Western/Eastern Culture 

Little tidbit as I glaze over the topic without ranting. 

Ever wonder why the USA and European countries are to be considered Western, while the Asians are Eastern?

I did not research this — at this time, nor will I answer my thought process, but I have a good idea. 

…And I’m curious to the “legit” reasoning although I assume the “standard” reasoning will not suffice as good-enough and leave me with a long search for the actual answer and for this individual topic, in this moment, I do not have time for. Though when I one day look upon these pages, I may. 

9:13am Monday 12.4.17

6:44 monday in the am

I awake and continue to search for answers which I feel I dreamt of tonight, yet I barely remember the context of those dreams. I let it slip away but the edge of the dream hangs on where I see an outer spiral, like the tower of Babel or a skyscraper. 

I continue to analyze myself instead of the subject because I know of my own subtle connections with the issues and do wonder if there is actually connection or if that I am stretching my truth. The idea in mind that I remain to note, even for weeks, occurs more now and has to do with my dreams. 

Of the reasons which I continue to use my medicine. The medicine of the gods that happens to be illegal to man in ironic fashion. Of my reasoning is to suppress the onslaught of dreams, though the madness still comes through in vivid detail and imagination. I enjoy the sensation of the substance, yet when in sobriety from this substance, my intentions for the herb morph into the medical without worrying over the sensation or mood that I prefer as well. 

In sobriety, as I have found during six-month stretches of legal probation and where I am paranoid enough about prison that I abandon my own sanity for the sake of my future. I always felt more punished in my sleep by these probationary rules than by any of the other rules or fines and the whole scenario feels unjust while I remain fighting my own battles each night. 

I recall visions so real and vivid that I have wondered of the truth with days or years of rest beyond waking. The dreams remain and occasionally I revisit them to examine in my memory. I wonder of the significance, if any. I ponder on the reasons or of even the shapes of the clouds or their colors. Recalling the guests and critiquing intentent. 

Yet, I continue on with my medicine in order to leave the veil in place. Though, lately I’ve been tempted to lift it, but in doing so, I’ll be tormented possibly by frightening experiences each night or not scary but thrilling or overwhelmingly interesting. The spread of emotions upon waking would range from sad to happy and scared, exalted, proud, or of any spectrum of fear, anxiety, joy, or elation. And people wonder why I’m a pothead. 

I wonder how they aren’t. I wonder what their dreams can be. In that do they often wake soaked in sweat, swaddled in fear and joy, with a bow of confusion placed on top to signify a gift. Yet is it a gift or a punishment? 

…If the punishment were the case, then why punish a small child? As these vivid dreams did not begin in adulthood, but continued on. The fact in which I don’t discuss is due to repression though now in my path, I am tempted to stop or slow to see the dreams re-emerge so that I may analyze for myself and with the hordes of new insight and intellect and possible wisdom that I’ve gained. 

This is all a side note and I will NOT be attempting this in this week because I have enough confusion and prefer to continue down the path of information collection and save the fast from my medicine for a time in which I have complete control over my surroundings and lifestyle and can then enjoy the freedom to embrace the dreams and to discover if there have been truths hiding there all along. 

As a final note, my dreams remain vivid, but when I’m not smoking — the dreams are not best described as vivid, but as and to the effect that life (itself) is vivid while the dream is the actual life. As if now, here and writing feels more like a dream. 

7:24am, monday, 12.4.17

Sunday 12.3.17

Sitting here researching more interesting topics to help answer our riddles. I keep thinking of old times throughout and try to think of things that I say I’ve heard but they are locked away in the vault. I’ve again let my secret magnetic power be known to another new friend. 

After noticing what had been said, apologizing for unleashing their burden upon me. And then quickly worrying over others finding out their problems. Yet, I told them that that happens to me. 

I somehow attract those interactions. I had to reassure them and reiterate my old statements of how I am a vault of honesty and no one will ever hear of it, *except for possibly a counselor of my own that I sincerely trust (but that isn’t needed to say — those are rare, i.e. Mom). 

That their topic safely resides in my memory but in a special order, where connections can still be made, but the original source having never been revealed. 

I always say “no, really, don’t worry ‘bout it — I know something deep or dark about every single friend I have” and “I don’t mind, I actually appreciate it, and I know it helps you, and it helps me — I think, but either way, it’s great and there’s nothing to worry over with me”. 

And it is true, for some, I know the majority of their issues. I’ve met people and somehow gained these insights in the first few hours of meeting and they’ve once again said “I’ve never told anyone that”. For example, that delivery driver in route to Colorado who shared a joint and a story in which he continued to break my heart a little and I had the opportunity to give my two cents and shoulder to mentally cry on. 

It seems an odd gift, one that I’ve really only fully realized in the recent year(s). I’m constantly waiting on it when I meet people, but it doesn’t come until it slips a bit. If I pry at their situation a tiny bit, it only normally takes a few questions and an obviously open-mind — because I reassure them that I am curious and not nosy. But this is all done with subtlety. They never know that this is happening until a few minutes into the thought and realize they’ve just told a mini-autobiography. I only recently have begun to realize this in its process and aim to listen without waiting to speak or give an answer. Oftentimes, the person will tell a ten minute story without realizing and even if I have no answer for them, it is very relieving to them. 

I’m thankful that I get to participate. I aim to give hope and guidance with any potential solution. Not that I get to fix their problems, it is warming to realize that you helped comfort them a bit in those difficult times.

It becomes obvious how many people fear their peers. Fear over embarrassment and of being outcast for problems that many many others experience. This fact always brings a bit of sadness in contrast to the experience, yet is certainly worth the initial. 

Now I’m freaking myself out 

I just wrote my sightings for the day [here] and then I went into a gas station. I do much writing while sitting at a gas pump. Well anyway, I had just watched a video on the fantastic yet thrilling novel about a possible future, written by George Orwell, named NINETEEN EIGHTY FOUR (1984). The book chills you to the bone. 

I bought my tobacco and exited the door. Fiddling with the coins I reached one and said, out loud, “You know, I bet this penny is from 1984.”

I shocked myself when I brought it up and the penny is indeed from 1984. 

My camera lense is broken and so I cannot get a shot worthy of showing, though the penny sits on my dashboard, beside the acorn. 

That is even better than the 7 in the card game a few nights ago. 


2:00am, 11.30.17

Sightings 11.29.17

Same ole stuff, it is just interesting to note for later on. The clock on the phone is often showing the numbers, but in the salt bath today, I looked to see the time. I’d soaked for over an hour and didn’t want to be in there too long. The clock on the wall, an analog, ticking clock was showing 2:22. It seems more perverse on an old fashioned clock. As if not odd enough with the digital format that seems to always catch my eye. 

Also, at the library and reading a book. Got ready to leave, almost. So I flipped to the first page I grabbed and it was page #111. It was also of an intriguing topic that I’m interested in and-so I read five pages. 

I really don’t stare at the clock all day. 

I promise. 

Deadlifts on 11.29.17

Little update for my journal. 

Deadlifts on yesterday at the Cohen gym. 

I was kicked out for no shoes, though I have been going barefoot there for almost a decade. Yet I sporadically attend and have no grounds for defense on my 1st night back. 

I gained my refund and made my way out. 

Here is my update on the meetup site for memory’s sake:

Here is the last deadlifts session near 3/22/17 for reference:

My traps are sore today. I should regain a deadlift routine!!


That is right, I am finally coming out of the closet!!

Well that is a lie — I am not gay at this time, but yesterday I was. I am gay quite often and I love being gay. Being gay is one of the best things in life!

Society has become one with evil intentions and serves to disrupt the lives we live, in any possible format. It does not want you to be gay at all; it would rather you sulk than be gay. 

Look at the definition from this *iPhone:

What kind of SHIT is that?

The overbearing definition is the #1 and it offers no #2 without leading to the next page. 

And why is the modern version or the slang term used as the most obvious choice. 

Why has the perverted definition of the word become the main definition?

No offense to any homosexual. Being gay in this context is not perverse unless you are in fear pushed on you by the “authority”. 

The whole point of this conversation with myself is noting how I heard an obersvation a few weeks ago which has been stuck in my mind. To the effect of:

“The term gay is not a feeling that we still feel Today because we no longer have an appropriate word to name it.”

This almost seems absurd, yet how do you express your emotions? By sounds, actions… I am stumped to continue as our senses are only 5. The senses are from our sensors and information is relayed through them. 

…So that I can see that you are gayly skipping down the street, waving, and smiling at friends, but in what way will you describe your actions? The term is gay — and we know you can’t say that, right?

*or of my website app, I’m really uncertain which provides the dictionary function. 

12:37pm, Wednesday, 11.29.17