"Memo to myself:

...Do the dumb things I gotta do. Touch the puppet head."

So I've been doing a bit of hiding out. I'm torn between wanting to talk with friends and just being alone. In my space, alone, the glorious freedom of not doing a damn thing except romping around in the playground of my imagination, semblances of visions and hopes for a better world. I keep thinking about these things that roll around in my head. The black haired girl, the victorian people, Black Jacket, the young Hosea...all of these images roll around and around, and I want to understand them better. The thing is, who the fuck is going to believe me? It sounds so incredibly crazy.

That is the one thing I don't get. How do I know certain things, out of thin air? Why do I have dreams about things happening to me, only to find out later that they actually happened to someone else? And it's not random, these dreams, it's really specific. Or that I just know stuff. It's something that's always permeated my life, a force that I really cannot explain. And what's worse, is that not many people understand it. Especially the logical ones. But then again, as I've explained to certain people, just because they don't understand it and can't doesn't mean it doesn't happen and that it's not real to me. If you want to think I'm crazy, well, fine, but the next time I say, "You have at least try to get medicaid", that's not a suggestion, it's a warning. I warn the people I care about. Because it's a whole lot more than the people I know, it's the people I don't know, too. God, what would I give to have this only for friends and not also for random strangers. Sometimes by touch, even. It grates on your soul sometimes, and then you have to listen to music or play games or visit children just to get it off for awhile. But it will be back. It's always there, in the background.

And I just want to know if these people exsited. I really wish I knew.