05/11/2024
I don't think my stepdad realizes it, but he's really becoling an irritable egocentric asshole. Yeah, he's nice sometimes. We got a couple of things in common, but he expects us to be perfect according to his standars. I've got bad habits, I'm not saying otherwise. But getting mad at me letting a hair fall on thr ground is a bit of a stretch. He is immensely nervous about everything, and he is so uptight about cleanliness, it's becoming and obsession. Living with him is... less pleasant now. I know that living together means gettinng up with eachother, but this... we are humans. We're not machinches. We make mistakes, we work differently. Why is it so hard for you to understand that I need to do things in a certain way when you expect us all to function exactly like you ?

16/11/2024
There's just... something about numbers and the passage of time... I can pinpoint exactly when "past" becomes "future". For me, it's 2016. 2016 is the last "past" year, everything from 2017 and after is "future". Why ? I don't know. Maybe it's when I grew mature enough to really understand how time and things are changing ?

I grew up mostly in the 2010's (born in the 2000's) and... idk there's just something about these numbers feeling like home. 2000 to 2016 is where I'm actually living, in a way.

The 2020's especially feel... almost discusting. I hate being in 2024, just because of the number. We are approaching 2025, this is... quite a number. To think that people who were born tens of year before me thought that 2025 would be a futuristic landscape is... I dunno. It feels strange. Sure, there has been progress since the 80's and 90'

Is it nostalgia ? Fear of the future ? I'll never know.

13/05/2025
There are points in my life where I felt so low, trapped deep in some cave, that I completly loose grasp on reality.
I don't remember if I really ever told this to anyone, but I remember that people often told me if there was a way for me to come back to reality.
Truth is, I do not care at all. I do not feel empty or lonely. Thourough my life, I have lived in other universes. These other dimensions always felt more tangible than reality. It isn't about "having more control" no, these character have lives of their own. I simply witness them.
Coupling these other worlds with my taste for creativity, translating these universes have become an obsession. I do not simply want to draw the silly characters in my silly little head. I need to perfectly replicate the constant constant hallucinations I've had for years.
Seeing other people's work, I am always amazed as to how they succeeded in doing what I aspire to. Sharing these constant daydreams. I do not know if these stories mean the same things to other authors as it means to me. I love sharing drawings and infos about the characters in my head, but they do not feel like "book characters" or "movie characters". They are fragments of me.
Some of the stories I make are not that way, some of them were designed for a story. These character feel more like "comic characters" or "video game characters". Not that I don't have any attachment to them, far from that. But they are not part of me the same way.
I am merely human, sadly. I get inspired by other people's work. I enjoy plunging into another's fictive universe, it's a nice change when my own characters are silent. But sometimes, I feel stupid for enjoying these things.
I think I feel that way because the main objectives in one's life are tied to either studies or work. Or at least, that's where we're pushed towards. Everyone says "if you have a job you're passionate about, then you'll never work !", but everyoen also says "you can never make a living out of your passions." Then what am I supposed to do, huh ?
I do not mean to whine or complain. I do not have opinions on things, I am not sure I even exist, really. My brain and I are not the same person, ther is me, the brain, and there is me, the carcass. Unfortunately, I am stuck being the carcass. My brain tosses me around, and is constantly trying to cut the rope chaining him to my flesh. I long for the day I become a being of pure consciousness : no need to sleep, eat, drink or "take care of yourself". Only daydreams and hallucinations.
Still, I very much enjoy being alive. Like I say, there are universes that I like and that inspire me creatively. I cannot name all of them, but the two artists that inspire me the most graphically, are Joy Ang and Jhonen Vasquez. Two very different artstyles, heh. One of my teacher always told me that I had to draw a bridge to bring together the "cute stuff" and the "dark stuff" that I liked. I partially disagreed with that, sometimes I want to enjoy cutesy stuff, sometimes I want gorey things, sometimes both, sometimes neither. I could go on and on about what I like about these artists, what I like about their graphical style or what I enjoy about the work they've made, but then again I feel like a needy, attention-seeking, media-illiterate bitch who cannot even understand what's in front of its eyes. I feel like I simpy cannot understand the deeper meanings of things. Maybe there aren't any deeper meanings. But I feel like everyone expects me to find these deeper meanings, or otherwise I am not worthy of enjoying the things I enjoy.
I don't think there are deeper meanings to the universes I've forged in my head. They are reflection of an aspect of me. I desperately want to translate these worlds into reality for other to see, but at the same time, these are my universes, my characters, get out of my head !
I just want to bring these internal worlds into the external reality so my carcass can enjoy them a little more.
The thing we call "society" isn't actually made for humans, I think. It's made for robots, for clones of the "perfect citizen". I genuinly do not know if I care about other people. At times I want to be alone forever so I can live inside of my own head, but sometimes I enjoy family dinners. Reality is so disorienting.
I try not to care about what people tell me, too. But I think I'm failig. Eerytime someone tells me "what you enjoy is wrong", I usually say something like "I know, I understand that it's wrong and I am trying to change it." This, of course, is a lie. I find fictive violence enteraining, but that does not mean that I want to kill anyone in reality. That is true.
I have seriously considered murder, once. The reason why I didn't do it is because I thought it would ruin my mother's life, and I did not want that. Still, having these violent worlds and characters bring me some sort of comfort. I see my characters murdering and torturing others and I feel the pleasure they feel while doing so. Three of these characters are fundamentally bad people who do these acts. Two of them, I disapprove. Cold-blooded murder of a family member is not something I enjoy. The third, the other ones are his playthings, and there is no more external world to mourn them. This is probably wrong, but I enjoy it. And this is all the fullfillment I need to not murder anyone in real life.
This paragraph is long enough. There is no message I wanted to pass, I am just complaining about life. Now go, there are better things to do than read this glorified alphabet soup.