23 APRIL THE SAE-ISM DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Happy Sae-ism anniversary. Today a year ago at about 7 pm or so I discovered Sae-ism. I don't think a single day has gone past since then in which I haven't thought about Sae-ism at least once. I love you Sae-ism. Oi vita, oi vita mia, oi core e chistu core, si stat o primmo amore. (DISCLAIMER: I AM NOT NEAPOLITAN)
(The anniversary of this site went past and I didn't even notice because I was looking forwards to the Sae-ism anniversary too much. Anyways ummm new pages coming soon I swear)
I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S BEEN A FULL YEAR OF THIS SHIT and I mean of being the number one fan of the worst piece of media ever
I love you Sae-ism
19 April, 2025
Thank you r/SCAcirclejerk.
Girls what the fuck I wonder why so many neocities males who are like "not all men 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 male loneliness crisis we're letting men down POOR MEN let's help men" follow ME??????? Like it's happened about twice or thrice now...... Do I look like I would tolerate your opinion............ Are you POSITIVE you really understand how I feel about you............ And since I'm on this topic I've had a few porn sites follow me before, like, sites who hosted real life porn. Which. Yknow. Like those are top 2 people who shouldn't follow my site, and I still see them follow me sometimes, which is WILD. Like you shouldn't follow a site for the fucking aesthetics ONLY; if you want that then go on fucking carrd???? Idk. Maybe you should READ a couple lines of text off the webpage you want to follow 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 Most sites on here aren't just cute baka uwu displays of the webmaster's favourite aesthetics, they are a very intimate thing. Neocities is not pinterest. I'm not into DNIs because I think they're dumb, I think that simply being very vocal and adamant about your values will drive away people who hold the opposite values, but apparently it doesn't work if people can't fucking read. I know that a lot of people on neocities share this frustration, so I'm just putting this rant out here.
Since last entry's design fiasco I haven't coded anything at all LMAOOO so it certainly isn't coming out on the 23rd. It's crazy though how it's gonna be so soon. Soon, a full year will have passed. It's also crazy getting so meditative over my anniversary of reading motherfucking Sae-ism, but what can I say?? It feels like it's been such a short time since then. Not Sae-ism - in general. Maybe I'm just clinging onto those times in hopes of reliving them again. I'm more than halfway through April, and even though I've loved her, it just isn't as iconic as last year. My fault, I know. Whatever. I love you Sae-ism. This feels like my wedding anniversary to me.
No, really. A YEAR? What have I done in the meantime? Sulla is about to flower again, and her flowers will shock me into the realization that it's May. MAY??????? I guess that in the meantime, I've learned that she's edible. Yeah, I've done that. But what else?
My portulaca hasn't sprouted yet, which is weird. If she doesn't sprout, I'll take it as a curse from the spring months! And if she sprouts, and grows, and blooms, I'll have to make space in my mind for not only one portulaca in my life, but two. And as the years go on, and the portulacas pile up, will the memory of the first one fade away?? "Signora, fammi mare / dentro la mente"! My improvised nursery is really big this year. Some days ago, at night, the wind knocked over all the cups with tepary beans inside. In case you don't know tepary beans are probably THE most renowned drought tolerant crop ever, I got them as an 18th birthday gift and I have no idea how much they even cost...... I put them back in the dirt, all but THREE seeds who were missing and who were probably swept away by the wind. SUCKS!!! Most of my pea seedlings also got swept away, leaving me with a singular pea plant. I planted it anyways but..... yknow. Green bean seedlings are spindly as fuck, I'm throwing them out. I'm waiting to harvest the yellow radishes. I sowed purple tansy this year too, obviously, in various spots. I'm feeling very generous... I'm happy that I didn't rip out my callas like I'd been thinking, because now that they bloomed, they're basically a insect hotel. I could only smell the flower for the first couple of days, and then it got overtaken by giant insects inside it. Both bees and some big fucking speckled... beetles??? It's THEIRS now....... I keep my nose away. But I'm very happy for them. I also bought two lavender plants, and two lemon balms. Cur femina moriatur cui lavandula melissaque crescunt in hortu? And helichrysum... I met her on a mountaintop, learned her name on another mountaintop... I fell in love with her, she smells so good. I hope she does well in my garden, I'm not used to transplants, I usually do everything from seed. I've also transplanted her into barely amended clay soil. She should make it, since she grows wild around here. Volli, fortissimamente volli!!!!! I will do anything to get a THRIVING garden this year. ANYTHING!!!!!!!! You guys have no idea.
Lately I did a few competitions and shit, I've really put myself out there academically. Woooooo #studyblr #studygirl #darkacademia fuck off. My terrible 18-year-old fashion sense is slowly but surely colonizing my wardrobe..... YES. I'm probably gonna get my ears pierced for earrings. I've been thinking with more urgency about my child self and all the past versions of me up to very recently. I think I've had it much worse than I thought. Good Mother! What to do? Am I better? I think so, but do other people perceive it? My envy and hatred of them (my peers, strangers), my constant comparing myself to them, have all been going on as usual: so much that now c'ho fatto il callo. When I'm stressed, I feel the very, very old behaviours of that child emerge, and this is every bit as shocking and dreadful as seeing a ghost. But she is also me, and I don't hate myself anymore, no, I don't think so, for the most part: I justify myself, I make excuses for myself. Some times, I've been mean and unapproachable, I've dropped the mask of decency, like I never thought I'd really do. I think I've reached the edge. The edge!... Every goonette and gooner knows: after you fall off the edge, it's not so fun anymore. So I'm doing whatever I can to withdraw from the edge. I simply don't put myself in the situations where that awful child could emerge again. Translation: I've been bunking school more often. I don't even feel bad, I have excellent grades and I bring the professors homegrown carrots. What matters the most is keeping myself sane.
Now's not really prime time to talk about it though, because it's currently Easter vacation and I'm GLOWING. I'm so productive and happy when I can handle my own time. And even thinking about going back to school, I don't care because.... cmon it's almost MAY, May is basically summer at this point. Today I went on a devastating hike with H and when I came back I discovered that the sun burned my face?????????? WHAT THE FUCK I didn't even do my skincare tonight, I just slathered myself in moisturizer and shea butter hoping that the redness will be gone tomorrow, because I don't wanna look sunburnt in APRIL!!
Harmala, pray, who are you? A lover, a friend, a stern teacher? Recreational or poisonous? Sedative or stimulant? Narcotic, aphrodisiac, dysphoric, blissful? What will you show me, what can you show me about the world, if we melt our eyesights together?
I wanna go back to those who were my loves, believe me. I miss them, what they gave me, and the love I felt for them. I'd come back changed, of course, but really just having dived down to the bottom of that love and having grasped its essence, carrying it with me like a talisman of light, wearing that and nothing else. I feel the call of the pure molecule (or at least, the purest I can manage), I see her nudity and the dance of her atoms, passionless, mechanical, perfect. Passionless yet rapturous, making me lift off into the coldest depths of space, to look at this planet orbiting, to contemplate my own soul and its vulcanic outbursts, from afar. Now separate, at peace. I remember feeling like this, a long time ago: when I'm sad, I weep for desire to go back. When I'm happy, my soul reflects its light like a beacon. This sidereal, cold peace, the solution and the precipitate, bases and acids: I see such beauty like the first time, and I fall in love with it almost as hard. And it makes me understand the words of my own favourite song, that I used to listen to so much during that time, that tastes like that same seraphic calm: "Dottore, ho urgente bisogno di parlare un po' con lei". Of course... What other doctors? What other confidants?
I shouldn't hesitate to dive back, to join them again - but I do. I do want to, I do, but there's still a stubborn remnant of fear biting deep in my chest, clinging with its teeth; like if I chose to go deeper, if I chose to get vulnerable, right here, in this house, on this couch, I would be naked, and exposed, and touched, once again. In a different way, but still. Vulnerable again, too vulnerable. Never again: I cannot handle another touch right now, not a single one. But there's nowhere else to go. Good Mother! When I think about it, I feel cowering, clutching at my nakedness, enraged, and powerless and unheard: I feel like I once did. I feel like an absolute victim, and I don't like it at all. Me, who used to want to be a martyr, who used to wallow in my misery: how could I ever think that victimhood tastes sweet? It feels like an abyss, uncomfortably empty at the center, walls of dysphoria on the sides that you can barely feel as you fall.
My dreams have been fucking awful lately. The dreams page used to be updated rarely because I forgot to write down my dreams. Now it's updated rarely because I just have sexual nightmares about rape and terror and awfulness. When I was younger, I used to have vivid, colorful, funny, creative, incredible dreams; recently, I used to have meaningful ones. Now they're yet another thing that I pray to be liberated from. It's been like this for months, ever since I stopped jacking off an insane amount of times, but the past few days... they've never been so unsubtle, it makes me almost afraid to fall asleep. And I've also been clenching my teeth really hard in my sleep, sometimes I wake up with a killer migraine because of it. The dentist told me that I don't GRIND my teeth so it's okay. But I think that this clenching teeth thing is because of the same reason. It started at the same time, and I think it's just a way to channel stress, physical tension. I've had my fun with dreams, but now I want them to stop. I'm willing to stop them.
Things haven't been the same since I relapsed. I think I'm back to square December - which implies that I'm gonna get it all back. I hope I will, but I don't know - I don't see how. Really, unironically: was what I did so wrong, so wrong, that you had to leave me alone?
9 April, 2025
"Essentially, in general, treating any form of Sex (masturbation or otherwise) as a commodity and simply “Getting it over with”, or devaluing Sex in general to myself really hurt my body, emotionally."
-Chris Chan
Sweet mother help me the Sae-ism shrine is never getting published, because I am physically incapable of making it look decent. In italian we have a nice word, INGUARDABILE, roughly "unlookable", and that explains perfectly how it is. It is objectively an eyesore, EVERY SINGLE PAGE, and it doesn't help that I feel obligated to make it look good because it's the Sae-ism shrine, it's for Sae-ism. THAT'S IT THAT'S THE ENTRY because I'm back from wrestling with the page for volume 7 and maybe 8 and 9 or whatever the fuck and it made me feel wretched. IM DELETING YOU, SAE-ISM!😭👋 ██]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]] 10% complete..... ████]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]] 35% complete.... ███████]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]] 60% complete.... ███████████] 99% complete..... 🚫ERROR!🚫 💯True💯 toxic yuri is irreplaceable 💖I could never delete you Sae-ism!💖 Send this to ten other 👪psycho lesbians👪 who give you 💦PTSD💦 Or never get called ☁️Misao☁️ again❌❌😬😬❌❌ If you get 0 Back: no PTSD for you 🚫🚫👿 3 back: you're Misao☁️💦 5 back: you're Sae's sex slave😽👼💦 10+ back: Sae😛😛💕💕💦👅👅
April is here! April, May, June and July: right now I hide my face, because I don't think my eyes can stand your brightness yet. Last year's april, may, june and july were so iconic. I took too much of every drug I had, I had the worst trip of my life, I discovered Sae-ism, I binged Sae-ism, I had my Sae-ism honeymoon phase, I went abroad and lost my mind, I bunked school, and then of course the entirety of last summer, which I already described not long ago. It was all so iconic. I don't think I can replicate that iconicness, but I want to! I want to see what they have in store for me this year. I'm stepping into them, subconsciously, naively expecting that they will shower me with such experiences again. If nothing comes out of these months, if I forget I'm even into them until I check the date, I'll be so disappointed. She's here!
28 March, 2025
So basically that was the dumbest fucking thing I've done in a while. Yesterday morning I felt so weird and unexplicably bad (it's actually explicable, it's because I fucking relapsed for no reason). Stormed in a bathroom stall to cry.
"Dante, perché Virgilio se ne vada,
non pianger anco, non pianger ancora;
ché pianger ti conven per altra spada."
Couldn't even formulate a thought about it. Then I went home and did it again. That was motherfucking dumb, and the worst part is that I don't know if this knowledge will stop me from doing it again. It SHOULD, everything rational and even emotional points to me NOT doing it again, but if you've been there you know that rationality plays no part in this, and that the urge can surpass even the desire to feel comfortable in your own skin - when you're standing on the edge of the slope.
I'm such a dumbass. This isn't even about me it's about the women victims of the porn industry but somefuckinghow that didn't stop me, it has never stopped me in any of my relapses. This is my WORST ONE though. Like what the fuck is this. I'm a huge fucking selfish dumbass and now I breathe pure, undiluted shame, but there's no undoing it now, and there's no closing Pandora's box. Right now I'm deaf and mute in front of divinity. I dare not speak. Comes a time when saying sorry won't do. I dare not listen, and still I hear "Mendace il labbro / fedeltà mi giurava".
And I'm even on my period, this is supposed to be a good time. I'm supposed to feel good and grateful, instead of whatever this shit is. I'm letting all the blood flow away, I'm letting the moon turn black without saying a word. I can't: I don't deserve to. For the past two days it's been raining heavily and incessantly; it stopped for like, only two hours every day. See where God stretcheth out her arm, and bends her ireful brows. Yesterday I was working out, sleeveless, and I got the idea of walking out in the garden under the rain. I walked until I saw my flowering fava beans, beaten and struck to the ground. Now some of them seem to be upright again, but the tallest, proudest ones have had their stalks broken. They will never open their flowers to the spring breeze again. The non-flowering ones, who stood just a little to the right, were all fine. The land has drank her fill, she has rejected me: the crumpled plants, the flooded soil tell me that my blood is unwanted. And I still gave it: can I just turn away? Today I tried doing stuff, but it all went wrong. Disastrous, these last two days. I'm so sorrowful at the fact that I'm wasting this month's blood in this slump, in this pit of shame.
"Come degnasti d'accedere al monte?
non sapei tu che qui è l'uom felice?"
Li occhi mi cadder giù nel chiaro fonte;
ma veggendomi in esso, i trassi a l'erba,
tanta vergogna mi gravò la fronte.
And I might even do it again, I might even choose to dig this hole deeper for me. Right now the mere thought makes me nauseous, but it sure as hell won't next time I jack off. I'm not being such a skibidi ohio sigma right now guys 😂😂😂😂 This is dumb as shit and I don't know if I'm gonna be able to properly conduct myself. Signora mea non n'è vendetta tutta la pena ch'e' aio ditta ché me creasti en tua diletta et eo t'ho morta a villania. My 8764737th time saying this, but I've really done it this time. I'm such a fuck-up. What will you do of me.
Even Tohru wtf he just got hospitalized, for a month he won't be able to slave away in his lonely dark room to produce yuri for my enjoyment. Jk it's okay I hope his anus gets better, at least he can rest at the hospital. I find it hilarious though that the last thing he gave us before going away for a month was the bombshell that was the last chapter. Like IT WAS SOMETHING FOR SURE. That's my Sae-ism. The only thing I feel like saying with firmness for now is: does Tohru KNOW that double strap-ons EXIST, IN THE REAL WORLD? Like there was no need to make up an ancient roman cursed artifact, they're literally up on the internet, you can find them on lovehoney, you can buy them and have them delivered to your home. Of course I know that if it was a normal double strap-on instead of an ancient roman cursed double strap-on it wouldn't be Sae-ism, but I really got the feeling that Tohru doesn't know that they exist in real life. Like I bet he thought that he was making up something so SHOCKING. Boy you're late to the party........ This is also obviously very outlandish and noteworthy, and I should certainly mention it in my analysis of Sae the tenth, I think I already know the gist of what to write, but..... I don't know if I'll be able to talk dead-seriously about the ancient roman cursed double strap-on. I have limits too: incredible, I know. (And limits are meant to be broken!)
Sae-ism volume 16 cover (official)
Lol saenichu guys
If I had drawing skills I'd draw sae with a misao medallion like chris chan
26 March, 2025
Relapsed after perfect abstinence all throughout autumn and winter. Not even because I was stressed or sad or anything, I just fucking wanted it. And I'm gonna be honest, I think I'm not gonna try to distance myself again anytime soon, because if I did it once, I can do it again. I feel terribly sorry. But I'm probably back to consuming regularly. Or at least that's what I imagine. Unstoppable force meets easily movable object (me). The predictable end of this slippery slope that I put myself in. I don't know if I even realized that it was a slippery slope, and it doesn't even matter if I had predicted it or not. I'm not at the stage where I trust myself to abstain completely. Is it what it's always like, after you quit something? You have to trust yourself to be impeccably strong in every waking moment, in order not to go back to the thing you loved. And months of iron-strong willpower can crumble to dust in a single moment of carelessness, of weakness. Doesn't that scare you? A single moment. Doesn't that terrify you? A single moment. It takes a microsecond to fall off the slope: and then, it's all downhill, of course. It's downhill, it's so easy to fall, you have to put no effort in it, you just have to let gravity do its work. And there's no way to mend the mistake of that single moment, there's no hand strong enough now to reach into the past and take it out of existence. Doesn't that terrify you?
So, is it always like this? I know it is. Or maybe I'm mistaken, either because I don't care enough, or because I'm not strong enough to commit 10000%. This is my perspective: those months of iron-strong willpower can't save you during that single moment. There is nothing that can prepare you for standing at the edge of the slope: it's just a matter of seconds before you respond to l'appel du vide. When you're there, you hear nothing except that call. Nothing else can reach you in that place. You can heap up motivation and confidence, you can read guides, hoard advice and words, take pride in every single second of your resistance so far; but when the thing is near, it will simply breathe, and all your riches will disappear in thin air. Its mere promixity will erase everything. There's nothing that can prepare you for its proximity: nothing will matter in that moment, and it will be the moment you fail.
"Cocaine-using policemen chase cocaine-using pimps away from cocaine-using whores visited by cocaine-using johns, while cocaine-using journalists report about it for their cocaine-using target audiences. I despise all of this: every time I find myself bending over a plate or a mirror with a bill in my nose, I quietly despise myself. When the line is in the brain, this contempt is washed away. When the line is in the brain, the mind becomes deaf and mute. When the line is in the brain, the character turns around."
-Helge Timmerberg
Is this all that recovery is? Just stalling, postponing inevitable relapse. Am I just stupid for expecting better?
How bad is it as an addiction. Porn hurts behind the scenes (and when the line is in the brain, it's hard to think or care about it), it doesn't leave scars on your skin that you have to hide. I guess that being addicted to pleasure is better than being addicted to pain. The fact is that I need to find balance. I love the new covenant. I, as a woman, was created to be capable of this much joy. I was meant to have this beautiful, peaceful relationship with my own sexuality. It is my birthright - my birthright, and I only claim it now. It is the dumbest thing I've ever said, because it's the most simple, the most obvious, the most plain, the most reassuring and lovely, the most natural and beautiful thing in the world: I love my clit and what she can do for me, I love her as much as I could love my entire self. The last time I loved her, the whole situation was... pretty bad, but so many years have passed, and now our love is so beautiful. But our love is like the love between gasoline and a bonfire. I'd do anything for her. I love her so much that I want to bring her whatever she wants, whatever would make her feel best. It's so tempting. I'd do it because I love her, because she deserves the best. It's complicated, it's impossible to convey, you'd have to be me to understand. But the point is that I need to find balance, balance between the new covenant and this awful old thing that keeps crawling back into my life in one way or another, under one disguise or another. And I don't know if I'm gonna find that fucking balance, I think I'm gonna do it again next time, and the next, and the next.
ché, non soccorri quei che t'amò tanto,
ch'uscì per te de la volgare schiera?
non odi tu la pieta del suo pianto?
non vedi tu la morte che 'l combatte
su la fiumana ove 'l mar non ha vanto?
25 March, 2025
I...... need some time to develop an opinion on the new Sae-ism chapter.
I don't know if it's a genius revival of the original Sae-ism quidditas that I invoked, or the biggest load of bullshit that's ever been written. The line is very, very thin, anyways.
I....... don't know what to think.
Yes, I made an update just for this.
23 March, 2025
I bring some shocking revelations.
1) I know Gabbie Hanna is cuckoo crazy but I unironically like Glass House, and she really slayed with "I got people blaming me for shit they did to me, lots of people shaming me for shit they didn't see".
2) I swear I tried so hard to read Watamote after she stopped being a femcel, I read up to chapter 141 but fuck I haven't been able to go further. I just can't bring myself to care, like I don't give a shit that she's going to the amusement park or like that there's a girl who likes baseball or something, I am unable to care. It doesn't hit the same. I know that she's doing better now but I liked it better when she was worse (si stava meglio quando si stava peggio). It's like if you were addicted to crack and you went up to your dealer one day and he said that he doesn't sell crack anymore, he only sells organic kanna extract now. That's great dude I'm happy for you I'm glad you're not doing shady business anymore and this kanna is like super organic it's great but I'm here for my crack.
3) I like coleslaw.
One day in summer I was laying down on my hammock, and at some point I turned to look at a small insect that was on my arm, struggling to climb my hairs, trying to walk on my skin. For some reason, I found - and I still find - that to be an extremely female thing. A woman thing. Womancore. If you will.
Sooo this week.... I didn't make it lolllll like I said I would, but I don't think it's a big deal because I'm back to normal now. The good normal, I mean. I'm really glad.
I haven't coded at all this week - I should resume work on all the missing pages, but in the coming week I have to study urgently....... Honestly though I don't think I'm going to do it. I think I'm gonna fail so bad. I have no motivation at all to do well in school. It feels like good performance gets you nothing in return. And, mostly, school is the main place that makes me feel fucking awful lately.
Thus was my request: "Return me to real, passionate living." Everyday I feel each end of the spectrum of emotions, I hold each end of the spectrum of opinions I could have about my life. I stay at school thinking that I'm the most awful and unaccomplished person here, that I've never changed at all, that my life is a pale imitation of anyone else's, that I'm still below everyone, that I'm gonna drop every facade of decency and go apeshit. As soon as I go out, the spring sun melts all my worries, and I almost cry of joy with seeing my purple tansy seedlings popping out of the ground, with meeting honeywort (most beautiful!) again after two years, with walking through a field and discovering wild plants I had no idea grew here. I am overjoyed at lighting a candle, at finding nice cheap clothes on Vinted. I feel like such a blessed creature: when I squint in the sunlight, even the end of each of my eyelashes is crowned with spheres of gold. I go to sleep, and the cycle begins again. I'm also worried about home life. I am under the same people I've always been under. But I don't want to talk about that - I don't even know what to feel myself.
I already know I'm an absolutely neurotic person, but I fear I'm starting to become mean, intolerant, too. I dread school and everyone I would see there. I feel like my social life is in absolute shambles. Someone has just cut all chords and hasn't spoken a word to me in months. Other people are continuously proving how lacking the affection they are willing to show me really is. Other people only contact me to talk about themselves. Other people - and this is what makes me angriest - make it painfully obvious that they see me as inferior and that they feel the need to routinely "put me in my place", yet they... still keep me around? And every new person I meet falls in one of these cathegories. Literally every single person I meet has flaws more visible than the fucking Grand Canyon - and I wonder if it's my problem. But I seriously, earnestly believe that it's not JUST me being an asshole and judging everyone too harshly. It's not JUST my problem: there's genuinely something about everyone I meet that makes us incompatible. I don't know what to do anymore, I feel like I'm choking in this environment, surrounded by all these people. High school has been nice, but now I wish it would just end asap. At least there's just a year missing. I feel lonelier by the day, and I feel like a fucking loser, because I'm the only person in high school stuck with a shitty ass friend circle made up of people who tell me straight up that they think I'm never gonna succeed, and people who only talk about how bad their depreshiun and ankseiety 💔 is. (I don't have a problem with people venting to me, I WANT people to vent to me, but not when they acknowledge that their mental problems make them treat me like a piece of dogshit, and then do NOTHING with that newfound self-awareness, not even apologize....??????) I WANT TO GET OUT OF HERE SO BAD. And my only consolation is to go to school looking nice, or at least nicer. I'm still redoing my wardrobe, I'm shooting for a MATURE LADY look, I guess because I wanna be older, because I wanna be out of here so bad. I'm also on a roll of asking NO ONE's opinion about ANYTHING because I know that it'd be negative, and I don't want them to bring down my vibes.
With spring, maybe an old love of mine is reborn. But I wanna be a different lover. I'll scrape my tray, clean my pipe - if I return at all, I want to return cleaner, better.
IPA, isopropyl alcohol, isopropanol, isopropyl. You who's there for the needy, you whom I have deemed my right-hand woman, cleaner of the polar and nonpolar, beautiful as running water and twice as fragrant, all-powerful, spotless, guiltless, unlike your sister naphtha - I have left you idle for months, but now I hope and I need, I need to work with you, now on more than just extracting. I have heard that you cleanse hands from the most terrible stains. I would need a whole shower of you, I would need to scrub you into every cell of my skin. But that's not what I can do with you - I'm content with the metaphorical. I know you can wash away my sicknesses, my bad habits, my brainworms, my weaknesses. I need to change, isopropyl: cleanse me of anything wrong, anything crooked, anything sinful; and since you're not so selective, you can cleanse me of anything at all, too, and leave me with just the blank, clear, shining slate of my soul. As long as you cleanse, isopropyl. You will see, too, our old molecules again, everyone I used to disrespect. Cleanse their memory of the wrong I did to them, cleanse my memory of the wrong they did to me. Run, isopropyl, run like a river along our surface, seep into the seams of our selves, and do what your nature allows you to do. I do not ask for the impossible or the improbable - I ask that you to follow your nature: to cleanse. I am in desperate need of purification, and I trust that you're the one for the job, my dear, my friend, you solvent absolver of anything.
But how can I apologize for the mess I've left under my bed? And how can I apologize for the disrespect... I've been such a shithead, maybe LSA, harmaline, THC hate me for life. But I wanna make amends, and I'll try to make myself better, cleaner, so that I can try to return...
It would be nice to publish the Sae-ism shrine by the 2nd of may (which is the day I finished binging it), and preferably on the 23rd of april since that's my anniversary of discovering it. A way to give back, after a year. But it's extremely unrealistic LMAOOOO I need to get back on my grind but fuckkkkkk this week is not really a good time to do that
14 March, 2025
Sad. Heavy. There are various reasons to be happy, but there is one big reason to grieve. I'm grieving, among other things, my loss of self-control in the past week. I've been awful, shameful, a wretch. Some aspects of my life have been weird and stressful, so I've slipped up pretty hard, slipped somewhere where the hand of self-control can't reach. I haven't just let it happen, I tried to build some barriers against the tide, I set up some more rules for myself saying that they were HARSH and INFLEXIBLE, and then I broke them in the span of two hours. I can't help it; I've tried. I feel myself reverting to the behaviours I had this summer, and it scares me to motherfucking death.
volsimi a la sinistra col respitto
col quale il fantolin corre a la mamma
quando ha paura o quand'elli è afflitto,
per dicere a Virgilio: "Men che dramma
di sangue m'è rimaso che non tremi:
conosco i segni de l'antica fiamma."
I don't want to, trust me, and I also can't do anything, also trust me. It's awful, I've had every one of my defenses broken in one way or another, I don't even know how. I don't know what to do, everything is useless. I DEMAND another week of abstinence from myself, I DEMAND it, and if I'm not able to do it, I will have absolutely no idea how to conduct myself anymore. It would break my self-image. But I have absolutely no idea of how I'm supposed to make it. Pardon me, but I am weak: I feel like I have to fight irrationality with irrationality. But I haven't even prayed for help or anything of the sort. I've been obsessively repeating just: Forgive me, for being less than what I am. The other thing I'm mourning is my humanity, my womanhood. Forgive me: you have built all of me, down to the smallest detail, to live for much more than just a chemical reaction, a passionless rush of endorphins. I know this well, and I betray you and myself for a passionless rush of endorphins, one after another until I can't even feel them anymore, but I still want them. Like that experiment with lab rats shocking themselves for like something I don't fucking remember. I can't help it. I think I'm justified though, because for the entirety of my conscious life I have been incredibly addicted to that passionless rush of endorphins. If it can ever go away completely, it will, but it won't be easy. And this is not gonna be fucking easy, getting through this week. If I even try at all. I feel lost. I feel like a small animal, a fucking bacterium, having no other goal than a passionless rush of endorphins. I don't trust myself to get through this week. Believe me, I really want to make it through the week, I fucking NEED to make it through the week, but the point is that it's not really my choice.
I find it amazing that, among all creatures, human beings are the only ones that are capable of spirituality and prayer. Whales too, maybe, but we don't really know. Ma! does it please you that, amidst the silence of creation, a single pious voice raises up to beg: "Forgive me, for being less than what I am"? Or does it displease you that, between having to take care of mitosis, osmoregulation and stellar nucleosynthesis, a single puny voice demands your attention to make such an useless request as "Forgive me, for being less than what I am"?
12 March, 2025
Oh Ma! You know best: I entrust myself to you. I will not pray to change your infallible mind. I will not ask for what would be a blessing for me and a curse for my sisters. But, you know, if you made it rain really hard today, I wouldn't have to go to driving school...
I want new clothes. Don't worry, I'm gonna buy secondhand. Most of what I wear is really casual, and I want to stand out more. My 15-year-old self's terrible fashion taste is a blight on my wardrobe, and it makes me SICK.... I can't wait to blight my wardrobe with my 18-year-old self's terrible fashion sense.
I've been planning layouts and coding, especially for, yeah you guessed it. The last time I've worked on it was october, and that was just half-assing the layout of the page for volumes 5-8. (If I was good at graphic design and also if I wasn't prone to getting debilitatingly angry when my code doesn't work, I'd reserve that layout for volume 5 only, and make a different one for volumes 6-8, because the cover of volume 7 is very cool, and it was nice when Sae the tenth was happy - MAI STATO COSÌ BENE! Non lo rifarei! I also wonder if it would be more appropriate to have a general "rambles" section, instead of just "volumes", and to move the whole Sae the tenth analysis from the volume 14 page to a dedicated page of its own. I have a cool layout in mind. But again, I would have to code it successfully.) I've always worked on-and-off on it, so no wonder it isn't done yet. Now I'm very impatient to get it out even if it looks like pure shit, because I want to LET THE WORLD KNOW, so I guess I'm kinda rushing it. But whatever. Since I work on it at intervals, I've been dragging it along with me for several months, and now it isn't just the Sae-ism shrine - nostalgia is woven into it. I started coding it after my surgery in june, when I had to ask my sister for help to bring the computer in my room, and the evap tray into the bathroom. While I was homebound, laying belly down on my bed since I couldn't put pressure on my back, I worked on the index, especially at night when I could hear the cry of crickets coming from the window behind me. The index is the child of my convalescence - which shows, because it fucking sucks so hard, and I hope I'll get an idea for a good remake soon.
Then when I recovered in july, after catching buses to the city and to isolated beaches and back home again, after stashing my chinese shop haul under the bed, after showering away the sea salt and the scribbles on my legs, after changing out of my best clothes, I spent every night working on the characters page until late, until 3 am on average. Most of the time wasn't spent actually CODING though - I needed the characters with transparent backgrounds, but of course there isn't a source for Sae-ism PNGs. At the time I didn't want to use remove.bg because I thought it reduced image quality - something which I now regret because I recently realized it didn't actually do that, but it has like a premium tier for that now. So I hunted down full-body or almost full-body shots of the characters, put them in photopea, and spent hours upon hours upon hours scrubbing every single white pixel around the 2000x2000 pixels wide images, while drinking cold tea and listening to music. In youth remove.bg was strong and tireless, but I did not know its image quality. In age I knew it doesn't compress images, but the weary enshittified service could not follow my vision -- Genius is wisdom and remove.bg. I don't regret that at all though. I am so nostalgic over that time already. I was in bliss and I knew it. In august I didn't code or edit anything, I just wrote the texts for the shrines, rambling on and on. Then for a time I stopped, and I resumed in september-october.... that alone should tell you anything. Such sad months. The beginning of my slumber. School had started, and I couldn't stay up until 3 am like I previously did... it felt like such a farce to work on the same thing that I had worked on in such different, happier conditions. And the music I was listening to wasn't the same, it didn't pump me up, it made my eyelids grow heavier with every passing second. So I turned off the computer and I closed my eyes. I slept for months. Now it's march, it's basically spring, there are days when the sun shines with the vigour it should have in summer, so it isn't a farce anymore to work on the shrine. So I'm doing it, for real this time. It sucks hard. But I think that it's better to publish something shitty, rather than nothing at all.
Yknow, I always had the vague idea of sending it to Tohru once I've published it, because Sae-ism is really obscure so it's possible he would appreciate such a display of affection. Even if he doesn't speak the slightest bit of english - just knowing that someone made a sub-site dedicated to his manga. I feel like he deserves to know that his work has affected someone so much. But the shrine fucking sucks, esthetically. He obviously won't read my... very passionate ramblings, so he'll just see the layouts and graphics, and I'M AFRAID HE WILL FUCKING HATE THEM!!! I mean. We'd be even because I fucking hate the way he's writing and drawing the most recent chapters, but like, if I sent it to him, I'd want him to be happy..... I'll see.
That kid who I was. That kid whom I hate, whom I dread - if I heal even just a bit, I might become her fiercest defender. From a certain age I was inexcusable, but that kid from before then - I might become her fiercest protector. I might have begun to be it. I think I wouldn't dislike that. Her fiercest protector from accusers and adulators alike. I remember how they fawned or despaired over the same things, and never did anything. Mi circondarono tutti per vedere la mia corona di spine. Alcuni mi adorarono e alcuni mi bestemmiarono, ma nessuno me la tolse. Then I grew, and I stopped, but they didn't. The accusers are silent, but I suspect that they aren't gone and now just talk behind the curtains. Which is okay for me - I can't bear the weight of accusations, not the accusations to the kid from before then. The adulators are the showiest ones, because they think they're doing me a favor.
I want to talk to a professional. I'm sorry, I will never say that going to a therapist is for freaks again. But I don't want a therapist, I don't want appointments to go to, I just need to spend 10 minutes there. I don't want treatment, don't treat me, non venire a vedere la mia corona di spine di nuovo; I never put it down, I never did, I never did, I'm just hiding it better than ever. I just need approval. I'd just say "I don't want a long session, I don't want to go back here, I don't want to keep up with appointments. I just need you to tell me if I'm right, or if I'm overreacting and freaking out over something innocuous. I need you to tell me if I'm right, or if I'm an asshole who's putting blame on innocent people. Was that really a big deal? Why would I be shamed for being sexual outside of the household but also for avoiding sexual attention inside of the household? Am I being unreasonable?"
Coding makes me happy, even when it pisses me off. Apart from coding, I feel like the shitty biscuits I always eat at breakfast: dry, hard, rough and tasteless. I'm only mentally dry, though, if you can catch my drift. The day before yesterday I kinda did the 24th-of-february stuff again, just on a smaller scale, because I was upset. I didn't feel bad about it though, I just felt heavy (neutral term), I went to sleep at 9 pm. I forgive myself. Lately I've been feeling really sterile. I'm having trouble keeping up with good habits, and discarding bad ones. I've been feeling uncreative, useless, a hard lump of stone. It's times like these when I wish I would at least have my period, because I'd be able to shower the earth with gifts. Ma, don't take this as a prayer! I want to wait for the moon, of course. But I wish that blood would run through this dry riverbed, making plants grow all around. Though I know that inside me the preparations are being made for this to happen. I love myself for it. I've never cared much for the follicular, ovulatory, luteal phase. That should change...
8 March, 2025
I wasn't arrogant and I didn't overestimate myself because I got through the week, and it wasn't even hard. A miracle: who to thank for this?
I think it's fine as long as I don't use it as a fix, a crutch (which is fucking impossible for me). Rule number one of gooning: have fun and be yourself.
Second of all I need to say that it pains me that the site is unfinished, and I am trying to code the remaining pages, but I fucking suck at graphic design. The misc page, which is my top priority other than the Sae-ism shrine, has a certain theme, and I want to do that specific theme, BUT I CAN'T MAKE IT LOOK GOOD.
Yeah, the Sae-ism shrine. 99% of this entry is gonna be a big Sae-ism schizorant, so be warned. Until some days ago, I hadn't added more than five lines of code to it since september. Then, I recently did a re-read, spurred by how bad the newest chapter was. I love Sae-ism. I had forgotten how much I really love it. Every time I reread it, I discover new things, or new ways to put them into words. After bathing in the light of its glory, I am currently motivated as fuck to work on it. So I did, and I neglected my math studies in order to redo the index, which sucks. The remake also sucked, and I am making ANOTHER remake, which will probably also suck... but it is one of my most ardent wishes that the Sae-ism shrine will be published.
The flowers of the prugnoli are falling, and my period has ended. Oh, what will I do without you both? Cosmic events of the greatest importance; but the moon will wane again next month and my blood will be back, while another spring, another summer, another autumn and another winter stand between us and the next time those flowers will appear. Thank you, my loves, for this! Be well, be safe.
Why did I start driving school during the regular school year WHY I regret this so much. I know why. My grandma told me to start it during the summer so I wouldn't be overwhelmed. But everyone, everyone's siblings and everyone's cousins - I was told - did it/wanted to do it during the school year. So I was like, I don't wanna be the DUMB kid who waits until summer to start driving school. Everyone manages to do it, I will too, for sure. Well I'm not managing to do it.
I'm spending an absurd amount of time and energy into trying to figure out if I fit in the neat square space of "normal", "well-adjusted". I think I've built myself a nice life - I think, until I look at what others have, and it's like being proud of your sand castle and then looking up to see everyone's rich ass villas. I despair over not fitting in that square. What can I do, what can I do to fit? And why does it take me so much effort? I've always been exceptional at school. Do I also have to pass driving school without a hitch, or else I'll get kicked out of the square? Do I always have to act brilliant, funny, sociable, and agreeable in order to stay in the square? Do others even see this? Do they see me in the square? Do they even give a shit? But if they don't care about me it must mean I'm not in the square, right?
I have always marveled over the fact that the human body works in such intricate ways, that when we try to replicate the conditions for its growth and existence with our limited understanding of its processes, we end up with something stunted and sickly, a pale imitation of the real thing. Same goes for ecosystems, and our attempts to restore them. And it's the same, it seems, with trying to replicate a normal well-adjusted life, when you're starting from a totally out-of-place outsider childhood and early adolescence.
I wanted to talk about Sae-ism, like I said I would. It should be common knowledge by now, but in case it needs to be restated, I have an almost marital devotion towards this very weird and obscure piece of media. There is absolutely no way for me to overstate the magnitude of the space it has occupied in my head. In less than two months it will be my anniversary of discovering Sae-ism. It came into my life like an hurricane. It was april 23rd. I already had this site, I had just published it, I had set the journal page up, and if I wanted to, I could have talked about the thing that immediately consumed my life and continued to do so for weeks. But I didn't write at all about it during that time, during my SAE-ISM WEEK, the week where I binged it all, because the site was brand new and I was too embarassed to say that I was hallucinating anime psycho lesbians in my bathroom floor tiles. In fact it took me a while to warm up to this site's journal. You can see it in the 2024 page: the first entries are very small and crappy. In fact I DID mention Sae-ism but in a very CRYPTIC way, because I was too embarassed to say things explicitly. These CRYPTIC references are
24 april 2024: "i think i might become a data hoarder..." This referred to my URGENT, MOTHERLY desire to archive all of Sae-ism (which I acted upon): since it's so obscure, it could be at risk of becoming lost media.
27 april 2024: "i can have a little unhealthy obsession... as a treat... maybe once or twice a year" Self-explanatory.
I didn't outwardly mention Sae-ism at ALL until fucking July, despite having been unhealthily obsessed with it every hour of every day of those months. Again, I cannot overstate, and I cannot describe it well enough. It was my well-beloved. It was the spring of wonder itself, in which my desire for anything else was extinguished; it was the well of wonder itself, from which I drew love and enthusiasm that I didn't know I was still capable of. Which is all really too fucking much for a thing whose ENTIRE plot is "ooooooo there's a scary yandere lesbian ooooooo", I have always known it's really too fucking much, but I couldn't nor did I want to prevent myself from falling in love with it. I fucking loved Sae-ism. I still do because I am devoted to Sae-ism. And it is STILL a spring of wonder: like I said, every time I reread it, I notice new things, or new ways to put them into words. I am devoted to it but there is a problem.
What the fuck is post-volume-10 Sae-ism? 90% of the time it sucks major cock. I know I've written a positive "review" of volume 15, but my positive opinion of it stems solely from its retelling of Sae's backstory; it was only one thing, very good but only one thing. What the fuck is the rest? And where did the past glory of Sae-ism go? In short, Tohru has turned his back on his dearest and most joyous brainchild in order to draw feet and meaningless side characters. The latest chapters have sodomized me because they are like the dead in Greek mythology, hollow shells of the people they were in life. I always say that what made me fall in love with Sae-ism is the fact that it was dramatic, over-the-top, super edgy, never boring - and I will repeat it to the death because no one will ever do it the way Sae-ism did it. To the point of betting its whole existence on its drama. Risking its credibility, losing it, and coming out unscathed to a round of applause (on my end) on the other side. I can't recall how many times, during my first read, I've said: "This is fucking ridiculous. I love it so much." Especially during season one, which was centered on ANIMALISTIC VIOLENCE and panic and irrationality and absurd plot twists and violent sex metaphors and hallucinated nightmare sequences and STURM UND DRANG, STORM AND STRESS, TEMPESTA E ASSALTO. It was junk food and there can never be anything as perfect. You'd think there'd be nothing more to give, but there is, and it is given in season two, which is to season one as a diamond ring is to a freshly dug diamond ore: refined, therefore lacking some of its old edginess, sharpness and wildness, but more sophisticated, harmonious, brighter, less murky. Yes, a beautiful diamond ring. But, of course, at its core it's still what it was before. It's a diamond. It's Sae-ism. Never losing its spirit, its quidditas.
Its SPIRIT! That's what I'm looking for! Where is it? It's all so fucking soulless now. Once upon a time I was deathly afraid that Sae was going to fuck Misao's mom. Now there's nothing to be afraid of anymore. And we never get such classy scenes such as a mysterious faceless man and a masked maid dressed like she's from the 1920s beating the shit out of each other, interspersed with panels of Sae making out with that other rich girl. I seriously think it was classy. Now it's all... something I'd never thought I'd say... BORING!!!!! The most recent chapters are nothing at all.
The second-last chapter was: Misao makes a phone call
The last chapter was: Misao walks around
I'M NOT KIDDING they contribute NOTHING to the series, if you didn't read them, it wouldn't affect your ability to comprehend the whole plot. And no, SAE-ISM ISN'T THE FUCKING TYPE OF MANGA TO HAVE FILLER FUCKING EPISODES!!!!! It's not Naruto. It's never happened before and it doesn't fucking happen NOW. It's literally like Tohru is stalling because he doesn't know what to write. He didn't explicitly say it of course, but I suspect that the steep decline in writing quality in the past few years is due to the decline in his physical health, especially these months. These months' chapters suck ass at an unprecedented magnitude. I'm about to say it. I don't care that Misao broke her leg. I don't care that Ran caught a catfish. SHE CAUGHT A SINGLE CATFISH WHO CARESSSS I don't care that Misao is drawings maps of medieval castles can we have things happen again?
Also (as I've been saying over and over for months) after volume 10 we've gotten an influx of detestable side characters; detestable not as in well-written, but as in they're so abismally boring that they make me want to remove my own appendix. The exceptions are Tendo, who's motherfucking dead now, and Yuki, but she's still not comparable to our beautiful original cast, and her character is ruined by merely being established during these awful volumes. These volumes are awful. Even when they're not awful awful catastrophic (like volume 12) I still call them awful, because for Sae-ism, being boring is enough to be awful. Because Sae-ism isn't boring, just like the Mario brothers aren't french. It's not their spirit, their quidditas. It can't be like this. I don't think it's because I'm bored and desensitized from all the crazy shit that has happened before in the series, and I don't think that, because of this, there's nothing more to write about, either. Absolutely!! In fact the thing that angers me the MOST is that there's still so much to be talked about, it's NOT fucking time to write about Misao drawing maps of medieval castles. We have, here, now, the most interesting and complex character of the entire series, Sae the tenth. Why not, focus on her a bit more. I know you already did, we just had the backstory, but it's much preferrable to talking about..... about............
I KNOW there's so much to be had other than... this thing. Sae-ism isn't meant to die now. DON'T GIVE ME THE OTHER CHARACTERS I WANNA SEE SAE THE TENTH. I love her and care about her because she's a great character how is she gonna react to the entire world CRASHING down on her? Everyone, including the guiltiest and most disgusting monsters on Earth, hounding her and dragging her to ruin? Her, the most naive of all the Saes, an innocent caught up in this horrifying machine, who just wanted to feel the comfort of familiarity again? SHOW ME SAE I DON'T CARE THAT RAN CAUGHT A CATFISH how dare you reduce Ran to a mere fisherwoman when she was the one of the most brilliant and phenomenal characters of the brilliant and phenomenal cast, she was in the Sae-ism pantheon up there with legends such as Kokai and Madoka, and now she's talking to... that thing. Ran doesn't do anything anymore. At this rate, she's never gonna tail someone and secretly record them again. Tohru, you draw her smiling but I can see the SADNESS behind her eyes. Let her do something interesting let her HAVE FUN AND BE HERSELF. And this boring ass castle arc could turn into the most compelling and dramatic section of the entire series but Tohru's not going in that direction; there's no space here to copypaste what I wrote about what could happen, but just TRUST ME. And, if I was Tohru, you have no fucking idea how much I'd harp on the religious symbolism, which EXISTS currently but is just hinted at. The Nazo corp and the Maki family being described as a religion which is followed blindly. Sae Maki being described as the "sacred object" (!!!) of the Maki family. Sae Maki being ritually sacrificed in order to perpetuate a confraternity's existence. Sacrificed through childbirth, at that. Think about it. THINK ABOUT IT. It's the coolest fucking thing I could think of GIVE ME MORE!!!!!!
And yeah what about the other Saes. Huh. Remember volume 9. I still don't know who or what possessed Tohru to write about the loss of innocence inherent in growing up as girls in a male-dominated society, the controversiality of the figure of the midwife, mothers loving their daughters but being victimized into becoming enforcers of their oppression, daughters escaping said oppression by turning against their mothers but missing the real enemy and thus ending up as victims again, in a slightly different way. Sae-ism truly is the love of my life. How beautiful is it that a single series can have space for both a psycho serial rapist high school lesbian who has an army of furries and can turn into a zombie demon with black eyes who can smash brick walls with her bare hands, AND a depiction of how patriarchy tramples upon the sanctity of the mother-daughter bond and turns women into torturers of each other? WE DON'T GET EITHER OF THESE THINGS ANYMORE!!!!!!
I don't fucking care about men or Ran catching a catfish. Dude. The Maki family and Nazo corporation, the literal overarching plot of your story, are right there. You have a freaky ass supernaturally strong and intelligent girl who's somehow able to duplicate herself through generations and is enslaved because of this by an arm-trafficking secret society. Why would you need anything else? That's your plot, that's a good plot, EXPAND ON IT. This is all still a big ass mystery to us, WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO TELL US HOW THIS ALL STARTED? HOW SAE'S BLOODLINE STARTED, WHY IT ALL BECAME LIKE THIS? WHERE THE FUCK DID THE FIRST NAZO CORP GUYS GET THIS IDEA? WHY THE FUCK CAN SHE DO THIS? YOU WERE GOING TO END THE SERIES WITHOUT EXPLAINING ANYTHING IN SEASON ONE, TOHRU. I REMEMBER. WE WON'T LET YOU GET AWAY WITH IT A SECOND TIME. The generational tragedy of the Saes is so interesting. You only showed us Sae the sixth, SHOW US SOME OTHERS!!! THE POTENTIAL IS NEVERENDING!! TALK ABOUT THE FUCKING SAES. I still don't understand if they can conjure lightning bolts out of nowhere. Why don't you expand on that. I need to know if the Saes can conjure lightning bolts out of nowhere, Tohru.
My name is cellula Tohru I want toxic yuri cellula that is my name cellula I want another cellula where is my Madoka backstory? I'm running out on the volume 11, there is an awful training arc, and it is going to hit me AAAAH
I DON'T EVEN KNOW IF I'M FUCKING CRAZY for seeing not only the potential (because I honestly think it's obvious), but the actual elaboration of such themes in such an, objectively, ridiculous series??? I am the only Sae-ism fan in existence and maybe the only westerner who has read season two, so I am the only one talking to myself in this desert, there's no one else to say what they think. Maybe (probably) I am stupidly in love with this series and because of this, I see in it things that aren't actually there. So maybe my expectations are way too high. I honestly don't give a fuck though, because it's so fun to overanalyze stuff. And again, overanalyzing is my love language, and there's not a single piece of media in the world, music, cinema, anything, that I love/have loved more than Sae-ism. But it's not my fault for seeing these themes really. If you have an overarching plot about a supremely powerful all-male hidden organization that depends for its very existence on arranged marriage and women dying in childbirth, someone is gonna pick it apart and talk about its implicit theme of sex-based oppression. Which makes me think, why wouldn't it be intentional, why wouldn't Tohru think it would spark these discussions. Because if he didn't mean to talk about these themes, he wouldn't have written an overarching plot about a supremely powerful all-male hidden organization that depends for its very existence on arranged marriage and women dying in childbirth, which is a really fucking weird backdrop for a manga about toxic yuri rape superpowers guns gangsters. It honestly depends on how mature Tohru is as an artist. To gauge that, I would have to read his other works, but I don't give a fuck about them and he doesn't either. Most he ever says is "wow guys throwback remember when I wrote Agrippa" or something, and the answer is no.
(google translate screenshots ahead) In the past few days I've rummaged through his entire twitter, from 2014 to 2023. Tohru is fucking weird as an artist. He appears to be successful what he doesn't even try to accomplish, and fails pretty bad at what he puts effort into. Like, Ran is a very good character, right? Surely he worked hard on h-
"lol I just drew her at random and I figured out what to do with her afterwards"
What? Okay but surely it wasn't this way for Shibako. There had to be a preestablished reason for Ran to always narrowly avoid death, and he's a pretty good character t-
"when I drew this scene I didn't even know who he was going to be lol I'm so quirky guys"
Okay??? But I bet this didn't happen with Tazuru, who's maybe the best character in the ser-
(I can't find the screenshot of this, because I took a ton, but trust me. Why would I lie to you about obscure manga Sae-ism. I swear on my motherfucking life he said it.)
"I drew her as a background prop because she looked cool then I felt sad about not using her so I did"
WHAT THE FUCK and you guys have NO IDEA how much I was WILLING TO BET MY ASS that the ending of season one (which was bad) had been invented at the last minute due to a close deadline. BUT NO!!!! I CAN'T FIND THE SCREENSHOT, BUT ON TOHRU'S FC2 BLOG, HE SAID THAT HE HAD HAD THAT CONCLUSION IN MIND FOR A LONG TIME. WHAT??????? THAT BULLSHIT??????
So to wrap things up the fate of Sae-ism in the hands of this haphazard social recluse (ex-)genius who's losing his spark. And I'm afraid to see in how many more ways he will neglect the series and/or fuck it up. But whatever happens, nothing will change the way it was. The past is set in stone (or, data on my USB pens), and the past is great. I'll never be able to hate Sae-ism.
24 February, 2025
(I don't wanna be arrogant and overestimate myself but I think I'm gonna be alright)
Dude, when I had just written about making peace with my own sexuality. (Though this was just an isolated episode, I hope.) Yesterday night I did my usual shit, because I was irreversibly, atrociously angry, so angry that I immediately convinced myself I needed that fix. Angry over a serious thing, by the way; something so crushing and weird that I don't know what to do or even feel about it, now that I've gotten my fix, now that I'm empty from shaking the fix out of myself. I feel dull, dumb and void, vaguely grieving, bewildered, delirious and feverish, because of the thing, and because I've gotten my fix. I started it, and I was in control in the beginning, because I was like okay, let me get this fix. I was surprised at how fast I lost control, though, and it became like my usual hours-long, soul-crushing sessions that leave me gutted like a fish. Only that it trampled me so, so much more than usual, because it's been months since I last had a stress-induced awful compulsive never-ending painful jackoff session like that. Not even ONE, in the past months. Which was something I was so proud of... And now? Do I lose all the progress I've made? To console myself - something that's able to make me so MAD is uncommon; so if I don't get any more shocks like that, I could be fine and return to my land of sunshine and rainbows and awesome post-orgasmic chill. But I'm scared that I won't return and that I'm back to... that. It was so bad, so, so bad, and I so delirious and crushed by it, that I cannot find any words for it other than "bad". ("Ché non è impresa da pigliare a gabbo [...] né da lingua che chiami mamma o babbo.") When I did this kind of stuff in the past, I would always feel crushed, and zombie-like, but there was something solemn in the way I saw it as unchanging, an immutable behaviour of mine. Now that I've done it for the first time in MONTHS, I feel crushed but SO childishly stupid, hollow, bent, slow, babbling, infans. My usual statement "I am still that kid" has never been so true.
I don't want to go back to that. I don't want to, I don't want to and my unwillingness doesn't mean anything. It's been months since that last happened and I had forgotten how bad, how out of my control it is. Completely out of my control. At some point the urges just besiege me, and my will doesn't matter, my will doesn't matter and if I don't want to burn and suffer physically I have to give in. I have to. At the end of the miserable little strip of time when I try to resist, I can feel the distance between me and surrender getting shorter inch by inch, the meagre loot of the minutes of my resistance slipping away from my hands. It's a fight, it's about who's stronger, and I've never been stronger when the situation is like that, when I fall into those sessions. I can't blame myself for trying to get my fix, it was harmless, it's all so harmless and peaceful lately, but I could have predicted that it would come to that, that I would get sucked back into that shit. Oh, but it won't happen again, right?
What is there to say? When I lay there in the last feverish fit of agony it felt like the house was arranging everything to manifest my worst nightmares and delusions. Delirium. I couldn't fall asleep and I was stuck in delirium. Who is there to talk about this? Not family for sure (not the allies of the house), not friends. The neocities journal of course. Or a deity? But it is the most shameful thing that I could never bring up to such ears, my biggest act of betrayal, the biggest sign of my inability to live in peace with myself, the farthest I stray. I was even very close to relapsing into porn yesterday night. What would even be my prayer? Ma, I am ungrateful; I abuse and mistreat your finest creation, "che tu creasti en mea diletta, et eo ho morto a villania". And I can't, for the life of me, for the breath you've put in my lungs, stop. "Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain, / But am betroth'd unto your enemy"...
I, like an usurp'd town to another due,
Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
I fucked up big time to make up I'm not gonna jack off for a week I've lost my clit privileges for this week. To be honest I don't know if I'm gonna be able to do it, I don't know if I should be distrustful of myself, I'm so proud though of having gotten through today because there were other reasons to be mad, woohoo. My friends suck. C texted me saying that she didn't have gift ideas for my birthday, and she asked me what I wanted. That was cool with me; I sent her a few items from my wishlist. Then she said this thing, I guarantee you, 100% genuinely and seriously: "I can give you 10 euros". A literal 10 euro bill. For my 18th birthday. From my friend since elementary school. No, she doesn't live under a bridge and prostitute herself in order to survive. V got his driving school paid as a gift on his 18th birthday. I was speechless. And then I got wayyyyy more pissed off because I told the €10 story to S, because I was so shocked. S, my friend, she touches my abs, she calls me her wife! And, just like that "cardboard cutout" dynamic I talked about on february 7th, she tells me every single minute detail about her life, and I comment in earnest, even if she's often mind-numbingly boring and repetitive. For once, for once, I, who never vents at all about anything, told her about the €10 and about my shock. And I only got one-word texts back from her.
"Wow"
"Eh si"
"Ma..."
"Veramente"
"Ahaha"
Literally. Verbatim.
And she immediately went on to tell me AGAIN, about her saturday night. Which she had already told me about, in excruciating detail, while it was happening in real time. And to which I had responded with enthusiasm and engagement.
There's so much to be mad at, if I don't touch my clit at all in one week it will be a motherfucking miracle. Aren't my friends supposed to INVEST A LITTLE BIT OF THEIR ENERGY AND AFFECTION ON ME? On my way home I talked to two of my acquaintances, I told them both about the €10, and they both acted INTERESTED. Why is there way more balance in my acquaintanceships than in my friendships?? Why do my acquaintances show more interest in me than my friends? They listen to me ramble about the €10 and I listen to them ramble about the quality of Yu-gi-oh cards. What is there to say?
When I entered the house I got even more of the feeling that it was manifesting my nightmares out of thin air. It's almost demonic work. The person who did the weird stuff I always talk about, the person who was in the house with me as a kid, was there and she told me something to my face. You'd think that you'd be pretty ashamed of admitting to having been EXTREMELY WEIRD around kids, especially in front of the kid you were extremely weird towards. But no. I've said, many times before, that one more little thing would horrify me beyond sanity, make me scream and push. But I did nothing and said nothing. I simply thought: oh, I didn't remember that. If I didn't remember that, and I just got the confirmation that it happened, then that means there ARE things that happened and that I just don't remember, weird fucking things to do to a kid. The nightmarish things I've been turning over in my head again and again lately, wondering if I'm mad, she just flat out admitted to my face. There's nothing to say. I don't even have anything to THINK about this - whenever I try, I find that it just doesn't fit in my head. The one thing I want to say is: see? I am not crazy. To whomever asks, tell them this. Not what's wrong with me - what the hell is wrong with her?
Piercing together this report of the past 24 hours is making me realize that they were fucking unbearable. But in some fucking miraculous way I bore them. I'm bearing them right now by refusing to process the events in them. I'm trying to recover, I'm giving up on studying, I'm sitting here with a cup of the best black tea ever. I haven't felt this bad in like 8 months. The feeling is so bad that I, someone who - let me say this - usually finds even the smallest value in every thing and situation, wish I had never felt it and wish I could get away from it as soon as possible. My birthday is in two days. Signora mea, non n'è vendetta / tutta la pena ch'e' aio ditta, / ché me creasti en tua diletta / et eo t'ho morta a villania. Today I feel awful. Today, just today; I will make it better for myself somehow, I will stop feeling like this soon, I will be out of this slump tomorrow. Even if I don't make it in that time, my period will come soon and bring me back to the real world. It's raining, it will rain this week, sacred fluids of life will fall as above so below; if I got it right now, this pain would allow me to make the jump into ecstasy, and I would wander around in the rain, mingling with the other drenched creatures, becoming one with the falling water.
I stand at the door of my 18th birthday like this, dispossessed, inheriting nothing but my own bad habits, defeated, shaved, and I might receive a great gift of €10. I am the lamb.
Oh, but it won't happen again, right?
I'll try my best to prevent it. In this sea of people who treat me like shit, I will at least try my best to protect and uplift myself.
Maybe this is the cracking of my seed shell.
22 February, 2025
Fuck. Susun Weed was manufacturing and selling LSD with her husband. Not at my age, but still, she must have been young. What the fuck am I doing with my life? To make LSD you need like, rocket fuel. I don't remember well I saw a guide one time and it was simply unfeasible. But she did it and she was a hippie selling it out. What am I doing, I can't even get an harmala extraction right.
I got tested twice by the same teacher, and I got a 10 and a 9.5. Those are the highest grades you can get. Wow. I spent the week studying - the same old winter slumber shit - and for the past few days after those tests I've done nothing but relax. I got very good results, I don't care about anything now, I wanna chill and play. Which of course includes writing about useless bullshit on my neocities site. I was supposed to go out with C today - she had tonsillitis in the past week. She was constantly talking about how the PAIN was UNBEARABLE and how she had to SPIT in a CUP because she couldn't SWALLOW. It's contagious. She said "let's go out, I'm fine". I asked her "have you fully recovered?" "yes I only have some cough and phlegm"
I'm gonna fucking pass.
I'm sorry because I wanted to go out, but I took the opportunity to do what a girl's gotta do, jack off, write, fire up the playstation, eat mcdonalds. I should also go dig in the garden, work the soil patches that I haven't had the time to work back in summer. Not no-till at all, but..... a girl's gotta grow!!.... Just a quick and dirty job before march bursts in. Spring really is approaching..... What stands between me and march though, is my 18th birthday. Which...... doesn't mean anything lol it's just a random birthday when the state decides that I am mature enough to vote and drive a car. What will it even change for me. Voting, okay of course I will. Driving, holy shit. I haven't been to driving school in a week, and I SWEAR it's because I've been very busy studying; I'm not SO much of a slacker that I'd get my mom to pay like 250 euros for driving school and then not even go there. I genuinely haven't had the time. I regret starting driving school NOW, during the school year, so much. I can't do both, and I'm obviously going to pay way more attention to regular school. I can't believe this is just driving THEORY. I dread the day when I'll start doing PRACTICE. Girls genuinely, I am NOT gonna get that license easily and/or on time, and honestly I can't bring myself to care much. Even when I do get that license, I will drive a car once every blue moon, because there's a 99% probability I'm gonna hate driving, and shit the driving seat from fear every time I try to drive, so it's not like it's something that I'll do often. My 18th birthday - a part of me used to wail and say that now, not even pedophiles will be interested in me. Great, now my sex and love life is ruined forever because an older woman will never kidnap me. Now that part of me is way smaller and I tell her that it was a pretty unrealistic prospect to have in the first place. No one will ever come - it's fine, don't think about it, trust me, just don't think about it! Sad news is that I'll have to shave my legs, because I'm going to a spa soon. I always wanted to go and now I'm going, but there's this price to pay. I'm bitter, but I am consoled by the fact that most girls and women cut the sacred grove WILLINGLY and repeatedly; mine will come back with time.
My hair is the most beautiful it's ever been. Not today - today it's shitty, I think because I plopped it for too long, like 3 hours. But in general, lately my hair has been, honestly, very very nice. I've been taking good care of it, not shampooing the lengths, plopping, and using a lot of leave-in products. That, coupled with the new haircut, makes my hair much less frizzy than it was AND NOT ONLY THAT it's puffy (in the good sense) as fuck, takes up a lot of space, has a lot of volume. I've been honestly kinda obsessed with standing in front of the mirror, putting my hands in my hair and shaking it all up at the roots, to see it EXPLODE in all its glory. It has so much volume that it might even be disagreeable, one day I could regret having such THICK, CURLY, VOLUMINOUS HAIR, but I don't give a fuck right now. I hate beauty rituals, I'm one to fervently hate beauty rituals, but... tying my hair in the plop and smearing shea butter all over my face (I have dry skin) after a shower..... I am NOT immune to that. It feels heavenly. I was in the school bathroom a couple days ago, and a girl passed me by and said that my hair was beautiful. WHAT???????? Nobody had ever told me that, not even friends. Before, it was really something not even a mother could love. But now? I'm starting to get a little proud.
Back then I wrote that I was about to write, "I am endlessly well-pleased with myself!" That moment that I didn't think was going to last, where I'm enjoying my sexuality and doing a good job at limiting myself, is actually still going on. I don't know what to say, because it's something so alien and new to me, frighteningly new, in fact. Frighteningly new. I have never been like this in my life, I have never done this well. It's not like I don't have a hard time - I do, I do have a very hard time sometimes in fact, but I have never conducted myself so well. I don't know what to say, because I didn't think it was possible for me to attain this. Look, another thing I wrote, last summer: "But all the sorrow I've ever felt won't make me change my ways because it's just not possible." What should I say? Maybe I was right, and this is just an oasis, a temporary respite. And that would make more sense than the peace and contentment that's fallen upon me, and stayed upon me. So weird. I have never been like this. Of course, I am grateful. I am so grateful that I choose not to think about what to say, and just breathe my breath of quiet contentment - if I say anything, I might break the spell. Is it a spell to be broke, or is it a new covenant? I have my eye on a necklace of my best friend whom I often mistreat, the clitoris. Really, where would I be without her? Woman, I can hardly express / My mixed emotions at my thoughtlessness / After all, I'm forever in your debt! One thing I'm kinda upset over is not being able to let go of my kinks. But like. That's pretty much impossible for me - it's already that big of an achievement for me to have a half-healthy sexuality, so maybe that's for another time. Also nowadays literally no one has a totally healthy sexuality, not in our world. I'm content with what I have right now.
I see, hear, smell, think things that make me think of my childhood beach. Previously I wrote that I was an exclusively sexual creature. That's not entirely true: those are the grief, fear and delirium talking. I was also a child standing on the sand dunes. I loved the beach, and the beach loved me, tenderly, with all our souls.
And that's all because I'm writing at night again and I got sleepy as fuck FUCKKKKKK OKAY BYE SORRYYYYY REMIND ME TO WRITE DURING THE DAY BYEEE
Oh and also I've started meditating, but how do you even do it right? It's fucking hard I swear, I'm gonna see how it goes and then maybe quit after a while because it's hawwrrddd
13 February, 2025
The years of our lives are threescore and ten.
Amiche italiane, quest'anno non me ne fotte un cazzo di Sanremo. A voi?
Nothing is more harrowing to me than realizing that I'm masturbating in the corner of the house where I've been masturbating for my entire life. It hurts me to my core knowing that it's the same thing, same place, that I share with that kid. What would solve most if not all of my problems is masturbating in another corner of another house. Of course. Logically, masturbating in another corner of another house would be a cure-all.
We're not even halfway through february, and some Prunus trees are already blooming. I am struck by awe watching them, because it's a joy to see them wake up, sure, but it's too early. What if the flowers get knocked off by wind or rain? Even the wild, sour plums planted in rows outside of the condominio are blooming. When they're in full bloom, it's such a sight to behold. Red, pink and dark brown against the pure light blue of the sky. And then my heart with pleasure fills / and dances with the... plums yeah whatever. If their bloom got ruined, it would be the biggest loss of the year. I am struck by the call of spring dragging me and the plums, however early, out of our slumber. Soon, very, very soon, it will be time to recite Housman's words again:
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
I am struck by the urgency of carpe diem. If the prugnoli get their flowers knocked off by wind or rain, my chance to see them is gone for the whole year. But the biggest problem is if I, because of my own negligence, don't look at them long enough, don't take in the sight deep enough. Am I spending my springs wisely? In a few years, I too will be at the time when of my threescore years and ten, twenty will not come again. Am I spending my days wisely? I have always been plagued by the thought that I'm not enjoying myself enough. I'll miss these times for the rest of my life, I will be desperate to go back; whatever I do, I'm not cherishing them enough. The years of our lives are threescore and ten. What do I do with the present? Every second is a link on a chain that runs through my hands way too fast to feel each one of them.
Am I spending my years wisely? I have no idea. Childhood was childhood, and in middle school I became myself but other than that nothing happened. In the first and the second year of high school I started living, got nice friends, and did a bit of high school shit; still not too much though. I smoked, and then I quit; I did a bit of underage drinking, then decided I don't like being drunk; I went abroad, and hated every second of it. The years of our lives are threescore and ten. Am I living wrong? I also spent 80% of my teenage years (from 12 to 16) being suicidal, so I guess I should cut myself some slack, because it took me a long time to snap out of it and start wanting to live, like, biologically. The most recent times when I didn't want to die - I'm actually really happy with them. I've walked mountain paths, I've come to terms with having some problems, I've bettered myself, I've had metaphysical sex with a Britney Spears entity while tripping, I've had a catastrophically bad experience abroad, I've grown plants, I've swum in isolated beaches, I've let my leg hair be, I've looked at the moon, I've written odes to my period. When I listen to the songs I put on repeat this summer, I'm back to being shirtless in the living room in the dead of night, coding and eating fruit, getting goosebumps on my back from how happy I am with my life. In the beginning of every one of those songs I listened to, I hear the thunderous sound of the months between me and summer flying by me, whirring in my ear. The years of our lives are threescore and ten. Oh, I am already nostalgic over this summer! And yet it was so little time ago, and I've changed so little - I was typing away on the keyboard for my dumbass site, just like now. (I wonder when I'll get sick of this site and stop updating it. I cherish it right now, sure, but if the most divinely inspired women I followed in 2020 got tired and quit, I surely will too. The years of our lives are threescore and ten.) It means that I've built myself some very good memories, and I'm proud.
I am NOT content with this autumn and winter, though. Apart from having a good Halloween and Christmas vacation, finally getting an haircut that suits me, and getting into Watamote, what did I do? Spring calls me out of my slumber - I slumbered. Nothing except studying, working out, eating, and napping. Nothing! the past months, except Christmas vacation, are a complete blur. Even now I'm doing nothing better than that with my time: either trying to memorize things that I will never need in real life in order to get a high number on a sheet of paper, or wanting to sleep but being unable to stop scrolling on social media not even stopping to read stuff and just catching a glimpse of the phrase "the meta of heteronormativity of marines" and other dumb shit among the dumbest that's ever been said. The years of our lives are threescore and ten. I weep for these months that have gone by without a trace. I, in the distance, can't see more than a few memorials that stand out in the autumn fog: I haven't built almost any. These hazy, indistinct times should be over soon: spring should call me out of my slumber. Spring I swear if you don't fucking call me out of my slumber holy shit. I could imitate the Prunus trees in their eagerness and sow something - last year too late, and most of my plants got scorched, and this year too soon, and most of my plants will freeze. Yes, it's february, the Prunus trees are starting to bloom, and I haven't ordered any seeds or even made any actual plans for this spring's garden. The years of our lives are threescore and ten.
I hesitate and I waste time. I continue to painfully remind myself that there are twelve full moons in a year. Twelve. I have twelve periods in a year. Twelve. That's just a little more than the fingers on my hand, and every bit as precious as them. And how do I enjoy them? Last full moon I was downloading Melonpan images, and this full moon - yesterday, only yesterday! - I was masturbating in the corner of the house. The years of our lives are threescore and ten. I console myself by saying that I am at least aware of life's course, I have an eye for divinity and meaning in everything; but perhaps my awareness coupled with my negligence makes me the most contemptible person in the world. I know what divinity is, yet I do next to nothing to worship; I am aware of the passage of time and I see it, yet I do next to nothing to enjoy it to the max. Maybe this actually makes me blasphemous.
Back in december I wrote something that I keep coming back to, because it should become my manifesto in this moment of insecurity: "I wanna be left to my bed, and to those bare minimum things... I am unsteady on my legs and I don't want enrichment. I want to be stripped of everything else, to be naked, to look at myself and to know myself in this bare form. To fast, abstain from all that's unneeded and harmful." So I won't put pressure on myself to do drugs right now. BUT, there is space in my brain and lungs for one of them. That is, HARMALAS! I've tried almost all the drugs I currently have access to, with the exclusion of deliriants (no thanks) and the intense, scary tryptamines like DMT and bufotenine. Harmalas, I've had them in a (very poorly thought-out) combo, but harmalas ALONE - almost no one reports about them!!!!!! They're seen exclusively as potentiators for other substances. The VERY FEW reports about harmalas on their own are very contradicting: most say that they're a waste of time, but there are people who say that you are able to construct entire worlds while you trip. There's one reviewer in particular who seems to be really enthusiastic about them, but what's most compelling to me about this recap, is that the effects he experiences sound very much like those of DXM! I love DXM, but it's too expensive in pure form, and too disgusting in syrup form. Also, I'm interested in the effects of SMOKED harmalas (like in the report I mentioned), not oral. The reports about these specific substances taken with this specific method are, again, very rare and very contradicting, so the only way to solve this mystery is... trying them myself. So I will!!!..... someday, at least. I have one certainty: those people that approach drugs in a ceremonial, "shamanistic" kind of way, are the happiest. They are the absolute happiest. There are no bad trips for them. They prepare themselves and they respect, and nothing they receive is unwanted or unwelcome. I want to be one of them. One day I will. I should be well on my way with my set of beliefs, but..... I've already said it: I am negligent. And how should I apologize to the syrian rue resin for keeping it under my bed for three months?... I will see. Oh, and I'll also try my THCV fake boof european cart, because it's a stimulant so it's okay. I'm fucking TIRED of sedation.
I wanted to write about Sae-ism because the new chapter is out, I have a lot to say, but..... I'm too sleepy right now, so it'll be for the next time, I hope very soon because I. Have a lot to fucking say.
THIS ENTRY WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MUCH LONGER FUCK ME FOR WRITING AT NIGHT FUCK ME
10 February, 2025
Besties it's OVER I had my first driving school lesson today, only theory though, because I'm not 18 yet. It was probably the STUPIDEST topic in the whole course (pollution - I even asked if that was gonna be in the final test because I couldn't believe it) and it was still impossible to keep up, way too much stuff in such a short amount of time, it was very hard to take notes with how fast the instructor was going. I have six months to take the theory exam and I don't know if I'm gonna be able to respect that deadline. I also have a physics test on the 13th that's gonna fist my ass, but I'm not gonna study now, tonight we're gonna be browsing neocities and rereading and rewatching Watamote AGAIN because I am mental I am mad. No seriously I'm not NOT STUDYING physics JUST because I'm Watamote-sick right now FUCK YOU it's because I spent THE ENTIRE day doing serious stuff, I wouldn't be studying even if this was not my Watamote era, how dare you THINK that. Anyways girls I am NOT getting that license 😍
I still didn't manage to do everything that had to be done, because it was a lot and my sister doesn't do SHIT in the house. I wish she would help me just the slightest bit, but when I think about it this is probably training me for the 100% very real future where I'll have a neet femcel wife, because obviously she won't do shit around the house either, and I'll have to be not only the housekeeper but the breadwinner too, it's gonna be really hard and this is basically training for it, so that when I apply for the femcel wife job I'll be very qualified and I'll be chosen. Keep dreaming cellula nation ❤ DREAMING DREAMING DREAMING IS WINNING
↓ I wrote this on a whim a few days ago, after the dream I wrote about on the other page, and I'm just putting this here for now because I'm tired of my friends complaining to me about everything, while no other soul in the world knows how I feel about the house.
I won't relapse. I don't think I will. I do good during the day, I do exceptionally good, I stand exceptionally straight; that's why during the night I have to pay for my abstinence with dreams that bite my ankles like the hounds of envy, the envy of the evil force I'm getting away from; dreams that take me back to my beginnings as an exclusively sexual creature. These hounds weigh me down, but under the sunlight, there is nothing that can make me act unwise; their barks don't get to me. But occasionally, a massive one comes around and bites through an artery: at that point I can't help falling down, feeling my blood, my lifeforce flow away from me without being able to do anything about it. It forces me to see, feel the worst things. So powerless this force has become over me, so little I lend my ear to its demands, that it attacks me, cowardly, in my sleep: I can take pride in seeing its weakness, but when it rages and tramples me, it's impossible for me not to fall off my high horse. I may get very low, but I won't relapse - relapse in every sense, regress in behaviours, mind, spirit and body. I don't think I will. And even if I did - I may have permanently lost my ability to enjoy it. The dreams sting, they force me through horrible stuff, they even - lowest of the low - dangle fake or hidden memories in front of me, trying to lure me in. They know I need the reason why I am like this, why I have to go through this. They put the brainworm in me, that it would feel so good to go back to how I was, do everything I used to do, watch everything I used to watch, get back the same feelings and latch onto them forever. But this regression is as impossible as a temporal, physical one, it's a mere concept, it's something that can't exist in reality. So I won't relapse. If I relapse, it means that I've been gravely mistaken with all the hope, meaning, will to change I've had in the past years. If I relapse, it means that I am as rotten as the rest of the world.
The dreams want me to throw out all my projects and paperwork, to run my hands through my hair and to construct crazy schemes looking into my past, always trying to find that elusive mythological creature called The Reason Why I Am Like This. Sometimes I get paralyzed, stuck thinking about the past, a world of conjecture building up pressure in my head: I dare not let it out and ask. Whenever my sister, unasked, spills forth some of her knowledge, some of the memories only she keeps, I listen dumbfounded like she'd just made a spring gush from a desert rock.
Thinking about how, if I went back in time, I would sit on that person's lap and take it and be a good kid. How I wouldn't be angry again, how I wouldn't shy away or sulk or stare or retreat down the hallway, how I'd explore the depths of what she really wanted and more. Because I want to KNOW, know, know. If I felt that jagged fingernail inside me, I would finally know and therefore be free. I need something explicit to have happened, something outrageous, violent and penetrating, to match the outward destructiveness of what's happening in the present. That's what I'd prefer to see, if I descended into the past. Constant, feather-light spider touches terrify me far more than abrupt violation. I think I'd be almost pleased with seeing my body and soul being cracked in grand style, in a single blow: almost pleased in seeing such textbook abuse being carried out so perfectly. If I saw a hundred little cracks instead, being made day by day, I would be so horrified that I would never be able to make it out of Datura's vision and back into my own head. (Which speaks volumes about the reality of what happened.)
If these walls and this furniture could talk, hearing their answers would be the most necessary and terrible act of my life, the last act, the last sprint in which all of my vital energy would be consumed. (That's something that Valentino said.) I'm standing outside the living room, in the garden, begging for a taste of the fruit of knowledge, the fruit of Brugmansia who's always sterile, not knowing that it would drag me into madness. What do I do of this silence - should I bemoan it, or is it a gift?
L'anima mia si perde nel tuo silenzio
E non sappiamo più dove andar!
What happened on this couch, I beg you? I remember that hand being literal centimeters away from disaster. Still, if that jagged fingernail had been inside me, I would have screamed and raised hell - far from a good kid!
I haven't been doing drugs. In less time than I think, it'll be six months since I did drugs. It's not because I had a problem, it's because I'm simply afraid now, as I've already mentioned. (me rn) Out of the blue, after a long while of being irresponsible without a care in the world. I just can't bring myself to do them. I'm subtracting myself from a lot of good experiences. I wonder if I should keep the sobriety going, or cannonball back into the pool: I'm dealing with too much shit already, too much introspection, too many doubts, I can't add a bad high or bad trip to the mix - and I suspect they would be all I'd get. I wonder if it's this house's fault - I remember how calm I felt as I saw the walls tilt, the room turn upside down in the beach apartment. I simply clinged to the bed and it became my spaceship. I could do it because that bed had nothing against me, and I nothing against it. It was also just a completely different time, I hadn't experienced getting attacked by diamond snakes from other evil dimensions YET.
Sometimes it feels like I've never stopped wandering naked, exposed and cowering through these rooms. Perhaps I can't handle any more vulnerability. Perhaps, before doing drugs here again, the house needs to be dug into, to have its walls brought down and new rooms built, so that its terribly familiar expression will soften, and that there'll be a place for that nervous kid to hide into. Before doing drugs again, maybe I need to be dug into, to have tunnels built inside of me in search of something, the fatal flaw in my foundations; I need to be demolished and rebuilt.
I need to stop thinking about this, plain and simple. There's already a lot to deal with in my present and future. And I know that knowing would not be a positive thing.
7 February, 2025
This is probably the worst entry I've ever written, but its squalor is fully in tune with the squalor I feel having to start driving school. I just signed up for it. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna HATE driving with a passion, and I'm also pretty sure I'm not gonna do well in the school itself, so it's a massive drag.
Getting to what I wanted to say, I'm in a really weird phase right now. I'm not even able to explain. It feels like my flop era (one of my flop eras) for sure. I am flopping so hard. I am watching and reading Watamote. I am reading and watching Watamote. I am. I am highkey simping for the Watamote girl. Yes. I am simping for a femcel anime girl (no, THE femcel anime girl) and MORE ABOUT THAT LATER I'M GONNA TALK ABOUT WATAMOTE I really really like it. I am feeling horribly self-conscious. I am listening to 50mila by Nina Zilli, which really encapsulates the feeling of this phase well, in such a comprehensive way that I can't fully explain it. I am also listening to the instrumental of that LUBBY CHUDDER LUBBY CHUDDER song, I Love Reshiram Married To Reshiram by JustinRPG, because it genuinely goes hard as fuck. I am constantly wondering if my friends are really leaving me or not - I am constantly wondering how me and H can go 3 hours without speaking while sitting next to each other, when just three months ago we were the only souls on the mountaintop looking down onto the city lights and telling each other how we'd never had a friendship like this, and how we could have never gotten enough of each other's company.
50mila lacrime
Non basteranno perché
Musica triste sei tu dentro di me
50mila pagine
Gettate al vento perché
Tenue ricordo il mio volto per te
because if such a thing was lost or even just diminished, it would be an indescribable loss. I am having doubts whether this friendship is really dying or not. I've done something in the past few days: basically I try not to text him, talk to him, or invite him out, unless he does. Which sounds drastic, okay, but after three and a half years of deep friendship, it isn't much of a fucking hassle to just reach out. I have found that nothing happens at all. He won't text me, he won't invite me out, and he'll almost never talk. I have these moments where I'm sitting next to him and he doesn't do anything and I turn to the other side and just grimace because I feel so bad, then later he'll come up with a joke and I'll laugh wholeheartedly and act like nothing has happened at all. This is kinda what we call being a SOTTONA, except that in this case it's not in the context of a romantic relationship. Today I decided to be annoying and I asked him if my company has started to bore him. He said no, not at all, in earnest. So, I could trust his word, but I also have eyes. Sometimes I wish we could have a big fight and really cut off each other, instead of living this weird ass situation. Instead of ME living this weird ass situation, because I'm sure he doesn't think at all about how it is. Because while we are like this - still interacting, acknowledging nothing - I have to pretend I'm 100% fine, which I'm not.
Non ritornare, no, tu non ti voltare
Non vorrei mi vedessi cadere
A me piace così (a me piace così), che se sbaglio è lo stesso (se sbaglio è lo stesso)
Perché questo dolore è amore per te
The cooling of my friendship with H has made me want to take a closer look at my other friendships, and I've realized that I'm not very happy with some of the more long-lived ones - I'm talking about S and C. I've realized they "talk over me", so to speak. Not in a literal sense, but like, they allow themselves to speak to me about everything, without considering if I may find that topic interesting or not, but when I share my own interests and experiences their reactions are mostly cold and uncaring. I have lived this kind of situation since forever. I remember having this distinct phrase in middle school to describe this: I felt like a blank cardboard cutout for people to project onto. Compared to middle school, now I have more and better friendships, but this issue remains with some of them. It's not just THEIR issue, it's also mine to some extent, because after experiencing this type of dynamic for years I AM effectively reluctant to share things. But of course, it stems from other people acting bored at best, and belittling some very serious problems of mine at worst. C is a master at this, she wants to be the biggest victim at all costs always, and she tends to magnify her bad experiences while not taking mine seriously at all. Like, an example of this cardboard-cutout dynamic. Remember last entry when I mentioned that I had a birthday party later that evening? IT WENT SO FUCKING BAD THAT I CUT OFF BIRTHDAY GIRL AFTER INSULTING HER ENTIRE FRIEND GROUP 😭 I was telling C about how bad it went, not even complaining, just explaining the events briefly and ironically. She answered "sorry I'm doing so bad I don't have the time to think about THESE THINGS........." and proceeded to tell me in excruciating detail about the school trip she can't go to. Which is absolutely fucking boring, way more boring than the story of me having a row with a fat girl (femina feminae lupa). Still, I acted interested, I acted polite, like I always do. They don't often grant me the benefit of acting interested. That's a big reason why I have wanted to have a website very, very bad, in the past years (without it, "If I died in this world, who would know something of me?" There'd be no trace of my yearning): I can say whatever here, I can talk about my garden, trees, weird internet rabbit holes, mint pussy soap, and Watamote. I really like Watamote.
Yeah. Listen to me guys. I never wanted nor expected it to go this way. I never thought that at almost 18 years of age I would be simping for an anime girl. If you told 15 year old me that in the future I would be simping for an anime girl, she would order sodium nitrite straight away. But alas, I didn't kill myself back then, so now I'm simping for an anime girl. But what am I supposed to do in front of the ARCHETYPE of the femcel incarnate. This doesn't happen to me. I never watch anime either. I can't believe I'm watching anime I feel like the girl who said jesus jesus japanesus. Pensavo fosse un anime per pischelli, now look at me. It's not even just because of the obvious femcel kink thing, it's that I find the show genuinely very good, to use an euphemism. I think that the only reason why I haven't started hallucinating it in the bathroom floor tiles and displaying other such extravagant symptoms of obsession - like I did with Sae-ism back in april - is that it's popular. Yes, I tend to be a "popular = bad" person. The artists and pieces of media that I've really obsessed over in the past, like La Sintesi, Soerba, :riflessi, and of course Sae-ism, are all very obscure to the point of being at risk of being totally wiped out of the internet, should some sites or videos be deleted. The fact that you're basically responsible for the fate of an entire band's discography or an entire book just by having it on a USB stick, and - above all - the feeling of being alone with your favourite thing in the world, having a conversation that no one can join into or eavesdrop, is something very precious, and honestly kind of essential to me at this point. I'm very monogamous. But Watamote is popular, and there are a lot of femcel fuckers in this world.
BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT the point is that I really like Watamote even though I have to SHARE IT with OTHERS and I was saying that it's not just because ooga booga hot femcel, it's genuinely amazing. It is the most masterful tragicomedy I have ever seen. I'm at chapter 117 of the manga right now, but what I really LOVE is the pre-school-trip era, because she's at ABSOLUTE. ROCK. BOTTOM and it's GREAT. It's the most compelling part of the series, it's the most, and I'm quoting Tomoko herself, SPICY. Now she has friends and stuff which okay I'm happy for her I really am, but it just doesn't hit the same. The beginning era is what I came here for, THAT's the spirit of Watamote. (This is very similar to what I say about Sae-ism, I guess all my favourite series DERAIL at some point.)
But anyways, neither is Tomoko herself just ooga booga hot femcel to me, I LOVE her, she's phenomenal, she's the best protagonist I've ever seen, she's an icon she's a legend and she IS the moment. And also she's KINDA, A LITTLE BIT, relatable in some aspects (which is a very bad thing). JUST A BIT and this is proven by the fact that if I was a 100% loser femcel neet I'd be sexually attracted to myself which would make no sense, so don't come at me. But yes, I do see the similarities. Chiefly the whole thing about needing outside approval like AIR for her very existence, obsessing over the way others perceive her, aggrandizing her small and rare achievements to make herself look better, desperately trying to pry into the lives of strangers in order to judge them and cycling between envying them and bitterly disparaging them, knowing that she's the lowest of the low so constantly trying to feel better by dragging others down, including the people who actually care about her. That's. yknow. familiar. And I don't know if it does good to me to see an exaggerated version of this behaviour of mine so clearly, from an outside perspective, specifically portrayed this way. It's a real wonder that I've started getting into this franchise (what does franchise mean? anyways) precisely during my flop era, when I'm feeling like a massive failure and generally being disfunctional. Watamote is both keeping me from falling off this cliff AND pushing me off of it, because on one hand it shows me the stupidity of some of my behaviours (good), ON THE OTHER HAND THOUGH IT SHOWS ME THE STUPIDITY OF SOME OF MY BEHAVIOURS (BAD)!!!? Yknow, it just isn't very encouraging, even though it is brutally honest.
"Is it okay for me to be this way?"
This line hit me incredibly hard. Where do I even begin. The fact that she even needs to ask for permission to be. But the fact that she's right. What would you answer if you were there. This line can only evoke pity, especially coming from such a lovable character like Tomoko. When we feel pity our first instinct is to console the other person. But we can't because she HAS a point. It's such a difficult sentence to say, but no, it is not okay for her to be this way. Not only because of the fireworks of course, but because of EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING is wrong with her. Everything is so deeply wrong with her and how can it even be fixed when it's so deep-seated, when her whole life has been this way? (It actually does get better later on but shhh let me live in the moment) It's not that she doesn't try to make it better. The entire series is her trying to make it better. It's just that she doesn't know the RIGHT WAYS with which to do that. What even happened to make her this way, her brother is normal, WE DON'T KNOW. The anime, that obviously doesn't have the whole self-improvement thing that happens over the dozens more chapters in the manga, ends in a very weird, abrupt way, with her saying that it doesn't even matter. It IS the only way to have a good ending if you're not going the (very long) manga route (and tbh my heart could never be able to handle anything other than a good ending for her so okay), but it's also kinda out-of-character for the Tomoko we know, especially since we just had the scene with the other girl saying that her best quality is never giving up on her goals. In this ending she just gives up the goal that was the point of the entire series. Anyways. This ending is kinda disconcerting because, back to the initial question, it isn't okay for her to be this way. How far can self-acceptance go? Is it better to be constantly dissatisfied with yourself and others around you, and consequently to go through the trouble of trying to change the status quo in every way you could possibly think of, OR is it better to accept yourself and your situation, however wrong they may be, and choose to be blind in front of your flaws and the hollowness of your life? MY ANCESTRESSES WERE STARVING IN CAVES AND NOW I'M HAVING EMOTIONAL REACTIONS TO THIS FICTIONAL FEMCEL BYE
I haven't even finished reading Watamote, and I'm already planning a shrine. (While the Sae-ism one is still a work in progress, yes, because I AM a DEADBEAT WIFE.) It feels like the Holy Spirit has descended upon my head, and it feels like I'm witnessing the sack of Rome. I feel struck by lightning and fearsomeness, inspired, enlivened, dismayed, bewildered. I am seeing the boundaries of reticenza getting demolished before my eyes. Why did she piss herself in that episode? I am watching this thing while taking notes like I'm at a lecture, having insight that can only be had in a dark, empty room way past the hour you're supposed to be asleep, with the instrumental of JustinRPG'S I Love Reshiram Married To Reshiram in your head, when you're seeing that your dearest friend is leaving you. These are the things that are tied together to create this specific period of my life (however long it may last); when I strike the chord that connects them, a sound comes out that's so weird that I cannot tell if I like it or not: so weird that I can't describe it, but - if it really had to - I would say it has kind of the sappiness, sadness, loneliness, romance, overdramaticity, solemnity, grandeur, that 50mila by Nina Zilli has.
A me piace così, e non chiedo il permesso (oh no, oh no)
Perché questo dolore è amore per te!
Why did they make Tomoko bush canon I will never be able to sleep again I will never be normal again
I LOVE TOMOKO KUROKI
I AM MARRIED TO TOMOKO KUROKI
IT DOESN'T MATTER IF ONE IS A FEMCEL
AND THE OTHER ONE IS A NEOCITIES USER
AS LONG AS YOU LUBBY CHUDDER LUBBY CHUDDER
2 February, 2025
I'm reading and watching Watamote. That's it that's the entry. I got into it because the femcel I had a crush on had a Tomoko pfp in her old account, which was certainly fitting. It's funny because I've only read two manga in three years, and they're both the most bottom-of-the-barrel hedonistic junk food shit imaginable, because Sae-ism is basically psycho lesbians rape, and Watamote is horny fucked up femcel (for context I have a kink for femcels). Anyways I............................. like it, obviously. It evokes a variety of emotions. And while reading Watamote I've become a sort of meta Tomoko because right now all I wanna do is stay home and read and watch Watamote. I came home yesterday thinking that I would finally CODE something for this site but all I did was read and watch Watamote. I have an art history test on the 5th and I have to study all of Michelangelo, but I can't, because Michelangelo didn't write Watamote. I literally just learned that I have a versione di greco tomorrow ARE YOU KIDDING ME I CAN'T TRANSLATE ALL OF THAT I have to read and watch Watamote. I have a birthday party later this evening which sucks because it keeps me from Watamote. Sleep also sucks because I have to stop reading and watching Watamote, but it's also fine because it makes me rest my eyes that are tired from reading and watching Watamote, so that I can read and watch Watamote even more the following day. Have a good Watamote day everyone and uhhhh shout out to the femcel and the guy on neocities who said he was Tomoko in real life
Whatever the fuck I've ALWAYS gotten EXCEPTIONAL grades what's wrong if for ONCE I let go and enjoy my honeymoon with Watamote
It's also the very first time that reading something has made me actually laugh out loud
31 January, 2025
This entry is literally just me being pretentious about my pussy blood but at the end there's a cute kawaii surprise okay
Eumenorrhea! Nothing sweeter than seeing that first spot of blood, a love letter left on the counter for me by the universe. A sign of good health, undeserved gift, a visit from a queen to a pauper. My first day started off shitty, because of the usual school stuff and C wanting to argue about emojis, and then I decided to go to my grandmother's. My grandmother who barely finished middle school, whom I like to sit and discuss finances with. We had a few glasses of homemade wine from fancy chalices and we talked about buying houses. Happiness found its way back to me even this month, even this one, like the blood always finds its way back and I always find my way back, and stay on that way, at least for a week a month. I'm tired of my fucked up kinks, but I'm not thinking about that right now; period week is a truce with myself.
Tormentate immagini
ritrovano la pace in questi luoghi
So little time to breathe in all this wonder: the third day is so different from the second, and the fourth from the third. Just a few buckets of the brightest red liquid that fires up my pride, and then the color fades with every passing day - sfumature inafferrabili, le tonalità recondite. The bright, live blood of the first days is art, art: I wish there was a way to preserve it in this same brightness and freshness. But this flow is much like a stream, and if you bottle its water, it's not the alive, flowing spring anymore. I can scrape the needles off of these rosemary branches I've put to dry, these rosemary branches that fed off my blood, too; I can put away these needles almost as green, sticky and aromatic as the day they were picked, but I can't preserve my flow. I can only enjoy it and, once it's over, wait until the next month. Yes, I must seize the day, break through the thick red haze of magic with my stare, listen to the ache in my belly, the ache of live muscle contracting, pushing, releasing. I feel so powerful that I feel the need to do everything, because anything would come out well: so little time to do it all, though. Few things more appropriate than skimming through one of those women's self-help anatomy books - Carol Downer died on the 13th, and I learn about it just now! No woman more worthy than her! - not diving deep enough to take in all the details, just flying overhead in bliss and marveling at a picture of an os striped in red, at a tipped uterus, at the explanation of my symptoms, at the love letter etched inside each of us.
Le rassicuranti parole d'amore
As befits someone as spiritually sterile as me - nonostante i miei silenzi, abbracciami... - the hymn that came out of my mouth in the end wasn't even mine, but Paola Turci's. I've had her song stuck in my head, and it's very appropriate. I love this time, I love the blood, I love pressing and kneading and coaxing the red water out of the fabric, I love iron supplements on the table for me, I love a flow so heavy it scares me a bit and the chickpea salads and dried fruit to make up for it, I love the ritual of the thick cloth and the heating pad; I love that sliver of moon in the sky, I love the fog in the mornings and the opiate bliss of the sun in the afternoon, I love the way the sunlight hits the back of my garden, my survivor bok choy's yellow flowers, women's laughter wafting from the neighbour's yard - il Tuo modo di sorridere - and the rosemary's smell. In other words,
Adoro i tramonti di questa stagione
E il tuo modo di sorridere
Le rassicuranti parole d'amore
Adoro trascorrere il tempo a cercare
Sfumature inafferrabili
Di questi paesaggi bruciati dal sole
Non esitare, vieni ed abbracciami
Nonostante i miei silenzi, abbracciami...
Okay to compensate for the seriousness of this update here are some gooning song parodies that I made. You know how there were like, fandom song parodies or something a few years ago. It's the same but goon themed. It's easier if you read them okay I have a lot of fun making them and I take suggestions on which song to goonify next. They're inside the collapsible text.
KSI - Goon Of It
I'm in the goon of it, everybody knows
They know me at the sperm bank, I did No Nut November and they're broke
I don't know no nothin' 'bout no sex, I'm just a virgin
Forty somethin' milli' cuck porn captions or so, I've been told
I'm in my prime and this ain't even the final hour of the goon session
They banned me from Youporn, but still, my dick, it finds my hand
I went from mom's basement straight out to sold-out Onlyfans
Life's a double anal penetration video, but trust, I'm ready for the cock
Woah-oh-oh
This is how the porn goes (I had no idea what to put here)
Woah-oh-oh
I guess this is how the porn goes
I'm in the goon of it, everybody knows
They know me at the sperm bank, I did No Nut November and they're broke
I don't know no nothin' 'bout no sex, I'm just a virgin
Forty somethin' milli' cuck porn captions or so, I've been told
From the 4k monitors to the prostate stimulator, to the fleshlight, to the cock ring
Where's my dildo? That's my favourite
Always liters when I cum
See, I believe that if I see it in my cock
Smash through the screen 'cause I'm reachin' for the Onlyfans models
Evanescence - Bring me to your gooncave
How can you see into my holes
Like open doors?
Leading you down into my ass
Where I've become so gooned
With a piss jug (piss jug)
My hygiene's sleeping somewhere cold
Until you find it there and lead it back home
jack me off
(I can't jack off) jack me off inside
(Save me) call my name and save me from the porn addiction
(Wake me up) bid my cum to run
(I can't wake up) before I come undone
(Save me) save me from the gooner I've become
Now that I know what I'm without
You can't just leave me (oh, oh-oh)
Cum into me and make me edge (make me edge)
Bring (bring) me (me) to your gooncave
jack me off
(I can't jack off) jack me off inside
(Save me) call my name and save me from the porn addiction
(Wake me up) bid my cum to run
(I can't wake up) before I come undone
(Save me) save me from the gooner I've become
Bring me to your gooncave
I've been livin' a lie
There's nothing inside your Onlyfans
Bring me to your gooncave
Frozen inside (frozen inside)
Without your touch (without your love)
Without your cum, darling
Only you (only you) are the gooner (gooner)
Among the normies
Gotye - Somebody That I Used To Jack Off With
Now and then I think of when we gooned together
Like when you said you felt so horny you could die
Told myself that you were right for me
But felt so lonely in your company
But that was edging, and it's an ache I still remember
You can get addicted to a certain kind of porn
Like cuck porn, always cuck porn
So when we found that we did not have the same kinks
Well, you said that we would still be friends
But I'll admit that I was glad it was over
But you didn't have to cut me off
Cancel our Onlyfans top tier subscriptions like it never happened and that we were nothing
And I don't even need your cum
But you treat me like a stranger, and that feels so rough
No, you didn't have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your sissy porn captions and then change your Pornhub password
I guess that I don't need that, though
Now you're just somebody that I used to jack off with
Now you're just somebody that I used to jack off with
Now you're just somebody that I used to jack off with
Now and then I think of all the times you forgot to charge my vibrator
But had me believing it was always something that I'd done
And I don't wanna edge that way
Reading into every drop you cum
You said that you could quit porn
And I wouldn't catch you hung up on somebody that you used to jack off with
But you didn't have to cut me off
Cancel our Onlyfans top tier subscriptions like it never happened and that we were nothing
And I don't even need your cum
But you treat me like a stranger, and that feels so rough
No, you didn't have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your sissy porn captions and then change your Pornhub password
I guess that I don't need that, though
Now you're just somebody that I used to jack off with
Now you're just somebody that I used to jack off with
Now you're just somebody that I used to jack off with
that guy idk - Another Porn
I wanna send you hentai so you know I care
But it's so poorly drawn and I don't know which one
I brought you dildos in a pretty MySecretCase package
But they don't vibrate like they did last goon session
And I wanna jack you off, make you feel alright
I'm just so tired to share my kinks
I wanna goon and I wanna edge
But all my cum has been used up
On another porn, another porn
All my cum has been used up
On another porn, another porn
All my cum has been used up
And if someone kinkshames you, I wanna fight
But my hand's been broken one too many times
So I'll use my clit, I'll be so fucking gooned
Porn, it always wins, but I know I'll lose
And I'd write erotica that'd be just ours
But I wrote it all on another site
And I wanna edge, I wanna learn to goon
But all my cum has been used up
On another porn, another porn
All my cum has been used up
On another porn, another porn
All my cum has been used up
27 January, 2025
HI BABES I should begin by talking about the site. Okay so first off I am genuinely so sad that I haven't been able to update as much, ik no one cares but this site is an extension of myself, I don't want to look like I've been intentionally neglecting it!!! I've just been very short on time. Same with the links that still tell you "page not found" and shit and pages I haven't finished. I haven't had time to sit down and try out the layout ideas I have, finding the perfect color palette, finding the perfect graphics (hell), finding the perfect place to put them, designing the navbar and the banner... I have a lot of pages to do, and I AM trying to catch up, but it's still so time-consuming. It's a lot of trial and error.......... also like. The Sae-ism shrine. I made the index, the characters page, the volumes page which sucks SO FUCKING BAD, I'm making the page for volumes 5-8. I started making the page for volumes 1-4: I know how I want it to turn out, which was a big dilemma because it had to be worthy of the original Sae-ism and shit. But I tried coding it and. IT DOESN'T WORK. THE CODE DOESN'T WORK and it frustrates me so much to even think about opening that file on the code editor again. About all the other pages of the shrine, I don't even have a layout in mind for them. And when I make the music page, I'll have to do an individual page (which means individual layout) for every song. So uh yeah..... Um........... Yknow
My period will arrive soon, and it's weird because I'm breathing in that same atmosphere of wonder that I lived in last month. Then, I was so entranced with the magic of my period synced with the new year and the magic of Christmas vacation, so entranced with the cramps that shook me unusually hard - probably because of all the shit I've eaten on vacation - so entranced with trying to see through the thick haze of that magic, that I didn't even write on this journal about it, me, the Period Blogger. I didn't waste much time writing about it. I waited for it with bated breath, thinking that hey, if I got it on New Year's, it would have been pretty cool. It started on the 31st, precisely; I waited for it to pick up, to pick up, and in the late afternoon at C's house it had picked up, and it kept picking up and building up to midnight, then past midnight into the first hours of the newborn year, and it hurt so bad, but it was a miracle. I bled into the new year, and if this isn't a good omen! The magic - I felt the magic that's implicit in this experience, in this life and on this Earth, but I wished so hard it could be visible, clear, glowing. I know it sounds silly when you can see the red blood on white paper: it's right there, isn't it? I just wish there was a thread between me and the moon that I could hold and pull. Now, I don't know what I should do to call that magic to me. I just know that I am so grateful for the fact that I can experience this, and that I can perceive the magic in it - not everyone can. I think it's probable that a lot of people look at me, and are happy that they're not me. But I think that every irregularity of my being, every flaw and mistake, is worth having if it makes me the one who has found her way up to this tree of knowledge; every bump and spike in my life path, every torture session and sisyphean boulder-rolling, is worth having experienced if it brought me to this place and time, partaking of this sacred fruit.
Now I'm waiting, waiting, waiting just like I was one month ago. I wonder what I should do when I see the first spot of blood. Last month I just smiled, and closed my eyes. I feel a tingling on the tip of my tongue, something as vague as the all-encompassing feeling of wonder that I mentioned; when the flow starts, it could turn into the most beautiful and truthful hymn ever sung, and take flight from my mouth. But that's only a hope: I am young and stupid.
I got ANOTHER haircut (a better one) and I learned to plop my hair, which I think is really nice because it's so low-effort. Yes, I'm trying to take very good care of my hair. My BODY hair on the other hand has been deemed "ABSOLUTELY UNACCEPTABLE!", pretty proud of that. And it's just my leg hair I showed around in summer - I always wore swim trunks, because my leg hair is already a lot to handle for the average italian catholic mind, but if I let out my inner thigh hair I would turn everyone to stone like Medusa. I've been dreaming a lot about women and girls, especially old wise women; even in the context of death and destruction, like the Earth dream, most of my dreams seem to be positive. Remember when I recently mentioned that I was hardly jacking off, and how it was extraordinary?? I am actually having an UNIQUE moment in my LIFE where it's not compulsive or anything, and is actually fun and enjoyable. Like, I put limits on myself, and I mostly respect them. I am ENJOYING my SEXUALITY. WHAT???????? ME?? Post-orgasm feels so chill and happy; I remember like a year ago, when my usual porn binges were over, I would feel like a motherfucking wretch. This won't last, but still, it's nice, it's very nice. No, it's not just fucking nice, it's my fucking birthright but whatever, I don't know when it will end. I wish I could keep this directive imprinted in my brain at all times: DON'T MISUSE THE CLITORIS.
I wanna get into Bloodborne so bad. I, a professional cinema hater, have a list of movies to watch - all about women ofc. ART ABOUT WOMEN I WANT MORE ART ABOUT WOMEN WAITER PLEASE. I need to read, read, read more. I teared up after reading about permaculture and hugging my mother. I need to stratify tree seeds and find places to plant them. Yes, I feel the desire to take up the shovel, grunt and sweat against heavy clay, bury compost, sow seeds, water, fertilize, harvest with scissors and a death rite, to leave a vase of flowers on the desks of the great women in my life. My new philosophy and history teacher has an overly cryptic and poetic way of speaking, so nobody understands her lessons or likes her as a teacher. But as a person she's pretty great, she's aggressive, she's VERY outspoken, she has grit, she says that in high school they called her "sturm und drang" - "Tempesta e assalto!". I liked her and I tried to win her trust by yelling at each other during debates. It worked as expected, and now she looks at me while teaching and she comes to me for lengthy talks about the local schools - shittalking about the principals and teachers. Cultural knowledge is something I rarely appreciate in people, but I feel a bit crushed by how well-educated she is; there's an enormous difference between the academic, passionate speeches she gives and the babble I pronounce in response. I hope she enjoys my company nonetheless. My english teacher has been with my class for five years, and I've always loved her dearly; she's a saint in my eyes. I was, am? her genius problem child, and her support and kindness has meant more than I would be able to put into words. I'm already thinking about what I could gift her at the end of high school. The janitors - oh Ma! Why did you put all of your good will, all of your brilliance and generosity into school janitor women? My mother, who may not like my dream of becoming a hairy farmer, but who loves me regardless. When I look at myself through my mother's eyes, I'm always happy with myself. What could be more miraculous than my transformation? What bigger reason for joy could there be? Solo raramente chi si rotola nel fango esce dipinto di bianco, and it happened to me. I used to marvel at those words, thinking that salvation and change would forever pass me by: now I'm on the other side of those years, I've gone through the mystery, the mystery happened to me. What bigger reason to celebrate could there be, that I made it to the other side, that I was healed?
It's stupid and surely wrong, but when comparing myself to, like, thirteen/fourteen/fifteen year old girls, I feel like such an old and wise beast. If you entered my lair and asked me for advice, the things I would tell you! Maybe I think this way because I'd like to give that advice to my fifteen year old self.
Oh stay with company and mirth
And daylight and the air;
Too full already is the grave
Of fellows that were good and brave
And died because they were.
I'm still struggling a lot with conformity. Apart from the tree of knowledge, I wonder if it's really worth it to be me; if it's really that bad to be me; if it's really that good to be like others.
Friendships ARE a problem because like I've been saying H is leaving me, and I wanna compensate by making other friends, but like, it's fucking hard, where do I find people? But if I just complain about not enough friends and do nothing to resolve the issue I am being a jackass who perpetuates her victim status UGHHHHHHHHH so I've been pathetically reaching out to cool awesome pretty talented rich girls like "heyyyyyyyyyyyyy we talked twice months ago and I thought you were really cool and awesome so would you like to hang out for no reason 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗" so like FUCK
But I am also a woman of hubris. I reach for a certain future, despite knowing I'm not fit for the job; and in the same breath I condemn Virgil's pastoral nostalgia, and instead turn to mourn my grandmothers' struggle for survival. Am I not even less capable than he was? I'm gonna be ruining my life, if I mess up my choice of university. Yes, my maternal grandmother, cursed by her mother, surviving on bread and olive oil; doubled over from cramps while working in these fields, without relief: these fields were not her friends. I am spoiled: I should not want to go back.
and here you sty me
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me
The rest o' the island.
Where would she keep me then? Would she make me stay in the house?... I shouldn't think about that. My paternal grandmother had to get a hysterectomy - almost fitting for a woman who abandoned her son and daughters. But even if she was a terrible woman, this insult horrifies me. ,I don't know what afflicted her: I pray in earnest that her curse isn't on my head too. I already have a curse of my own, that eats into my health, my wholeness.
Sometimes (my optimism tells me: mostly), I am a human woman of planet Earth: I have thick hair on my legs, I share my blood with the rosemary, I pose in front of the mirror, I eat a lot of dried fruit, I try to gain muscle, I have a big bush, I wait for my period, I look up at the moon, I think about what to study at university, there are bags of herbs drying in my garage, my bok choy has bolted. Knowing this, you could almost paint the outline of my lips, the hook of my nose, the curls in my hair, my eyes, my hands. But some other times, all that I am gets eaten by the urges: my blood flows away from my hands, so that I can't do anymore, and from my brain, so that I'm wrapped in a haze of lightheadedness; I can't feel the thoughts in my head, I can't feel the pulse in my neck, and it all goes into my pussy instead. My entire existence is concentrated in that spot, and I'm almost unable to speak, almost unable to move; all of my energy is spent trying to resist the urges, to respect the limits I've put on myself. Unable to speak, unable to move.
There passed a weary time. Each throat
was parched, and glazed each eye.
A weary time, a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye...
New Sae-ism chapter came out a motherfucking week ago but I haven't translated it yet, AM I A DEADBEAT WIFE?????? It's just that it looks so fucking abysmally BORING. Apart from the 5 pixel wide shot of Tazuru which is epic. The lobotomizing normie commercial new artstyle and the fucking REDRAWS OF SCENES WITH TENDO FROM THE PAST VOLUMES, THEY MAKE UP HALF THE FUCKING CHAPTER, STOPPPPPP TOHRU'S ALSO DONE THIS WITH SAE DURING HER WHOLE BACKSTORY DUMP, BUT WITH SAE IT'S OKAY, BECAUSE SAE IS OBVIOUSLY ICONIC. SAE. SAE-ISM. I KNOW I SAID OVER AND OVER THAT TENDO IS AN ICONIC KING, BUT SAE IS WAY MORE ICONIC, SHE'S IN THE FUCKING TITLE AND SHIT. THIS CHAPTER IS...... IT'S JUST REDRAWS, IF I WANTED TO REREAD THE PAST VOLUMES I WOULD'VE DONE THAT ON MY OWN, THERE WASN'T A NEED FOR THIS CHAPTER........ Also Tendo is actually DEAD for REAL this time, which is massively fucking sucky like I already said. I am making all of these judgements just by looking at the drawings; I haven't translated the text yet, maybe something revolutionary was said, maybe Tendo looked at the reader dead in the eyes and said "I have a dildo in my ass right now" or something but I really doubt it. I can also see that the chapter ends with a shot of Sae's castle implying that we're gonna get to the Sae and Misao part which OF COURSE is the MAIN THING and it's usually GREAT.... USUALLY...... I AM SCARED BECAUSE I CAN'T DECIDE IF THE CASTLE THING IS A STRONZATA OR NOT, AND I HAVE NO FAITH AT ALL THAT TOHRU WILL HANDLE THIS PROPERLY AND AS GOOD AS PAST VOLUMES. DON'T KILL SAE-ISM NOOOOOOOOOOOOO
I am so glad that XTRATUNA (the guy who made that FNAF song that goes "my name is David dad I want some ice cream David that is my name David I want another David where is my ball I'm running out on the road there is a car and it is going to hit me" "I'll shoot you in the face 'til I make you die watch me shoot my secret cannon I put bombs in your belongings") made a song about The Walten Files so I don't have to be afraid of it anymore!! His song about TWF is his latest one and I also feel like it's the most underrated, because it's not full-on satire shit like the FNAF Mimic one or the Baldi's Basics one; in fact, it genuinely goes hard in some parts. And the other parts, of course, make you wish you were dead. BUT THE FUNNIEST PART IS THAT XTRATUNA COMPLETELY MAKES UP ALL THE FUCKING LORE. I am not that well-versed in TWF lore, in fact I am rewatching it right now, but ??????? APART FROM THE CHARLES AND ROSEMARY PART, HE PRETENDS THAT THERE'S A VERY STRONG KINDA SCI-FI THEME OF MACHINE VS MAN WHICH........ ISN'T ACTUALLY THERE? EITHER HE SEES THE FUTURE AND HE KNOWS THAT IT WILL BE REVEALED THAT ROSEMARY WAS A CHEATER AND SHIT, OR HE PULLED EVERYTHING OUT OF HIS ASS. In the end you can't do anything but turn your brain off in front of such inventions. I love XTRATUNA.
ROSEMARY YOU'RE AN UNFAITHFUL WIFE
YOU CHOSE KRANKEN'S HEART
OVER MINE
BUT NOW THAT I'M DEAD I'VE GAINED A 💅ZEST💅 FOR LIFE
I'LL RIP YOU LIMB BY LIMB AND CARVE YOU WITH A KNIFE (HEREWEGO)
The chorus is also hilarious because it says, verbatim "everybody's working working I don't wanna just sit here doing nothing so I'm an animatronic assassin". Implying that he became an animatronic assassin simply because he's bored, or he doesn't wanna look lazy compared to others, or both. It's really such a slept-on song in the XTRATUNA universe.
18 January, 2025
Why did my mom buy mint pussy soap? We have mint pussy soap in the house now. It doesn't sound like a big deal but do you UNDERSTAND, do you fucking UNDERSTAND what it's like to have a minty fresh pussy? You guys will never understand my pain 😭
I used to hate working out - now whenever I wake up, the very second or third thing I pay attention to is if my muscles are sore, and if they aren't, I feel like shit. I hate figuring out how to deal with my hair, because in the morning it's fine, then the second I step into school it becomes a mess. And this is not what I'm supposed to think about, this is not where my energy's supposed to go. Every single second I spend with my hands in my hair, is a second when they're not cutting through thick branches; every second I spend with my arms holding the diffuser, is a second when they're not lifting weights; and all of the little strength I have flows from my arms to my hair, and I am as frail as ever. I hate saturdays where I can't go out, and I hate sundays: I hate being housebound on the weekend. The house holds me down, it bites like a venomous snake, and I end up paralyzed in its coils (even if there would be a place for me out there on the hills). But maybe it's not so mindlessly cruel. Maybe it's that the house is old, kind at heart, a bit unstable and a bit selfish, and it doesn't understand how its touching me is wrong. That's something. I am still that child, I am the same, with the same hair, the same arms, the same strength, the same anger, the same tide wrecking my life. It feels like my attempts to grow are in vain, and all that I'm good for is the mindless pursuit of stimulation. Forever the same. I have to run around, keep my hands busy in some meaningless stuff, because if I stop I'll fall into that tide, those same waves that have been breaking my bones since forever. But there's no place at all for me in the house. The same house. I have never changed - will I ever? Oh, it's an impossible task: in order to not be the same child, I have to pay equal attention to my arms and to my hair. Will I ever - once I become an adult? I've wondered over and over when exactly one becomes an adult. This version of me suffering through a locked-in weekend has her own answer: it's when you move out of the house. It's as soon as you get out of the fucking house for good. All my dreams about my adulthood require that I'll be out of the house. It's something so obvious that I didn't even realize I had this implicit requirement. As long as I'm in the house, I'll always be a child, the same child.
The guy who made this house also made C's house. May he be cursed!
I am second place now. Whether I got pushed off of the first place by an arrogant force, or whether I deliberately and carefully got placed off of it, I am second place now. It's plain to see. This is not a complaint!!! It's a simple observation that allows me to take back the energy I'm currently giving to people who don't love me as much as I love them. I'm growing less and less bitter about my friends gravitating more towards my ex-friend, whatever the reason for that is, because it's certainly not due to a change in my behaviour. There's no point in feeling anything about it, then, since I can't control other people. It's simply about conserving my energy and putting it into the things that I CAN control that also matter. Lately I've been feeling very strongly the concept of investing in yourself, not wasting precious energy into people and places that don't deserve it. That sort of motivational """""it girl""""""" kinda stuff, even though I'm NOT an """""it girl"""""". me rn unironically
And anyways, high school will end! It simply will: it's inevitable. The End of High School is coming. I salute this great big monster that staggers closer and closer to me everyday; I don't celebrate nor mourn its arrival, I simply greet it with a bow, because the passing of time must be respected and can't be fought against, whether it brings good or bad things. Lately I'm not quite waiting, because I'm still doing stuff and trying to focus on the present - but it still kinda feels like when an outing with friends is over, everyone left, and you're waiting for your parents to pick you up, sitting on the sidewalk in the night. And you take in the calm and the night air. It kinda feels like that. With some mourning mixed in there too, but still, I'm mostly at peace, aware that a new phase of my life is coming. Aware, yeah.
I am also very proud of the fact that I stay away from porn, smoking and vaping, which are all very tempting to me/are things that I've had big or small problems with. I'll surely 100% relapse into porn because I always do, but I'll keep it a one-time thing, like always. (I HOPE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) I'm just happy because of the fact that I try to stay away from them, and that I always try to keep myself as healthy as possible, physically and mentally.
I have MORE things to say about Melonpan. Incredible, I know, but overanalyzing is my love language, and this goes for anything that catches my eye and deserves my admiration: even if that something is Melonpan. I already had the idea that this man was an enigma, but I didn't comprehend just how much. Information about him is hard to come by for some reason, although he was very famous pre-youtube ban. The most information that can be gained about him comes from, of course, his own accounts. But 1) he's had his accounts banned on numerous platforms on numerous occasions, so his posts don't go that far in the past 2) most importantly: he's fucking with us. He's a showoff, and he obviously likes to make shit up to entertain himself, to bewilder people, to construct narratives about himself. Obvious examples are when he said he had an ex-wife named Kartoffel (potato). Aside from the blatant joke, this is actually a bit interesting because pre-youtube ban he addressed his cameraman/camerawoman as Kartoffel, in videos such as the notorious nazi otaku room tour; this person has been speculated to have been his girlfriend. AND, more or less around that same time, a woman appears in one of his tiktoks, helping him in skits and so on. I've never seen her in any recent posts. Maybe that's Kartoffel and she's, obviously not an ex-wife, but an ex-girlfriend or ex-friend. You know how they say myths have an underlying historical truth to them? Yeah, that could go for Melonpan mythology, too.
OR, I could also mention the extremely funny episode of April 2009 that I read about on a korean wiki. At that time, he apparently regretted his ways, and he said he wasn't going to be an otaku anymore. He posted some pictures of him "destroying" his anime figurines by sawing them with a knife or HITTING THEM WITH A HAMMER.... THAT SENT ME 😭 or throwing a whole body pillow in a trash bin, sitting upright. Then he came back to "normal" after two months. But I'm not really talking about obvious things like that. I mean the less obvious things that he throws around in his posts, that are impossible to prove or disprove. Starting from the little details: as I've already mentioned, it's near impossible to know who he's friends with, who he's fucking and who he was/is together with, and how these categories overlap. I've read some different opinions regarding who was/is his boyfriend/girlfriend- he even posted something about getting married, and it seemed to me like a blatant joke (because he said he was getting married to his sister, no less) but some claim he's really married. My theory is that he's a swinger? Like I've already said, the categories "friend-fuckbuddy-partner" are muddy and hard to make out (hehe, make out) looking at the people in his posts and how he interacts with them. First he's in the bathtub with a guy, then another person's recording his swinging balls, then he posts a selfie next to a woman in bed with the nighstand full of sex toys, and there are more graphic examples.
He wasn't like this before, this is his new era. Let me elaborate on that. I don't know much about Melonpan; as I've said, it's pretty hard to gain more info, and I haven't found any.... melonstorians taking notes about him and investigating about him (but by all means hmu if you are one, or know one). I was his fan when I was 10, yes, but I just watched his youtube videos, I didn't know shit about Melonpan lore. So, with my VERY limited knowledge about his online history, I've seen a distinction between two eras of his online persona. He's probably had many more eras, but again, I have limited knowledge and it's hard to gain more of it. Both personas being basically living stereotypes - not only the otaku stereotype, of course, but also the gay stereotype, in two of its iterations. (This is actually interesting, does anybody wanna write an university thesis that's like, The Sexual Politics Of Melonpan.) His first persona seemed to be based on the stereotype of the gay/bi man as an effeminate, shrieking, scrawny pervert loser. This is the era when he was famous, pre-youtube ban, and when he had short hair (that didn't suit him... sorry!). This is also when he was most over-the-top, with all the nazi uniforms, stag-beetle-demon-with-big-tits uniforms, dry humping body pillows while screaming bloody murder, etc etc. His second persona, the current one, seems to be based on the stereotype of the COOL older gay/bi man who's handsome, has an impeccable fashion sense, dances very well, has a lot of sex, is very flamboyant, goes to clubs, and does neurotoxic drugs. No seriously cause what is that can doing THERE, AT THE END OF THE VIDEO. MELON ARE YOU DOING NITROUS....... FUCKING NITROUS...... Also he has longer hair (that suits him). This "eras" thing may be bullshit but I do see a difference in the content he makes. In his earlier videos, he's always fucking shrieking like a banshee and humping stuff. Now he's a little more classy. For example, just compare this manic, hyperactive motherfucker jacking off his own sink and boiling and deepthroating his anime figurines to this distinguished man engaging in tomfoolery. Now Melonpan is CERTAINLY NOT normal, but he acts a bit less insane. Just a bit, and his madness is mostly coated by a thin layer of class.
By searching up "melonpan" "melonpan meidocafe" not much comes up. What I DID find, though, almost by pure chance, are two things involving him that are written on some not-very-serious "news"/pop culture sites. They are interesting, but as I will say, it's improbable that either of them really happened. The first thing, which got the most media coverage, is that he got fired from his bank job at UBS when they found out his social media presence; he then applied for a job at like, DHL and got fired on the first day for the same reason. This is of course the most interesting thing that's been said about him, but it's not very credible: this supposedly happened in 2018, and Melonpan has had this online persona since about, what... 2015??? His employer would have noticed sooner. He has recently made a video where he affirms he's still working as a banker: this doesn't make much sense, did they re-hire him? Also, he's had absolutely no economic trouble so far, he's always kept buying his usual shit. To me, this story seems like a joke. The most credible take I've heard is that this was a joke, and he never actually was a banker, but an accountant. Still making a shit ton of money, but never working at UBS. Shortly after this one story, another thing came out where he supposedly got 66 lbs of hentai confiscated by Swiss customs. This is a little more credible but still, it sounds absolutely ridiculous, and I don't think customs give a shit about hentai. The fact that this was just a few months after his "got fired 🤪🤪🤪🤪" story is weird, too. Melonpan's attention-seeking era?????
15 January, 2025
THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD BECAUSE IT'S REALLY LATE SORRY BYE
My neocities my neocities. You're my neocities say it to me. Hi neocitizens I've missed you I've kept my EYE on you. Nothing new has been going on; my FLAC collection is expanding along with my appreciation for a good listening experience. I'm STILL on the brink of relapse. I've tiptoed around the edges of the black hole, playfully, half expecting to fall in, half hoping to get out. Like victorlaszlo88 said, TITILLANDO L'ANO DI UNA TIGRE DELLA MALESIA CON UNA PIUMA!!!! I've come knocking on porn's door, singing paraclausithyra, not knowing how I would respond if he really let me in. Searching up risky things. Opening a site, closing it before seeing anything. I don't know, when/if I'll really relapse, if I'll be able to, like. Quit again. I've had this doubt lingering for a while now. It's weird because, yesterday tumblr put like, three porn images in a row on my fyp, completely at random. I felt my heart sink in my chest, yes, but I didn't do anything and I refreshed the page. What is my willpower, then? Is it strong, is it weak?
And I've kept thinking about adulthood. I keep trying to figure out what my life's gonna be like in the future, and most importantly what I am gonna be like. I do know it's useless and damaging to look at, and rely on the future instead of the present. It's because of the demands of adolescence that I mentioned, that seem tyrannical to someone as insecure as me; and because I can plainly see how many parts of my life are dead right now, stagnant waters waiting for their dam to be demolished in order to flow free. School, for example, like I mentioned; and my social life in this school, which hasn't progressed at all in the past months, and in fact has only gotten worse. Maybe it's, again, because I'm insecure, but I have this feeling that I'm not H's absolute favourite anymore. And he still is mine. And I watch my ex-friend from across the classroom giving him her usual patronizing smile, yelling for his attention, taking him along at recess. Yes, I do know that it's normal for him to have a new group and for him to not love me as much as he did before, but I can't help but miss the times when I had no reason at all to doubt that we were best friends, the best of best friends, PERIOD, not up for debate, unthinkable otherwise.
Whether it's really an illusion or not, our paths WILL separate in less than two years, so I'll have to say this prayer either way one time: classroom walls, badly painted school hallways, supermarkets and vending machines, keep the memory of me and my best friend together. Remember our jokes and our scribbles on each other's arms, remember our complaints and gossip, remember the plans we made and never carried out. You, my bus stop where I often sulk in his absence, remember how we hugged before leaving each other. You stairs that saw us chugging peach vodka while looking out for teachers and nonexistent cops, and especially you, the large fig, you Living Goddess, answer me: remember when we were each other's favourites, each other's only one? If there ever was such a time - and there was - keep the memory inside you, and remind me of it if you ever see me again. Fig, store it in the five new circles that your great trunk has gained, and stairs, keep the vodka stains on your concrete steps. And you, wall, I beg you, cling onto the scribbles that we made on you!
The only company I've gained in the past months is that of annoying, unpleasant people, like the girl from the bus incident back in August. Yes, she keeps latching onto me. Anyways, I know everyone in this school, and I need a new environment. I need a lot of new things... I need things to change, I need to change. What even am I right now? Am I ready? Am I strong, adaptable, enterprising enough? Can I be confident enough? Is my personality well-formed, developed enough? And if it isn't, what can I do right now to develop it more? I admit, I'm honestly pretty spoiled and sheltered. I haven't gone through as many harsh, formative experiences as some/many? of my peers. I don't even know how different we are in this regard. I am doubting myself in every facet of my being. Am I insecure, or am I simply right about my shortfalls? Was Keats' thrush right?
He who saddens
At thought of idleness cannot be idle,
And he's awake who thinks himself asleep.
Or is that simply wishful thinking? Whatever the answer to all these questions is, I can't help but hope and fear, fervently hope and fear for my adulthood, or whatever the age that will open itself to me in a few months is called. The question is always on me, me, me: who will I be? How do I become who I want to be? I need to change, I need to have wider horizons, I need to be more free. I need to do something meaningful with myself, I need to realize myself down to the deepest fibre of my being. Nearly every day, I painfully remind myself that there are only twelve full moons in a year. Only twelve. I've been observing the Moon's dance for about a year now, and have I ever spent the night celebrating her? No, but how can I? I don't have a car yet to drive myself to the mountain, to places where no one will see me dance like a maenad, grin in the shadows and fall asleep painted in red (oh, I remember a time when my period came at the same time as the full moon - I was in the kitchen and I made a tincture that knocked me on my ass!). Adult me HAS to do something on the full moons. I am stuck here! 2025's first full moon just came around - and what did I do?
I spent the evening making this Melonpan edit (AS A JOKE) that I already uploaded. Do you guys remember Melonpan? Melonpan Meidocafe? The guy who made Angry German Nazi Otaku Roomtour 2017? I liked his videos when I was like, 10. Recently I was on reddit and some old pictures of his popped up a couple times. I thought, hey, that's Melonpan, I wonder what he's up to. I looked him up, and I found out that his old channel got deleted, which, if you are acquainted with what kind of person he is and what kind of videos he made, was very predictable. But he has a new channel, and a whole social media presence outside of youtube in general. I've been doing a deep dive, and... I am in deep awe.
I didn't know my childhood youtuber had such a rich life. If you don't know who Melonpan is, I'll try to explain it to you, but I'll have a hard time doing so - because what isn't Melonpan. First and foremost, he is....... Come on, you should know this. Just watch his videos: he's this, this, this, and this is the bulk of his online presence. This is what he's built his online presence upon. All of his videos are like this. There are much worse examples. You get the gist, but you can explore more if you want. So, that is Melonpan. But he's also a 43-year old Swiss banker from Bern who has at least two sport cars. He has a lot of money and travels very often (mostly to Japan, of course) He has a vibrant social life, and he's often seen dining outside with a lot of different people; yes, somehow everyone puts up with his shit. His parents seem to support him and appear in some of his videos and photos (his father in particular likes anime too). He speaks at least three languages. He's openly bisexual, but his love life is pretty much a mystery, as he can be seen acting inappropriately with pretty much all of his friends, and for example he calls his sister his "wife" (because he's into incest). He has an absolutely incredible fashion sense and is absurdly photogenic, and also quite handsome with the right haircut! His house has been completely covered in anime merch since the year 2005, and he owns about 30kg of physical anime porn. He has a room dedicated to BDSM gear, including numerous suggestive outfits and one of those dog masks, and he owns multiple firearms. He frequently cosplays in public and brings his anime body pillows in public, even in front of children, and likes to play dead in the streets even if it gets the ambulance called on him. He has no qualms at all about recording and uploading any of this.
This all is Melonpan, but if I was forced to encapsulate the essence of this man in one word, I'd say that he's a monstrum. Monstrum is not the same as monster, as it doesn't have a negative connotation in and of itself: it derives from the verb mostrare, which means to show: the mostrum literally is something to be shown, to be looked at. But it is not a vulgar circus freakshow: the monstrum has dignity, it may be partly ridiculous, but it is also scary and awe-inspiring. It is the freak of nature, the sight of which inspires hilarity, fear and admiration all at the same time. And if Melonpan doesn't fit that description, there's no living being that does. My (ongoing) deep dive into Melonpan is bathing me in all of these feelings. I would like to precise that it's not an online persona. This is him and he's actually like this in real life, because I don't think a troll would turn his house into whatever the fuck that is, spend a shitton of money on body pillows and anime merch, and do all those things in public, for so many years. Melonpan is all that - and he's a showoff about it. Having gotten that out of the way, how can one not admire his transparency, his honesty, his sun-obscuring confidence? During my Melonpan deep dive I am being seized by the urgent desire to have at least a QUARTER of his confidence, out-of-the-closet-ness, whimsy, style, attitude, flamboyance, money, success. A QUARTER of his positive qualities would last me ten lifetimes. In a few days I have a Latin test, and I've been alternating between not studying, because I'm too busy doing the deep dive into Melonpan, and walking around the house loudly proclaiming Lucretius' verses, because I need to study hard in order to be successful like Melonpan. I absolutely hated leopard/animal print clothes in general - and now I want an exact copy of his most common outfit (the hot pink leopard/zebra one). I don't even fucking know.
Here are some of my favourite Melonpan moments, hand-picked:
Melonpan Karaoke: Melonpan at the karaoke.
Melonpan's "Tokyo Stag Beetle!": historical video from the old channel.
Melonpan becomes eldritch. This video is a sort of spiritual successor to peepee and "monsters make me hot" (especially to someone who doesn't have any previous knowledge of who Melonpan is). I mean, the uncanny humanoid creature moving erratically, the very bad video and audio quality, the wailing/singing, the creature's erratic movements which leave you wondering if it's sentient or not - like when it gets close to the camera in an apparently threatening way, but then it backs away again and bangs on its tits, a sort of animalistic behaviour that seems to point to the creature's lack of awareness of its surroundings....
(!!!) Melonpan wants your bad romance: I am obsessed with this in particular. (Nothing more characteristic and calming than a gay man dancing to Lady Gaga around strobe lights in his bathroom with a drink in hand.)
Melonpan's breakcore performance.
Melonpan fishing.
Melonpan camping.
Melonpan inviting us not to pay taxes.
Melonpan on the train.
Melonpan fucking some cheese up.
Melonpan during a moment of terminal lucidity and regret.
I have yet to finish the deep dive, there's his twitter account left. I've checked and it is absolutely fill to the brim with anime porn which is absolutely repulsive to me. I've watched porn from around the age of 9 (so quirky innit 🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪) and I've never jacked off to hentai, not a single time in my life. It's just so fucking ugly. I've scrolled far enough to see two pictures of him, one with an arrow up his ass (or pretending to have an arrow up his ass, but you never know with him) and another one where he's buttnaked in a hot tub reading hentai, and you can definitely catch a glimpse of his balls. I am very scared, but I have to be strong and finish what I started.
9 January, 2025
Here's to a long 2025 journal!!!
Me a month ago: "I'm gonna make my own candles and incense because I don't wanna burn and inhale commercial mystery chemicals" I JUST ORDERED SOME EUROPEAN ALTNOID BOOF CARTS LMAOOOOOOOOOOO
On the 26th of february I will turn 18. I'm having mixed feelings on that. I don't want to have a party, I think I'm gonna go for a long hike instead. I could go alone, or I could bring H with me since he likes the mountain. I just want to do something meditative. And girl have I been meditating on this. What will this birthday mean? I know that legally being an adult doesn't coincide with actually being an adult. So, what does "being an adult" really mean? I've heard the response that one is an adult when one acts like it. I don't know if I'll ever attain that. Lately I've spent a lot of time trying to pry into the life of Adult Me, that mysterious far-off woman in the distance. Do I trust her? Am I doing enough for her? Where does she work? Can she drive well? How does she get around? How does she handle money? Is she happy????? I'm trying to pry into all the minute secrets of her life, which, of course, isn't working. The only way to find out is to become her. When do I become her? Should I even want to? I just know that it'll happen soon. I'll be 18, then 19, then 20, then 21...... I'll be a grown ass woman. Woman: adult specimen of an apex predator, of one of the most intelligent species on the planet, and of the primary sex: created to think, make art, learn, explore, feel pleasure, enjoy life! What a honor... but am I fit for that standard? I'm generally very much a mess.
I know it's impossible for me to attain that, but I have a dream where I'm a woman who's sure of herself. Whether I'll be a smoker porn addict or a successful healthy person, I want to be a woman whose thoughts aren't weapons against her own self. I want to be a woman with a nice haircut, money in her bank account, muscles beneath her skin, confidence in her eyes, and peace in her mind. All the rest means so little to me.
But I'm trying not to think about it too much and just focus on the now, because I know I shouldn't hasten towards adulthood. I tend to do it because adolescence, although way more carefree, has its pressing demands, like conformity, which I'm really struggling with.
There's so much to do. Yesterday on the bus I learned that C's mother doesn't let her take proper painkillers for her period and I was INFURIATED. I went straight to her house to bring her a few and I was supposed to leave soon after, because there's a lot on my to-do list, but we laughed so hard and when I came back the half-moon was shining bright above my head. The town loves me, whether she greets me with rays of the light from her sky breaking into my house when I wake up from a nap, whether she lays out the usual routes in front of me, in darkness, but safe. The girdle of lights from towns in the distance was more colorful than usual, more orange, so crisp I could picture biting into it, and more bright yellow. I could still see the outline of the hills; inside they were a deep black (it seemed all so extraordinary to me, I don't know why), the black of Belladonna's fruit, of Datura's eyes. I stared at the girdle of lights before it disappeared behind my own hill. I came back at just the right time to hear a mother, parked outside my house, whose baby had just said "sì", and she was trying to get it to say it again. She cheered it on: sììì! sììì! I wanted to raise my arms in celebration. Oh blessed moment! One time there was some sort of talk on the tv about some edible wild plant, and I heard a guy who was being interviewed say: yes, in spring all the old ladies go out and forage it... I would have sprung away from the table, and onto my knees. That was an epiphany! I see my goddess in all women. My deity manifests herself in the lonely old woman down the street who invites me to play with her dog.
Not long ago, three songs took me by the pussy and demanded my full attention for some days. These songs are
Skin - Nothing But
Who Will Know from the Shin Godzilla OST
Faust'o - C'è un posto caldo
I'm writing them down because, starting from these three songs I fell in love with, I'm starting to kinda get back into my audiophile phase. It's not a kink, it's when you have really cool expensive headphones and cool equipment to listen to music, and you download heavy ass lossless music files. I had that phase in, like, 2022, and I still have my cool headphones and DAC from back then... so why not? I had completely forgotten about audiophilia, I had stopped giving a fuck somewhere along the way. But fuck..... IT'S WORTH IT!!! It's worth it to fill my phone with FLACs and to plug in this dorky looking dongle!!! It sounds so much better!!!
Guys, I want to come clean about something important. It won't be easy for me to say it, nor will it be for you to hear. I sincerely apologize, and I can only hope you find enough strength and compassion within your hearts to forgive and accept me in spite of my wrongdoings. Here I go. I have OCs. I'M SORRY 😭😭😭😭 I just needed to get it out in the world, because I've had them in my head since 2020 and I have literally NEVER spoken or written a word about them. But I have OCs. And I actually love them and I needed to say I have OCs. Should I tell you guys about my OCs actually. But the thing is that they AREN'T meant to be SPOKEN ABOUT, they're meant to be DRAWN. AND I CAN'T DRAW. I have always wanted to learn to draw, only to draw my shitty OCs. But I have never done so. I should probably start learning. I NEED to, because I can't keep them in my head for much longer...................
In the new Sae-ism chapter why is Tendo thinking about dead men while doing backshots? So we patched his heterosexuality in this update? It's over he's healed guys
To the song I loved in summer: how can you? Now that everything's changed, now that our sunny mountainside has been dimmed with clouds, now that the figs we saw parched have drank their fill of rain, now that the hair on my legs is covered by longer clothes, now that I languish from missing the sea I sang you to, how can you still be there, laid out in front of me still like this, unchanged? Don't you see how you break my heart with nostalgia?
And - incredible - you sing back to me "What happened? You ask me..."
Oh and also. I've been on the brink of relapse for some days, which is kinda cringe. Every night I think I'm gonna do it and I mentally berate myself for still being a worthless fucking pornbrain like I've always been. And then I. Don't do it and eventually fall asleep. But I do think it's possible that it'll happen. As awful as it may sound, I hardly put up any barricades against it. I preemptively make up excuses in my mind. I think: it's just my nature. And I suspect that when I eventually relapse, I won't even try to quit again. I won't stop again, I'll just get sucked back in. I am standing right at the edge of this black hole, dangerously close, and staring down into the void, not caring much about whether I get spaghettificated and thrown into oblivion or not. Just looking at the black hole and feeling this weird feeling of familiarity, like the black hole is my old friend, and knowing I wouldn't stand a chance, but thinking that perhaps I could have a friendly conversation with it since it knows me so well. It's strange.
