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neutrality, blogs, on school and psyche
once again i have something similar. i feel it again. i have some ambience playing, that new Piranesi release. its just a heating box, or something, i guess the sound is indescribable. it makes it feel quieter than silent. occasionally, every 10 minutes, a muffled bwam will play, like hitting a sheet of metal. the title of the track sets an image. it adds contrast. its sort of like those scenes with a vibrant fast-moving world and then a still mute thing. but the contrast of the still mute thing is persistent and i dont have any vibrant scene before it.
i keep finding disturbing blogs. suicidal girls, most of the time. i keep finding suicidal girls' blogs. i honestly dont really feel disturbed by it. its hard to disturb me. they just keep showing up.
i dont really know what to make of it. the feeling. i feel melancholy. neutral? i tend to see neutrality as good rather than neutral. it could be worse, i recite to myself. it could be worse. i feel neutral-bad, now. i dont feel sad, but i dont feel happy. i guess this is neutrality. i feel poetic. i dont really, like, notice anything. im not getting any poems. i cant articulate myself on this. its exclusively a feeling and not a writing. everything eludes me. it eludes me. i felt as though i had pretty much figured out the nature of the world and all, but i still am eluded by things in my mind a lot. ive figured out the external, but the internal is malleable and abstract. i dont really know whats going on in here, let alone how to transcribe it back out to the world and writing. the ambience keeps this sound, a honeycomb. a honeycomb? i thought there was an instrument that looked like a honeycomb... no, the comb is the shape. its the stick. the sound is of the rubbing of the ridges on a honeycomb stick. i havent heard the sound of it since kindergarten. i miss it. i feel my nose do that sort of almost bloating sensation it does when i have the turning sensation of being about to cry. my music class in kindergarten didnt really teach me anything. it was in the same room as all the athletic classes, which was in a large long-rectangular room with blue rubber walls and a black rubber floor, the floor with those ridges of giant puzzle pieces, which were because the floor was actually white marble and was padded over. the blue walls were like thin stunt-fall boxes, like at trampoline parks. i realize these same walls were used more or less verbatim in all of the athletic-related rooms in all the years i was at that school. it had one big light, and a window to the computer room. we used to have meditations with dimmed lights. whenever i think of inhumane science experiments, torture by sleep deprivation, i imagine a hapless person at their wits end in the center of my kindergarten athletic room with the lights dimmed. the low light made me feel sort of applied to myself, rather than being myself. it made me feel like my eyes were askew from each other vertically, and my head was in a superposition of nodded forward and back, my scalp with goosebumps. my music class was at the far end of the room, cooped up in the far left corner. i always had percussion instruments, i thought of myself as righteously violent and i never could get a coherent tune out of any pitch-changeable object. there was always a mess of surplus blue rubber objects, a sort of grey area is drawn over the spot in my mind, but in the far right area there was a door to the computers' room and a lot of blue objects. big vague blue objects. closer to the door there was this dumpster, also blue, which had big rigid blue objects of various building-block shapes, like the props from that wiiware game, Art of Balance, circles (not spheres), rectangles, archways, walls, cylinders. there're vague memories in my minds eye of me and my unnamed unfaced classmates using these to assemble buildings and tracks. i tended to be less active in it, since i wasnt very good at it. one of my neighbors outside of my house just let a firework explode, completely randomly, making me flinch and feel a quick instinct of hate and disdain toward whoever fired it. i have been listening to Piranesi's 81st ambience track for 34 minutes and 0 seconds. i used to knock into the architecture more than i built it. i generally felt unfazed by reprimand and, in fact, due to my underdeveloped self-awareness and lifelong understimulation, tended to mindlessly do it and then the adrenaline from being yelled at just caused me to do it again. my school had a fully-blue padded room for what they called FA, though i had never heard of this term until middle school, which stood for Functioning Academic, though it wasnt until high school that it had ever been clarified to me what it actually stood for. FA, which was their non-offensive term for a low-functioning autistic (the school was dedicated to autism), where they shoved in an FA and let the kid scream and bash around in the empty padded room until they fainted, basically. it couldnt have been any worse if they had made blue rubber straitjackets, for all i know. i wasnt one of these, so i never went in there, but i always saw the room as inhumane and strange. one time, when i was at lunch in middle school, for a reason i do not remember, i ended up being yelled at by a high school teacher, which i totally ignored as much as possible because i did not believe high school teachers had any power whatsoever over me, since i was not in high school at the time. the highlight of it was that i eventually sat (forced) at the table nearest to the lunch-dispensing desk, the only one at this table except for the teacher, whom was a tall black man, and i sat reluctantly, hoping to jump and scram away whenever he let his guard down, and at some point or another i eventually got to talking about Uvita, since i drank it probably the day before or so, and it was on my mind. of course, being so young, i really didnt have much common sense or critical thinking, doing whatever came to my mind, so i decided to talk to this guy about grape soda, and i told him it tasted like medicine, and it was delicious, and he told me medicine tastes bad, and he didnt really care about it, and i quickly realized he felt i just wasnt really a person, due to my behavior. i realized he just saw me as a nusiance, like an obstacle, like FA, like some background radiation to his life. i realized i meant nothing and was fodder in the list of peoples he had seen. i realized i meant nothing to some people, i realized, for instance, if there were to be a fire drill and i were to start attacking people instead of leaving uniformly, i would be seen as a nuisance for two seconds and then forgotten about, rather than some idol of independence. of course, i was stubborn, so upon realizing this i felt the instinctual need to not let him know i realized this, so the realization did nothing to my behavior, and i continued to bother everyone around me anyway, eventually stowing this realization away and it doing nothing to my behavior, demeanor or treatment of people.
i keep finding disturbing blogs. suicidal girls, most of the time. i keep finding suicidal girls' blogs. i honestly dont really feel disturbed by it. its hard to disturb me. they just keep showing up.
i dont really know what to make of it. the feeling. i feel melancholy. neutral? i tend to see neutrality as good rather than neutral. it could be worse, i recite to myself. it could be worse. i feel neutral-bad, now. i dont feel sad, but i dont feel happy. i guess this is neutrality. i feel poetic. i dont really, like, notice anything. im not getting any poems. i cant articulate myself on this. its exclusively a feeling and not a writing. everything eludes me. it eludes me. i felt as though i had pretty much figured out the nature of the world and all, but i still am eluded by things in my mind a lot. ive figured out the external, but the internal is malleable and abstract. i dont really know whats going on in here, let alone how to transcribe it back out to the world and writing. the ambience keeps this sound, a honeycomb. a honeycomb? i thought there was an instrument that looked like a honeycomb... no, the comb is the shape. its the stick. the sound is of the rubbing of the ridges on a honeycomb stick. i havent heard the sound of it since kindergarten. i miss it. i feel my nose do that sort of almost bloating sensation it does when i have the turning sensation of being about to cry. my music class in kindergarten didnt really teach me anything. it was in the same room as all the athletic classes, which was in a large long-rectangular room with blue rubber walls and a black rubber floor, the floor with those ridges of giant puzzle pieces, which were because the floor was actually white marble and was padded over. the blue walls were like thin stunt-fall boxes, like at trampoline parks. i realize these same walls were used more or less verbatim in all of the athletic-related rooms in all the years i was at that school. it had one big light, and a window to the computer room. we used to have meditations with dimmed lights. whenever i think of inhumane science experiments, torture by sleep deprivation, i imagine a hapless person at their wits end in the center of my kindergarten athletic room with the lights dimmed. the low light made me feel sort of applied to myself, rather than being myself. it made me feel like my eyes were askew from each other vertically, and my head was in a superposition of nodded forward and back, my scalp with goosebumps. my music class was at the far end of the room, cooped up in the far left corner. i always had percussion instruments, i thought of myself as righteously violent and i never could get a coherent tune out of any pitch-changeable object. there was always a mess of surplus blue rubber objects, a sort of grey area is drawn over the spot in my mind, but in the far right area there was a door to the computers' room and a lot of blue objects. big vague blue objects. closer to the door there was this dumpster, also blue, which had big rigid blue objects of various building-block shapes, like the props from that wiiware game, Art of Balance, circles (not spheres), rectangles, archways, walls, cylinders. there're vague memories in my minds eye of me and my unnamed unfaced classmates using these to assemble buildings and tracks. i tended to be less active in it, since i wasnt very good at it. one of my neighbors outside of my house just let a firework explode, completely randomly, making me flinch and feel a quick instinct of hate and disdain toward whoever fired it. i have been listening to Piranesi's 81st ambience track for 34 minutes and 0 seconds. i used to knock into the architecture more than i built it. i generally felt unfazed by reprimand and, in fact, due to my underdeveloped self-awareness and lifelong understimulation, tended to mindlessly do it and then the adrenaline from being yelled at just caused me to do it again. my school had a fully-blue padded room for what they called FA, though i had never heard of this term until middle school, which stood for Functioning Academic, though it wasnt until high school that it had ever been clarified to me what it actually stood for. FA, which was their non-offensive term for a low-functioning autistic (the school was dedicated to autism), where they shoved in an FA and let the kid scream and bash around in the empty padded room until they fainted, basically. it couldnt have been any worse if they had made blue rubber straitjackets, for all i know. i wasnt one of these, so i never went in there, but i always saw the room as inhumane and strange. one time, when i was at lunch in middle school, for a reason i do not remember, i ended up being yelled at by a high school teacher, which i totally ignored as much as possible because i did not believe high school teachers had any power whatsoever over me, since i was not in high school at the time. the highlight of it was that i eventually sat (forced) at the table nearest to the lunch-dispensing desk, the only one at this table except for the teacher, whom was a tall black man, and i sat reluctantly, hoping to jump and scram away whenever he let his guard down, and at some point or another i eventually got to talking about Uvita, since i drank it probably the day before or so, and it was on my mind. of course, being so young, i really didnt have much common sense or critical thinking, doing whatever came to my mind, so i decided to talk to this guy about grape soda, and i told him it tasted like medicine, and it was delicious, and he told me medicine tastes bad, and he didnt really care about it, and i quickly realized he felt i just wasnt really a person, due to my behavior. i realized he just saw me as a nusiance, like an obstacle, like FA, like some background radiation to his life. i realized i meant nothing and was fodder in the list of peoples he had seen. i realized i meant nothing to some people, i realized, for instance, if there were to be a fire drill and i were to start attacking people instead of leaving uniformly, i would be seen as a nuisance for two seconds and then forgotten about, rather than some idol of independence. of course, i was stubborn, so upon realizing this i felt the instinctual need to not let him know i realized this, so the realization did nothing to my behavior, and i continued to bother everyone around me anyway, eventually stowing this realization away and it doing nothing to my behavior, demeanor or treatment of people.