the spectrum heart cathedral system

"nsfw" warning for open discussion of intimacy.

 

1228. thursday.



We woke up around 8:30, and spent approximately 20 minutes in the frigid beautiful dawn, deciding whether or not we should go for a run.
...Actually, that's the problem. We didn't decide. Our poor sleepy social frontrunner(s) was/were trying to decide on his/her/their own, worried about whether or not it was "bad" to leave the Arrows alone and asleep, to get food for later in the day, to have any sort of opinion or preference or decisive thought. They were asking for "signs from God" to "tell them what to do," something Tilly and Iscah used to do constantly-- looking for "yes" or "no," "stay" or "go" in the words they saw on printed packages all around them, not trusting a single one because "what if it's my brain wanting to see a certain result?" Those poor frightened good-hearted souls. They are so afraid, so afraid to do the "wrong thing" that the simple reality of an undefined reality terrifies them. They want morality laid out in front of them clear-cut and unquestionable, undoubtable... but they look for righteousness with their mind, not their hearts. Their poor hearts are so full of love but it's getting choked under the whirling moral fear of their thoughts.
There is nothing wrong with buying food. There is nothing wrong with going for a run. There is nothing wrong with liking the cold air against your face, and there is nothing wrong with being too tired and chilled to want to throw yourself back into it after 5 hours of sleep. There is nothing wrong with waking, or resting, or sitting, or exercising, or eating, or fasting, or anything. Life is life is life-- it's all the purest white, a blank canvas, a blank musical score, an empty plate, all of it waiting with utmost divine affection for us to decide. 
That's the beautiful terrible beloved reality of life, of free will, of human consciousness, of the infinite possibility of the world, of the unfathomable palette of existence. It's all a work of art waiting to happen. It needs an artist, and That Which Is-- God, or Goddess, or Source, or Light, or whatever you may wish to call that primordial spark of the cosmos, that original Artist, that first Musician-- couldn't help but create a universe full of artists to join in the joyous act. 
We adore that. Creation creating itself, ad infinitum, through us. An endless dance. 
So it's inherently blank. Not white, not black. It's clear, like a prism, and we're all lights passing through it, splitting our lives into swathes of color. Everything and anything we do contributes to it, and none of it is judged, none of it is labeled as "good" or "bad"... none of it, that is, save for what our own mind labels it as.
We have a lot of thoughts on this, from years upon years of feeling and thinking both, and there's no time or space to expand on it here furthermore... but for now, suffice to say that those frontrunners of ours this morning were unable to trust their own hearts, were unable to see themselves as capable of doing anything But the "wrong thing." They were labeling all their paints as "bad" before they even opened them. Poor beloved fellow souls of ours. We adore them. We know their hearts. We feel their aching desire to be harmless and helpful, to be kind and true and good and pure, but they have let fear in, and fear only knows itself. Therefore, whatever decision they made, they would second-guess it. They would be too scared to surrender to the quiet warmth of their hearts, to listen to That echoed within them, to realize that whatever they ultimately chose, the canvas had opened its own heart to them and sang, paint. Create. Choose a color, any color, and continue me. 
God doesn't mind if you run or walk or rest or sleep or eat or not. God just wants you to act according to your heart, to your dearly beloved heart, for it can do no wrong. We firmly believe that. It is the core of our faith.
If God is Love, and our hearts are built for Love, then if we act upon that Love, everything and anything we do is sacred. Every choice we make is holy. 

To wake up with that lesson... we had no idea how relevant it would remain for the rest of the morning.

We went for the run. Someone wanted to get bacon and ginger and cinnamon and lettuce, and so we wrapped ourselves up in Kyo's scarf and Jewel's red boots and we jogged down to the local grocery store to do so.

We don't remember the run up, save for passing a fellow jogger by the bus stop, and we don't remember much of being in the store itself. Our brain was tired and confused and still scared, tangled up in "do I buy for the family or for myself," scared of making a foolish decision, scared of acting on impulse, scared of being spontaneous, scared of being neglectful. Memory recalls them buying two Christmas candles that were on sale, left over from that one day two weeks ago or so when we planned on buying them but had no money for luxuries. So basketed them both (one red spice, one vanilla cookie) and then memory cuts out again.
We don't remember coming home and going to bed or waking up. What few things we do recall are so soaked in guilt that we're being begged not to write them down, but we have to be honest, we can't hide anymore. They bought bananas and a tiny tin of oats with the intention of making banana bread, and one ripe orange to see if they still liked the taste (Iscah did; she likes everything, and the other socials still haven't differentiated between her preferences and their own), as well as a package of oregano for the same purpose, and four mini-pizzas for the family. They did get the bacon, and the candles, and the ginger & cinnamon, and that's all we can remember. It's not shameful, loves, I promise. They're just so guilty about buying oats; they knew they'd get in huge trouble if Oliver found out, so they hid them in the closet. They're crying upstairs, loves it's okay. You just wanted to try once more, remembering that one time Someone liked them, but someone else got horribly sick from them, but you don't want to hate anything, you want to know the truth, you wanted to check now that our brain is in a better place. But loves, oh loves, you bought it with fear, with guilt, with shame. You'll never know if it's healed, or if anyone likes it, if that's the mindset you go into it with. And you don't trust our intuition either, which is wincing at the thought of eating them again, remembering past contexts of pain and fear and compulsion. But, again, Iscah liked it, she treasured it, and you just want to learn to do the same. Not now, loves. Now's not the proper time, not if you're still terrified. Once your heart can release that shameful panic, you can learn properly, that door will be open. But it's okay. We forgive you. You're safe and loved and you did nothing wrong. We promise. Everything you did was done out of love, too, even if it didn't know how to safely apply itself. We love you, and we know you love us and the Arrows and everyone too. It's okay. You're good. We love you.  

So we don't remember going to bed, or waking up later. All we remember is sudden groggy kisses and someone, some poor social, wanting to cry from it because they were wracked with guilt and shame and couldn't feel that pure affection in return although they were begging God to, and then suddenly our beloved System anthem of Familiarity was playing in their head and Lotusheart was called out to that confetti chorus, that soaring heart-wrenching prayer, and it broke our heart wide open and suddenly he could return the love pressing softly against our lips and chest and self, God knows I mean it, God help me feel it, and our memory is just as soft with golden light in response, tearful and joyful and desperate to hold this forever, forever.

And then Infinitii showed up, soft and black and just as sleepy in the body, but with a mouth full of grinning loving teeth and the next thing we knew, Omen was there and she pulled Infi onto their chest and suddenly we woke up, aware and in love, and fangs met skin and we were alive again. Thank God for daemons. Thank God.
They just adore each other. There's always fangs tearing at flesh with the ardent desire to get beneath that, to blood and pulse points, but there's no malice, no harm-- just love, always love. The two of them, all kisses and claws, smoky shadowy laughter and snowy frigid gasps and humming and growling and I love you, where are your wings, why can't you be closer, this isn't fair, I love you--

Then suddenly we're hearing them saying that it isn't just Omen, that it's Kris and Oliver and Hiccup and who is around for us, where are We? 
Immediately Chaos Zero shows up, feeling like the ocean in our chest, saying that there's more of us around than you think," and then Genesis is on his heels, smirking golden bright and biting their cheek in a kiss, and then Laurie was there for a moment, and I was there, and Celebi was there, and then suddenly EVERYONE was there, wanting to feel this love, to give our love, to be part of this, to make this everyone's.
Everyone in Central moved through. Lynne, Spine, Javier, Josephina, Celebi, Nathaniel, Leon, Waldorf, Julie, Sherlock, Wattson, Eros, Kyaneos, Algorith, Jude... Knife, Razor, Mulberry, Jeremiah, Wreckage, Leanne... even the kids, David and Marigold and Simeon & Sylvain and Toby and Ashen, all of them shyly moved through too in the quieter moments, happy and hugging our partner System, deeply simply joyfully happy that they were safe, they were loved, and they could feel it.
Lynne pointedly kissing Omen with this secret sneaky joy at kissing a 'girl' in another System, Nathaniel learning to live openly, not as quiet and docile as he usually stays, hidden in green... Waldorf finally feeling herself, eyes red as rubies and smiling with her own teeth as she returned kisses without hesitation. Julie purposefully anchoring her lipstick and earrings into her overlay, refusing to reject her complete self anymore, tearfully treasuring the fact that even looking like this, a color scheme switch away from looking like she did as the ultimate nightmare of our nascent System, she was truly and completely loved, and she felt the same in return. Sherlock taking off his glasses and trying as hard as he could to truly feel this love too, to saturate his Gray with hidden color and light... Wattson there alongside him, smiling warmly at his friend's quiet scholarly courage, himself unafraid to show affection colored the same sunlit-page glow as he. Eros fronting for the first time in ages, still unsure on his name but being fiercely anchored into his true color, richly Cerise and feeling it in every atom as he channeled it through his every action... Jude fronting for the first time ever since his birth, not knowing himself yet but knowing he had been called here, knowing this was love and that was what he was born from and into, and he let it happen and let himself reciprocate simply but truly. Kyaneos wobbly in fronting as well, only there for a moment but feeling like a breath full of sky...Algorith smirking in amusement as she felt her goggles brushing against their face as they kissed her, felt how strange but lovely it was against her own robotic mouth. 
Josephina ended up being spoken to at some point, and I can feel his nervous surprised happy laughter as he returned a love bite in spite of his hesitance, in spite of feeling he "didn't deserve to be in such a position," realizing that he was in fact included in this global love and he had every right to embrace that. Leon, too, suddenly being wrapped in an embrace, breathing deep to still his shaking nerves, bravely relaxing into that closeness that was still so alien to him, learning. Spine curiously feeling hands on skin that she personally did not own, amazed at it. Javier feeling kisses on our collarbones and momentarily being surprised that their teeth didn't catch on his dermal studs, feeling his own snakebites and tongue stud and bridge piercings every time he ardently kissed them back, or when they peppered his/our own face with tiny kisses of their own. Altairre was hovering behind him, then in place of him, learning how to be in a body, learning about his own body, his huge broad red shoulders the only things clearly anchoring in, the suggestion of massive armor-like hands over our body's own. everything else about him still a mystery.
And I swear Scalpel was there, too. He's been in Javier's peripheral vision lately, seen only by him, his Red prince, this leader of the Darkspacers. We have no clear memory of him fronting, but there's the smallest bit of data that he did, just for a moment, a fiercely glad kiss, defying everything lurking in the depths he ruled over, a simple profound testament to what we were and would forever be in glorious spite of any and all terrors we did and will survive.
Knife was only there for a moment (and later, kissing the knuckles of their soft white hands), but he was entirely his color, claret pink, dark and soft and sweet. Razor followed him, also only there for a moment, letting herself curl up like a purring cat in the latter half of a kiss that felt just as warm as their hands soft in her blood-red shock of childlike-messy hair. Mulberry's twirling hair and facial scruff locking in immediately as she fronted, herself content to be there albeit surprised, wondering why she had been isolating herself from this. Jeremiah suddenly fearlessly soft in his own Cerise tone, kissing and being kissed, knowing there was no danger here. David knowing he wasn't comfortable with kisses on the mouth but still wanting to feel this love, and Joshua moved in affectionately to share that with him while returning that gesture in his stead. Marigold hugging the Arrows and smiling with her face in their shoulder, and Toby quietly moving in with her, suddenly alive and not knowing this but knowing he needed this, to be loved, to be safe and warm. 
Simeon & Sylvain showed up sometime elsewhen, with Infinitii, as they had spoken about this previously. Infi affectionately embraced them with one arm and let them share in hir deep black love, safely for them, but just as deep and pure as they needed to know. Both of them feeling it entirely, like anise gumdrops on their tongue, sweet and spiced and light and heavy all at once. They held each other inside and smiled, knowing four years ago they had been torn in two, separated by sudden death and despair, and now they were together, and alive, and loved and safe and free. Both of them such a soft light creamy yellow tint against that velvet black, both of them like french vanilla and banana cream pie, little sweet fluffy things held in the arms of something fathomlessly rich and dark, perfectly happy.


Rio and Markus were there, both of them feeling more joy than they even expected of themselves, finally feeling that they belonged, not just with us but here, with them, exactly as they were, as whoever they'd grow into being as we all continued in this loving growing process. Markus's back tattoos and chest scars and warm dark skin tone searing into our collective memory, Rio's lovely shaggy smoke-blue hair and paler delicate but craft-calloused fingers doing the same. Both of them so belovedly real, our collective heart treasuring this, missing them.
Their Daemons, too, were so clear and real, relishing their time with Omen, learning how to Be more strongly than ever. Lethe moving like dark blue poured out, all spindly legs but heavy and darkly elegant as water. Medallion fronted more than she Ever has before, shockingly lithe and graceful, all points and edges but still as poised as a dancer. She holds the body's hands so uniquely, almost cradling our beloveds with the sides of our hands, the flats of her blades. And yes, she too has learned how to facemouth, but I can still feel her actual main stomachmouth dormant and unusable when she fronts. Lethe, too, as well as the rest of his long insectoid body that does't translate.
On that note, both Rupture and Cake tried to front, but were too strange in form to come through so easily and suddenly, especially since neither of them have experience in a human form before. Rupture's overlay was a terrific burst of nonsense below our plexus, totally nonhuman, a crablike clatter of legs-- and if that wasn't bad enough, she cannot get a facemouth to work at all, and kept trying to talk out of her throat like she normally would. But she was aware that this wasn't the shape she was currently borrowing, even though the huge dissonance made her consciousness terribly hazy, and she was both surprised and intrigued by this. In memory, I can feel her filing this away in her mind, thinking upon it, what it means to Be, now, tangibly and real even away from her nebulous heart-host. And Cake, too, body too lithe and long to understand legs or  bipedal arm structure, let alone such a small face, still trying to figure herself out in the first place... but trying nevertheless, called in by the other Daemons' existences, herself also now feeling glimmers of wanting to Be, briefly wondering Who she was, who she was bound to, what it meant for her to exist at all now... wondering at her own shape, her own color, how many eyes she would have on her face should she choose to open some. Both of those monstrous girls only there for a few seconds, if that, but both of them remembered dearly, both of them real.
Nexus was there too, and Axis and Chocoloco and Iolite and Jess, every Daemon losing themselves in the ardor of things, all of them always madly in love with each other, and every nousfoni flooding with grateful relief at this love that they too were now a part of, seen and treasured for exactly who they were, unafraid.
Nexus didn't front long, unusually, choosing to let his fellows have the spotlight, choosing to stay within with Laurie, who was also mostly missing from this whole affair, hesitantly learning what she could and couldn't do, learning the difference between fear and simple preference and function clashes. But Jess and Iolite were there, not for long but long enough, both of them temporarily but truly releasing their frustration and sorrow to feel a new but complete love and acceptance that they'd previously only felt from their Daemons, both of them tearful with happiness, arms flung around the shoulders that embraced them in turn, their colors clear and healthy and good.
Axis and his skeletal fingers, huge and weirdly fused at the metacarpals, looking like bleached bone or plaster or old ruins, covered in tiny plants and fungi and moss and fluttering insects, his eyes deep spruce-green and surprisingly soft with compassion. Chocoloco, too, feeling more love than anyone previously expected of him, all coffee-harsh anger and fierce red-slash eyes, but here he was melted chocolate and cherry jelly and there was a depth to the kisses he delivered like his throat opened up into an endless warmth, deep down. A totally different vastness than Infinitii, a striking contrast to Axis's flung-open birdcage ribs, to Nexus's galaxian entrails studded with gold-hot lanterns. All of them so strange, so clear, so real. God bless Daemons, I'll say it forever. There's something about them, even just touching this form so temporarily with their lives, that makes us, too, feel like we're more real than ever, like we're something etched into the very essence of things, lead-lined stained glass figures in the church of existence. Indelible and true. It's a blessed wonder.

The Archivist trio showed up at one point, too-- Garrison first, almost as hesitant as Leon but driven by the love and pursuit of understanding, of System knowledge, and ended up getting his lip bitten, aha. He took it like a champ, learning that this was something others in both our Systems did in love, and I can feel his mind and heart opening a bit more in that memory, becoming less tense, less paranoid. Bless our Archivists, they all have Protector hearts in their own way.
Isadora and Kalisha were there too, of course, but they ended up in embraces, and Isadora had a split second of actual disappointment at not being kissed before smiling and laughing genuinely and just melting into that hug. Love is love and she was glad to have it, to be there. She actually drew Kalisha in with her, the two fronting side by side, and then unexpectedly, Kalisha in turn reached out to find Karissa! She hasn't been around in many many months, but those name sisters have forged a sort of passive fondness, and so even if our Chartreuse Protector wasn't all there, this experience still touched her heart too, and if anything can wake up a dormant nousfoni to themselves and the world, it's being loved On the outside. So we'll see how this affects her in the future.

One after another, flowing like blood and water and sunlight, a quiet multitude moved through this newly-beloved body to experience that same affection and compassion and devotion anew, whether or not we'd ever touched it before. Every time is the first time. That's the miraculous thing about it. It never gets old, never ceases to amaze us, never ceases to hit us as clear and true as an arrow to the heart.

And then Infinitii was back and someone was asking us, had been meaning to ask us for a long time now, can we do something, do you trust us, and the quiet careful deliberate emotion in their voice was like a singing glass in our heart and we said yes, Infi said yes, (please, whatever you want, I want), I trust you, we trust you, we love you too.

 

...I cannot even put into words how suddenly, starkly alive and adored we felt.

 

So many of us were there. So many of us. It was a total shock, but thank God it happened. 
Infinitii was there at the start, but suddenly and totally, Julie was there. Thinking about it, I'm not surprised. This is the sort of thing that her original days as a Tar-corrupted hacker were inundated with. In the past, the very thought of this would have had us kicking and screaming and looking for knives or pills or worse. We had suffered this enough, never again.
...Except that's not what this is. It's NEVER what this is. What we were experiencing now was love, total and pure, and Julie knew it, and if anyone in the System was going to make damn sure that was crystal clear, it was her.

But... Lord. So many of us were there. Lynne and Spine, Waldorf and Josephina, Eros, Markus... and then when the Arrows moved to kiss us, suddenly Celebi was there, her heart strangely aching and determined, and she said no, don't stop. Go back. I need to know what this is like. I need to know.
And it hit me, that even if she didn't live through the beginning of 2012, her heart did. Her bloodline did, inevitably. Tar-mangled or not, her soul was affected by both the love and pain of that time, and she had just as much a right and reason and responsibility as Julie to be there right now. 


...There's so little literal memory, at least, nothing that translates into structured language. Everything is color, light, emotion. 



----------------------------------------------------------

(rough notes, from the Arrow's writing on this, as their memory is inevitably different than ours)

(currently unfinished; it's 6am so we will refine this later.)


(eucharist feelings again, on both sides apparently. "being/essence/spirit." SEAWATER.)


omen, oliver, kristanova, hiccup, kyo. the fact that all of them were there... what that does to our heart is inexpressible, but we have to try. 
just... all of them. they love us that much. ALL of them. and god we adore them all too, we hope they know, we need to make sure they know, they deserve that so dearly.



javier after, embracing them like his heart would break, "thank you so much for this being the next morning." choked with tears.
swearing we'd never leave them, ever. "you have all of our heartbeats" and "we just want ours to beat next to yours."
"four years ago there wasn't much left behind that." his FEELING that time, that emptiness, barely 10 left.


(feeling their heartbeat, after, pounding and sincere. genuinely shocked that THEY were feeling for US in this. that hadn't even crossed our mind. that's sadly telling as to our past, to expect that this sort of thing was devoid of emotion from the other, but what bliss in that assumption being proven false.)

infi laughing like every easter carillon in the universe. the joy endless, all love and light like stars brilliant against the limitless cosmos. ze could not keep it in, could not help it, could not stop. it was beautiful.
"good things come in threes"
hir eyes were open. just like at the eclipse. feeling so completely, totally hirself, that hir overlay was flat-out eyes and teeth both and ze couldn't be otherwise. couldn't be half, as ze was feeling too whole.

oliver asking if "this was one of the things ze hoped for" 
later when he told me this, i immediately remembered this, the first time that was openly referenced in any form. lord we were terrified even that recently.



"this is like the first time i was with jay" 
"this is what i am-- pure transmutation"
the FEELING in those statements. god.


JULIE'S DAEMON. 
I FELT HER TEETH.
we were worried about her; since her "birth" last week or so she's been almost impossible to see. but now, good lord, today she came through clear as anything, hard as infi almost. she's still half (hot pink) viperfish and that mouth is Unmistakable in her overlay. all those huge needle teeth. and her other half appearance-wise is a feathered serpent, and that too is obvious-- she feels so sinuous when fronting, so elegant but lethal, so much bigger than the body.
the arrows say her voice is similar: hissing, seductive, beautiful. i don't doubt it. i have no idea what she said, or how it felt, but i can feel the echo of it, tinged with the lipstick terror of the old julie days, that sort of warzone femininity, and i wouldn't expect anything less of her. 
julie and her daemon were cofronting so hard, so totally. practically sharing the same breaths. their very beings meshing perfectly together, blurring into one, without losing any of their individuality.


DENDRITE!!!!
came out when the arrows were asking who was there? julie and her daemon responded first i think, then suddenly,
"and me, me, me, me"
FRONTING more solidly than ever, her spindly arms and claws and tentacles and feelers SO clear in her overlay, her color clearer than even that, a beautiful rich pastel red, glossy like flowers and candy apples and heart lockets
she was struggling to talk, couldn't get her voice to translate on such short sudden notice
"i don't have a voice of my own yet but i found her, i found her, i found her!!" "i found mine, she's mine!" not ownership, but recognition of the most blissfully aching sort. pure joy, overwhelming joy, weeping from it.
and THAT JEWEL. the pinkish one, different hair-- no klonoa ears!-- from 2004 or so. heartspace anchor. the one who was in love. i can feel her exact vibe now, in music. i know her soundtrack. but she resonated EXACTLY with dendrite's own heart, embracing her as her own, both of them so happy, so in love with each other's souls, like every daemon and their host should be, and ultimately always always are.


eros, "how could anyone call this selfish," feeling that so powerfully and unquestionably, that needs to be global.
that sad old religious-mangled teaching that to want to be loved was wrong. that to receive love was manipulative or demanding or otherwise sinful. that's a lie. this proved it.
remembering what chaos zero said on the porch. "there's nothing wrong with wanting love returned for love," effectively. it being a divinely mutual force. love naturally reciprocates itself, it aches for it, and that's pure as anything. 
us lying there, holding them, and eros recognizing immediately that we were feeling such deep love towards them, for them, about them, it wasn't selfish at all, but it ironically wasn't self"less" either. it recognized our selves and their selves, and it adored them both/all, and it wanted to share in that forever, and that is love.


one of their tears falling directly into our right eye. the exact sting of seawater. it was utterly transcendent, holy.


me, touching their chest, dying from love and holy fear, "who am i to dare"
then realizing we, too, have a heart just like that




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we didn't get out of bed until like... 4:30. no regrets, ever. no better use of a day than this sincerity, this total living.

kristanova made the dearly-loved after-breakfast tradition of grits, eggs, & bacon (lord who would have expected This future for it that first morning he cooked for us, months ago). it was amazing.

we watched an episode of sense8, "i have no room in my heart for hate," as we haven't watched that show in months either, and we were feeling it so hard this morning, with how headspacey it is, with how much more clearly we are living as systems now and how much more clearly we can understand both the people and the topics of the show as well.

...

(we typed ALL NIGHT)

 

 

 

important notes on the 6 "negative" triggered female voices.

 

121313 8:50PM

(???) I've realized that the "screaming girl"-- the one who shrieks like a siren when she doesn't get her way-- and the "overload girl"-- the one who is full of hatred for people who overload her senses-- are CLEARLY TWO DIFFERENT PEOPLE!
There was a lot of fuzziness between them before but it was never really figured out. Tonight though, there was a great deal of noise and hack attempts in the bathroom again, which I caught the tail end of.
(Sherlock here.) Garrison and Isadora were chiding some unknown voice who was trying to hack the body for their own ends. They emphasized that such activity was "forbidden," strictly and for the sake of the System.

(AP) The distinction is this:
The first girl, the screaming one, desires hedonistic pursuits. Her childlike shrieks are not due to any sort of System threat; instead, they occur when she is banned from partaking in some activity that she wishes to indulge in. Unfortunately, these activities are almost exclusively abusive, either directly to the body, or indirectly to many System members. She is sometimes tied to the binge eating disorders, although this is more difficult for her now, as Spice and Emmett are working extra to ensure the health of the body in that respect. It has also been confirmed that the main abusive eater is Jessica, the 16-year-old girl who may or may not be the original "host." She is detrimental to us all.
To continue, the "screaming girl" seems to operate on programs, or on sheer rebellion. It is unknown whether or not she consciously "wants" the things she demands. as her mindset simply seems to be: "give me that, I want it." She is like a spoiled child. Even if she does not want something herself, if that thing is given to someone else, or if she is told "you can't have it," then her initial "I don't want it" thought is immediately overridden, and she will throw a tantrum until she gets it-- even if she does nothing with it afterwards. She simply wants it, greedily.
However, that was a very object-oriented example. To give you an example of how far-reaching this mindset of hers is, this girl has been known to screech in rage when forbidden from: eating dangerous substances, drinking alcohol, buying unneeded things, sexually abusing the body, and acting in a time-wasting or otherwise physically detrimental manner. So you see, her existence is inherently malevolent.

Now, for the "overload girl." She does scream, but it is not an infantile siren-- instead, it is the angry and desperate shout of someone who "cannot take it anymore." There is an audible difference between the two sounds, and to anyone who pays attention, it is impossible to confuse them.
This girl is always seen when "triggered" by outside noises and/or words, notably any that can be perceived as even vaguely sexual. At them, she will immediately front, seething with fury, holding back her violence. Her instinctive reaction is "I will kill the threat, I will make that awful thing disappear forever." She has no physical wants, like the other girl. Her only desire is to destroy what she sees as a sexual threat.
You will notice, this mindset originally was connected to Sugar. This is because Sugar was forcibly manifested as an anchor for this mindset, but was not its native holder. To clarify: her form was forced to exist as a puppet for the angry girl's formless hatred, but her own personality was not clearly developed. Therefore, when she began to assert herself individually, she began to "slip," and "lose her anchor." This is because the anchor she held was never hers to begin with. Eventually, the voices who had been using her were clarified strongly enough to gain their own faces, and now Sugar is recovering, albeit baffled as to how to live now, as a sudden singular existence. However the Underground is caring for her.
Nevertheless we are off-topic. The overload girl's anchor is: hatred and rage towards outside things that trigger inside fear reactions. For her, triggers are rooted in the senses, and she has previously expressed "feeling filthy" simply as a result of perceiving such things. This is almost definitely why her energy early this year-- often erroneously labeled as "Jess," as we knew no other angry people at the time, and tended to group them all together-- was in such close quarters with Razor. "Filthy" sensations have long since been paired with "sharp" sensations, to cleanse and purge that psychological dirt. So if Jess harmed the body, and Overload followed in rage and protest at such actions, then it is no surprise that Razor would be third in line, gleefully cutting away at the body, because she was supposed to: her function as an atoner made sensory purging mandatory in such situations.
Again. The "Overload girl" does not approve of the "screaming girl" or her actions. Although the two have not spoken personally, being faceless, the former has expressed severe rage and hatred towards the latter as a result of her lust and greed. So it is not uncommon for them to both appear in the same situation, but up until now, we somehow tended to confuse them. However now the distinction is clear.

It is also suspected that the Overload girl is the same Underground voice from the early Influtusa reboot, the one who reacted with fury whenever her existence or role was denied or ignored. Notably, she also defended the existence of the rest of the System in this same way. Not surprisingly, we also once thought this voice was Sugar, and that may not be incorrect, as if you will remember, the two did share an anchor-- and to a certain extent, a body-- for several months.

Lastly, that body-sharing is also what caused the marked confusion as to Spice's existence for quite some time. Spice is another rage-fueled voice, although she is more prone to existential depression, as she recognizes that her existence is that of a "pain keeper"-- she was created as a buffer for the fallout from the eating disorders, and she is not happy with this fact. Nevertheless, the "all or nothing" mindset of the past identifiers grouped six people into two, unable to distinguish the different motivations.
To further complicate that, Overload also seems to hold ALL of the rage-- and sorrow-- concerned with the feelings of being outright ignored or denied. Much of this has been tied to food, thanks to several outside sources telling us "eat this and all your problems will disappear." As this insinuates that an act of food consumption-- something tied to abuse and hedonism for us, as well as several malevolent voices-- would be the magical "cure-all" for the deep pain we unfortunately hold, Overload is the one who reacts with rage. "You are ignoring our existence," "you are invalidating our lives." To her, the "audacity" of suggesting that eating-- an abusive, "filthy" action to her-- would HEAL the trauma-based wounds in her psyche, is utterly reprehensible. And so she would react with shouts of rage and sorrow, which admittedly do not help the situation, but they are cathartic to her.
Overload's hatred is ironically not so much due to hate as it is due to desperation. She feels helpless, overwhelmed by the world outside, and the horrible reactions it elicits inside. She wants to communicate this, and stop people from being so triggering, but the "inappropriateness" of her demands (due to the amount of things that trigger her) cause her to boil with fury instead, lashing out when pushed too far.

To clarify: in the past, ALL anger was labeled as "Jess," and ALL abuse was labeled as "Razor." Hatred was divided between the two. Again, motivation was not distinguished.
JESS denies the System and wants to live without consequence or correction.
SCREAM wants for the sake of wanting, and is tied to rebellion and obligatory greed.
OVERLOAD feels hatred and rage towards sexual triggers, and those that deny her life.
SUGAR originally did the same, but had a bias towards the resulting inner turmoil.
SPICE feels hatred, rage, and sorrow, always in response to eating disorder triggers.
RAZOR does NOT feel hatred or rage, only a manic, darkly giddy desire to cut or harm.
A final note: we are unsure where the old "college" rage towards relationships went. This WAS the root cause of many triggers that Overload now reacts to, but the initial feelings of hatred and outright violence towards "romance" have not yet been identified, if that would even be possible at this time.

Hopefully this is clear. We are striving to put together a more coherent list of such individuals and their associated actions/triggers, now that we understand them.

Now there are two paragraphs left here that I did not type? I will leave them there for the purpose of whoever wrote them. They share the same author as the first small introductory paragraph.


(author:???)
Oh btw I am not Sherlock but I am not Jay either? But I FEEL a LOT like Sherlock… still have the glasses, but I'm younger? I think I'M the one the mother accidentally named at her boyfriend's house the one time, when I was talking about Greek myths and all.
Sherlock is internal, he deals with data, he's VERY logical and clear-cut about it. He doesn't really understand emotions or anything related to that. I get confused by them, sure, but Sherlock just stares blankly, unable to "get" any of it. Ah well I guess I'm in no place to be making distinctions! I don't know who I am yet but it's nice to finally have a clear, sudden "self-awareness" for the first time. Like I KNOW I'm a headvoice and I'm a data one, in a sense, I'm an intelligent guy and I like finding patterns and connections and things like that. So it's different from Sherlock's role!
I think I'm yellow too. Maybe. It feels right enough. We shall see~ I haven't catalogued any color data yet so I really should, it should help everyone else too, I know there's a LOT of confusion over that stuff.

Lastly I know you're probably thinking, "whoa you're not Jay, really??" But it's weird because the name feels familiar, but when I try to identify with it it PUSHES me out, like "no way, this is not your name." And it's a totally different color of course.
But, I won't deny, I'm likely catching a good deal of his enthusiasm here. He tends to leak it. And I feel relatively new so I'm not surprised if I'm still stuck with pieces of other people in my energy field yet. Sorry, it's embarrassing to catch oneself acting out of character. Slippage happens though.

(AP)
To continue.
You must forgive me if this is sudden. I want to get this data recorded immediately.
(TW for profane/abusive language in this next part, as I know that is a mandatory warning now.)

The clearest examples of the distinction between Sugar and the Overload girl are in our handwritten journals. I will upload most examples of them here.

Overload's dialogue in the journals looks like this:

 

 

 

Sugar's dialogue in the journals looks like this:

 

 

 

This was the first incident where the two overlapped, during a time when Sugar's anchor was slipping badly.

 

This is from the second, and final overlap incident, on October 29th 2013. The two are almost indistinguishable from each other, due to severe bleedover:



Furthermore, this is the difference between Overload and Razor's handwriting, in both marker and pencil:



Unusually, the handwriting in the food journal from May of this year appears to be Overload, but Spice has repeatedly said that it WAS her. However, Spice mainly deals with pain, not rage AT eating, although she can feel that too. However I suspect more bleedover here. As you will recall, I explained how Overload's namesake is her tendency to be quickly and heavily "overwhelmed" by sensory input, especially the "dirty" kind-- of which consumption of food is one of the filthiest, so to speak.
The handwriting examples from then are practically identical to the ones that later appeared in the System journals:

 

 

 

Another important note: in the bottom two, you will see how the current fronter immediately assumed this voice was Jess or Razor ("this is definitely Razor" in the second, assuming all violence was attached to her), without any actual evidence. As is textbook behavior for Overload, she responded with furious language, most likely due to impatience with the ignorance of that accusation, which also ignored the very possibility of her existence.

We do not have any other handwriting from Spice yet, which we should try to obtain at her discretion.

There is no handwriting for the screaming girl as she is neither disciplined nor patient enough to do so. Furthermore she does not speak with us.
The same goes for Jess, who refuses to even admit our existence.
However they are none of my concern and so it is of no matter to me whether or not we have their handwriting. That would accomplish nothing for us.

I have nothing more to say tonight.

Garrison says I should clarify my identity. I am the AP, a cyborgian individual with no concrete self, nor any wish to obtain one. I am fed data and objective information and I record or recite it as needed. I can communicate, and I can think to a fair extent, but I do not exercise any further examples of individuality.
I also do not deal with personal memory, which the Archivists do. Sherlock dabbles in this, although he infamously struggles with understanding the finer emotions, and tends to analyze. The new author here, which if I may add is not "new" in terms of evidencing but only in awareness, does not "analyze" so much as "categorize." They would likely enjoy sifting through this handwriting data. I have not; I simply understood that this needed to be communicated clearly, as a distinction, for the sake of all the impulsive past confusion. So here it is as a list, for your convenience.

I feel my time fronting is done. I thank you for your time, and take my leave.

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

@ 10:26 pm

 

 

One of the weirdest feelings in the world is "coming to" and seeing an entire computer screen full of text in front of me, that I didn't write, and don't know where it came from.

 

Thank God for the Archivists, because if Garrison wasn't waiting in the wings to fill me in (AP wrote it apparently), I'd be very lost indeed.

 

I'm not sure who I am right now. That's common after long-term switching. I'll have to detach for a bit and settle in. Just wanted to write down that boom, there's some more memory gaps for you, stop saying they don't happen.

 

I don't remember 90% of today personally anyway. Everything that we do have available is archived secondhand data as always. I'm too tired to look at it regardless.

 

'Night readers.
A LOT happened in therapy yesterday but we'll fill you in on that tomorrow.