Falling apart
Sorry if I'm seeming a little slower in my posting or if my writing degraded in any way. I can feel my hinges rusting everytime I postpone a blog sometimes, and it makes it more fiddly to open myself up and allow whatever I was thinking to air out even if there's nothing interesting on the inside, even though I'm not even a door. Both you and me musn't try to pressure ourselves to upload though, that's the fool's move and the road only leads to BurnOutVille population: you and many sad others.
I feel like my brain is a little recreation of it made with playdoh made by a child with no accomplishments: It's crudely shaped with uneven edges, no use in actual intelligence, you force a grin due to the mere fact it was made by a kid, it's harmless but ultimately just unremarkable and it will be inevitably sat on thus squished into unrecognizable mush.
There's a certain reflex in whenever you dwell on the answer was to the question only for you to click and realize the answer to be very obvious and right in front of you. A reflex that makes your spine curls inwards and a blood vessel might pop as you yak out an "I'm such an IDIOT!" pushing each word out of the inbetweens from your teeth with your tongue. I'm very much exaggerating this wording but I like to chisle at the stone and give the readers a very specific mental image, I think it's what they would want.
But my point is I do indeed, feel like my skull is dense. If I didn't have ear holes for the sound to have a hideout in, my skull's walls will be noise-cancelling. I pretend to be smart by ending my sentences with periods and having capitalization and the such, especially on public forums. Whenever it comes to private messages I seem to have a switch and now proceed to type in a very colloquial way, and people that experienced it for themselves can vouch.
I need to snap my fingers, where the snap'll wipe both of our memories from those last 4 paragraphs and switch this topic.
*Snap snap* Okay, where were we now?...
Maybe it's because of me listening to music as I type this thus the sound waves are creating grooves in my brain wrinkles thus making me feel all sorts of these things, but I feel like my body is nearing the border of falling apart piece by piece like a tree approaching the season of autumn until there's nothing left to shield my ugly bare core in these rough winds. I don't mean that mentally like I'm on the brink of bursting into violent tears, I'm saying my body can buckle down and break apart like a crudely modeled clay figure with unevenly distributed weight.
I'll have my regular morning as I have my cup of joe, until I realized one of my fingers fell off as I was walking to the kitchen. It's no different than losing 500 strands of hair daily from me, my bedroom is a bird's nest of hair. I lose more fingers, not thinking about much of it. Until then, I lose one of my hands, and then the order goes: arm, teeth, tongue, jaw, eye, toe, foot, leg. Suddenly in the most silent moment, the rest of my head tips over and falls off. When I'm still concious I find out I'm actually full of sand instead of a regular human diet like Doritos, I am just a sand-filled cloth torso of meaninglessness.
I'm like a college passion project of a carefully built statue of un-glued Legos; emphasis on "unglued". I'm on full display in a Lego museum where everyone takes pictures of, or with me. Suddenly, an unattended 4 year old gets a little too handsy with me and I tip over. My whole body explodes into a thousand tiny pieces and all I can do is just lay there as I hear the sounds of many shouts, gasps, picture taking and parental scolding. After closing my parts get cleaned up and sorted neatly once more, but each and every individual brick that once made of me is still concious, MY conciousness. I hope my builders are able to retrieve my body parts and build me into something beautiful again.
The world's weirdest ramblings of what it would be like to quite literally fall apart asides, all of these stem on the idea of "missing body parts" and death as an end goal. It's no different and I'm not surprised: I had strange obsessions and strange fixations as a kid, it's usually because of consuming something unusual that my brain felt like it needed to focus it's full power onto and it eventually devolves into me dreaming and daydreaming about it. I have a mild anguish in my chest for having to write out the word "daydream" because that'd imply I must enjoy it and get off to it and I have some form of sick fuck trait rooted within me.
I... just truly don't know what is wrong with me. No word and no therapist buzzword fits right with my case here, it's not like I can defend myself with a "I severely hate it and would absolutely annihilate the ability to have tis at any chance I can get." because I feel like it'd do way more damage if I suddenly didn't have an imagination anymore versus just sitting in the dark staring at a wall and mustering up garbage like those 2 stories I told you.
I can spend the next 5 minutes to come up with an excuse to defend my self dignity just so my reputation wouldn't get shattered to powders of broken glass because of everyone believing I'm a sick and twisted fuck, but I think I've tied myself and my own legs into a knot right here. So I'll just leave it off here, with an ambiguous ending and no solid plot, very unsatisfactory.
I wonder if people just read this because it's like they're looking at a zoo animal... Well, that's going to be my next blog.