The Laughing Woman, and the Krystal Ship

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I can still talk to you though we exist not in the same dimension, all the time at least, I visit you because I see you, you see me and you speak and I hear you because I listen. I listen to everything, to the mutterings of the under spoken word, to the shouting to mad dark night, to the words callously yelled into chaotic dark night, because they used to consume me, but they don’t anymore, because I realized I can cast them out on here.

I travel back and forth to Misery through my mind, and through others, who I see, stuck there, and they speak to me from there. I can see it in them speaking to me, speaking through them now, this came to me last night after a dream, I have been having strange dreams.

I am thinking that ghosts sometimes just want to be heard and are not used to being heard so say thing that they have always wanted to say very quickly and it is up to me to decode them because the universe is showing me them and them me for a reason, positive being the key over negative.

The universe paints in color, mostly, but there are beings in black and white, shadow people who do not get the colors of reflected light

Colored beings dance throughout the world, reflecting light on shadow men, who do not participate just observe and defend something that I do not know yet, I am not sure, think I forget… and I have been wondering lately what I forgot, sitting and thinking about what remains to be sought.

I am thinking so, and sitting alone, as I do because I know that I am a shadow of the people I can see, I see them, they can’t see me. I am a shadow of their reflections of light. I am not real, just a lack of light.

I hear a sound from behind and turn around, it is not a light beaming but the sound of down.

I am taken back, but I am not scared, some how it feels like I always knew this was there, speaking to me in shades I get, anger, pain and deep regret

I look to it, and it sees me, makes eye contact and warns me, do not be like me, please.

What do you mean? I say, and then it simply walks away.

Murder, murder, suicide, she’s your bride and you must die

To misery you have subscribed

I am your slave driver, I am your maker, I am your constant facilitator, I am your wife, I am your life breaker

I have your daughter, she is mine, with me you brought her

Into this world, so she could be enslaved by me your bride, your key to hell and to things referred specifically, without specification but with divine like sensation.

I am your desire for numbing beating drum of DEATH

Idea of life left

To control of other people, you need me as your steeple, I am your source of needle and thread to craft quilt that will make sure your head

Is rested and feet never tested, Damien come back, I am all you lack, you need me

I am the rack on which you keep all your pain, so you can sleep restfully so

You deserve more than you know, you reaper of hoe, you keeper of marrow, I am your sparrow, I am your bird, I will sing for you in Hell’s word.

Okay, no lie, this is getting weird. I swear to you, I am not high, still haven’t gotten high… and I am not drunk and I am not losing my mind. I just saw my daughter’s dreams in color projected in light above her, what the… I am not losing it. I do this weird reality check thing, where I walk away, shut my eyes over and over, and I have only ever had it fail a couple times. Maybe this is one of them, but I swear there is this eerie feel to all of this, like something is going on, and there is this part of me that thinks that somehow, this has something to do with Diane, I know I am probably just being paranoid, that my ruthless unrelenting obsession with Diane is probably some narcissistic fantasy that is driving hallucination, but even if it is, the only way I can investigate this is through looking into right?

Like I can’t just be like la de da, I am just okay with seeing all this ****? I could, but what kind of life would that be? Like even if I am now permanently irreparably losing my mind due to drug use and whatever, don’t I at least owe it to myself, to figure out what the delusions are?

I can’t tell anyone this one, I know this goes contrary to everything I said before, well not really…. I always lie, but I am not lying for negative purpose this time, I feel in my being that telling anyone would be bad and I don’t know why. I feel like somehow I drew my daughter into something, and have to get her out… the only thought I have about the whole thing is maybe she is getting something from a poison source like I did, something corrupted by something, like Diane…

I don’t know….