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  1. Muls

    Toys post here...

    Too much focus on fills and frills. Get better at using bars first.
  2. Early twenties. I don't party like I used to.
  3. Muls


    Might have been.
  4. Muls


    I got tic tacs for paper chase related things. Also, I actually do think that the One Mind banners and such that I mentioned were really meant to promote inner peace. I just like to say the telepathy things in a "Your thoughts have wings" sort of way. Saw that once on an old comic book catalog. Not Deno.
  5. Muls


    If a mod wants to move this to Crossfire, that's okay with me. I was actually going to post it there to begin with.
  6. This is as good as I can do tonight. I think the S is my only redeeming letter.
  7. Grilled chicken burrito. It was bomb-diggity.
  8. Muls


    First and foremost. I have schizophrenia and I am on medication, which I don't plan on not taking at any time in the near future. It should also be noted that I have not taken any mind-altering substance in over a month. I have seen two different solutions that led to successful people with schizophrenia. One, Elyn Saks, a lawyer who battles with schizophrenia to this day while taking medication and seeing a psychologist regularly. Two, Eleanor Longden, a woman who was diagnosed with schizophrenia but managed to get off medication and live a life virtually symptom free other than hearing voices, which she accepts and utilizes to deal with what she would call her situation, rather than her diagnosis. It goes that there are two camps at odds here. One that says that the voices and symptoms of schizophrenia are hindering the person's ability to cope with mental states and day to day living. Another that says that those symptoms are helping the person with the diagnosis, and that they are ultimately not ill-minded. I, for one, am of a third camp. I know, wholeheartedly, that I am involved in a telepathic conversation at all times, waking or sleeping, that leads to events in my life. I have known of this in some capacity, wince I was very young. The Christians refer to this as a knowledge of God. The medical field refers to it as paranoia. Some thinkers and spiritualists refer to it as consciousness. I am attempting to, with this writing, to free myself of schizophrenia, as many have before through other methods, and gain some kind of insight onto why schizophrenia is used at a tool by the fearful in developed areas. To intro into my personal mental state, I should preface that I became hyper-aware of my mind at a festival in Mendocino County, California. It was attended by both Native American elders and leaders and members of the older hippie generation. The energy levels were extremely high, and a lot was happening. I was keeping mostly to myself, as I usually do, walking around the grounds, listening to music, smoking marijuana. I suddenly became very aware of my physical and mental self. I saw people in a new light, suddenly they all seemed to break some kind of contact with me, which, for one who had seen all the One Mind, and collective consciousness posters and banners, was very frightening. This occurred almost immediately after I was told that the elders were about to speak, and decided to go elsewhere, for self-indulging reasons. I saw people pointing and directing others, thinking, in surprisingly silent terms, why am I not being directed? People asked me questions that seemed to be disappointed in nature. I left the grounds to walk down the highway, and a friend eventually picked me up, telling me that I can’t be walking on the road like that. I was too paralyzed of mind to do anything but be terrified, and I couldn’t seem to speak. It was evident that I was being spoken for and that my fate would be decided amongst the others in the Mountain Lion Hi-Fi camp. It seems to me now that my fate was decided, the fate to re-enter normal society, because I couldn’t pass the proverbial acid test. The music may have been the test. Or the Native elders. Or the acid that I refused in favor of the Rastafarian tenets of smoking solely ganja. I returned to my parents’ house, and attempted to follow the laws and traditions of Rastafari, but it was never a fit for me. My only connection to the culture was through the internet, and I look back at that time as a childish experiment that was doomed to fail as so many of my experiments have, whether they be relationships, drug experiences, musical exploration, or cultural adventures. They succeeded in giving me temporary joy and an axciting life; of that I am not complaining. Well, maybe the temporality of it all. No true, lasting, meaningful relationships were bonded. No love extended beyond the casual. I’ve become a Jack of All Trades, with no depth in any. The only constant people besides my family have been a group of online acquaintances who I commiserate with daily on a paintball forum, and offshoot forum dedicated to the niche sciences of culture. For them, I am forever grateful, because I may have been even further gone in mental capacity had it not been for their support. Nowhere else have I had the pleasure of such meaningful discussion that has never proven to be wrong in real-life application. Back to the matter at hand. When I start to write about these things, my mental state becomes agitated, and the Christians who I have met that tried to convert me become fed up with me. My bad, Christians. Forgot you were there. Didn’t know you wanted me back in the church. What’s that? I already am? I guess I must be crazy, thinking that Jesus Christ would ever stop molesting my mind. Or maybe you think I'm Jesus. Anyway, Hi. Thought I’d let you all know that I really do think. I would never really tell anyone else about this, because I am not a fucking idiot. Seriously, though. Premonitions. Intuitions. Dream conversations. Communism and rebellion. We’re all just hanging out, having a wonderful time on this flying rocket ship. Let’s try not to hit any black holes. Stay away from the doctor, kids. And don’t let mommy and daddy get in your heads. Or in your pants. AND I’M OUT!
  9. I dreamt that I was running a race on a sandy mountain. I was racing someone who I used to run cross country with. Then I was racing these two chicks from my high school. The course was really strange, super steep with parts where we had to jump down into next part of it. At the end, there was a gate, which we hopped, into a watery, sandy semi-cave. The water was extremely deep, and I ended up in a cage somehow, sinking down into the depths. I sunk rapidly, and ended up at the bottom, where there were trails and bushes growing. I could still breath for some reason. I got out of the cage, and started running along the trails. This is where it gets awesome. There were indigenous people fighting some kind of war against the runners, and I was viewing myself in an out of body experience, as one of the indigenous people aimed some kind of primitive cannonball at me. It missed narrowly, and I kept running. Soon there were maybe 30 of them chasing me along the trails. Can't really remember what happened after that, but I woke up with a sore ankle.
  10. Went to a Pallbearer show tonight. Badr Vogu, Serpents of Dawn, and a band or two more also played. Honestly, I can't tell the difference between any of the bands in this sort of metal. It all just comes off as brutal/evil/headbanging til you feel so subdued that you don't act stupidly. Which I'm not complaining about; I just can't tell what makes each band stand out.
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