Write, let me read your mind

Using mirror prns today, I'm genderfluidflux. This is my dramatized blog, with thoughts and rants and vents every now and then, but the main attraction are my dramatized diary entries. May add poems too :P

[lux-s-mind-com]

Purpose of this acc (plus a bit of an introduction)

Hello fellow reader or writer or poet or human, I’m Lux (that’s my pen name). I’m making this acc for a rlly cool idea I found on pinterest and that was to write a diary entry but rlly dramatized like the scene of a book. And to do that every day. So from now on I will use this app that I think was made to blog with these funny tags that make sentences to write my dramatized diary entries. They will probably be mostly fake, so dw if I write sm that sounds like an insane person wrote it, saying they see ghosts or smth. I will also write some random thoughts in here bc it’s fun and that way it feels more like a blog to me.

Now that you know what the inspiration was, why do I need a whole acc for it? Bc I JUST CANT WRITE A DIARY ENTRY EVERY SINGLE DAY. So I will use the internet to put some pressure on me. Thank you for being part of this.

And finally my fav part! Some facts about me:

I love jazz and bossa nova (I’m also half brazillian) and my fav bands are currently Return to Forever and Lamp WE ARE MARRIED IF YOU LIKE ANY OF THESE TWO ESPECIALLY IF IT’S RETURN TO FOREVER, ONLY OLD PPL KNOW THEM :(

Edit: I also like indie rock and I’m starting to like classic music too, so I just like anything that is instrumental and good

I’m good at latin >:) (and it may stay so if I cut excuses to learn vocabulary)

I’m 15 and genderfluidflux, normally use mirror prns but also others sometimes, I’ll put it in my bio if it changes (google what the things mean if you don’t know) and I’m mixed (brazillian and white, w native american (in brazil, duh) and african roots)

I like the sky a lot, it’s often in my pictures and was in my poem of yesterday :D

I have 3 novel wips (aka just bad involved ideas) for which I still don’t have plot nor the 1st draft (I keep writing poetry or just short texts to avoid them) 

Edit: I’m writing on a short story rn and IM ACTUALLY MAKING PROGRESS?? So yeah short stories are dope. I also love poetic use of language aka Shakespeare and good world building aka fantasy and good pacing aka Poe’s short stories

And lastly, I have an insta acc on which I post poems (also for Escapril) and pictures of things I like (not sky-pictures, already posted too many of them and that was a bad phase), so check it out if you’d like to read some poems :P (user: lux_the_poet_of_the_7_seas)

Now I’m gonna go watch Dead Poets Society cuz pinterest has been spamming me w it.

Edit: forgot to add that I love purpur tones but beige tones match me (and the whole poet/writer thing) more, plus I also like beige tones

[lux-s-mind-com]

Dramatic Diary Entry #36

The days fly by and my to do list grows. I can't be bothered by it, though. There is always a distraction, always an “opportunity” I can't miss. Nothing is more important than the entertainment that surrounds me, be it netflix, hour long talks with friends, a youtube rabbit hole or a new game. There is always something new, something more exciting that pulls me in. That's its job, entertainment is a nice break from daily stress, so I can't really blame it. But I am the one who is supposed to tame those impulses and direct my focus to the moment. The now. But my now is always at the last minute, no, it is even later than what should have been. My now is something cloudy I can't see, something I never plan and that just happens when it is long due. So I just watch the days fly by, without ever having a plan of how they should look like. Because I'm an immature child, who has yet to learn to tame impulses and time.

[lux-s-mind-com]

Dramatic Diary Entry #35

It hurts. I am glad it does, as my pain receptors are more often than not numbed out, but it still hurts. Talking to him is so fun, but to not be able to talk to him really does hurt. He is so pretty and so funny. He understands, well, at least sometimes. At times, his ego closes his heart and he can't listen to what a person has to say. That hurts too. But that hurting lets me know that something is there. A heart, willing to fight for itself. A heart that wants nothing but to touch another heart. To get to know it fully. All its parts. The ones that may look more ugly to anyone who doesn't look carefully to see what hides behind them. The desire to be loved, to be seen, and to just be. I wish he would trust me enough to let me touch his heart. I wish to hear the rhythm it beats in. To feel its warmth. I wish for his heart, but it seems so far away. Even when I do get to see him again, it is not his heart that I will find. But I want to. I will always extend my hand. And maybe, someday, his heart may take mine in his. How I long for that day.

[lux-s-mind-com]

Dramatic Diary Entry #34

I thought people were joking when they said they couldn’t get the person they loved out of their head. Now I know they were not. Not at all. No matter where I am and what I am doing, I attribute all and everything to him, no matter how unrelated it may seem. He haunts me everywhere so I scan the room for him if I know he might be there and it is so hard not to stare at him all the time. It feels as if I just woke up one day and decided that he would be constantly occupying my mind from now on. There is a corner of my mind, reserved just for him, that I like to visit at those times that others would check their phone or chat with someone they barely know, simply to pass time. At the beginning, it did not get in the way of school. On the contrary, I was more motivated than ever to participate in class and spoke my mind. Only when the insecurities started to set in, when doubt disturbed me in my waking hours, pushing my sleeping hours behind, only then did it start to bother me. It had been so easy before, I didn’t think it would be too bad to think about him whenever I got the chance to. It felt natural and it felt right. And all of a sudden it had become a living nightmare, thinking about him all hours of the day, postponing sleep and work and hardly talking to friends. I went from an active student to someone who slacked off and showed little interest doing whatever the teachers asked me to do. It felt like I was going through hell. Each day I forced myself through to the other day and not even laying in bed helped. Nothing helped. Nothing excited me and all I could do was to think about him, anyway. What should I have done? I could only watch the shell left of me wander through the monotonous daily life as all my mind could pay attention to were my oh so grand movements. My weird gestures. My fluctuating tone of voice. What stupid things I said. And how dumb he must have thought I was. And really nothing could stop me from eating myself from the inside, just because I needed to understand, what it was that I was being and what it was that I needed to become. Who I needed to be to appease him and everybody I admired. To meet the expectations thrown at me whenever someone pointed out that I could use brain cells. Who are humans? What are they, really? Who did I need to be, in order to be a human? Are there wrong ways to be human? Is there a defect human? Was I doing it all wrong? Was I destined to be a defect, forever? Who are the defect people? We have to change them, don’t we? We have to show them the way to trully be human! They just don’t know it yet, but they are wrong. They were born defect.

I couldn’t stop thinking those thoughts. It is not that they wouldn’t let me alone. At some point, it was all in my control. It was me who couldn’t let go of this image of the bright kid who got excellent grades in elementary school without trying. I had somehow got lost in my path and I had to become that bright kid again, so that I could be someone. Someone who could stand in a room with extraordinary people feeling the urge to evaporate into thin air. If I could not be someone, what even was the point of being? My entire existence felt like a tragedy. I couldn’t grasp the fact that I still existed, within all these contradictions my mind had imprisoned me, I just couldn’t find a reason to be. So, I just survived day after day and hoped that someday I would figure it out. I had to believe that! There was no other way out of those contradictions. I had to become familiar with them, look at them from every angle possible and understand them. To know how they existed and what they meant. And it took a lot of observing and more patience than I had left to finally come to understand them. And by doing so, also understanding that I existed and that I had every right to do so. Really, it was the most liberated I felt after a long time. I was me again. I wasn’t that bright kid I remembered others had called me, but I was me, the kid who others did not see, who wasn’t “bright”, but was just curious about it all. Who loved. Loved books and their home, library (which also became my second home), the beach, brazilian sweets, mom’s cooking, writing, singing, and coincidentally also loved to learn about every subject they encountered in- and outside of school. That was me. Not shy but also not looking for much attention, just living in their own world, which is really the best world there is. Sometimes very bubbly, sometimes very cold. Scared a lot, but not afraid to speak their mind. I was me, existing in contradictions I didn’t see, which I didn’t need to understand. The important part was that I existed within them. I didn’t try to fit an ideal and be someone who I wasn’t. And I wasn’t ashamed of that. I simply accepted the reality I was in, and thereby accepted the contradictions others may have been confused by. And though many people find contradictions irritating, I think they are what makes the world such a strange and exciting and terrifying and monstrous place. It is the best place there is and I am the best me I could ever be.

[lux-s-mind-com]

Dramatic Diary Entry #33

I miss the touch of human hands on my skin. It is a lyric by Aurora. Really, success is nothing. I am bad at feeling things (or processing things, more accurately), but I can say with confidence that success isn’t worth shit. I don’t give a fuck about how people think of me if I can’t be close to them. Intimate with them. It really doesn’t matter how greatly they think of me when they won’t be close to me. I want someone to give me deep pressure hugs. I want to hold hands. I want to know all about someone. I want to love unapologetically. I want to love so many people and know each of them on a deep level, making a new discovery about them each and every day. I want to get to know just how warm human touch can be. I want to explore the depths of platonic, romantic and sexual love. And I want to do that together. To learn with them about them and about myself. Like a little partner project. Or even better, a little group project. Just a little project that influences my daily life and completely changes me as a human being.

There is this specific human being that likes to keep an unhealthy distance from everyone. That person is very narcissistic. He is pretty much an asshole. He is probably the person he hates and loves the most in the world. He has a very pessimistic world view. He doesn’t ask for help. You never know what he is thinking. Really, he is a (english word for seeigel), scared of the outside world. It seems so illogical from an outside perspective, even more so when considering that he is so smart he could be going to uni (bro actually got invited to a student uni), but it is very logical. He is what has been called a freak for the past three centuries. And freaks need to be extra protective, or else their ‘freakness’ might isolate them from society. And who would ever want that? He might also have other stuff going on, but his ‘freakness’ undoubtedly makes his life unnecessarily hard.

I don’t know what he cares about. I know nearly nothing about him. But it wouldn’t surprise me if what he seeks most is success. Many try to fill that void with trophies and awards. But success, I really couldn’t care less about that. I will just do what I love, love the people I love and that’s it. I don’t need any more. Even if I could properly feel my emotions, I do not believe I would crave success, or at least I would stop caring about that as soon as I started doing what I love and loving the people I love. To love and be loved is really all we need. I wish he would see that.

[lux-s-mind-com]

Dramatic Diary Entry #32

The main characters in movies and books were always so normal. They looked and dressed a certain way, they talked a certain way and had friends, who they really missed and enjoyed talking to. They thought about their friends. They cared about them and about the way they dressed and looked. They were so normal, so I thought I was damned to forever be a side character. To wear whatever I found lying around, to cry when it was hair care day, to sit alone in breaks in school. I thought, until I met other weirdos.

The weirdos all wear different things. Sone of them wears the same things every day, some others dresse like english private school students, and I dress whatever I find in my thrift store. I love to combine the colours and patterns in a way that makes each piece fit into a whole picture. And that isn't easy to do with thrifted clothes.

The weirdos wear their hair however they like to. A girl has short hair like I do. She said we were the two only girls in our school year, and though I didn't correct her, I am not a girl. Some boys let their hair grow long, though they usually keep them tied up.

The weirdos sit together in breaks. Sometimes they just sit, letting the tumult around them fill the silence, and sometimes they make their own noise, greatly contributing to the tumult of break time. The weirdos talk very different to each other than they do to me. They get much louder and excited with each other than they ever do talking to me. They talk in a much more straightforward and dry manner to me, though they do talk regularly to me. Do the weirdos feel weird talking to me?

Somehow, I still am the side character. I don't dress one specific kind of way. I am not a girl with a short hair cut. I am not great at talking. Not even average good, probably. And worst of all, I am insensitive. And everybody knows that weird people are the most sensitive and attentive people you can find. How can you be too weird to be weird?

[lux-s-mind-com]

Dramatic Diary Entry #31

To breathe and be, like a tree. If it were so easy, I would always do it. I don't know how to do it right. I need to focus on whatever I am currently focussing on, because that is what being is, right? Maybe to the monotropic mind, but the majority are polytropic. So then isn't it fitting the needs of others and keeping in mind your own needs? But that begs the question, what are humans needs and when they clash, which ones are more important? It seems that the majority always gets their way, at the expense of the few who have it much harder. And as long as their way goes, their logic of what are human needs will be predominant. Well, then what about meditating? Just sitting with your emotions and taking everything in with all your senses sounds like the one right thing to do to get back to the present moment. Again, what if I can only focus on one of those things at a time? What if I can't take in all of the information? What if I need loads of time to process what comes through even just one information channel? What the hell does being in the moment even mean when you're neurodivergent? How do I do it right? Can I ever get it right if I'm so slow? And if I can't even feel my feelings, how am I supposed to sit with them? I need a tree to teach me, to breathe and just be. Why is this so much harder for me?

[lux-s-mind-com]

Dramatic Diary Entry #30

One step after the other, I walk on a suspended rope. On one side, I fall into being too silent, on the other I fall into being too much. It isn't easy to be exactly what is needed. It feels lonely to be exactly what is needed. I want to be too little without bothering someone with it. I want to be honest and not put up a show that won't even entertain me. I want to be honest with others and myself without being scared of losing them in the process. And then, I want to learn to have fun walking on that rope again, to feel it beneath my feet and to feel like I'm flying, not like I'm about to fall.

[lux-s-mind-com]

Dramatic Diary Entry #29

We are all born in sin. This is a fundamental truth of christian belief, and something we can observe in everyday life. We move about our day and may find a snack sitting on the counter or our phones in arms reach and then remember that we've got work to do. We've got a big pile of stuff to do and really, it is all over the place. So to eat a little snack, to just sit back and scroll a little wouldn't hurt anyone, right? It's not like that alone is something as big as a sin. But if we do this often enough, if we replay this thought process over and over again, it might just begin feeling like one. Like a bad habit that must be overcome, maybe it goes as far as to make our stomachs sick when we recall the last time we've done that. But no matter how drenched in sin the action of doomscrolling or overeating becomes, the temptation always stays. This is the real sin. Giving in to the delights of a moment for the suffering to come and, which we know, will certainly come. Yet, we fall into sin time and time again, seemingly ignorant of our betrayal. We crave instant gratification instead of facing reality. We choose denial over ourselves. And even the purest of us consider denial. But they deny those temptations and choose themselves and others every time. In hard times, they may require assistance or fail to meet all their responsibilities, but they always repent and try better. And that, that is what it really means to love. Those individuals aren't the ones who have been freed of sin, but who've mastered the art of loving. No one loves life as much as they do. And we all have a lot to learn from them.

[lux-s-mind-com]

Dramatic Diary Entry #28

Like a celestial being, a blue like the sky in the ever lit summer polar nights, he sits with his legs crossed, watching me. He watches with the eyes of the raven of a witch, sent to cast judgement upon whether I am the princess she wishes to poison. But am I? He watches and watches as I struggle to form words in my defence, but I only manage to make a wreck out of myself, for my nerves are not made to handle such a serene look, such a sophisticated manner of being. The raven stays for days and days on end, but I know not whether it has come to a conclusion, I know not if I will go on to see the light of another day. His touch diffuses some kind of clemency, one that could save me from certain death, but still it frets me, for I feel something rise, something boil from my very bosom. Is it a spell to elude me so I can become a meal to the witch he has devoted his being to, or a gesture of mercy, the recognition of mutual trust? I will never know, for all the raven does is watch me with those eyes that are as sublime as they raze my entire being.

They are goddesses. Or maybe they're just spirits, like me.

[lux-s-mind-com]

Dramatic Diary Entry #27

Interests are cool. You can think about them obsessively. Then there are things that aren’t so great to think about obsessively. Limbs. Amputating them, when others are being forced to. Feeling marks all over your body, that mark a place to dive your knife into. This string, entangled into a knot in my throat is just waiting to be cut out. Just waiting. Struggling a bit, maybe. With every gulp, it clenches more onto the walls, scraping them and begging to be cut out of this cell. It’s screams echo in my throat but will not come out. Only if it’s cut out.

Or interactions with people. If their eyes glazed a bit blue or not, if they thought a bit too long for an answer, if things they say contradict, if they smile too long, if they ever shrug. I think about it all the time. All the time, any time.

[lux-s-mind-com]

Dramatic Diary Entry #26

I will never know what it is like for your whole spirit to be set aflame and scream ‘free palestine!’ over and over again. I will never be able to wrap my head around the trauma of a palestinian child, all I can do is see the scars, body parts missing and tears, tears, and more tears, every hour, every minute, every second. I will never understand just how many olive trees have fallen, just deep the wound of the earth reaches. How much they bombed her like she is nothing.

Painful experiments. Painful experiments. Painful experiments. Painful experiments. Painful experiments. Painful experiments. Painful experiments. Painful experiments. Painful experiments. Painful experiments. Painful experiments. Painful experiments. Painful experiments. Painful experiments. Painful experiments.

[lux-s-mind-com]

Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder. - Rumi

[lux-s-mind-com]

Dramatic Diary Entry #25

I’m mad. I stare at you, but I’m just mad. Not at you. I’m just mad. 

I say words, I say, because the day is long and we’ve got to get it somewhere, right? You roll your eyes. You are mad and maybe, I have been mad too. For a long time.

Shame is a weird thing. It exists only in social settings, yet it is directed to oneself. It’s a stain you can only rid yourself of with change and redemption, a stain that can’t be called a pretty accident. Would this stain also look ugly if there was no one else but the stained to perceive it? Would I care if this stain smelled, if I stayed on an island far away from all, eating a coconut and laying in the afternoon sun?

[lux-s-mind-com]

"Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality." – Edgar Allan Poe

[lux-s-mind-com]

silly vent

It stings. The sides of my wrists, like points a bullet is fired into. My hands are targets of an overwhelming force, one that would have me doing worse things otherwise. What do you do, when someone sees you direct that force against yourself? What do you do when they watch, horrified and then crack a smile? How do you justify using the force in such a way? Where do you direct that force at instead? It stings. Not the little points of pain, they haven’t even left marks, but the looks. They sting so much.

[lux-s-mind-com]

Dramatic Diary Entry #24

I woke up late, again. I look around my room, the sunshine blares onto the white walls and my eyes squint while I groan into the sheets. Another morning, wasted, all because I forgot to put my phone far away from my bed, on the other side of the room. Yet, I rise from the bed, rinse my face and look at myself in the mirror, a smile drawn across my face. Some weeks ago, I wouldn't have even glanced into the mirror and it would have taken me much longer to rise from my bed, put on fresh clothes and get ready to do whatever was on the to-do list that day, if I had even made one in the first place. I dreaded staying up in the morning knowing very well that I would be confronted with a pile of things to procrastinate over, as I always ended up doing. My sheets were always covered in sweat, my afro would feel like an hour long appointment and often, just keeping my eyes open was simply impossible. Day after day, I stepped into life with the wrong foot, then asked myself why there was a trail of shit following me. But now I know, not every morning must start this way. I now know that I don't need to drag myself out of bed anymore. I can just say

Guess I woke up late, again.

And tomorrow, I know not to.

Note: finally a positive post! Hope you enjoyed this one. Go on on your merry way and remember to drink some water!