Lucid daylight and blurry night

I even write in my dreams, just to give myself little indicators of where I am and what is real and physical. When my room got flooded with dirty rain water I realized that it wasn’t real; it was the inner struggle to resist temptation – a sense of foreboding about unpleasant mistakes that I will commit. Those kinds of mistakes that make you feel alive and less isolated. But by succumbing to them I know I’ll be jeopardizing something of value. And not just that, I will be placing myself to the centre of past mishaps from which I’ve not learnt anything.
Well, as far as the dirty opaque rainwater is concerned, they only reached my foot anyway and then I woke up. Too chicken to face the real part of what matters – as always.

I felt angry, angry for running away from another lucid afternoon nap. It seems that my cerebral functioning is most active during daylight, but I can’t say that it’s less operative during night. The production of rod cells in my eyes provides me with night vision within my dreams even. It’s all been darker and more blurry than ever lately. Does it have anything to do with hemispheric control? They say males are primarily dominated by the left hemisphere which is driven by aggression and desire whereas females are right-sided, meaning that the balance and stability of their mood, perception and movement are easily at stake.
Either the waves that my lobes submit are all over the place or I’m merely a ghost doing things my way.
The fun thing about self-therapy is that you can tell yourself everything – no matter how wrong or right you are. You can be full of shit and it doesn’t matter. Discipline will come by itself once determination is evident. You’ll stop feeling scared.

You want someone who is not like you. If they don’t understand you, the better it’ll be for your own wellbeing, because there is no need to talk about these things. I think this is the key to happiness for which I am due. This must be why I hate my friend. I thought I hated her for having changed her behaviour towards me, but the truth is I hate (envy) her for the life that she is leading; a life I don’t intend to live in the next ten years. I have this life to live first before even considering settling down.
This virgin in me is still lusting after other types of emptiness that she feels need feeding. You feed emptiness with the right words – they have to be served slowly and they have to be warm. The temperature is the equivalent of the immediacy of the mind. Once cooled down they are less effective, like the vividness of a dream fades away when you stop believing it’s real. It’s a shame that dreams don’t dispel guilty conscience; they rub it in your face by projecting an image onto your mind’s screen.

I’m finding it difficult not to rest my eyes during daylight. And yet, I have to control the anger and think about the consequence, I have to think about it. I mean it worked fine with my mother. I controlled myself successfully and thus I’m without regrets. The reason is because I love her and I know she’ll do anything for me. It’s just not easy applying this strategy to everything else because not everyone will do everything for me. And if they do, I won’t want them.

I have decided to talk less about it. I still have time to confront it. Do you know why fictional serial killers like Dexter or Pat Bateman are incredible? – They don’t feel a thing. And no matter what I do, I just can’t create a character that is like them, because I can’t be what I’m not.  And I’ve been longing for that sort of disconnection.

And despite the tendency to fantasize about retaliation, I don’t use people like I should. In addition I don’t ask for favours, but I do favours reluctantly. What is it that people really see in kindness? Kindness is a mask.

I’ve been so involved with my novel and my protagonist, I seem to be unable to step into my own shoes and write a simple blog these days. Allegories and metaphors have overflowed into my days and the rest is still the same.

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