything plugged in from a USB.
I can't access my files (my backup files are from February and are missing all the major edits that hit me over the past month), I can't print anything, and I can't even back up my files onto an external hard drive. She also has no Internet access (and hasn't had any for over two years). Abbey has effectively 'landlocked' herself and as a result she is now effectively as good as broken.
Then last night I tried to partition Apollo, my Mac, and that didn't work... long story short, he's now all but empty. I still have Internet (obviously) but that's it, and now it's basically pointless to go online.
Because of this I have been forced, and rather distressingly so, to abandon virtually all of my reliance on computers. I still can only write music and type on them, of course, but I'm stuck for right now...
Thank God Apollo is recognizing USB ports today. I don't care how old the info may be-- I'm printing every single page I have written for Dream World, just in case I lose computer access altogether.

This isn't about computers though. Honestly I'd be happier if I didn't have to use them, which is keeping me laughing through this fiasco, because hey! I'm kind of forced to do that now.
But the computers don't matter here. What matters is my work.
I know it's important. When I actively try to deny it I get loudly reminded that it's something I need to be doing.
And I've been doubting and denying far too much lately.

This isn't the only huge issue I'm being pushed to deal with right now.
In the big picture, really, I couldn't care less about the computers. Like I said, I'd be happier without them. But that simple assertion hides within it an old thought that is more damaging than I ever realized. And the event that forced me into that realization is what is causing me to be so distressed today, re-routing this maddeningly directionless dolor into my technological concerns.
The computers don't matter. What irony, to realize that today, of all aching days.
Apparently, there are a few 'deep' emotional problems I've never dealt with because I had no idea they existed, or could exist. Now I'm reading Huxley's Island more studiously than I read my textbooks, and it's giving me insights that are so sharp and accurate it's rather disturbing. I've had to close the book and take a deep breath a few times already, as if I had just caught myself from falling off a cliff. I'll read sentences that describe my life so accurately it frightens me, because I didn't realize I was that dysfunctional on those levels.
Ironically, the level I clearly know that I'm dysfunctional on is still the worst.
But we'll get to that.

I'm feeling disconcertingly 'detached' today, and there's a worried anxiety gnawing at my ribs. It's the dry sort, though. It's the kind that feels like standing in the middle of an empty parking lot as thunderclouds roll in, and the air is choked with the smell of ozone. The wind whips around you, almost intangible in the coffin-warm air, foreboding. It's not a nice feeling.
I used to call these 'Julie days,' before I learned that she was just as much a casualty as I was. These are shadow days, ego days, hours that fester in the interim between headaches and fever sleep. I don't like it.
And yet, in trying to prevent these days, I perpetuate them. In trying to traverse deeper into love, in trying to open my heart a little more, I find myself forgetting closeness, forsaking affection, closing my heart. Every time. I don't understand this.
I know what happened last night, and yet I don't. Laurie insists we talk about it, and so we will. Friday, maybe.
But the point is this: whatever last night triggered-- and maybe it just dug this up yet again, the parasite that refuses to die-- today, I fell into fragment mode.
No, no splinters. They're gone for good. But this is what the fragmented one felt like. It wanted nothing, nothing at all; it rejected everything, pushed everything away, denied and forgot and renounced it all. No exceptions. And it makes sense, when it is here. Whenever it is here, it makes perfect sense. My perceptions seem to be colored by circumstance, even when I am present. Why does the same state of mind feel so incomparably different, depending on when I feel it? Why does the emptiness beckon with both bright and dark? Why do I still seek nothingness? I'm supposed to be using stars to fight this entropy, but I've been rejecting Timeheart for the false light of the void. And yet the irony sticks around. I always seem to find myself caught up in paradoxes.
Genesis showed up to say hello this morning, to see how I was feeling, and I told him to leave. Not out of malice, no, but simply because I didn't want him around.
Indifference is deadlier than enmity.

It's been three months since that hellish night of January 17th, and in a sick, sick way, that night was more beautiful than last night was. Why? Because I could feel, three months ago. Because even though I was bleeding and sobbing and praying for death or deliverance, Xenophon was standing there by me, telling me that she still loved me even with the new gashes on my chest. Even though I felt worthless and abhorrent and twisted beyond forgiveness, Chaos was there to offer just that, holding true to unconditional love when I was convinced I had thrown it away, convinced that I had sinned irreconcilably against him, against life itself. And even though I lied and manipulated and hurt and deeply damaged both myself and the innocent, with a bloody knife in my shaking hand, Laurie still put her life on the line for me, to jump in the line of fire, to try to save me from my own vicious contrition when I was the one desperate for bleary red retribution.
“Truly, it is in darkness that one finds the light, so when we are in sorrow, then this light is nearest of all to us.”
Does it work the opposite way as well?
Last night there was no blood, there were no tears, there was no sickness or fury or self-hatred. But last night felt dead, somehow.
It is in light that one finds the darkness... I need to go beyond.
I am so, so sick of this duality.

The computers don't matter. But that disconnection is only one symptom of a deeper disease.
I've been hiding behind my cool kid shades for too long. I may be the Seer of Love, but I keep forgetting that at heart, love translates to sight. And to see something, it takes time.
Time. Dare I say... how ironic?
Three months ago I swore, bitterly, that I would cast off my secondary title forever. In that moment of deep remorse I hated it.
But time didn't hate me.
She never did.

Genesis noticed something about me, the other day. I have a habit of becoming so hopeful, so enraptured with transcendence and the life beyond the physical, that I forget that I still exist in the physical. I forget that I still have a body to take care of. Yes, even with my worrying about my health lately. Life feels like a movie, a video game, a fantasy. Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality, you know? But what if I can't tell what 'reality' is most days, and doubt every single sensory perception I have? If I treat everything as false, then what is real? The answer is nothing... nothing really matters to me.
In direct contrast to my current Care Bears addiction, I haven't really been caring much about anything today. Only today, mind you! This only started after last night, and that's what's unsettling here in spite of the dearth of emotion. Last night only happened because I cared. I cared so much, so honestly, that for a few hours I wasn't afraid. Then I woke up, and... well. Then I washed my hands of all of it. Then I woke up and wanted to erase everything, again.
I used to think I wanted to turn back the clock, to return to the 'old days' of childhood when all I had to worry about was writing, drawing, composing. But as I thought about the events that surrounded my work, I realized that I did not want to turn back, ever. The family life, the school events, everything that swirled around outside me back then was repugnant. Even thinking back to the 'golden' times-- the forts in the living room, the jelly sneakers and squirt guns, the class plays, the violin store-- felt wrong, because I knew they were all just crystal bubbles in a sea of sleep.
I didn't want my old life. I wanted the sense of ultimate non-attachment, of freedom from everyone and everything. I wanted to become identity-less, a watcher, a channel. I wanted to cease to exist as an individual, like I did back then, but only when I worked. I would create and dream and love it all, without a thought to myself. Once I started writing about my own story... things fell apart.
Things fell together, too. That's what's making me sick about this.
Since 2002, when I met Ryman and Markus, my life took a completely different path, leading me to Chaos and Genesis and Laurie and so many others... but at the price of those friends, I almost lost contact with others. And even now, I find myself wishing I could 'go back' to the time before that happened more than I'd like. It's not just wanting to strengthen my original links. It's also about wanting to get rid of the new ones.
I overheard Laurie talking to Chaos today, just a little bit as I was feeling too apathetic to do much. But two things stuck out.
One, she thinks I love her more than I love Chaos, in a way, because of my hardwired 'innocence' drive.
Two, she thinks I love the Dream World more than I love anyone upstairs, family or not.
I can't affirm or deny either of those thoughts of hers. And frankly right now I am too tired to think about it, because yes, my mind is still in utter 'reset' mode, and nothing in the world matters right now except detaching from reality. Homework? Not finished, as usual, probably not going to be. Sleep? Haven't been getting enough, won't get any tonight at this rate. Family? Haven't spoken to them all day, upstairs or downstairs. I'm sitting here listening to the LG*Girls soundtrack and feeling like someone punched a hole through my ribs because all of a sudden, I can't type on Dream World. Silly, I know. If only there was a better way to write it all down. But until I print everything out, there's this ridge-raw gap in my soul and only those old dream friends of mine seem capable of healing it. There's a light to them that just... illuminates things. It's hard to explain.
But they're the single reason why my childhood was beautiful, the single reason why so many of my old memories are lit with sunlight and sparkles and forest mornings. Without them, it might have been mundane, forgettable, maybe even banal. But with them, even the simplest things became a heaven. To this day, everything they touch turns to gold. Not even Laurie or Chaos has done that, as far as I can remember. I don't know how to explain it.

In a way, I do want to let go of all these connections. I want to let go of the daily worries about headspace and waking friends and all that nonsense. It's tying me down.
But... in a way I don't. I can avoid them for weeks and not be bothered, but then one day I'll suddenly hear him instead of a catastrophe or I'll look up in shock at the wrong name or something small like that will happen, sharp enough to pierce my armor... and even if I deny it, even if I pretend it's just a knee-jerk emotional reaction, it will light a desperate flame in my heart for something I'd long forgotten. But I still won't care. I won't care until suddenly he's there or she's calling me and in a sudden snap I can see them, just barely, vaguely, distantly. But it will be clear enough, and I'll see her scars or his eyes or her tiny face, and maybe in that moment the emptiness will fade to light and I will beg forgiveness, I will plead reconciliation for ever wishing they were gone.
Even now, and I know without a doubt, if I lift my eyes from this screen and look at one of the many pictures of him on this wall, my tense expression will immediately soften, and I'll find myself smiling, either with joy or with tears. If my mind is quiet at the time I'll notice that I'm starting to fall into that old feeling. But I hesitate, and when it speaks again... why does it always bring that up? Why does that feel awful, even now, after everything? Why can't I figure that out?

There are two things that make me forget all about these connections.
1. Series work. It somehow overshadows everything else in importance.
2. Trying to fix the deepest dysfunctions.

The moments immediately after they try to give everything to me are the emptiest. I was hollow before but then I become devoid, uncaring in total spite of the love that I know, I know with unfailing certainty they have for me. In the past I almost used to hate them, as frightening as that prospect is, but I knew half of it was projection. Now I just... don't care.
I think that's why Laurie is afraid I love her the most.
She's the most innocent one of us here, in that sense, which is strange and oddly contradictory. She's seen more than I'm aware of and yet less than I know. She has learned of the bloody details and shameful elaborations alike. But she's somehow avoided all the levels that even Genesis jumped up to reach. With her there's no romance, no passion, no intimacy. And because of it I adore her.
I am absolutely terrified sometimes, when she decides "why the hell not" and is a little more honest, a little less inscrutable than usual. I don't know how to deal with that blurring of lines, that sudden shift from a brutal and inviolable soldier to a compassionate and somehow even more sacrosanct angel. I am terrified because sometimes there's a color to her eyes that I don't recognize, but it's all too familiar just the same. I am terrified because if she ever does cross that line, the point of no return, she would become unreachable.
She got close to me one night and I had no idea how to reconcile the blissful sincerity with the paralyzing dread.

Speaking of dread. She's the only person I can feel around right now.
Chaos tried to connect with me last night and I couldn't feel anything. He was shocked and was trying to laugh it off but I know it worried him more than he'd dare let on. Here's the soul I've effectively promised to share my life with, and I don't feel anything with him. But when Laurie walked in almost two hours later, to see if I was okay, I felt that familiar glow of childlike excitement, nervous but bright. Then she walked over to where I was and put one arm around my shoulders, trying to lighten the mood, and my own disposition turned from sunny to startled.
At that same time I was aware of a heart-wrenching gap in my chest but couldn't figure out why. Here we are, the five of us; if there's so much love here, why do I feel so scraped out and cold? Why do I feel like either something is missing, or that there's far too much, and can't tell the difference at all? I could have cried but in reality I knew I'd wear a poker face no matter how many tears fell elsewhere. The split was too much to bear.
And yet, could I handle this if there wasn't a split? On these days, when I wake up wanting to be utterly alone and distant, could I handle it if I woke up to see him, to see her? Even as I type I know the answer is no, in stark contrast to my desire to be with them somehow, some way. I keep waking up and looking at my left hand, wondering why I keep feeling a wedding ring there when I've never had one, let alone a wedding to get one from. I keep thinking about weddings when I wouldn't have one if you paid me and I think I'm getting lost in symbolism, in shapeless concepts.
Still, the pain in his eyes when he realizes I still can't see him never fails to tear me apart inside.


This negativity isn't me, and it's bugging me.
But who am I, really? Watashi wa dare? Even that movie feels wrong.
I'm sick of consuming. I want to create. I can create. I will. I am.

I'm rambling. I'm tired. I need to sleep but don't want to. I want to sleep but don't need to.
I still don't feel like eating and I can't tell if I'm sick or healthy anymore.
This old fearful reality is terrible. Please, end already. Please.
I miss my family and I miss my children and I miss my daughter and I miss my friends.
And yet I can't feel anything. Why not?


I'm a mess. I can't think straight and I'll probably look at this entry tomorrow, laugh, and say "what in the world was I smoking to write such a depressive thing?"
I know. I'm trying not to laugh now, because laughing makes it even less important than I'm trying to make it now. And even if this is all fleeting and temporary et cetera, it is still important. Even the smallest things contribute to the big picture, sometimes in surprisingly significant ways. Right now, though, I've got my eyes closed and I'm wishing I was the picture and didn't have to keep pretending to look at it from the outside anymore.
I keep forgetting I have things I was meant to do and experience first, I guess. Life is meant to be lived.
It wasn't meant to be lived alone either.

What a surreptitious ego. I thought Holy Saturday had changed you. Didn't it?
I can't tell if I'm overlooking things or looking too deeply now.
Where did she come from now? She was here three months ago, crying, shaking, shouting. Now she's smiling.
But I remember the blood lotus, it had her face, it had mine too, and the past is a jumbled mess that I still can't decipher.
I don't want to decipher it though.
Even though she loved me and for that short while I did love her, when all was said and done I wished we had never met.
Now I find myself regretting it all, even as I try to find distant fragments of our past. When she is separate from me she is beautiful, enchanting, mysterious. When she looks at me with that crystal-blue smile I feel an awful regret rising in my bones, a sort of dismal bitterness at having such a bright thing suddenly become so personable. Don't bring me into this. Don't make me a thing, a person, an object. Stay free and elusive in your poppy-eyed wonder, as gorgeous as the first time I saw you. If I would love you unconditionally, why does that flame suddenly flicker when you return the sentiment? Why do I always leave you clutching cold embers to your verdant heart? Not just you, but all of them. I would love you to the end of time and beyond, as long as you never looked at me like that, as long as you never made me remember that I existed too. The fatal condition.
That can't be right.
I do love you. I love all of you. But it feels somehow wrong for you to reciprocate.
Sometimes I still feel that loving you is wrong.
It can't be. This is love, isn't it?
I don't understand.

Attention, attention. Here and now, boys, here and now.
Is enlightenment supposed to feel this vacant?
I'm thinking too much. What a joke!