VaporwaveHistorian

I declare war on my exam! I shall conquer it and return in at most 2.5 hours.

When I look at your profile posts and react, imagine a very old guy in a Roman forum, hooded cape and all, sitting in the middle of the place and pointing at you. If it's a laugh, imagine the guy laughing. Chad react is "award that guy a laurel wreath!". Pepsi is posca drink. Nice is a salute. Love is throwing freshly picked flowers all around, aggressively. Sad is "Mourn, ye people, mourn!". Listening is "Give that man a senator toga and put him in the Senate damnit!"
And if I comment, it's the guy climbing on the pedestal of a statue and pointng you out, shouting at you some random things and throwing gold pieces at you. Bless

Fucking hell man, I paid like 2-3 weeks' worth of my grocery money to get (DISCOUNTED) author's copies of my book, 3 of em. The currency in my country is shit, USD to Turkish lira is fucked up. But hey, it's not like you write a novella every day. I need to gift a copy to my professor and one to my friend. Third is mine.

This brain shit is weird. Don't have meds with me for 2 days now, missing like 1210 mgs of brain helper things. All the lights are flashing, I finished and edited and self-published a novella (as an e-book, paperback incoming), starting another, I can't tell you the year half the time, and I fucking miss people from two thousand years ago. May they be blessed, and us all. Cheers

I got rejected from my archaeological excavation application. Apparently, they had to prioritize people with experience, and of course walkin-legged people too, but my professor was very kind while telling me the news. She didn't mention the latter part but said stuff about logistics and abilities. Kind lady, God bless her.

Anyway, I got myself a small cake from the market to celebrate it. I celebrate bad news as a philosophy. To me, telling good news will make people feel bad or unfulfilled, so I always celebrate the bad news and the opportunities they may bring. It will probably give me more time to focus on individual research projects and write that as experience in next year's forms.

Bipolar depression is a BITCH. All the time it's so severe that I keep getting hallucinations and delusions about all I love and I barely make it, then bipolar mania is a BITCH and I cut contact with all my friends because I believe they are working against me and/or unreal, and I barely make it. This cycle sucks. I can't consciously remember what I do or think other than my studies of history. I am a historian at the cost of my personality and I think it's a comfortable way to go. Anchoring myself on solid ground. Sorry for complaining, it just got to me.

I wish I had the biggest orange in the world so I could share them with neanderthals, prehistoric humans, ancient humans, modern humans, humans of future, and so forth. I'd sit down and just peel the orange with a smile on my face because I love humans and I hope humans like orange. If not, we can make shapes out of the peels. It would be cute. Come sit next to me. Let's eat oranges.

Sitting on a certain couch in a certain coffee shop while manic makes me want to read Foucault's prisons philosophy. Weirdest association nostalgia/memory ever. I just crave Foucault in my manic episodes. Why the fuck

Has there ever been a thread about language things like "dont call it disabled, call it differently abled" or general political correct culture? If not, should I make one? If there was, how do I find it?

I love it when the writers of a historical document put everything aside and talk about something. It's so human. Like, yeah, stop everything in the documentation and tell us about how you feel. Or when you're keeping excavation diaries, tell us about how overwhelming it was when you first saw that one finding. I'm also keeping documents on a project now and I've been writing tiny little things in the Notes section of things now. Small easter eggs for future researchers.

I am surrounded with people who think war is a motherfucking game. It's so ironic that the ones who are the loudest are the ones who've never witnessed war. They make it about pride, "I'd rather die on my feet!" and forget that we are actually talking about massacre of civilians and all you love vs. changing the status quo through other means.

What was that fucking quote by Kurt Vonnegut? He gets it because he has been in the shit himself. "...there is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre. Everybody is supposed to be dead, to never say anything or want anything ever again. Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds. And what do the birds say? All there is to say about a massacre, things like 'Poo-tee-weet?'"

People will only take me seriously if they sense what death is through all five senses. Until then, anti-war will be called cowardice.

One of the kindest things God has done for me is relieving me from the duty to answer for the things I think/do while insane. I could have been skinned alive for the thoughts if it was for the inquisition.

I got sick out of nowhere. Used to get sick all the time as a kid. Cold wet towel on my forehead. Extra sensitive skin feeling the blanket. Oddly comforting. I need sleep before my morning class. I am my own caretaker. I feel loved by everyone and everything. Wet towel and soft blankets. No food, just rest.

I was drinking water from a shallow bowl. I don't have a glass with me. The bowl isn't the cleanest. But light came in through the window bars and things felt okay. Light comes in so gently on me that I want to poke people, grab their shoulders and pull them into the sun. World's okay. We love you. We are loved.

If we were not made with love, why do cats purr when we pet them? Humans are so wonderful that their presence makes others happy. We make each other happy. You make me happy. Bless you all and have a great day

It's late and I'm tired but I want to tell you about Marcus/Markos. Markos is a burial at Çatalhöyük, a site of 7500-6400 BC Neolithic Anatolia. His name is not Markos originally but I named him because they call him F258 and I think he deserved a name. He is (so far) the only visibly disabled inhabitant found. Normally, they buried people in the houses. Markos was buried in a trash/toilet area outside. I think it's unfair and sad. His burial is also different, his body appears weirdly positioned, as if they bound his hands together before putting him in. It made me sad.

And people don't remember him but I do. It's been around at least 8 thousand years and I love him. He was a young man. Maybe he was around my age. I call him Marcus Felix (or Markos Feliks for easy reading in my language), which means "Happy Markos" in latin.

I'm manic, started writing a novel 4 days ago, I am so close to finishing it today. It wasn't even planned. Will publish as e-book on amazon. It started off as some generic Ottoman harem novel and now it's a political criticism on late Ottoman politics of the palace. I really don't fucking know and I really can't keep track of things. I just want to finish it and be done with it, so I may start another.

Weirdest side effects list excerpt ever. [Olanzapine (antipsychotics). ]

I couldn't focus on a class today because I kept seeing the world like this. Shadows, moving lights and static, that sort of stuff. Too much light, as if my eyes were seeing beyond. I looked at the professor and saw the formations around him. Something like a halo, some figure around his back of light, moving towards him. TV static of light.


Normal vision:

Meds give me weirdass dreams but it gave me a gem too, I saw a locket necklace in my dream and opened it. It had a drawing of a gray cat with pajamas and it said "Grammurmur" as in Grandma+Murmur. The cat was smiling. It said on the back, "I regret letting you go". I'm glad the kitty is okay because he hasn't existed, but I'm also glad I saw a happy kitty in my dream.