02:44 (AM)

Hey… ♥

The 21st was a diverse and busy day.

Right now, I’m working on my ad spaces. By the two dates in the renewed privacy policy – I very recently uploaded – I’m trying to say that I have been taking the privacy laws into consideration from the start, but that from the publication date, the current version counts. Before that, I didn’t make use of Google AdSense etc.

I hope I can share with you some audio I made today [it’s nothing serious!].

The files are too big x_x. Hmmm, I’ll think of another way to share it with you.

First, I’ll catch some sleep.

Good night




 

11:30 (AM)

Good morning ♥ 
Here are some pictures I made yesterday:

SameShirt Fangs walking and making a picture at the same time

Being inside my bedroom started to drive me crazy, so I went to the park. There, I cycled some, after which I decided to continue by foot. I looked for a bench to read on, but it got dark very soon. I meditated and medicated some. 

It was also to take measures to stop nightmares, because I had another one, the night before. I still don’t smoke as often as I used to, because I’m now hesitant with government supply. 

The nightmare was about me making the Dutch news for driving past the speed limit in Belgium. The road was known as a road where pedestrians rarely survive. I was shocked awake, when we drove on that same road – but I was in the back right passengers seat this time – someone recognized the license plate – they had made public – and me, and tried to drag me out of the car and beat me to death. 

When I came home – this was not in the nightmare – I had a dinner made by my sister and her friends. Back in my room, I made some voice recordings, for the audio sketch. My method for faster quality writing, is to first summarize a chapter’s content by speaking and then typing it out. 

I then spontaneously thought of making a beat.  The sounds in it, take so much stress off my brain. Unfortunately, I’m using the Lite version of Reason, so there’s a limit to the instruments I can add, and the sound files were too large to upload. [I can’t afford the full version……]

“Please don’t pay attention to the mess for which I don’t have proper room to store.” Something I’ve been making often, when I get hungry at night, is the combination of plain yoghurt, condensed milk, fruit and granola. It’s awesomeee 😀

This fundraiser – or another form of investment – is the only way for me to get out of my parents’ house, without wanting to die. To descend from the level of comfort I’m used to [going out for dinner often, a comfortable couch, a piano, lots of food at home as well, etc…] to social housing [social housing because my parents will never pay my rent and that is all I will be able to afford, if I were to get a full time job to finance moving out (which is not going to happen, because I fear “dissolving in the company” and then becoming this 60 year old who still works there, saying “I used to want to be an entrepreneur”…)]. So I hope I can go from trapped inside parents house, to big happy home on the hills, at once. It’s my only way out, aside from a body bag – because the man might as well get that tired of me. 

Part of me says that my content isn’t jolly enough to start a fundraiser with it. I hope the free book will make that small difference I need, to still make it “fundraiser worthy”. I’m so excited for it!!! 

13:17 (01:17 PM) 

For the construction I want to make [currently, this is just a dream of mine] I want to analyze the ecosystems on the landscape, first. I want to “boost” the them and not disrupt or destroy them. I think it would also be nice to have this tower with offices, which are very homelike. The main office is shared. 

Okay, back to D. O. C. I. S. 

I don’t know what is interesting to read in an introduction. What to use… I know what I’m building the story up towards. The question is how to get there, with the least amount of readers giving up… 

Lil Fangs: De wind suist langs de gesloten schelp. Het water kletst tegen mijn gezicht aan. De spieren houden the schelp zo gesloten, dat er geen lucht naar binnen komt. Ik lig te slapen… Ik durf mijn ogen niet open te doen… 

De tong, die een kussen vormt, ben ik ineens zo ver ingeduwd, dat de spier mijn kroon raakt. Mijn mond is nu volledig onder water. 

Ik begin te improviseren. 

Neus in. Mond uit. 

Neus in. Mond uit. 

De lucht smaakt vies. 

Neus in. Mond uit. 

Neus uit. Mond uit. 

Neus in. Mond uit. 

How about everyone carries a mask for breathing underwater? 

13:48 (01:48 PM) 

The idea that you love me and that you can hear my frequency, makes me feel more safe. 

Lil Fangs: Waarom zou je een tas kopen om aan je raam te hangen? 

Should it be “Benifit Bags?”

My dream is to organize a benifit, for my birthday. 

14:07 (02:07 PM) 

Yellow text for the link, instead of black… I’m going to change it now. [“Yellow link text”, is a funny toungue twister.] 

Hahaaaa… I just realized there’s no incentive to click on the text 😅.

14:20 (02:20 PM) 

Ik kreeg net een aanbieding voor een private bodyscan?? 

Screenshotten¿

Nee¿

[Referencing to the reason why I feel like I’m part of the masses.]

If you mentioned hating everything with “little” in the name¿ That hurts…

Old Fangs and The Fang Man [This is a reference to the old Nosce Te Ipsum. The Nosce Te Ipsum series will be named Volta.] have been separated from each other. They can see each other in their dreams, when they sleep with The Blindfold.] have been separated from each other after escaping from Manya Basis.

Pepernoten op kinderen gooien? Ja/Nee [*insert poll*]

My desk is too messy to use my laptop in semi-comfort. [I’m too tall for my desk.]

Question: Do I have the right to remain silent?????? 

I have been stopped by police, because my parents ordered them to find me. When I didn’t want to go home, I was interrogated. 

It’s the fear of being forced into talking again… I’m trying to indirectly explain that I need assistance, but I don’t know how to find the right person to ask for this relatively large form of public assistance.  

18:06 (06:06 PM) 

I feel like eating mashed potatoes…

I also feel like starting a podcast from my bedroom, because I’m getting tired of typing, so I’ll be buying ingredients for mashed potatoes with a lot of vegetables and bacon [of zoutvleeeesssss…..!!!!! Wooooow ik heb nooit eerder aan die combinatie gedacht… That’s a good alternative. Then I need to go to the oriental store… But that closes at 7…] Current status:

Before

After

I’ve been working on LilFangs.com all dayyy

And then there’s D. O. C. I. S.

23:36 (11:36 PM) 

What an evening… 😔

While I was getting ready to go outside, my mother came home from work [reference to what I mentioned, earlier in this post]. She wanted to accompany me on the mall. I drove. We did bought a lot of groceries, including what I needed for the mashed potatoes, and a sausage for my sister’s friend, because hers was eaten, after my father brought her home, when she was here a few days ago, because he found that she was unpolite and that’s where his “my house, my rules” came into play. 

I wasn’t there, then – I was asleep and was woken up by the security system making the sound you hear when a door with a motion sensor opens, when they left. My sister told me what happend, when my mother asked. This was when I made the pasta (after waking up). Because of the status of her brain after the concussion and the way he has been aggressive to me, I know for sure that her behavior wasn’t that bad that she wasn’t allowed to be in “his” house anymore. (It was about THE REMOTE [OH MY GOD, THIS SOCIETY], so it must have been a fucking bullshit reason for him to respond to her like that.)

The day my father drove her home, out of anger [*face palm*], she brought bread and a sausage that had the taste accent of figs. “She’s coming back on Monday. By that time, the bread will not be good anymore. Might as well eat everything.” 

“That’s my cooking day. Maybe then, we can buy her some Turkish bread.”

Today, I was far too tired to cook something that suits the bread, but I did think of buying a sausage. It didn’t feel right to compensate the delicacy with a supermarket replica. Eating something about which she hadn’t said: “I brought this for you. You can eat it.” [I only spoke to her upstairs – about something completely different – and the food was in the kitchen.] 

I [€658.60 left, “for the rest of my life”. I accepted my mother paying me back “half” of the… It’s hard for me to accept being paid back, because the initial reaction, when it comes them paying for me, is “Oh, that’s too expensive.” Grrrr. Keep ittttt. When I’m in my house on the hills, I’ll spoil someone else, who would do the same for me.  After today, I want to get out sooo badddddd I feel like having a fittt. I need a massage… (I just saw that a 50 minute massage with the right amount of pressure is €70… Is it worth it…?)] also bought the microphone:

#no-ad. Not really the state of the art microphone you would use for publishing anything, but it’s “all I can afford”. It’s also feels like a waste to buy an expensive microphone for a room with veryyyyy bad sound isolation. 

While I was finishing up dinner, my mother received a phonecall. From the sentiment in her voice, I knew there was something up. 

I walked to the couch. The tv was on. My mother had my arm around her shoulder. My sister was petting her arm. 

What wasn’t clear to me, then, was if it was of the “before phase” or that “it” already happend. 

Me: “Shouldn’t you get into the car?” 

My mother: “No. She can’t process all of this right now. We should wait.”
I went back to the kitchen to serve her a small portion of dinner and I turned on the water boiler. After doing that, I thought that waiting for it to cool off would be too long. 

Me: “You might not have an appetite right now, but please eat something.” [In a situation like that, you might not think about what your body’s needs are. Where we were going, they probably won’t serve food around that time.] 

Her gaze was focused on the floor. My mother was still caressing her. It reminded me of two things at the same time: when my grandfather passed away and when I shunned my parents for five days.

I went to the kitchen relatively fast, to serve myself a small portion of food [because I was going to be driving soon and “I never know when I’ll be able to eat next, so I better stuff my stomach” (something I often tell myself)] and pour her a glass of water. 

Suddenly, she passed out. 

I started to ask my parents all kind of questions. Answers were:

My father: “Since the concussion, she passes out a few times of day.” [And then they describe all kinds of sad details I don’t want to share, because they’re sad. I thought: What the fuck…? You can’t find it normal that she paralyzes a few times a day.]

My mother: “We can’t leave. We don’t want her to pass out when she walks to the car, right?”

My mother: “Calm down. We don’t have to leave right away.”

Internally, I exploded. This became worse, when my father said: “Is the oven still on?” I put the food I served for her on the plate, in a container and added some extra food for her to take home. 

INTERNALLY, I THOUGHT [PLEONASME?]: WHAT THE FUCK IS THERE TO CALM DOWN? I ONLY TOLD THEM THAT THEY SHOULD BE TAKING ACTION. I AM FUCKING CALM. IN THIS MOMENT, YOU CAN SEE HOW MUCH SOMEONE IS WILLING TO DO, WHEN “THE MOMENT” IS THERE. 

Me: “You’re watching TV. She should be with her family right now.” [FUNNY THAT WHEN YOU TOUCH THE REMOTE AND HE GETS PISSED OFF, HE CAN GET TO HIS CAR IN A SPLIT SECOND, BUT WHEN SOMEONE’S DYING, HE DOESN’T EVEN COME ALONG.

I sat down next to the friend. Since she heard the news, she hadn’t spoken. I saw her gaze at the clock. It was 21:10.

My mother: “Can you put some food in a container for me as well?”

I WAS SO IN FOR A FIGHTTT, BUT IT WASN’T THE RIGHT MOMENT. [I ALWAYS TELL MYSELF THAT, SO IT NEVER IS, BECAUSE AGAIN, I WANT TO SAY: “I CAN’T WAIT TO NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN,” BUT THE PROBLEM IS THAT RUNNING AWAY AND NEVER COMING BACK IS VERYYYYY EXPENSIVE. BEFORE I DECIDED TO KEEP THE PEACE, WE FOUGHT EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DAY. I STILL HAVE THE SAME INNER FLAME GOING CRAZY.] WITH SO MUCH FRUSTRATION, I PUT FOOD IN A CONTAINER, FOR MY MOTHER. I DO THINGS, BUT I’M PHYSICALLY ILL. TO MYSELF, I THOUGHT: “HOW DARE SHE ASK ME THIS, WHILE SHE CAN JUST GET UP AND FUCKING DO IT HERSELF?” 

TO MY PARENTS, I WANTED TO SAY: “WHEN I DIE, YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO COME TO MY FUNERAL. HER GRANDMOTHER IS ABOUT TO DIE, AND YOU ARE ACTING SO FUCKING INDIFFERENT.” THAT THOUGHT HAD BEEN ON MY MIND FOR DAAAYS WHEN I SHUNNED THEM AND DURING MY MANY SUICIDE ATTEMPTS. WHEN I WAS YOUNGER, IT CROSSED MY MIND EVERY DAY. But I didn’t want to say the words “Her grandmother is about to die/your grandmother is about to die, SO WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING ON THAT COUCH???” They always keep it so “out of the topic of conversation”, when someone’s dying – I say from experience, I wasn’t even sure if she knew. 

THAT ONE STATEMENT ABOUT MY OWN FUNERAL WAS VERY SERIOUS, BY THE WAY. YOU’RE MY WITNESS. I CAN’T AFFORD A “NOTARIS” TO LOG IT, SO PLEASE STAND UP FOR ME, IF I DON’T GROW OLD NATURALLY: WHEN I DIE, THEY ARE NOT ALLOWED TO COME NEAR MY BODY. THEY ARE NOT ALLOWED TO GIVE ANY FUNERAL SPEECHES OR DO ANYTHING THAT HAS ANYTHING TO DO WITH “THE PROGRAMME” OF THE CEREMONY OF MY PASSING. IF I HAVE ANY MONEY: THEY’RE NOT GETTING SHIT. GIVE IT TO SOMEONE IN NEED, GIVE IT TO MY B, FEED IT TO WILD ANIMALS. THEY ARE NOT ALLOWED TO SEE MY NOTEBOOKS EITHER. 

I NEED TO SPARK A FIGHT [doing that is very simple. All I need to do is just speak my mind, for once. Of say “Benoît” out loud HAHAHAHAHAHA (yes, only mentioning his name is enough, I know from past experience)] TO JUST BE ABLE TO WANDER. I WOULD RATHER WANDER AROUND THE WORLD WITH THE €658.60 I HAVE, THAN SIT IN MY FUCKING ROOM. THE PROBLEM IS THAT I DON’T WANT THEM TO CALL THE COPS ON ME AGAIN. BUT FUCK ITTTTT. I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE ON MY BIRTHDAYYYYYY. 

But typing out a rage isn’t very satisfying. There’s still some anger left. A punching bag would be great, right now. Or to speed again. Or run… I’ll just go back to the story I was telling you.

I put the food in a bag, with a bottle of water, searched for the car keys and gave the friend her jacket. I already walked outside to start the car and drive it towards the entrance of “””””my””””” [ohhh it’s nottttttt mine] house. When we were almost outside the neighborhood (2 out of 3 roundabouts), my mother was on the phone and mentioned: “But we don’t have food with us.” I thought FUCKING DAMMITTTTT. And drove back. 

Driving 145 km/h most of the time, was partially because it is important to be next to the sick bed at this time and partially to get rid of the anger from my parents acting all casual and watching tv, and then acting as if I’m the one who’s acting crazy. I live with the: “I wish I visited him more often,” feeling. I don’t want her to feel that, too. 

At the old folks home [where they have shit loads of morphine. Person from abroad: is that normal? I think not…], many relatives bailed out or said “I’ll be there tomorrow”. Reminds me of my friends [especially my no show ex boyfriend, when I hosted THE ENTIRE CEREMONY. I PLANNED EVERYTHINGGGGGGG] when my grandfather passed away. 

When I was cooking, I already felt a sudden extra connection with the friend. People here treat me like I’m deaf. They comment on me, while I’m sitting right next to them. The problem is that their words cause so much anger, I don’t know if loudly arguing will satisfy it. In advance, I know that they’re so fucking dumb that they’ll think their arguments are “the right ones”. I don’t give a fuck about their other shallow topics of conversation. That’s the reason I often don’t talk to them. I just have nothing to say to it, because I don’t give a fuck. And I might be stuck with more frustration after an argument. So I just let them do their shit to me. The water that was given to me, tasted like that spiked lorazepam-ish water that was given to us for dinner in the institution, that was given to me after I tried to commit suicide in the institution and that was given to me at the police station, before/during the interrogation. The friend has one of these stupid labels I think shouldn’t exist, because they lead to less confidence and living up to the symptoms: “ADD”. This is already the cause of her mother treating her as if she can’t tie her own shoelaces – just like mine does, because she believes that I have autism and am a schizophrenic – but since the concussion, it “leveled up”.

If a doctor ever tells me: “There’s nothing we can do. You only have a few days left,” I would beat himmmmmmmmm. Out of frustration that my life is in the hands of such a fucking loser, who’s actually a fucking murderer. There is always a solution, in actuality. But not in this disgusting place. In this country, when you’re arian and rich, they’ll let you live, no matter what. [Because of the risk of getting sued.] If you’re on welfare, are not high educated, are foreign, are “mentally ill”, are female and/or have a unique (and thus “expensive” illness), they won’t let you live. The country is too full and the cost of living is too high. The less, the better. [I LEARNT THIS IN SCHOOL. AAAAAAAAAAAH 😬😾😾😾😾.]

“To reduce the suffering” [IT’S BULLSHIT, BUT THAT IS THE ARGUMENT THEY USE. AFTER “WE’RE GIVING UP ON YOU”, INFINITE SUFFERING IS ALREADY INITIATED, FUCKING HEARTLESS MURDERERS.] around the evening, they start giving you morphine. The dosage gets raised in a very short time interval. (60 to 30 minutes.) [They did this to my grandfather and MANYYYYYYYYY other people, including the grandmother of my sister’s friend, as I’m writing this.]

When the doctor who “””””treated””””” [FUCKING PRETNISON?????? THAT SHIT IS MURDER, MAN] my grandfather, told my grandmother: “Van harte gecondoleerd met het overlijden van uw man.” I WANTED TO FUCKING KILL HIM. “VAN HARTE” IS WHAT YOU SAY FOR SOMEONE’S BIRTHDAY. 

In the descriptions of what I experience, I stick to the laws of privacy, because I don’t use their first names etc. I still have the right to vent. 

It’s 02:47 (AM) now. Time for bed… 

I’ll be making a bedroom podcast, because my brain needs more rest. I’m aware that I need to cut down on writing, but it’s the only way I can vent. Most people I talk to, aren’t able to understand what I’m going through. They don’t know how to respond to it, so they just either say that I’m wrong [then I internally get so angry that I don’t even respond to it] or it’s “I’m open to hear everything,” but then not trying to level with me.   

Meoww, I need to empty my bed. I want to get the fuck out of here, tomorrow. Oh boy, I want to vanish sooo bad. Again… It would be nice to not be here on my birthday. I’d rather disappear than die. My budget is low, but not that low. I also need more medical assistance, because I still have the idea that things with my health need to be fixed. I don’t have the budget for that anyway, so… Maybe I can still afford dentures against teeth grinding. That’s something I do soooo intensly.  

My wig and microphone are on my bed. There are some plates and stuff in my room, I still want to carry downstairs. It’s now 03:07. I might stop the AM/PM thing. I did it in the context of “reaching an international audience”. Some people I talk to online, say that they don’t know what time that is, when I don’t translate it to AM/PM. Oh my godd I wish I could find some friends with better intellect fastttt.

I’m off to bed

Good night 💕