Textus, scribo, scripsum.

The words, here... They're what matter most. (Hi, all! I'm Kyle, 23, and your typical cis-white-male; Prideful telerevisionist, among other things. Stay and find out!) The static in the screen will tell you the future, whether you know it or not.

[thetextiwriteiwrote]

Buried on a Monday

Hi, hi! It's Friday-eve, all, and I just wanted to buzz in near-midnight and really self-destruct my way into a good morning tomorrow. Let tonight be messy. Tomorrow's a new day of being clean and sober.

Still finding motivation to write, but the urge is there, from time to time. I need to capture lightning in a bottle, again. It's going to be hard, but I want it more than anything else I can think of in the current moment, so let's take a step back, and talk about our respective days.

Work, work, work, more work, but at the end of it all, I still got to sit with my family and maintain a small semblance of mental peace and fortitude in our mutual condominium of solitude, as it were. I've given advice on supporting people to other people, in turn, supporting them.

Overall, I've fixed things for a handful of people, harmed as few as possible, and gotten enough work done to justify spiritually resting. I need to see if I can clock another 8 hours tonight, not dissimilar to the past two nights prior.

So this is where I'll have to begin to leave it. This was fun, I should blog more often and really get it down to a science. I'm still finding my footing with this new piece-age and I'm hoping to be around for a long time. It's just a matter of finding consistent, reliable motivation and creativity.

I need a muse, more than I've needed a muse in recent years. I know what I'm looking for, too. She wouldn't even need to have sex with me-- I'm perfectly-capable of an entirely-sexless relationship out of respect for the partner. I wouldn't dare make them look at my smoggy, lead-heavy body unless they had express desire to do so, that I could actually trust.

That's been my Achilles' over the course of my entire life, trusting that the other person was attracted to me enough to have sex. Common sense dictates that they wouldn't be there if they didn't want to be but-- I feel unattractive in the bedroom, likely because I am, but I won't bore you with the gory details of those particular mishaps at this juncture. It's nearly midnight and you've got to get to sleep!

I'll tell more stories as I slip into a comfort-zone here. This needs to be my comfort-zone, because Lord knows meditating isn't working.

Ciao, all. May we all have a fortuitous Friday! Excelsior!

...I'm so sorry.

[thetextiwriteiwrote]

finding the courage again

i can't write

is my brain broken?

I can't write anything. I can't even write one word. I can't find my malcontentedness with reality anymore. I keep going inward, I keep introspecting instead. I keep thinking I'm the problem. I need to separate my own art from my own artist, and maybe then I'll be able to write again.

I'm going to keep this journal sensationally-short because it's an endurance-run to even see how long I can keep writing for with this new medication I've been put on. I need to meet an old friend for coffee and get air put in my tires today. That's my itinerary. Maybe I haven't written because I haven't stumbled into anything that breaks my barrier for needing to vent, past my fatigable battery for seeing my own text on screen.

Let's keep it short, sweet, and to the point, today. I'm trying as hard as I can to trust and love the world with this, as I've only recently come out of my cave with the ideas that I have on improving the lives around me. Stay tuned. Please.

[thetextiwriteiwrote]

False Obits and Overdramaticism

Go ahead? Put anything? Literally? On God? Just like that?

I suppose it's trying to probe my brain for thoughts, which is fair, but I'll divulge them at my own pace, thank you, graphics-interface. I don't need the suggestion to talk about how I'm feeling. If that cauldron happens to be boiling or broiling anywhere near the surface, you'll be the first to know.

I have a funny grip on my hearing that tells me I might very well have a day like that tomorrow, but I'll be in love with the feeling, because I'll be back at work. I'll be able to flex these new people-skrillz that I've picked up in recent days.

There'll be those that I can't help, but I'll try with everyone. I need to try with people or else they might never bother to try with me, and I'm worth trying with-- I'm worth trying out-- and I'm worth taking home. This, I have to prove to myself by proving it to society for a while.

Then, the gym-etiquette will come back to me, and I'll be cycling again like my heart depends on it, and it does. Love or no love, cycling puts distance between me and my emotions as I'm currently feeling them, so that I might be able to process them.

It's all running, at the end of the day. Spiritual and physical cardio, we do these things to clear our heads. We watch TV, we play games, we bob our heads to music and pretend to know what it all means.

But none of us know, we're all learning together, gradually, slowly, gently. It's a process, believe me. As someone who is fighting tooth and nail to be and feel better and better each day, it doesn't get easier, but it shouldn't have to get easier.

It should get harder. That's how leveling up works.

If you're constantly boxing at your skill-level, you'll never get better. Metaphors. I have too much energy to slow down, take my time, and write a periodic draft of this, which is why you're getting the manic ramblings of someone freshly-medicated and freshly-reunited with his family, job, and support-structure. I got my job back! It's all thanks to these little circular white tabs that give me a fighting chance against my psychosis.

One tablet, every night, at 9PM, right before bed.

I'll stay creative. I'll stay content. I'll stay healthy.

[thetextiwriteiwrote]

Learning to Regiment; I've Learned Nothing at All

I need to obtain a copy of Elizabeth Gilbert's "Eat, Pray, Love", as fast as possible. Do any of you have a copy that I could borrow forever? I need it hardcovered and pristine, with you having no hopes or desires of ever getting it back. I'd like that as a gift, right now, from someone.

Distancing myself from feeling/being special has allowed my gift-needs to reduce in ratio, as well. Having said that, I'm still asking people for things. I need to get a job, and for that, I either need to beg more, or balance myself out well-enough before jumping back into the pool insofar that nobody new expects a damn thing.

My only other option would be to call the old man-- get a job, get a job, gotta get a job. I have a little money but I gotta get a job. There's savings I'm living on currently, but it's becoming harder and harder to breathe every day with this drug-addict monkey on my back.

It's me, I am monkey.

The problem comes down to the time of it all. I don't have the time that I need to get sober, as sober as I need to be in order to pass a test, at least. I could lay around the house, canceling memberships and trying to save the place as much money as possible but... No, I should do that, I will do that.

I've had such issues with my determination, resolve, and regimentation, lately. I'm always looking for tips on how to be/feel better. I don't think happiness is an activatable, controllable state, but if anyone has the cheat-codes for 'peace', I know that one, or at least I've known that one.

I'd be more familiar with it than anything, I like peace. Peace makes me feel like I could perish and that the world would turn effortlessly without my weight upon it. Kyle is dead, the world can turn just a little bit faster now because of it.

That's not me feeling peaceful, I think. I think that might be depression wearing the cloak of peace. Is this what I do when I'm depressed? Do I journal about how depressed I am so that the world doesn't have to see it? I'm taking antipsychotics, not antidepressants, I think it's important to remember.

I can still get defeated, I can still feel depressed, but I have to fight, fight and rail against that feeling because it's not real. I'm just erratic and sleepy. Maybe a nap would fix it after some warm tea.

All the more peace upon all the more of you, in the meantime, though. I'm going to try to recover this afternoon. Ciao~!

[thetextiwriteiwrote]

Have I Learned Anything at All?

I ask this but I genuinely don't know. And I know the lot of you don't have the time to witness me feel my way around to figure out if I have. The spoiler is most certainly that I have, as gauche as it is to admit-- I've run dry on vocabulary, and so the rest has to be poured from the heart.

Have I learned anything? Have I learned anything at all from this experience? We tap our pencils as we would quills against our temples, just trying to glean some kind of wisdom from our time spent observing a text.

We're hungry for it, starving for it, even, some of us. The wisdom on the walls beckons to the point that it causes us to tear open some kind of malicious, own-seeing, third-eye. This third-eye is secretly a malevolent figure by virtue of the fact that it is a variable, entering your lifespan kicking and screaming in the form of some kind of schizophrenic outburst of pure, stark-raving madness.

No dishevelment upon anyone currently-grappling with those tendencies, my first brush with them got me Baker Acted, and I refuse to inherit my father's maddening strife, or my mother's anxious detachment.

I resolve to be another secret third thing altogether, casting my spells quietly for the good of mankind, writing what I can from my ivory tower, that secretly exists as a monument to slovenly-living. I attempt to guide others toward a treasure I feel I cannot possess, success, achievement, love, you name it.

I must rest, now, as I've a doctor's appointment in the morning to see if any of these changes are actually going to stick or not. I suppose it comes down to me.

That's it! That's what I've learned!

It comes down to me, past-present-and-future. That kind of accountability can make people want to start digging up your skeletons, but a sudden uproar of accountability shouldn't be a scary thing, it should be what we're all reaching toward-- a state of being in touch with our feelings, emotions, and nerves, while also being in full control of ourselves... This is homeostasis. This is ideal.

So that's what I've learned from my experience, I suppose. It falls to me in order to maintain my relationships, and ensure that they don't rot. I need to be the one to communicate, yet again, I need to be the one to talk, and to say the right things, again, and again...

That's how I love the world, saying the perfect thing over and over, until I am nothing but a belayed, purple and putrescent husk of what was ultimately, kind-of an asshole.

In any case, let's smile and try to get some well-medicated rest tonight, for the doctors we may need see tomorrow... I'll purge the memories there, the doctor played a fine game triggering me and guiding me toward the right way to heal.

Embrace your triggers.

Use isolated agitation to train your brain.

Thank the good doctor.

And trust the apple.

[thetextiwriteiwrote]

Let... the Wizardry (Blogging) Begin!

Ouch. I can tell that it's going to take a while for me to get the handle of just how unproductive I want my writing to be. Do I want to write tight, engaging text that is whipped at you all like nobody's business? Or do I want to make the tightness come in the form of the scheduling?

I'd love to post something driftingly-fantastical every morning, and with this as my mission-statement, I'll do my upmost in writing every day, attempting to paint what fantasy or rant I can grasp in the morning-moment. I always like to keep one booted-foot based within reality, after all.

I've recently returned from my trip to an ancillary psych-ward, and in reality, this has made things rather difficult as I'm learning to walk, and talk to people all over again. It was a behavioral facility more than anything-- and to be Baker Acted at 23 in America is nothing special.

Being dragged away, or rather, dragging yourself away is perfectly-normal behavior when you're attempting to kick all of your bad habits at once and to hold yourself accountable. Though I'm something of an unconscious fool, as I'd turned myself into the police. The animal brain knew them to be justiciars, but now I see them through a more compassionate lens.

I can't help but see everyone in the world as just needing love now, and it hurts to see, because love to each of them means something elsely, something entirely-different to what it means to me. Love is everything. To some, it might be survival, being given the means of self-sustenance or even just a bit of self-care...

Be the care someone needs. That'll be love to them in the moment, and instantly, more doors will begin to open with them, as if telekinetically.

I think that's all of the energy I'll have for today's advice, so I'll pose the questions to you now. The wizard asks, how're you all doing? It's my first post on this particular blog, so I'm hoping to begin a new aeon within it. With new aeons, come strange friends, and I hope to gather as many as possible on my starwings as I ascend to something close to astral greatness.

Some of you may shoot further than me in the grand starscape, and for that, I'll be eternally-grateful, because you learned from my mistakes, the proper lessons, and utilized them to springboard yourself arcanically beyond anyone's wildest expectations of you, even your own.

Do the things, people! Do more things!