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blah!

ideas with no tangibility;
ideas with irrelevant supports;
ideas without value;
ideas' witlessness;
ideas' witnesses;
ideas-

<^>

2023-12-21

I have thought disorder that makes it really hard to convey the things in my
head into things expressed in text. One dimensionally. A string of characters.
Projecting the landscape of my mind is difficult in the same way drawing is.
Trying to force a two dimensional world into 128 characters.
      __________
     / _______  /| I have this thing I like to draw, the frame of a cube. The
    / /| ____/ / | edges of the cube, the spaces between the edges, and then
   / //|||  / //|| the edges behind those spaces. It's a practice in three
  / //||||_/ //||| dimensional visualization. I can't do it. Every time I draw
 /_________ //_||| the cube I draw it wrong. A line is where it shouldn't be, I
|  ______  ||_///  made it inconsistent, some elementary mistake. I suppose a
| ||///  | ||///   lot of people couldn't draw the cube right the first time
| ||//___| ||//    but I feel like I should be able to. That's how conversation
| |/_____| | /     feels. One crucial thing is missing, one inconsistency, and
|__________|/      the whole thing is wrong, and I didn't notice it because it
                   was so hard to do the other edges. To make the thing link
                   up. I don't notice my own circular logic, my own
                   contradictions, and often others don't either. But when they
                   do they say I'm bullshitting them. Really it's the spaces in
                   between, the spaces I can't draw, drawn by the voids in my
                   head, that are bullshitting me.

It's hard to communicate with others for it.

Thought disorder is a symptom, not a disease, as I understand it, but I'm not
gonna read into it, at least publicly. I dissociate. I switch out sometimes or
lose myself in the words. I make word salad. I say things because they sound
good, not because they make sense. Et cetera. Fuck. I'm not continuing this.

It's isolating. The very fabric of my mind is sewn wrong. Differently, yes. I
think similarly to some of my peers whose minds are beyond most. But wrong.
There are little threads that lead to the wrong areas of the cloth, stitches
too long and too short and some put in after, even, the weaving of the factory
to pull closed areas I'd like to have used. M C Esher head.

i'm nesting
	and spinning
		and thinking
			and turning
				and tossing
					and blinking
						and rusting
							decaying
								and dying
									et c.

<^>

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