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Jan. 1st, 2025 12:00 amCall me Richard; it fits me better than Ishmael. It's not my real name, or it is depending on your definition of "real", but it's what I'll be using right here.
What you've stumbled on, been linked to, or awoken from a fugue to find yourself confronting, is a slow and mostly haphazard sifting through all the gunk at the bottom of my brain. It will be disorganized, probably redundant, certainly self-contradictory, and often uninteresting to people who aren't me.
A lot of it will be fiction, or fictionalized accounts of real events. Some of it will be farfetched enough reality that a certain segment of the population will want to think it's fiction. Some of if will be quite normal and even common experience. Some won't fall into any of these categories.
It will contain the mental equivalent of unidentifiable sludge pulled from the back of the fridge. It will contain words coughed onto the electronic page which will seem banal, pretentious, or laughable in a calmer mood. It will contain things downright radioactive in their sensibilities.
If you're reading the journal, you've signed on for it. You can leave at any time. I welcome discussion. But I make no apologies.
An obligatory disclaimer: Fantasies and the like acknowledged, I still know where my brain ends and the rest of the world begins. Fiction is fiction and fantasies are fantasies, and I do not now and have not ever planned actual nonconsensual violence on anyone. Besides, this journal exists to keep things from festering. People who are open about their lives tend to be healthier, better-adjusted. This is my outlet. You needn't be afraid.
What you've stumbled on, been linked to, or awoken from a fugue to find yourself confronting, is a slow and mostly haphazard sifting through all the gunk at the bottom of my brain. It will be disorganized, probably redundant, certainly self-contradictory, and often uninteresting to people who aren't me.
A lot of it will be fiction, or fictionalized accounts of real events. Some of it will be farfetched enough reality that a certain segment of the population will want to think it's fiction. Some of if will be quite normal and even common experience. Some won't fall into any of these categories.
It will contain the mental equivalent of unidentifiable sludge pulled from the back of the fridge. It will contain words coughed onto the electronic page which will seem banal, pretentious, or laughable in a calmer mood. It will contain things downright radioactive in their sensibilities.
If you're reading the journal, you've signed on for it. You can leave at any time. I welcome discussion. But I make no apologies.
An obligatory disclaimer: Fantasies and the like acknowledged, I still know where my brain ends and the rest of the world begins. Fiction is fiction and fantasies are fantasies, and I do not now and have not ever planned actual nonconsensual violence on anyone. Besides, this journal exists to keep things from festering. People who are open about their lives tend to be healthier, better-adjusted. This is my outlet. You needn't be afraid.