reflects upon a small piece of metal -- narrow -- thin -- needlelike. it has burrowed, like a parasite, into a wooden stake itself wedged into the rough and clumping dirt, finding purchase between patches of blue-ish grass. it is cold. it is still. but you have found:
"The New Sleepyjump Pin Post"
it wants to make a DEAL, but don't give it your MONEY!
i am sleepyjump! if you know me by any other names no you don't my name is sleepyjump. "sleepy" for short. this is a Collective Name for a buncha different alters all posting here! maybe some of 'em will tag with emojis (👑👁️🎵🎭🔪📺, say). but Usually We Won't. and that's a SLEEPYJUMP NON-GUARANTEE!
we post about hypnosis & mind control primarily, but we're also interested in snuff, intox, and other stuff that enriches/is enriched by hypnosis. we are primarily subjects, but there's a few dominant girlies in here -- just don't expect them to pop out on your schedule!
also, we're all lesbians. so if you're a guy trying to flirt with us, put on the dress and let us show you something magical.
speechless? don't know what to say? ask us what a sleepyjump is (it tends to change) or pick a type of induction/mind control, real or fictional, and ask us for an induction wine tasting and we'll give you our review, thoughts, and maybe even a few tips and tricks! BUT FIRST.
Before You Ask Us Stuff, Read On:
THE SLEEPYJUMP RULES OF ENGAGEMENT
1. our least favorite thing in the world is Anon Guessing Games. if we know you, you don't have to say who you are, but if you try playing Guess Who with us we're going to activate the [SENDER BLENDER]!
2. we will try to answer quastions about hypnosis stuff and plural stuff to the best of our ability, but we are just some hivemindgirl on the internet. we don't know shit from fuck. ask a doctor before using sleepyjump. if anyone takes our advice and ends up fucked up or into bitcoin we are activating the [SENDER BLENDER].
3. we like being flirted with by other lesbians (especially hypnotists) but also we get really Scared sometimes. so feel free to be scary in your Ask's in a fun way but if you are Consistently Threatening in a way that makes us Actually Worried we may activate the [SENDER BLENDER].
4. if we shitpost in response to your ask, Sorry. it was probably really funny. it was that or the [SENDER BLENDER].
OUR FAVORITE THINGS ARE:
- hypnosis & mind control & possession & mesmerism, Oh My!
- snuff & puppeting & plushification & hiveminds
- intox & drugging & overstim & kidnapping. in that order
- THE AMULET!!!!
- fucking giant metal objects like hydraulic presses and transmission towers and concrete buildings. and being dommed by them. and dominating them? glados yuri win?? pull on her wires and hear the glitchy sounds she makes????
we will try to tag anything yinz ask for, but if it gets to be too much, we'll activate the [S
when it really started hitting she watched me gracefully compose myself and then pulled me off into a corner to touch on my thoughts and probe the depths of my insight
congratulations to everyone who passed the test. you are now ready for the second round. remember, if you're lying, leave now, because exposure to this stimulus for even a moment will instantly incinerate you if you complained on tumblr about jax being Problematic Representation.
all still here? okay. good. we are going to watch Castration Movie 1. dim the lights.
yeah my patreon's for my short-story writing and also sometimes i do like. boob selfies or whatever. i mean sure. takes a few seconds to make a bonus thing like that, right? (spends 2 hours editing a 90 second video of me taking my bra off) okay wait
ur five dollars per month are paying for my ability to do a bunch of bullshit like get really sweaty and decide my patrons can only see my armpits like this if i compose bgm and learn a whole bunch of new vegas pro effects to give it a hand camera look immediately. i cancel all my plans for the rest of the day and get to work. for the fans. im a star. i am a star.
of course the real appeal is getting my wand while i watch it render. its like staring in the mirror on crack. you mean i can jerk it to a voyeuristic edit of my own body, like, right now? and i dont even have to pay myself $5? fuck is everyone else jorkin it to this stuff's peak
yeah my patreon's for my short-story writing and also sometimes i do like. boob selfies or whatever. i mean sure. takes a few seconds to make a bonus thing like that, right? (spends 2 hours editing a 90 second video of me taking my bra off) okay wait
not going mad with power is a choice u have to actively make every second of every day. none of u understand how hard it is to pass all the willpower checks necessary to not log onto my discord server and just go "@everyone praise me" or "@everyone whats your favorite post ive made" or "@everyone gimme one dollar theres a doctor habit plushie out"
and of course theyre all begging for me to do it anyway. some life of brian shit is happening to me. they wanna worship me so bad but im literally just some girl that gets really dominant when she takes adderall. sighhhh. but it would be so easy
not going mad with power is a choice u have to actively make every second of every day. none of u understand how hard it is to pass all the willpower checks necessary to not log onto my discord server and just go "@everyone praise me" or "@everyone whats your favorite post ive made" or "@everyone gimme one dollar theres a doctor habit plushie out"
and of course theyre all begging for me to do it anyway. some life of brian shit is happening to me. they wanna worship me so bad but im literally just some girl that gets really dominant when she takes adderall. sighhhh. but it would be so easy
not going mad with power is a choice u have to actively make every second of every day. none of u understand how hard it is to pass all the willpower checks necessary to not log onto my discord server and just go "@everyone praise me" or "@everyone whats your favorite post ive made" or "@everyone gimme one dollar theres a doctor habit plushie out"
sorry to say but, you actually have to successfully bridge relativity and quantum physics to brainwash girls. its an unsolved problem. at best anyone has only ever braindrizzled girls. so sad to see misinformation on tumblr these days.
you squeezed your eyes shut
when you were born,
and scarcely could you begin to imagine darkness
before your blood ferried colors and lights into your vision
to keep you from being alone.
you saw the dancing lights
and twinkling stars
and knew it was a show just for you.
not in words
nor drawings
nor film
nor (ha!) poetry
could you begin to scrape the film from the syrup
and give anyone a taste.
outside of all the you
from the not-you
bubbled a not-yours voice. a
beckon
a tearful smile. a grateful sob
sounds shaping into words from outside
your shapeless blob of pure thought.
"keep your eyes closed a little longer,
and let me put something in your hands.
on the first day of gifts, i--"
and then, nervously
or eagerly
or maybe just too overcome
to even comprehend the flickering frames of thought
the not-you started to laugh, and
couldn't get another word out.
two long, thin needle-like things
slipped into your hands
and greedily, you closed your palms
feeling them prick and pinch and pull your skin
the first not-you it had ever felt.
the lights were dancing with desperation now
their impending unexistence jerking them around like wires
blinking their last messages over, and over, and over
the laughter subsided
and finally, the not-you spoke again.
"ready?"
"open your eyes."
"three"
"two"
"one."
and it was as if the dancing lights
had smeared against all of you
for just a moment
and then the brilliant gleam began to fade
and your open eyes
flicked down
to the toothpicks in your hand.
"for your eyes, my love,"
said the not-you,
"so you never have to close them again. you never have to be in the dark again."
"aren't you so grateful?"
"aren't you so happy?"
"you never have to be alone again."
"you never have to be alone again."
MORAL: When the fire dies and, rather than stoke it, all the fire-tenders run down the stairs to pry you free and hug you and laugh and cry and pull your hand until your legs walk you out of the cave,
the last thing the shadows on the wall will do is wave goodbye.
…and once again everything is strange and dreamlike; silver strands pull me from place to place again. i didn't check my map app today, didn't read the bus schedule, didn't read the work schedule. the body was awake, then on the bus, then at the hotel, rote and routine as a leaf's wavering path falling from the tree.
i sense a terrible loss, but i cannot hold it; i am hungry for nourishment and feel the energy capable of propelling me to do many things. i am afraid of fire and deep water. i love sharp wits and soft words. i cannot hold anyone's gaze without trying to eat it all in one bite. i should be on a diet. it's a cheat day.
in a dream you know what everyone is thinking, even if you don't; you dream-know that what you know-know is wrong, and the story-you becomes distinct from the viewer-you, the dreamer-you, shunted from body to body attempting to lap up the moral of the story before suddenly your alarm springs you awake. but if you set up the mechanism wrong, it would be so easy to get stuck, to sever your rope…
…would you still find yourself at work in the morning, if you never awoke? would you still be at the bus on time? would you still hit the ground? would you still flutter, and look for gazes to hold and hoard?
maybe you don't exist unless you're being perceived. even when no one else is looking, i am. i hope i don't close my eyes until someone else's are locked on mine forever.
and then i'll blink, and when i wake up, maybe i'll follow the silver threads until i wake up, up, up, to an awaker dream.
at the end,
well, G-D, maybe. or maybe just me. the audience-me. the dreamer-me, writing, watching, wondering what i'll do.
am i the me from this hypothetical or am i the writer? the writer-me knows so much more. but to be alive is to guess and gamble. so the hypothetical-me will do as it may.
i will pull the strings until i feel a tug and almost wonder why this time.
i desperately need to have sex but just metaphorically. it needs to be a drawn out process that still ends with release but with a lot more knives and mind control and tech implanted deep within my skull and blood and plants growing out of my orifices and alcohol in my cup and shivers on my skin and hands gripping my shoulders and long looks from familiar strangers and suits and tight ties and loose skirts and screaming and fingers in my mouth and fingers fucking parts of me that dont even exist yet and fingers back in my mouth and a voice telling me to suck 'em clean and shushing and shouting and threatening and soothing and red wine and yellow lights and green eyes and purple hazes and endless mazes and angel wings and cigarette smoke blown right in my face and perfume that smells like the pillow i hug tight when i need to go to my safe place and a ring on my finger and a hand gripping my hair and new clothes and an estrogen shot and alters upon alters splitting and splitting into countless "bad end" fractures of my psyche and narratives and stories and fantasies and prophecies and destinies and hell and heaven and the nothing after death and death on a stage beheld by many eyes and a pretentious discussion after the show where they interpret me not as a transgender woman but as a thing referred to as "queer" and always with "they," never even "it," and remixes and remakes and remasters and action figures and puppet shows and transfem reclamation and bloody war and battle and debate and immortality and ego death. and sex. do you understand
