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About Fantasma

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    Peaceful Heart
  • Birthday 03/18/96

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    Johanna Waya

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  1. Your art is like the best, literally. It's amazing. I'm sorry things seem slow, the only reason younger folks get ahead is probably because they proactively look for ways to.
  2. The only issue is anti-depressants give you more energy without dealing with suicidal thoughts. It's not that they make things worse. @Gator Just got back from a psych ward for like... the fourth time for depression and anxiety. Honestly if I had the medications which they now have given me I probably wouldn't have gotten that bad in the first place. If you are worried about your meds, look up user reviews online and your doc can advise shouls your worries continue.
  3. @Silo It is not wise to wish such fates even on those we hate. But your methods are weak, I would slowley excise and dissemble the nervous system with a scalpel and ice cold tweezers, then inject something into the blood stream like poison ivy or oak and watch as every part of their body begins to swell and burn, inside and out. Shunts could be inserted into the respitory system to maintain life while that happened. Don't forget intense psychological torture and peroids of complete darkness and silence in between operations. Being crazy makes me think of awful things, good thing I'm a nice person. Don't forget inserting small bits of metal shavings into all the major joints!
  4. So, basically for those of you that missed out on the angsty community feels thread, there was an idea suggested. By me. I probably read it before. The idea is to have a creative showcase of art, music, and poetry in several threads to show what defines our community. Ideally creative efforts by our creative people, since that would make sense to me atleast. So it seemed like a pretty popular suggestion between mods and users, and it is something that could be done monthly, biweekly, perhaps even weekly if deemed appropriate. I just wasn't seeing any more discussion on it, so discuss!
  5. The simplest way to keep your life exciting is to place yourself into situations and places where interesting things can reasonably occur. There is little potential for the unexpected inside of our normal routines. Also, try walking in shallow rivers for a few miles. Grab some swimming shoes and make a day of it, it's hella fun.
  6. So it's a good OS once you strip down every possible thing that comes with it by default?
  7. I had a truly strange dream last night, or rather several. I feel as though one I have had many many times before. It begins with horseplaying with three guys on a dirty river, who try to push a small rusty refrigerator towards me because of a (rather nasty) suprise inside it. There are rafts on the river, aswell as a great deal of debritis. I fall off the raft, and they don't help me get back on so I desperately swim to shore and away from the debritis covered area. I swim along a the river to a destination. There is always a stick floating in the water I can use to push myself away from the things underneath pushing at my legs. Sharp, slender things. Maybe tree branches but feels more like metal. I avoid the bubbles I see rising in an area, as if I know something is underneath. I go towards a grove, and once I get there there is a small doorway with a canine of some sorts. A curtain leads onwards to a sunny day outside but I see a window leading down to a cliff. I break it and let myself fall, fall. What comes next is... strange to say the least. I see a landscape that is like a house in the mountains, but it is like my mind sees the details but fills them with what I am familiar with. Everything is so green and lush. Next comes, I'm a little girl and I see a woman with a simple dress and light green cloth covering her upper body at a busy brown river. There are other children near her, they appear to be picking this green stalk with a bulb at the bottom. I am like maybe 6, I run up, eat some of the pickings, and talk. There are busy people working in simple rafts, other small children nearby, and what look like big tadpoles wadling through the shallows. We talk about maybe visiting relatives in kansas, about big apple trees and I look up at the trees near us. Huge jungle trees, overgrown, and talk about how we can climb these too just we would get bit. Then there is more hyper realistic, I enter a house, there is my... mother? Abuelos daughter in law? In the dream, a lighter skinned lady with dirty blond hair. We talk about... someone dying in a war in 1978, how he thought (freedom?) was worth dying for. I then talk to my abuelo in the dream, Savastano. His hair was old and gray/white, there were cataracts in his eyes. We talked about how he had been diagnosed with cancer, like I had gone to visit him once I heard the news. I think his house was the one with a view, one where I talked with the one who ended up dying in a war later. I think in the dream it was Savastanos son. I wake up, soon after. It was very weird, and at the river and the Abuelo's house it was hyper realistic. I think.... there was some kind of tv going at the time, about a cultural celebration where people shoot fireworks over a river. Weird weird dreams, oh and I pet a boar of some kind and it was real cute and only smelled slightly of carrion.
  8. You could alternatively just burn down the house.
  9. roast him with lemon and onions
  10. Sounds like it. They have a crazed murderer president fighting militant groups right in the city. Sounds like it couldn't be much worse, sadly.
  11. Uhhh, dying in my sleep because that would be the best thing right now? Not like I haven't come close, which gives really really trippy dreams when your brain is starved of oxygen. I'm hoping by the end of the week, but I don't really have much control over it. I mean, tbh my only achieveable goal is probably to do the dishes today or talk with close friends more than once a month? So much for wanting to become a jagabaya in silat, living in a tiny house, furthering my now rusty skills as hypnotist extradinaire, getting in shape, finding decent employment, or programming an RTS engine / game maker in Java. Dreams are pretty great until their corpses rot and fill your lungs with the stench of utter failure.
  12. That is seriously awesome, fresh produce is like the best. Also I'm a heathen that eats raw rhubarb for yummy fun.
  13. Sounds like that day you played the trrrrrrrp-bone. You're welcome.
  14. I've magically found out that the crotch of my work pants tore at work before. The joys of installing internet
  15. I'm trying to be less of a drama whore, but fuck if I don't need to vent right now. Prepare your eyes for a delectable feast of uptmost ire as stewed by the one, the only, Johanna. Where do I start? Do I start in the earlier years where I basically was an awful repressed person but had decent health and intellect? Do I start in the interim years where I had my idealism and believed in a future that I could accomplish with my own hands yet was constantly brought to my knees through severe addiction and depresssion? Do I start in the last year(s?), where even time seems to be drawn into a soul-blackening spiral of misanthropic isolation, internal perspectives that are only as strong as the red wheat under the crushing ice of an eternal winter, and all memories of earlier times can only be viewed under that ever thickening veil... warped, dancing from reality to the machinations of a dying mind, and growing ever more cold to my heart? I believe rather that to start it would be best to begin with how I.. failed. It would only be a form of selfish pedantry to focus on how I have been failed, because truly I have not been. I have had many chances, and much love in my life and I consider my fortunes to be no worse and perhaps even better than a great many other faces out there... somewhere. Perhaps my weaving of the words is an attempt to hold with a dire hunger the remenants of who I am... who I was... who I wish to be. Perhaps I have already accepted my bastardization, my fall from eloquency, the near systemic destruction of all that I have held dear inside for so long. Perhaps if I desperately whittle this wall between the concepts me and the outside with all my strength I will survive with torn, blistered hands, broken body. Perhaps then I won't starve into the oblivion, devoid of any hope until I become a husk which has little distinction between animancy and stillness. Perhaps I seek to save some hope of connection, some dignity with you... likely one of the few genuine connections I feel. Perhaps it is time for a mask, bones of the dead past decorated with bright paints of the dreams of the present... a swirling infinity of possibilities to the viewer but behind the air only grows more stale as the organs begin to shut down and give everything they have to simply continue the illusion to the outsider. To the other. To the hope. To the connection. The simple truth is I have failed the ones I love. I have failed in every way that there is to fail. Any respite is not one I find myself fit for, no cure is one that I deserve. So what then, does one do when faced with such a circumstance? It only seems to grow colder, harder, by the sunrise and damnededly short nights. Do you lie to yourself? Do you find a new vice, do you pretend like it's not true the pain you feel, do you expend yourself on a false vision of a future? Do you breath your last breaths into the heart of another, inspiring and giving everything you can until the distance between you grows so nebelous and incomprehensible that you just.... fall away? It's not an easy thing to dedicate yourself to finding sustenance for others when your own mind seems to grow so hungry, so slow, and everything becomes the burden of a thousand years of pain in the span of the blink of an eye. I have failed when I have promised such a hard path to myself, yet when I have promised an easy path to myself I only seem to grow dimmer and more distant from what I try to hold close. So what then, would one do with what feels like their last times? Does one give into the bodies own desires and let all fall to waste? Does one continue to walk a path of normalcy denying the expression of themselves, the tormented one, the starving one, the real self? Does one try to do what they had always failed to do, and keep walking with their back to the setting sun still trying to reach out and give what they can? Does one just fade?