In Search for the Cuddlemeow
“My heart is so broken! Please do not speak inside the Head Cuddle.” “But that is the center of my mind.” I still do not understand how what I wrote last night led to so many people feeling so sorry for themselves. “It’s not my fault you people don’t know how to read between the lines,” was my guess. (My prose of yesterday and today are my summarized contextual perceptions. No full real-time details. (Like I just said “(…) don’t know how to read,” in actuality, still meaning the same as in the contextual.))
After I described my perspective yesterday, Hunter Biden had been allowed to stay in my Side Mind relatively undisturbedly. I took that opportunity to develop my friendship with him and brief him further on what it means to be my Side Mind. “This conversation is so boring.” “Your topics of conversation are too difficult.” “His personality is so toxic.” The commentary (is all there is inside the (it’s like all making conversation people know these days is delivering (hyper toxic) commentary)) inside the Head Cuddle chat is like a Facebook page.
In my personal definition, Hunter’s personality is far from toxic. “Sorry, I’m being toxic,” I’ve heard him say in fear many times. As if he has experienced some kind of indoctrination related trauma for it. Just like the definition of “racism” has been skewed under the new and more oppressive than ever global “leftist church” regime, it seems like the definition of the psychological term “toxic” has been changed as well. There’s the post slavery “No matter what skin color, everyone is worthy,” idea behind the development of the concept of what racism means. And now it’s suddenly like: “You’re not saying “y’all” to a person of color and you’re not letting him/her burn down a Wendy’s so you’re being a racist,” psychoticly racist view on what racism is under today’s leftist fascism.
The chat just reminded me of not defining psychological “toxicity”. I know the definition of “toxicity” basically being that someone purposefully inflicts bad feelings on someone else to suppress their own psychological defects while not feeling bad for doing that (at all). These days, it seems to be unintentionally making people feel bad for their lack of intelligence (also why they call my taste “racist”). (There’s also this cute interpretation of when keeping oneself silent kills the mood.)
“You’re not being toxic. I don’t believe you’re being toxic. They say playing classical music is toxic as well so their definitions must be skewed.” He has been so anxious to voice himself at first, in fear of a reprimand for his personality it seemed. I’m aware that rich Surinamese people are used to a completely different type of casual conversation than rich “1%” elititarian Americans.
“Oh no, my social anxiety,” I heard him think to himself at some point. It seemed like he had practiced on a map of conversation starters and responses, but the things I wanted to talk to him about go beyond what is normal in his circles. “My strategy with people with social anxiety is to just hold a monologue to them about the most personal and vulnerable topics ever to show that you mean no harm. People with social anxiety don’t often have people who try to really level with them, so they are more inclined to listen to and appreciate a (personal) monologue,” I told him, indirectly showing him that I can hear all of his personal thoughts. This was when I was doing some leg lift ab workouts in my bedroom. He is/was still in disbelief of our otherwise seen as schizophrenia shared supernatural perception of reality.
“No, you should be more direct and talk about how sexually attractive she is. I don’t understand why you’re paying for this,” people were starting to interrupt with. “What are you talking about by saying that this is paid for? This is not boring. We’re having a great conversation that should be nice to listen to,” I replied to someone in the Head Cuddle chat, as my own thoughts wandered off to how handsome his facial features are. “You have no idea what you’re doing. I feel sorry for you that you are doing this with this unattractive man.”
The great majority of my Speedies (and secrets) are in my Side Mind. All most of my Speedies are doing is: “Mental disturbances too physically impactful. End threat by killing them RIGHT NOW.” No one else can hear that thought being repeated continuously (as long as “the Facebook people” are alive and breathing (it’s a bit like the Matrix)), but Hunter in my Side Mind. “Get these people killed,” he often leaves his seat in the Side Mind for to say in the Head Cuddle chat. “He is so toxic. You (plural) are too right-wing,” they respond to it. I love a man who radiates protectiveness.
“You should get off birth control,” I’ve been saying a lot in these 35 days of mental verbal lynching. I’ve been noticing a lot of men with artificially (through psychiatric pills I call “birth control” when I say that to my men) heightened voices and “soap drama series women”-like mood swings. I don’t know what “toxic masculinity” would mean (I haven’t had a social life in years man all this stuff is trendy), but whatever it is, natural aspects of men cannot be seen as the cause thereof. Especially because deep voices are hot and I need men to be more masculine than I my God. Hunter Biden and Ben Shapiro are examples of men with artificially heightened voices and George Vonhoff has been crying in the chat unnaturally much. Hunter’s natural voice is so hot. <3_<3
After my exercises I took a shower (“The first of many,” I telepathically told Hunter as my eternally appointed Side Mind), after which I was in the process of brushing my teeth. “Aren’t you supposed to say anything about tribalism?” Hunter asked me for the zillionth time. I correlated it with overhearing him think the word “concubine”, so I then saw that the position of Praesens has been interpreted as active kind and Regentesse as substitute for when the king is knocked down. Then the position of Praesens could be misinterpreted into something tribalistic.
Already overly (though there’s no such thing as “overly” in this context) excited in my heart about the many things I have to discuss with Hunter and the “unavailable man” type of real man I’ve always had a severe weakness for but never had a chance to get close to, I thought of the lively friend I want to be to him in a “son of an American politician” type of upbringing and lifestyle he has had (stereotyping) in (in comparison to my upbringing) an intense form of social isolation (like how could he ever get up close and personal with someone like the plebian of color my life is, for example).
“Oh the words “Praesens” and “Regentesse” are more for giving the created role a name and not about their existing definition. If it’s about existing definitions, then I’m the regent and you’re a prince. I have intentions of stomping your father (who seems an awfully toxic parent (as far as parent does raising)) off the throne. No tribalism.” “Is that all this BITCH wants from me?” I heard him think to himself in a love PTSD kind of way. As unfortunate as usual hearing people be wrong about my intentions and being spoken of in that hurtful way, I managed to stay completely calm and focus solely on where the miscommunication lies. “You’ve been raised like a prince and therefore you are made for leadership far more than your father is. I have the best of intentions for you. Also, this is greater than the United States.” (That’s why lately I’ve been phrasing it as having my business be run for me. Though I’m retired now so it’s all the same but entirely colloquial. No records (needed).)
“She’s not saying anything in the Head Cuddle anymore,” started to increase frequency in the chat. “What are you two talking about over here???” People started to invade a private space, though the Side Mind is a seat (that feels as if someone is talking with their lips against my right ear but internally, more sensitive than regular telepathy). This was a new experience to me, given that usually telepathically talking in the right side of my brain doesn’t – aside from faint political association – mean much different from talking in the left side of my brain.
So aside from Hunter and I hearing someone psychotically disturb our conversation, there was no one who could hear that. That’s something I experienced as new in that moment. I tried saying the same sentence in the two halves of my brain separately and then (under quite the pressing stress) ask what Hunter heard, but he (divided between surrealism (but the Dutch are really not that smart lol) and blasphemy) didn’t get the experiment in that moment (he gets the workings now too though).
“I think my brain just got an upgrade,” I said in the chat. “Please say something if you hear this,” I said to test out what thoughts are public and what thoughts are privare. There was hypocritical silence (after swearing at me for god damn 35 days). (Read the first sentence of this post again you hypocritical fucks. I am shunned in real life.) “Anyone please say something if you can hear this.” Still silence.
“I am authorized to be here as well, right?” Ben Shapiro asked on the right side of my brain. “Yes you are,” I told him. Not long afterwards, I heard my biological father say “Happy birthdaaay,” but sounding like he was doing a Gerard Joling impression. (He is on some kind of birth control, isn’t he?) The right side of my brain felt like a birthday lounge with a special seat. The special seat being the Side Mind.
Hunter felt and heard everything I thought in that moment. This is not an April Fools joke (my alien father has been masochisted). My birthday is on November 1st, which he has missed 24 times. I felt hurt for people advising him to just laugh it off and his heart being kind enough to actually think it’s right to try it. “This is so impersonal,” Hunter said into the chat. The rest of the chat was silent.
My hyper sarcasm kicked in. I asked them where my birthday cake was and gave a fake toast drinking straight from my 1,5L Spa water bottle. After that, people started taking turns on my god damn Side Mind again. I do not give a single cancerous fuck about Jewish customs or whatever the fuck this shit is. I told my father that the only way we can ever meet is if he Volta’s with us.
In Search for the Cuddlemeow – Fangs
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