I'm so done.
This blog was supposed to be a way to figure things out but shit is just getting weirder.
I think I'm done posting here so uh..
Yeah,
3. Joy - With Blind Eyes
So...
How to begin describing this...
I've told you all about my dream.
This post isn't about that.
I mean it might be? Maybe it is. I don't know anything anymore.
It seems like sleep time is not just used for dreaming, at least not for me, not anymore.
I think I "sleep-wrote"
(#not-a-thing?) this.
Whatever it is.
Letter?
Story?
I can read some of it.
Mostly it’s just confusing.
To be fair,
my sleep handwriting is about the same as my awake handwriting.
go figure.
Just realised I zoned out and was staring into space while I braided -
ah shit
I was braiding strips of one of my new shirts
(okay, not "new",
but "nicer" shirts).
Shit.
I don't remember cutting it up.
I don't even know where the scissors are now.
Did I just do this or did I do the prep work earlier?
Why are my hands on autopilot while daydreams literally steal my mind?
Why am I writing about...
"leeches... on my soul.."
(is that what that says?)????
You ever see someone and just can't shake the impression and deep,
distinct feeling that you have met them before?
When you can't place where from,
it just burrows a little deeper and the harder you think about it,
the harder the tick is to grasp -
the further the tenuous mental link seems to become??
"Nah,"
you probably say as you read this,
"I'm normal."
Well,
fine.
But
imagine that feeling applied to this writing.
Whyyyyy
I have more questions than answers by a wide margin.
It took me several hours to finish this blog entry.
My folks'd be proud.
2. Joy - I Used to Dream of Cats
I don’t know whether I’m better off than I was.
I couldn’t write anything then. I mean, I could write, but it was all shit and everything kind of felt stale and fake. It was just waiting to be erased because I was just practicing.
It doesn’t feel like practice anymore.
I’ve been writing snippets.
I’ve been daydreaming.
Weird fucking daydreams that are ruining my reality. At night I only have the reoccurring dream/nightmare of the Man in the Long Coat being swallowed by the [redacted] in the [redacted].
During the day it is almost like all the weird shit I used to dream about at night tries to break through
because it cannot work itself out while I’m asleep.
Like... I used to dream of cats a lot. Cats doing dumb stuff and being adorable and whatnot.
YEAH I KNOW, CATS. Embarrassing.
Whatever, get over it.
Now I am daydreaming of cats instead. At first I thought, oh, there is a cute cat over there, and I’d walk to wherever the fuck it was to try and coax the cat out.
No cat.
First few times was like, kind of a bummer, but no big deal. Cats run off. But now I’m seeing them in the office.
Out of the corner of my eye.
I’ve seen my old cat, Tiger.
He died 10 years ago.
It isn’t just cats, either. It is weird shit that you don’t think twice about when you’re in a dream.
A third eye on my manager’s forehead.
Oh, no worries, that’s normal. Until she turns around and walks off and I actually think about how cool it must be to be able to see the world with such open perspective. And then it dawns on me that I saw her with a third eye. And then she doesn’t have one. I’m beginning to question whether I’m actually typing this on a laptop or like.. who knows what the fuck.
Where am I, even?
I see weird shit in my mind’s eye so frequently. And it is so realistic (though the things I see are impossible) that I forget I’m not actually seeing them in reality.
Have you ever been startled that you are not where you had been daydreaming of?
You snap back to where you really are and notice you’ve missed whatever was going on around you because you were
blinded by your imagination?
Well, I’ve been doing that a lot lately, too.
I know you can’t see it but I’m cringing and grinning. It is a weird combination.
I know I look odd right now. I know these dark circles under my eyes are just getting darker.
I know I look unkempt. But I’m finally writing
– and for that I am grateful. I’m finally seeing things to write. I’m finally spinning away from the grips of the mundane.
Those greedy hands that want to keep me down.
Hands that want to grab me. Actually I have more to say on that...
The hands that want to grab me.
What if they are real?
I felt it as soon as I woke up that first time. It was like a part of the dream came back with me,
piggybacked onto my unconscious and now it lurks behind me.
Always.
This is a lot of information.
I’ve told you a bunch of shit and I know I sound nuts. I seriously don’t care right now. I am much more worried about the sensation of being watched, even when I’m completely alone at home, like I am right now.
I can feel it as I type.
I’m looking over the edge of my laptop monitor. The laptop is on my lap. I am staring at the wall across the room.
There is a spot between the TV and the framed poster where the watching is coming from.
I’m going to test something out... brb.
I hope.
I just went to make some herbal tea. It was behind me the whole time.
It got really close.
The teabag also turned into a miniature lantern at one point when I dunked it, but daydreams are weird, so whatever, ignore that.
But the presence. It was definitely there. When I was walking back in here to come back to type, it felt closer and there was more urgency.
It was on my heels,
swiping at me.
Those greedy hands...
Sorry if this has all been incoherent.
I think I need to sleep. I know I’ll see the Man in the Long Coat again.
I wonder what chases him.
1. Joy - The Man in the Long Coat
Okay, so, I don’t know if everything I write just now is going to make sense. I’m half asleep and recording a dream. I need to get this down now.
I was in the room again.
This same bloody room I’ve been dreaming of for the last year or so with its grey, blank walls. Everything in the writing room (or should I say anti-writing room? Hah... miserable...) is grey. I don’t know if I ever really thought that much about it, everything in the room is grey – like a blank canvas.
I was sitting at the desk staring at a keyboard knowing those walls might start filling in with text if I just start typing. But this time it was different.
Something had changed.
I turned around on the cold grey stool I was perched on. The room was cold actually. I never really thought about that before. Anyways, there was a [redacted]. A [REDACTED].
There’s never been a [redacted] before.
Like, where the hell did that come from?
I get the impression it is unlocked, but for some reason it could lock at any second. I grabbed the cold enamel [redacted]knob and turned it, and I stopped.
It wasn’t locked yet, but I felt scared. I just stood there and tried to think of excuses not to open the [redacted] in case there were bad things behind it. Why couldn’t it be good things behind the [redacted]??
I pulled and the [redacted] opened in. I noticed bright particles of dust being sucked into the abyss – it was actually a long dark [redacted].
I don’t know why I took a step forward but there was an urgency now.
I felt like something was behind me and I basically leapt into the [redacted] to try and escape the sensation.
It only intensified. I was afraid of seeing whatever was watching me, so I started running further down the [redacted].
I felt like I did when I was a child in the basement of our old house.
That time when the lights went out while I was down there, and suddenly I felt naked in the dark. Vulnerable. Like I was about to be stabbed from every direction.
I ran blindly. But I never hit the [redacted] of the [redacted]. I saw a spark of light up ahead and I headed straight for it in the hopes of outrunning the feeling of being watched...
a feeling of being chased.
The [redacted] was darting around, and as I got closer I realized it was a [redacted] and a river of cold ran through my body. Someone was moving the [redacted] around.
There was someone else here.
I saw the silhouette of a man, his back to me.
The Man in the Long Coat.
I was close enough to see that he was examining a long, vertical [redacted] in the [redacted] in front of him.
I remember taking a step forward and my footstep echoed loud on the hard floor. When he turned to me I could see he looked beaten and bruised. His features sunken – he looked feral.
Angry and afraid.
The [redacted] in the [redacted] opened up behind him as he turned to me. It opened up and swallowed him whole.
A mouth of pitch black closed its maw and he was gone.
I keep seeing his face. He looked haunted. I woke up crying and drew this. I don’t know how to make sense of it. I just keep seeing him turn to me, turn away from the [redacted] and be eaten.