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Schizophrenia


s13ep

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Herein lies a piece of non-fiction, written by Shannon Green, philosophy extraordinaire, cubic scientist and shadow politician; as fictional as most of this work may sound, it's based on true events.


In the beginning, I existed around the ripe age of fifteen, and I found that I had an interest in imagery.


I'd collect different styles of art of what I believed to be the highest quality; these ranged from typical photographs to ancient paintings- I spent most of my time on the internet blogging or uploading images on forums.


One day I found that if I ever linked a caption to an image, it would produce good, fluid, feeling, soon after I realized that it was not the caption, but that the art alone was the source of what I had felt. I'd respond to people using images with expressions that would change the course of conversation just as well as words. I took to this form of communication, forming my own language, that I, and others who knew me, could understand.


There was an array of feelings, from momentary dreams we called Tulpas, and rushing feeling in the bloodstream; there were many but they are more fluid than rigid, and can only be described not understood.


I created a imagery blog, and two of the first images I posted were the Tree of Life diagram, qaballah, and an extract from Thomas Frederick Page's 'The Golden Fleece'. I had an interest in the self, and extracting Hebrew from English language.


The Tree of Life diagram shows us that each part of the human body contributes to the human psyche; the weaker hand often symbolizing mercy, while the stronger hand, power - the left brain, wisdom, and the right, understanding, and so forth. I found the resulting effect was more like a Da Vinci painting, that the diagram gave a mere directive to something realer, but in it's default form was imperfect and inaccurate. However, in the early stages of my experience, it made the perfect booster to the fluid meaning I pursued in the art I posted.


This psyche can be understood from a landscape picture, sensing the femininity and masculinity, the hole and the fill, etc. I, and some followers, spent time finding out how humans and other natures relate, or had related, through imagery and the chorus of thought that came with it. Past imagery would influence the thinking behind present imagery, an expression cast after a string of words has a different effect than when cast after a different string of words. The fluid meaning I sought came day by day, and at this point I believed I was onto something huge, a legal, healthy high.


I tried to extend my grasp unto fame via social networking websites; creating my own Twitter profile, and sending messages with links to the art, to the most famous and powerful people, ranging from Barrack Obama, to Justin Bieber.


I was young so my mind was restless; I was easily led into believing that famous people were secretly watching my profile, and my imagery blog, so I'd post daily, hourly, in effort to keep their attention. I would post, then look at their posts, and they would relate somehow- I thought this was them making it relate, and I still haven't confirmed if this was true or false. The feeling was really that good.


This goes on for a year, everyday I'm solitary on my computer, uploading art on my Tumblr and posting wise statements on my Twitter, all in the thought that famous people were watching and feeling a similar feeling to what I had felt. We, or I, were with the faith that, if I posted an image, in the future it would have some effect, such as: a picture of a water balloon; perhaps it will pop, and then we'd feel wet.


For while, the balloon would pop, and it would keep getting better the more images I uploaded, until this specific time where a combination of imagery produced a high that can be related to ecstasy, which lasted two days straight. After this high, things didn't happen as I dreamed; I had set the bar too high, but was able to still produce a good feeling, just the meaning wasn't becoming true, the water balloon did not pop but the art as a whole made me feel euphoric at times.


At one point I was posting simply to influence the following nights dream; for I thought we were all having the same dream at night.


When I reach the end of that year, I get bored of fame in the 'impure' sense; I'm getting hot-headed all the time, shouting murderous and violent things, especially when, who I believed to be following, didn't act civil in response; however, it was probably my absolution of their words.


I'd set a good example, for nature, for humanity, for children, and when they did or said something I thought was perverse or evil, I'd complain. It was in my mind that I was at the forefront of a revolution, an infamous Jesus-like figure, and sometimes, it seemed, they were not taking it seriously.


I relax in my infamy, and at this time I believed that I was mainly known for the ecstasy hit; "Art that feels like E", "healthy highs on art"- thoughts that made me feel extremely powerful without fame, I was a self-made man.

 

I don't go back to social networking for one and a half years. At the start of this break things begin to take a eerie turn. I notice that in my head I feel a pointless pain, as a pin being pushed into the skin slightly; I wasn't in pain, but it felt like hurt. I thought to myself, "this is an illusion; this pain is unreal", and I try to move it. To my surprise it moves, from the left side of my head to the right, and back the left before disappearing momentarily. Whenever I sense someone, or read something, I get a pointless pain somewhere on my head.


With interest and education in qabballah, I relate pains on the right side of the head to understanding, and the left to wisdom- for a while I'm judging people through this illusion which I have taken on as a power. I acknowledge that it's telling me how the person I'm sensing is thinking, or how they're about to act. A few days pass, and I'm in quite a psychosis by it, the more I treat them as power the more they evolve, until these pains are appearing all around my body, in different velocities and kinds ( grueling pain, pointless pain, burning pain, a feeling of an insect ) in one place at a time.


Now and again I'd get scents, visuals in my closed eyes, tastes and voices. I was hallucinating comfortably for a long time. I'd smell, ass, strawberries and more. Voices like "awww" and "urgh", or "hour" would pass over the top of my left or right head; I'd also utilize these for my own judgement.


A day comes where I discover another power, a power which let's me create petty mental powers, by drawing anything I wanted, using mind forces in the void of my closed eyes.


If I drew a tear down my eyes repeatedly, by pulling light around the void using facial expression ( like a Magic Pen ), what feels like one would come, and if I kept on drawing, they would come, constantly, without the need to draw them.


I drew many things, an Eye of Horus, a burning smile, a scar on my nose, and more. Each gave me a different power, seemingly, I thought that with the Eye of Horus, I could communicate to others through thought, pulling them into my mind and then speaking to them in theirs, or simply pulling them into my mind to see through my sight; my smile would cling up sometimes at the left or right, and I took this as unison of smiling or conformation of an actually funny joke; powers such as the aforementioned came in numbers and gracefully.


One morning I make the attempt to communicate to someone through imagery or dream alone, without words, and it worked! I imagine myself with a whole environment that comes effortlessly as I think of it in my peripheral. For the next few months I'm imagining awake dream-states in near space, and for a while it works flawlessly. I could connect to all-sorts with the Eye of Horus, from VY Canis Majoris to "The Dream" ( whenever I connected with the dream, what felt like roots would cover my right eye, and at other times a tiny crown on my head; making the connection seem realer ).


The tears that I once drew and that once appeared, evolved over time, into what feels like water falling down my left face- it seems like a line of sweat. If I focused on the right, another would come, but the left was constant and greater on focus, whereas I had to focus on the right to make it fall at all, as well as any other location on my head.


As a scientist at heart, I tried to discover what was making this happen, why I was able to dream on the spot, imagine visually, etc. I came to the conclusion that it was this line of water which I was seeping into, and seeping into it, I could do all this.


For three-months of this first episode, I believed that I was projecting my imagination to the world, and even the universe. Firstly, I was solitary and had no outside contact; and secondly, why not? It only made me more powerful when believing this... I was pursuing power and infamy, as well as the natural revolution.


Then the time comes where I lose the power somewhat. Thinking that I'm being watched by everyone, I start to panic and I'm nervous; imagining words I don't want to say to the wrong people. Bad imagery shoots from my head into near space; it gets quite chaotic, and I'm making lots of mistakes, becoming an embarrassment to myself, but still with the people's supposed amazement because of what I'm doing- at the end of the day I get away with my messy behavior; for the rest of this episode, sometimes it's chaotic, sometimes it's not.


Over the course of a few weeks I witness great horizons of imagination; when I walk passed someone in the street, I can imagine the moment in imagery, using the tension of two or more parts. I'd walk near a cat, and then visualize it, dissecting in into smaller parts or forgetting it completely. If I want, rather than imagining as an imprint in space, I can visualize a hologram in the physical world. My state of mind keeps enhancing, changing bit by bit, until one day, it gets weaker.


The sweat line on my left head becomes wrathful, suddenly, as if it was filled with millions of insects all crammed in; swinging left to right, hooking around my cheek, and other uncomfortable things. At first it was hard to bare, but to this date, I still have the exact same chaotic line of water running down my face.


I get angry one night because of events and conversations I imagined, and smash a friends window in the heart of things, as well as threatening people, and I end up in a mental home for the first time, where I spend three months of my youth. The medication they put me on does not stop my psychosis, but in the hospital it does end for a period; it get's really hard to imagine visually, and the only times where I can imagine visually are when I hear good music, have a beautiful thought and other times where I'm uplifted.


In the hospital I return to normality; I don't forget about it, per say, but I had utilized it so much that normality felt fresh, and I was at awe in just the memory of such events. When I'm released, I live a good year without the power, only the chaotic lines of water to remind me- now and then I'll imagine myself, but nothing to the degree of thinking I was communicating with people or the world.


The lack of interest in going back to fame also lasts until the end of this year break, where a reunion with the art and social networking takes place; like a second beginning; again, I'm led to believe fame are there, watching; the art would again produce good feeling, but to my surprise, our dreams of the future were coming true again- the water balloon would pop, using the analogy from earlier. I'm talking about my experience on Twitter, but my words were imperfect, quite a lot lesser than their explanatory potential in the present. I'm now infamous because of the 'water world', the ability to think back to moments in imagery, not simply good-feeling art, something even better.


This reunion only lasts for a month before I'm back to being bored and into my own little universe. I'm in the frame of mind that they are all on the first stage of imagination, whereas I'm on the end step. It has ended for me, but it's only beginning for them, and it makes me feel like God; filled with energy and excitement. I regain the thought that I can communicate through the mind, or pull people into my sights, etc.


Whenever I get angry and rage, it's like exploiting imagination, not utilizing it. I'd be surrounded by a red, bloody essence, in which rapid imagination occurs and spawns, such as a dancing Toad from Mario, very sprite-like, or snake-like dragons moving at high speeds. We, I, came to the conclusion that chasing the red stuff was a bad idea for it would make the trip come to an end, or that blue could be better on occasions. The red essence was the best of what I could produce, consistently. I'd just rage all the time, and people made me rage, it was a strike of luck for both parties- the exploitation of my mind for the red, bloody essence. Here, everything I did was to improve their performances, in effort to cause a revolution; the red stuff on my end, had some effect on their own powers, or so I thought.


In the early hours of morning, I'm reassuring my grandmother that's she's going to heaven, with my power as my support, as she lays in bed; I'm raising my voice to hit those tender notes like a dictator, and I imagine visually one act or scene, of a sad man who enters hell to save his grandmother, very holy looking and simple- wearing a leather jacket, a darkness coming over me as I struggle to pull up my grandmother. At the time it was so beautiful.


It was agreed, at this time, that to see my imagination, you would have to first draw the tears in the void of closed eyes; not only was I imagining it artistically, there was science behind it for I was actually telling my grandmother to draw the tears. Here, my imagination gets good again, but much greater and more beautiful than the first time. I'm much calmer, I had imagined so much prior that I've found a perfect style, which correlates with the world and myself; a kind of dark age imagination.


Everything I imagined was of the utmost beauty to me, it was so beautiful that this is the only story I can think about, nothing else interests me to such a degree.


Let me clear up a few things; in the first episode, it was more like a dream-state that reached a peak and fell, but in the second, it was more like an enhanced normal state, that had lots of peaks and falls. In the first episode, an environment would come with what I imagined effortlessly, in the second I had to try hard to imagine an environment, but it would appear more beautifully. There is no real difference between the second episode and now, apart from there was another layer, I was opposed by a force of nature; whatever I imagined would stick for a longer period than the present day. What I didn't mention before was that I also had powers attributed to body parts; with my right hand I could create the hallucinations in others, or at least I believed I could, which I confirmed by testing it on myself- very rarely a scent I chose would come, but I didn't try it many times!


My world views affected what I conjured, I was up against names such as Kim Jong, Obama, Putin, Jinping, Assad, ISIS and more. Things just kept getting weirder, evolving, enhancing, layer by layer things would become more surreal and dreamy. It got to a stage where I could think of someone or something, and an image of them would flash up in the void of closed eyes.


I took this ability non-seriously, but a day came where I tried to find ISIS leaders, by way of thinking and focusing on the statement "ISIS Leaders", to show the political powers who were apparently watching twenty-four seven. Instead, a familiar face kept popping up and making me laugh so much I couldn't keep focused; it was, randomly, Jet Li. I knew this person, but he had never entered my thoughts until this moment. I stopped trying to find these people and rested with a new rival in mind.


At this point the environment becomes stranger and it's the highlight of the psychosis; when I focus on a shadow, it would split into two, and I could imagine a more physical battle that took an element of skill or, again, focus. One gets an illusion now and again which is similar to this but during this period these illusions appeared every passing moment.


During this time, at one moment, I was under my sheet as to get the perfect scene for this illusion, through my sheet I could see a lighter shadow; a pure-light self. When I focused on it, out of the corner of my eye I'd see a silhouette that was just like Jet Li. We battled, and the battle was centered around my own focus, and the line of water running down my own and Jet Li's face. I had to keep us both in focus by keeping myself in focus, which was hard as he would distract me. Then I had to use mind forces to flick the colorful spiritual water off of his face, and the greater the trickery, the harder it was for retaliation. I'd flick up the water, then wait for it to drop down, spin around his face a couple of times before catching it on my head.


This battling lasted one day before I victor. I remember that there were some beautiful scenes of this battling, but the strange environment is too hard to describe fluently. I had stolen his water, and immediately I gained a new power.


I am confronted by a new ability that's completely out of the blue. Whenever I close my eyes, there is a cylindrical tunnel. If I draw a face, it becomes a pre-built animation that I have no conscious part in. When I draw a sad face, a sadistic hero like figure would appear, and then I'd become this hero, and shoot down this tunnel, ending with a trick, or psychological attack. They seem pointless now, but at the time, the feeling associated with it, was it's kick. The more I got myself excited, the tunnel would become more lucid, and realer, before I'm flying through it, and into a half-pipe like trick.


That night, I close my eyes very tight and I see millions of tiny cartoon stars, spinning around the tunnel, as if it's a static tunnel, rather than one which is freely flexible. Between the time of opening my eyes and closing them again, tight, I see hearts, with an optical illusion in the distant center. I truly get a sense of racial nature, it's such a wonderful sight- very kaleidoscope-like. Back to the original tunnel, me and enemies battle in it for the rest of the day, until the third day where I'm taken into a mental home again, but this time by my own choice.


Me and Jet Li had become friends; he was afraid of what I had come to terms with as the "anti-christ", when two people 'psst' at each other in front of you and laugh. I taught him about this, and from that point on, he would try and calm his people, and my enemies, down. We were the champions of world peace, star-crossed.


He was always after his line of water but I was too good to let him have it back, plus the power I never wanted to lose.


There were two or three tunnels, not including the 'static' stars and hearts ones; one was heavenly whilst the other was hellish; I found out about the hell tunnel on the second day. I had been dreaming in the tunnels for a while, battling enemies in racial and holy war. The first day, in the fresh, normal tunnel, ended in my victory. The second day, whilst I was asleep, something came over me...


When I woke up, I was electrified ( as if excitement was coming over me without me doing anything ), I was forced into the tunnel to battle against my will. A typical don't go to sleep moment, but when I did, I entered the hell-tunnel abomination thing; and it was more of evasive maneuvers this time over.


As I traveled down the hell tunnel I seen breaking fingers, flickering eyes, like something out of the Blair Witch Project, and in the heavenly one, it was more a symbol of this very power, very reminiscent of that timeline.


I managed to evade enough to victor again, and after my victory, the state reaches it's greatest state, but not the greatest peak. In this state, me, enemies and friends, can connect to each others minds; in the void of closed eyes, was a movie stream of the highest quality that represented every thought that crossed my mind with expression or natures; fire for angry or raising my arm to claim victory. I mean it was the highest quality when I say it, like a lucid movie, watery perfection. This lasted momentarily, before I was overtaken by fresh enemies who missed my suppression from the beauty I had showcased before; they came in late, missed my show, and overtook it evilly, essentially ruining the reward that comes world peace.


We revert to the tunnel level, and it's a little weirder this time... Each flickering eye I pass causes a mark to appear on my body, and each mark has a sucking effect. I would lose weight in the space of seconds until I looked anorexic- I became drowsy, swaying from side to side, and ended up with no choice but to phone the mental hospital and put myself into care. I lost 20lbs in one day. When in care, I was scared for my people and myself, that I may lose the power or give it away if I close my eyes and drift off. However, in care, I recollected myself, and after a struggle I won yet another war...


I traveled up the hallway of the mental home, the environment still strange, I looked into the line of light on the floor to see both shadows of hands and a light shadow of hands. Nurses were calling me for my meds but I was, again, trying not to lose my power, so I ignored ( usually I'm more civil so this is strange by my own mental history ). Following the light hand only, the marks strangely would pop off my body, but if I lost focus they would come back. Nurses distracting me asking me for meds- I'm truly struggling to win this one walking back and forth down the hallway.


I come to an end point, and my struggle pays off, almost all marks are off my body. In this moment I go to my care-home room, and relax. When I close my eyes, it's as if they are still open, and I'm looking not only at the wall, but through it- not to the other side, but to a four dimensional abstraction. A metal man stood there with the three simplest shapes next to him, square, triangle and circle- behind him were graphical mountains with a purple and green grid overlay. I look around the room, ways and doorways in everything, a seer into a deeper light with whatever I look at. When I cross the small black bin that's in the shadows, I sense little shadow people retreat into the shadows. The ways passed the bin here, looks scary, and scary feeling comes with it. I may have been able to travel through this passage, but I was too cowardly. When I looked outside the window, I seen green dancing families where the grass was, and bulky heads where two tree stumps lay making muffled low sounds; sound, visuals, feelings, all associated with the original but replacing it completely.


It's as if time had stopped. I then go to sleep, the next day I regain the weight, and I spend two weeks getting very sexual and good feelings in that mental home. Some events that occurred over the two weeks; the environment was strange but it was as if the strangeness was enhanced, and more rapid. I felt forced to focus on hands on TV, and with the thought everyone was watching, I chose that symbol ( hands ) as my call sign. It was like a game of jokers where the best one wins, I was hands, the beast like right hand, the joker himself, and many other cool symbols. After the two weeks I'm transferred to a closer mental home, and in this mental home I experience something which is quite possibly the reason I'm telling this story.


I realize the battle was not won, and that by falling asleep or failing the bin pathway challenge, or by some other means, I had not 'finished' the enemy, properly. Voices appeared in walls and near space around me, not in my head, and if I had truly won I'd be in that lucid closed eyed state as described prior. There was no more tunnel, there was no more strange environment, just an abstracted first episode-like experience; I'd see heads of my enemies in the walls and I could imagine only as indents in the space. I used my powers to make them hallucinate, using Un's dirty bombs as the scent which would drive them away. It worked and for a moment that chaotic line of water that runs down my face became straight again; for a few minutes, not one word thought crosses my mind, I am at total peace, but then, like prior, an old different race friend of mine rises and obstructs peace once more but for sinful reasons like fame or self. I was released from the mental hospital about a week after.


It has been a year and a half since then, and I'm where I'm at in the present day. I can still imagine visually, but nothing in comparison to what was. THERE ARE MANY PARTS MISSING FROM THIS STORY...

Edited by s13ep
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King of Kings


Lord of Lords

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Your loss, was actually pretty fascinating this time.

Maybe if s13ep hadn't changed the font color of the entire post to a searing white for no reason, I would actually bother trying to read the entire thing...I hate it when people change their entire posts to a different size/font/color. There should really be a rule against doing this...for, uh, the sake of the children and everything. tongue.png

 

(e): Wait a second, aren't I calling myself a child by saying that, since it'd be for me? ...Whatever. :p

Edited by Bartimaeus
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Put fascists and sociopaths on your ignore list.

Quote

Never believe that anti-Semites are completely unaware of the absurdity of their replies. They know that their remarks are frivolous, open to challenge. But they are amusing themselves, for it is their adversary who is obliged to use words responsibly, since he believes in words. They even like to play with discourse for, by giving ridiculous reasons, they discredit the seriousness of their interlocutors. They delight in acting in bad faith, since they seek not to persuade by sound argument but to intimidate and disconcert. If you press them too closely, they will abruptly fall silent, loftily indicating by some phrase that the time for argument is past.

 

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Interesting read but I don't think that he's actually schizophrenic or if it he is then he has a pretty good handle on it.

I'd say the answer to that question is kind of like the answer to "who's the sucker in this poker game?"*

 

*If you can't tell, it's you. ;)

village_idiot.gif

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I think Gromnir is schizophrenic. Otherwise I cannot explain his writing style, which for the life of god I cannot read.

 

 

PS: Yes the white colored post above is horrible to read too.

Edited by Lexx

"only when you no-life you can exist forever, because what does not live cannot die."

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I think Gromnir is schizophrenic. Otherwise I cannot explain his writing style, which for the life of god I cannot read.

 

 

PS: Yes the white colored post above is horrible to read too.

Playing a role or character makes you a schizophrenic? Interesting stance, given the forums we're on... :p

Put fascists and sociopaths on your ignore list.

Quote

Never believe that anti-Semites are completely unaware of the absurdity of their replies. They know that their remarks are frivolous, open to challenge. But they are amusing themselves, for it is their adversary who is obliged to use words responsibly, since he believes in words. They even like to play with discourse for, by giving ridiculous reasons, they discredit the seriousness of their interlocutors. They delight in acting in bad faith, since they seek not to persuade by sound argument but to intimidate and disconcert. If you press them too closely, they will abruptly fall silent, loftily indicating by some phrase that the time for argument is past.

 

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I think Gromnir is schizophrenic. Otherwise I cannot explain his writing style, which for the life of god I cannot read.

 

 

PS: Yes the white colored post above is horrible to read too.

Playing a role or character makes you a schizophrenic? Interesting stance, given the forums we're on... :p

 

Barti do you think you are  schizophrenic ?

 

Gromnir is definitely not schizo  :geek:

"Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss”

John Milton 

"We don't stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing.” -  George Bernard Shaw

"What counts in life is not the mere fact that we have lived. It is what difference we have made to the lives of others that will determine the significance of the life we lead" - Nelson Mandela

 

 

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