Dear Diary,
Who I became was shattered by who I was and I don’t know how to get back to who I want to be.
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what was it like to fall in love with me?
asleep in the morning, awake in the night//
what is it like to fall out of love with me?
i feel so annoyed and, i dont know why
kais - who i was
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I'm not real
I don't exist. Reality isn't real. My body is being controlled by a puppeteer, and the strings are growing ever weaker and weaker. Soon they'll break, and I will forever be lost.
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Ideal work schedule:
I show up and am given a list of cognitively engaging but achievable tasks
I complete the list
I leave immedietly
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I hate how people will look at popular indie artists who had one or two songs go viral on TikTok and start making fun of anybody who listens to them. "Oh you listen to Lemon Demon, Will Wood, Jack Stauber, Glass Animals, and Mother Mother? Tsk, don't you know that is stupid TikTok neurodivergent white transmasc preteen music? It's so mid and bad you should listen to real music–" you are a pit of misery
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Sometimes I wish we would start calling out the performative radicalism on this site for the poser bullshit it is. "Remember, it's always morally correct to kill a cop!" "Don't forget to firebomb your local government office!" "Wow, it sure would be a shame if these instructions on how to make a molotov cocktail got spread around!"
Okay. But you're not killing cops or firebombing government offices. You are posting on a dying microblogging website to a carefully-curated echo chamber that has radicalized itself into thinking that taking the absolute most extreme position on any subject is praxis but that anyone discussing the most practical way to effect actual change is your sworn enemy. You do not have the street cred OR the activist cred to be talking about killing cops, babe.
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Big fan of characters realizing they don't get to die. They have to live. And grow. And be a person. And deal with shit they thought they'd never have to. And be fucked up about it. I would like more of this. Enough dying for honor or as redemption. It ain't. You're just a corpse. There is no moral value in dirt time.
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