6isham, the sky isplat blue, tides out, beach freshly combed almost empty aside from another batch of manowars. i'm having soft flashbacks of making this in a lab somewhere: custom manowars, replete with encryptions of my fingerprints for a prototype home security system.
i'm hesitant to touch them. walking to the exposed beams of the pier, the sand is packed and almost bare. i spread my blanket and try to nap but recurring thoughts of possession turn me to breakfast instead.
i've bee sleeping outside of my ol house. the one i was going live alone in
after, i sent a solid hour or so thrifting in a haze. feeling like my eys weren't sewn on right. i bought a few things and headed to the library to charge my phone.
later, i go grab lunch. foccacia bread & oranges. thinking at the all male isand in greece. thinking about going back to seminary school. i take a set in the sun outsid ef a cowring company. brick and hesitant benchery. glaring sunlight. i put my hoodie back on. it's filthy, hilighter yellow, and bulky around my waist. i feel gross. i'm wearing this khaki dress reminiscent of a forrest service postal worker. squid games sweat pants. golden age hollywood t shirt. gingham hi cut bikini bottoms. a knit tank to.p.
i'm chewing o the bread and thining about taking everything off except the tank top nd bikini an callin it a day when i see some guy dressed business casual out f the corner of my eye putting a recipt that flew of of my groceries back on my wallet. i'm irritated but he's attrative in an american sycho tye of way, so i just say thanks. stare at his ass in those chinos as he walks away with his chin tucked into his smar phone
back to work. i'm thinking about staying here for the weekend. memorial day. i wanna go surfing. maybe i'll adopt te bay. thinking about sitting in a wet suit. trading something out for on. get a gym membership. a yog Mat. start checking my bag and dressing like my tax bracket
the oranges i bought for lunch are sweetened. sliced, dried and packaged in a resealable ba. i take one out and cra it in my mouth. it leaves a kinda rw, numb feeling
i bought a train ticket to san diego this week but didn't go. i was getting yelled at and i won't elborate
bcablbrevbvbbsvb/
wha ele
i havent ad a c********** in a while
idk what' going on,
been d**____ prety ______ wth ___________
idk what else t say.
i was thinking about wen i was at harvard and they ade the video predicting what I would be like at this age and they weren't too fr off were tey
i had a really rough week. i don't really wanna elaborate? i got really anxious and paranoid and slept downtown. it was fucking awful. most nights, i hate it here. i get approached by mostly men, asking me if i smoke, if i need a place to sleep, demanding my time and conversation, making violent threats. a couple from the temple, a tall woman, and a homeless man with a wheelchair all perform some kind of blood ritual on me. they reach into my bag and tamper with my cosmetics. i'm getting really tired of this. having to throw things away daily because of it, wasting time and money spent acquiring them, because of the radioactivity. still, it's somehow better here than the quiet violence of montana.
i've been missing the lack of society there though. i'm a little worried about summer. there have been a few days where i really couldn't get anything done in the heat. the people are worse. short tempers. shorter attention space. i don't really wanna be around it.
last night was ok, though. i had a really strong energy drink and was totally wired and almost unable to stop talking all day. i don't really wanna elaborate the details'
i noticed people from the internet mostly, checking in on me and when they get close i can hear their conversations and thoughts. i try really hard not to get upset by it but its really hard, and scary. i think it's because of the emdr maybe
but i still dont have a charge for filing a false report soooooooooo
i went to a church to get some food in the morning. fruits mostly, that smelled like Cheese and other deaths. i started hearing a voice in my head telling me that they were being stored with a dead pig that r***** me at someone's house that got tortured to death. i get the the park and chuck almost everything/
then went for an emotional walk having flashbacks of being here as a kid after J*** took A***** away. Running around LA as someone else over and over again. Seeing a flyer at a club for a topless formula protest at kmart
i showed up, all of 4 feet tall, in overalls and nothing else, ready to see what it was about. a bunch of radfems in the baby aisle and the biggest one grabs me, takes me out to the parking lot and tells me to scram. she's seen me around the queer clubs dancing and doesn't need this s***
i march back in and strip off my overalls showing my small breast and bleeding c****. i can't even see their faces while im screaming about my son being taken from me because i stole formula here. and i'm not even supposed to be in here. and i think your protest is a joke
the cops haul me in.
i ose track of things for a while and take a long tour in asia and europe collecting things for A****** along the way. They never answer the phone. i call sobbing and apologizing and leave my number when i have one
then i buy a pack of c********
remembering meeting with J and A at a M******* with a 40,000 dollar trunk full of relabelled clothing they reject from disdain as my son, who's calling himself a girl named Hayley now, tells me he doesn't wanna see me ever agin.
OK.
I think I'm just really tired, so finally I find a spot to crash. It takes a while to wind down but someone brings me chinese food and while i'm eating everyone looks impossibly beautiful. i sleep mostly undisturbed, finish my leftovers and leave to do it again.
i'm trying to rebrand my restlessness with routine. still, i can feel exhaustion creeping in constanty to remind me of how she stood in the kitchen, silently slicing something and wondering how small she was when she stopped shrinking
i take my sketchbook and shred it, hurl it into the train tracks. met police tell me i can't do that. well, i just did.
it's tuesday, i'm at work, thinking about getting tacos at the beach (i probably wont)
i was screening for AFF, got upset and needed a break.
last night i slept outside of a church that i've been weirdly fixated on by spirits insisting its a mosque that's been stolen and occupied by christians. or, more accurately, a zoroastrian fire temple.
the lights were gaudy and i couldn't help but imagine how it would look like by flames.
in the morning i took the train to long beach and got brunch at a church and bk. trader joes rejects, sliders, condiments, coffee, i've been full all day. i seem to have acquired permanent menu fatique....
i'm working as a research assistant for myself and it's grueling. i'm ready to clok out after lunch, sitting on the steps beside a depressingly synthetic park. the sun feels good, i apply sunscreen that nauseates me and spend another twenty minutes after rearranging the contents of my backpack.
i'm wearing black mary jane crocs and i'm sick of them. last night i went to wash my feet at the beach. probably denzel curry was on the pier making everyone uncomfortable. i saw hallyu military following me around with great concern.
the night before i slept on a bench outside of mplaza and some person that i used to get pawn loans from got paid to stun gun my crotch while a guy whos been stalking me kissed me on the mouth/they keep putting horse paint on my heels and covering them with soot. i finally had to break down and buy socks.
i get to santa monica and head to t*****. (they let me keep my backpack on). spent like $13:
1.99 headphones
5 socks
3 19 crimes
3 baron herzog
then get dinner at mc88888 (fasted all day, overate)
washing my feet on the pier with an ecotools brush and rasperry shampoo while a group of a8888 boys watch. i'm close to peddling feet polaroids for the summer over there. someone keeps telling me to get the house paint off my toes. it's probably v from bts. they're telling me some kid in china who owns a paint factory flew down in his familys jet to sue dollar tree over this
anyway, back to my outfit: christian fundamentalist synthetic silk skirt in off white floral (thrifted) insisting i wore this on my tour as tanya tucker. booty shorts in a tacky tribal pattern, fake gucci elvis'. rebranded acne mulsin long sleeve shirt, yellow knit floral sixties mod vest, and a denim jumper reminisent of a korean state funded daycare workers.
i wonder if that moodboard fashion site is still active/i used pinterest today for the first time in a while:
Explore a hand-picked collection of Pins about goat heels on Pinterest.
Here's a playlist I made on youtube:
Idk what else to say, my head was full of a lot of ideas lately but I lost my pen and keep losing patience for everything. Just focusing all my effort to ignore things I want to fall off.
it's thursday. sounds like rain on the roof. rain outside, its been raining all week. insane storm earlier in the night keep me awake seeking shelter. i've been avoiding them tightly, while on several lists. patience wearing thin.
last night i slept warm and dry though. felt irritable all week about a attempting to head to noho for cosplay. there was this screening at the tcl of the elvis movie. baz luhrmanns. i was planning all month to go. then idk what happened. budget problems. didn't get paid. decided i didn't wanna pay $40 to sit in a theatre (never been to imax) for two hours with no bag check available. no aarp discount either. small popcorn. big pass.
since it had been rainy that night at the last minute i slapped on some makeup and hopped on the train. i was gonna grab a drink and watch the red carpet. wearing my costume with a bag full of food and pills. when i boarded **** was standing there with a face full of makeup. i started seeing red. went to the other end of the car.
at the next stop i cracked open the pill bottle and chucked them at **** before the doors closed. **** phone was out and recording im sure. im seething. storm down to kfc and grab a drink. try to find shelter. almost nonstop script running i can barely make sense of.
earlier in the month i was invited to screen for the austin film festival again. i attended the onboarding and recognized the modeator as someone i knew from like 20 yrs ago when i lived in NC. i started to get paranoid, and decided i didn't wanna do it. we were talking mentally about how i invited him to visit in missoula but he didn't show up because he stayed with his mom instead, who was my neighbor that i remembered butting heads with about noise complaints. then i noticed she was folling me around los angeles and giving me the evil eye.
suddenly its revealed to me that his dad is Elvis. He faked his death and has been living not so low key. He's in Slayer now. He didn't wanna attend the premiere of the movie because he isn't really making money off of it. He's working for Metro and practically living in his car.
around this time the dialouge shifts to someone else because of how upset "max" (who i recognized as my friend Jake from NC) is at my rejection. they'(the military)re trying to find me someone to work directly with on a consistent basis. a partner. the government has been strongly insisting i get married legally. a big commitment. no pressure/s. so every time this happens i get panicky. start seeing the person and their family and friends everywhere. kind of like in that film inception. sliding in and outof timelines.
i'm trying to remember where the shift happened, but i know it was connected to my time in NC. someone named scott starts talking to me (my left hand twicthes)
I already started writing about this earlier and made a storybook about it on gemini which i just skimmed:
Created with Gemini
valentines day was lonely. i only vaguely recall what i was doing. looking for food mostly. i ate a lot. gave a part of my oreo matcha shake away to someone who looked like mohar. i wonder why i'm thinking about NC so much. maybe cause i kind of wanna leave already. idk.
i was sleeping outside of this event space because i didn't feel like going out. i had a bunch of jelly sticks and cough syrup. just reeling from this illness i cant seem to fully kick since i got in the water by the pier. people kept messing with me but i was too tired to move. ended up jerking off with someone who said they were my friend scott. it felt weird but i'm used to it. plus i had an insane headache. scott said he bashed my skull in. i told him basically i'm not trying to fuck, i just have a headache. so don't take it personal? i'm shy and i'm irritated as hell. plus i've been trying not to jerk off anymore. i'm celibate.
after i cum i start hearing all kinds of scripts running about scott. i let this happen mainly because i barely know him so i was hoping it wouldn't bother me as much. he gets on the line and starts saying all kinds of shit like, my name isn't even scott. it's austin butler. professionally. i bought the license to use the name when i came back to the united states.
insisting we've known each other for like twenty years and he's only hit me one time. keeps bringing up the person who beat my ass recently. since they were trying to fuck at that time or whatever? idek. then says they were kicking it with kylie kardashian and travis scott. scott tissues. i'm fucking unravelling mentally at this point.
so the story about "scott" that attaches itself to an empirical timeline is that we knew each other since his mom was pregnant apparently. diana spencer was his mom, and his dad was faroud, who by the way, is also known as the musical performer freddie mercury. i'm aware of how scizo this sounds. feel free to find something else to do besides sifting through my schema.
i was in the car when they crashed in the tunnels in nevada where they were brought to roswell and teleported. that's where we were physically linked. "scott" grew up in foster care. this is where i'm aware of reality splitting. i feep trying to remember all the parts of "anti oedipus"
the next time we see each other outside of daycare is in montana during ozzfest where i'm playing a set with the band kittie. i was on an loa from a residential hospital i was sentenced to for shooting and bombing up sacajawea middle school as a result of abuse i was experiencing there and at home. i set off a bomb and shot my history teacher, jeff foxworthy, point blank in the back with a bow and arrow. he didn't die but was paralyzed. he's now my psychiatrist and prescribed me the risperidol i threw at ****.
i was hearing that the drug was conceived by twin daughters of bitcoin white paper write satoshi nakamoto. the two girls, harmony and risa, had been following me obsessively my whole life for data connected to the geographic location of my conception. after taking the pill i felt mainly sedated. i was in a lot of pain, irriatable, still hearing voices. met with an mhp after and still couldn't find shelter. decided after seeing **** it wasn't safe to continue bc i knew he had been selling access to me and it felt like a warning. still, i was pissed that i missed the premiere of the elvis movie.
i was thinking about "scott" a lot during the storm. i keep seeing him everywhere. i can't remember exactly what he looks like though. i'm writing this mainly because i'm hoping to better navigate my psyhcosis and delusions without the drugs. i had the same think happen with jake/max recently when i saw him on the zoom session. i kept hearing people say they were muting lines and that's something i can do on zoom so i'm trying to trace my ability to do that myself and maybe endcode it on an app. because i don't wanna spend the rest of my life talking to people that aren't physically there. i was pissed at jake for ghosting me and showing up like that. his mom was telling me he saved up all this money and bought the festival but i called bullshit on breaking his heart because i'm pretty sure he's just assigned to my case as special forces for national security. purposes.
so i tried doing a google search (hi alphabet mafia) for a photo of "scott" and just found a picture of someone that vaguely looked like him playing drums at what looked like a school. he's telling me that after the filming of the elvis movie he moved to nyc and started living as a black man, performing in the group nxcre. and we had been talking mentally for a while, irealized. ?
i'm still reeling from the recent attack. the person had heard me muttering that i couldnt go down to skid row cuz they was too many n8888 down there. already. and i got my ass beat. i start remembering all kinds of shit. defending myself with sicilian translations of colors. that i was gestated by a black french man. bob marley. and we worked together fr years trying to get ppl to stop colorism. i lived and worked as a black woman, recording albums as mary j blige, etta james, tina turner, so blind people would recognize my voice as Black before i finally gave up and tried bleaching it all out
"scott/austin" starts tellling me that we reconnected at ozzfest (he was playing with the band silverchair) and he basically forced me to take him on as a slave. we even had a contract. i forgot all about it after being sent back to the hospital in butte. his family were the ones who arranged for me to be transported to north carolina many years later. i was intercepted by members of the post office crew while he was out back in the a frame, attending duke university on full scholarship. and they had a whole lab out there trying to find a cure using dna samples directly from me for aids and sickle cell anemia. he was telling me that he was able to live as a black man because of what he learned from this research by shape shifting using chemicals and ingredients. underground military groups, the nsa and other interested parties had the lab shut down. it was covered up with a murder scandal. he was going by the name pazuzu and enlisted in the military as part of a plea deal, where they gave him the new identity as austin butler.
so that was how we were communicating on military lines. i keep saying over and over that all i'm hearing in my head is english and i think the harrasment is line switching by foreign military. i told them while at the mental health center in koreatown i think that's why i need to stay there. people keep tapping me to try to hack in and there have been too many plane crashes because i was sent to the ISS as sally ride to test hardware and applications when i was a kid. so my lines of communication go that high, in addition to as low according to gravitational force laws as the excavation of the body of my mother. it's supposed to be top secret but the release of the epstein files has comprimised all this. i'm irate.
so i keep trying to just grasp onto one person and i start latching onto "austin" though he looks nothing like the guy i remember. still. i keep recognizing him everywhere and hearing him talking to me and making gestures remotely. during the storm i could hear them navigating me through it and since i survived maybe that's why i kept calling. i remember yesterday when i went to the park seeing him clearly and finally feeling for like five seconds like maybe i'm not totally insane.
I've been showering for three str8 days/ um, yesterday was a holiday. i got cofffee in the morning and went looking for some hot dinner thing. got "lost"/ super. i was thinking ab the amtrak incident. the guy put a plug in me and couldn't stop hearing voices. so he followed me to the bay area and slit his wr*sts op the train tracks. they didnt even refund my ticket. just offered another ride.
ok. so now im like possessed by the guy? i was laying down by the park to wash the creamy crack (@veda) out of my hair when his ghost tells me she buried his f6)))in hands under this little tree for touching me. santa muerte came and dragged me to the cemetary where her family is selling flowers and she's buried herself next to the rest of his decomposing boidy. for laying on top of another man so loud i could see it. i enbded up on the factory side of town. everythings closed. sunday schedule of bnuses and im total;lyt Lost. its a six hour walk banck to Bangtown.
i wanted to cry and break bottles. im hearing david changs voice in my head. trying not to wash my hands iun floodpuddles. ended up in grenada. (no...) some other town. the place smells better but i feel like i need toi go back. im thinking ab the smoking deaths sign. someone j*rki9ng off next to me loud while im trying to sleep./ i was in skid row and it feels like a civl war cosply trailer park in polanfd but Frenmch (bllk) crying with permission. santa monica one more time. cheugy pine pier. like it came preassembled ina box.
the smell of the baby yaghts makes me turn around. i already wrote ab the swans, they asked for cowboy hats for christmas amd got left all alone. im back on the aline and someone has a bluetooth speaker blaring. poking. i gotta get new shoes soon. everything smells like a corpse./ im totally sober. screaming, irritable. shouldnt be here.
the shower turns back on around 3am after a dry spell. someone left a bag of biscuits made on a rivian battery from driving over from the bay. they taste like you would imagine biscuits made that way, in a bag of generic apple jacks, would taste. he tells me he was ghosted as a math totor and wants me to stfu. i try real hard. he was already in his jammies whjen we met. i was facebook dating./ someone logs into unmatch me for not saying "hi" immaediaety. i get a dollar for hugging a guy and giving him a cigarette. he was yel;ling. so was i.
i got 711 xxtra hot pisstos. and a sprite for dinner that night. that was before the rivian bakery incident. i felt pretty full man calm even. woke up the next day getting soaked again. coffee again. some guy, probably my dad, yelling joyously happy new year throughout the mcdonalds. his eyes are sad though. im ok. stressed ab money just like you. take a train to the train station to dry out. its flooding. ask for a job, they dont know who is hiring the ppl mopping up the water. finally getting to play the piano.
its not my favorite or least favorite piano ive played. no one interrupts. i got off the subway and got a big three bags of food. chicken and potatos and broccoli. hot. merry christmas. some guy asking me where a smoke shop is and we yell at each other. satanists and freemasoins and vampires all trading my bodily fluids. checked out a church i might go to. was wondering whats in that high black walled metro property? a dfinosaur maybe. im not fried, just tired. but i have clean socks and pastries and snacks and carbonated milk and hand sanitizer and a Cobb salad. feeling rly fortunate rn. even tho the lost and found is right on top og my head. c u soon.,
cleOmlein
ps/ reminded myself to look up thos building by beverly that look like plantation dioramas made with dollar tree contact wallpaper. they keep giving me the ghosts.
pps. was wondering why is it cheaper to fly to india than florida? and find some niche festivals to
keep it
peeka
*wh*
okay, con
*typing*
*chewing*
*sniff*
*excuse me*
ohhhh
....button
the best thing I like about this is...
nothing
*chew*
where can I go
you're uncool
hey
come one
they're in the back
oikay
dom
set
kissem
*jangles keys*
i should've asked him about it
yuoure coming with me
*babbles*
interrogate her
what is the witness
expedite channel
oh god
where are wqe
went where
oka um
opus
drink
smoke
say it out loud you stupid bitch
say it in korean
Is this the sensitive data companies aren’t allowed to access?
I was thinking about treason. A cross shaped word.
Tree
Son.
They can’t help it because they just grown as long as there oxygen.
Anyhall,
Panel one.
My dress is slightly tailored in Schoolteacher,
I was thinking about taking a break from bleaching to overdye.
Panel two. I’m making coffee.
I careful pour two separate types of ground coffee into the small steel basket.
Remembering the time I was told that cooking in cast iron would remedy any deficiency.
I will never be aluminum deficient.
Panel four: gratitude journal. I am gluing scraps of things into a book. Thank you God.
Cpver: In this episode, we learn that BTS member and potential Treasonist, Kim Seokjin, can’t stop slutting around with the female agents he gets assigned to by central intelligences.
He even was caught fantasizing about JK.
He is trying to solve for x the script of an AI program that was being used to scramble sensitive data such as his grocery order to a property where I live that was sent simultaneously along with one for me.
How to patch.
The light spectrum. It’s like the screens have different light colors
So if you wanna keep using these numerical systems you just have to be using the exact color
But if your color identification doesn’t line up then it can easily be decrypted
Wow can u believe they thought about calling me crazy for listening to these robots.
When you use a translator with limitations like that it’s pretty limiting
Yeah that’s why people were getting upset about their DNA codes being shielded
I was gonna try to block this scene tbh, because I keep getting data sent to me about the love lives of Kpop idols.
