An Update (Part 2);

Omen

An Otherworldly Garden of Lights Emerges from Hemp and Resin by Ross Hansen

Hello! I need medication for life to prevent my lungs from collapsing, this implies permanent treatment with steroids, oxygen therapy, control of oxygen in the blood and antibiotics to prevent the development of bacteria in the lungs.

I'm afraid I have to insist on this because it may be the only way to get my treatment.

I need medication for life to keep my lungs from collapsing, this costs around $700 per month.

Things are really tough on me,I can’t afford. Please donate🖤

Choppedreviewsong's dononation page on paypal is linked in their pinned post

What a coincidence, it seems we have some mutuals in common

@galactic-inhabitants @quinnlistspeaks @lionesscersei @bohemianrpdsy @anothershottotryagain @apocalypticautumn @beezabub @electromahougnetic @actualamadeus @birdiestbugbuddy @jellybean-sys @routetoroadkill @revekdoesstuff @volatilisdeviant @wildernezz

positivity train!

if you see this or are tagged in it, tag a couple of your favorite mutuals/blogs and let them know you appreciate seeing them on your dash!

@h0neysugarfree @blueberrylovv @bequiteanddriveeeeeee @cherri-bomb-bomb @eg0mechan1c @fatrexicisback

also small side note... is the "is fear close relative or truth" thing a twenty one pilots reference?

-marcus keay (non-cannon tma)

Oh, you noticed that. I hadn't exactly phrased the lyrics the same way, but I guess I'm more obvious than I thought–

It's funny, when people ask about my favorite genre of music, I always say classical in subconscious hopes of looking mature. It's almost out of reflex now, but I do enjoy Twenty One Pilots. There's a few lyrics in that song that resonated with me;

‘I could take the high road, but I know that I'm going low,’

‘I created this world to feel some control, I could destroy it if I want, so I sing Sahlo Folina’

It's that feeling of staring into the abyss, or really crossing the line in order to take vengeance.  It's the feeling of hitting a point of no return, and being resigned to the fact I may need to let myself become dangerous just to survive. 

Do Memories of Your Religious Upbringing Leave You Feeling Afraid?

Do you know the story of the city of sodom in the bible? You know, in Genesis 19? You know how angels warned Lot and his family to flee the city and not look back? How in the end they were riding out of the city as it was being destroyed, but the wife could not help but look back, and was turned into a pillar of salt as punishment? That story upset me terribly as a kid. It seemed so cruel, and just for what? That sick feeling in your gut that makes you watch on even though you know you shouldn't?

I mean, I know now why it upset me so much. I would've looked too. It's absurd--

Not the other wild claims that were preached to us, interpretations rather than written word, while we all sat there drinking in the words like they were absolute. It was the damn pillar of salt that got me, that just ate me up inside. I can't help myself, I have to look. Every time. It's a real damned if I do, damned if I don't situation and all my life I've been told this ache to reach into the unknown horrors is wrong.. at least until I moved, anyways.

How could a deity punish something as wonderful as free thinking? Or curiosity? These stories make me wonder where the real harm was, or was it just simply another story to inspire fear in the hearts of men from as long back as fear possibly existed.

I want to be divorced from the inner child in me that still deep down believes it, and is half is expecting to be  struck dead for breathing life to such thoughts

And then there's the thought that's just outside of my periphery of "Oh, well what would you do of you had that level of power, Jules? Hmm?" And that just makes my brain buzz with anxiety because I know I'd doom us all.

Okay because I have no idea, how does House of Leaves work?

It’s a book about a guy stuck in a hellish version of a 90s stereotype who finds an academic paper about a documentary film about a home that is bigger on the inside than it should be. Except that the home isn’t a real home. The documentary doesn’t exist. The academic has no credentials.

It’s a book about a guy who finds an unfinished novel his neighbor died in the middle of writing about a photojournalist who puts aside his career to save his marriage but who gets sucked into an adventure within his own home.

Except that it’s none of those things. It’s an assault on the reader. It’s a crowbar thrown in your confidence in The Consensus. Its (404) errors in the directory of Narratives.

The House is older than God. The House is God. The House is nothing. The House is a 5 letter word in a blue font.

The House doesn’t like tourists

It’s a typographical horrorshow. It’s a caricature of an analysis of a documentation of a map. It’s an Atlas of The Backrooms. It’s a non-Euclidean document. It’s the only book I’ve ever hissed at.

“How does it work?”

It doesn’t

Final Conclusions;

I bludgeoned sobriety with a bat, and left it dead in the woods. It died an ugly death, kicking and screaming as I tore it limb from limb- because I am so hungry. I can’t help it, I don’t want to know what I am without someone here to latch onto the memories of. I can’t help it, this is who I’ll always be. So now that you know I’m trapped, let's get into our findings;

Within  the very beginnings of the experiment, I found that when I received notifications in my dms, I felt a nervous energy. It was almost an impulsive reflex, telling me to answer my dms. That I was breaking the rules of social interaction. According to my two observers that I unwittingly roped into the experiment, they had said that my urge to return back to these behaviors showed an overall consistency, or as Steph lovingly put it, “(...)You were crawling out of your skin since day one.”. 

That being said, I had noticed a steady increase of sporadic behavior from that point on, including thrill seeking urges that included a momentary fantasy about going bungee jumping or taking a detour into the woods on my way home from work to scream until my lungs give out. These urges were accompanied by dietary changes, cravings for starch based comfort foods that suggested that I was under stress.

 The idea that I was under stress is further backed up by the observations of my aforementioned participants of choice, one of which (Evan, the problem child) had brought to attention my discomfort multiple times throughout the experiment. 

At the end of the experiment, it had been brought to my attention by Steph that, “You’re trying to collect and address primarily qualitative data with quantitative methodologies and as a result are losing out on a lot of useful information, both in this experiment and general interview practices,” which was a great point, seeing as throughout the entirety of my blog, I've been trying to assign tangible and numerical findings to something as intimate as kin memories.

 Now that I'm back, I plan to remedy this, starting with openly sharing about what makes me experience mental/phantom shifts, and what has spoken to me so far throughout this search into what source I belong to. 

Ocean Eyes

There is an eye at the bottom of the ocean, belonging to an old god whose name has been forgotten, but still leaves echoes in the memory of man. It's there, under the rolling waves and aquatic life. In a constant staring contest with our sun that's dripping crimson with the blood of so many who have given into their fears, the eye gazes not just on that sun but through every life that has ever lived in this reality we've found ourselves in, and so many others.

 When it finally blinks, the world will end. This is a fact. The Earth will begin to swallow us whole, and nature will take back what we've stolen from it. Bridges collapsing and headlights careering into the star filled glinting sea, into doors that were never meant to be opened. Fear and panic in the air, do you feel it too?.. and when that eye blinks, our sun will too. I want to look down into those depths just so I can reassure myself it's fine. ‘It was just a dream, a terrible, terrible dream that you had because you went into cardiac arrest,’

But it's still wriggling in my brain, pulling in and out of my periphery like a tide. So I think..

I'm going to run a little experiment. I've mentioned my urges- 

My fixation with hearing others experiences and memories, my drive to feel that connection, and to pick at the more distressing details of said memories. I would like to stop completely, just to see how uncomfortable I'd get. I want to document how long it takes until my resolve cracks, just to get a sense of how trapped I really am in this cycle.

So, if I don't post for a while, my blog isn't dead! I'm simply trying not to fall into a pattern that I've been feeding into for the past 3 months. I will post the results when I feel I've gotten satisfying results.

peeks head in here

how's things going? haven't heard from you in a bit.

hope you're ok and making progress on your kin journey!

-the neon attic

Thank you for checking in on me, Neon Attic. I appreciate the message. In truth, I may have found myself a bit confused as of lately, and accidently made a kinfirmation announcement which may have turned out to be false.. Again. Now that it’s brought up however, I would like to make an invitation to any of the following fictionkin or fictives;

*Anyone from the source The Mandela Catalogue, especially the alternates

*Anyone from the Everyman HYBRID source

*Those who are from Marble Hornets

*Anyone from The Magnus Archives, but Especially any Jons or Elias’’

Some of my questions will pertain to dynamics and relationships in the sources, the more traumatic experiences within your source, and possible mental/phantom shifts you've experienced in relation to your identity. I feel I could probably gain a great deal of insight from these sources specifically at the moment, so if you are interested in reaching out, please answer this kincall. My dms are always open.

Attention Fictionkin & Fictives of Tumblr, and Discord

I have a strange request that I have finally decided to put out there into the ether. I have found myself in the unique position of having strong feelings and possible memories without knowing the source, and this has been weighing on my mind for a while.

How this happened was that I viewed and interacted with a currently popular piece of media, which I related to and falsely led myself to believe that I was connected to that media in a way that I wasn’t, and then went on to join a discord server centered around said piece of media only to find that I was inserting myself somewhere I did not belong.

That being said, while I have learned that I am not fictionkin of who I thought I was, interacting with the many wonderful systems and individuals in said discord server has left me feeling that something there was familiar. The only problem is that some of the fictives and such that I interacted with were not all from the aforementioned source that the discord was created for, and I have absolutely no idea what set off this feeling. 

Now, if you haven't already scrolled away, here is where my proposal comes in– 

I would like to interact with some of you who are fictionkin, fictives, or have experiences similar to what I mention in this post. One such way I offer we do this is that you direct message me, or send me an ask in anonymous if you are uncomfortable sharing your blog name, just keep  in mind I will be unable to respond without posting the information you give.

If you choose to contact me, anything you share with me will be private and not shared on my blog. I will hold your memories, your secrets, your fears close to my heart as if they were my own. I will have a lot of questions, questions specific to whatever media you come from, questions in general about your specific experiences and your feelings pertaining to said experiences- so please be mentally prepared for a lengthy interrogation if you do. Some topics and main points in the last media that lead me to believe I was fictionkin of that material was;

*Horror 

*The feeling of being in a doomed timeline, and sense of dread. Like imminent death is irrevocably upon us, in mere days.

*A sense of crippling guilt. I feel as though I've gambled the very lives and souls of- not only myself, but of those closest to me. I want to remedy this, if I truly have created the irreparable damage that I feel so strongly

*A possible fourth thing that I'm holding close to my chest right now because it spoke to me profoundly and it just feels.. personal, in a way it shouldn't. It should be rather mundane and something I should be able to talk about and yet I can't. 

These may be helpful to take note of during our interactions, if you ever feel yourself lost on where to start. I possibly have one singular memory, but it was the tipping point on what made me realize I was not the fictionkin I thought I was, and so far I have not seen any matches in media so this may be largely unhelpful.

 Another suggestion on how we may interact is through fictionkin discord servers. If you are okay with the possibility I may not be from your media source, feel free to send me an invite to your discord server. This will be unfortunately a one sided relationship where I will be looking for information from you all but not offering to share any information about myself, because I am a deeply paranoid person.

I am overall uninterested in marring my perception of things with unnecessary biases such as feelings. That being said, I will be a model discord member, and be sure to follow all of your rules. Despite what I said above about not being willing to share anything about myself, if you are on an 18+ discord server and wish to invite me, I am willing to hand over verification information. 

If you are worried about how I will conduct myself in your server, I can have those from the last server I was in vouch for me if need be. If you are wondering  why I am so intent on finding my identity in this strange way, I need to feel like no matter what I've been through, no matter  what I've done, that there is an answer. If I don't have an answer, if I truly don't know, that just feels like death. I can't accept that. 

I know this post is probably a bit chaotic, and makes me come across as untrustworthy, so if you take a chance on me,  I thank you.