I laugh unreserved. I laugh like there's no tomorrow. I laugh out nothing except confusion.

I don't why. I remember my father slapping me for laughing uncontrollably out of mania. I couldn't feel anything the days after that. It was disturbing.

I would see the house I lived in with wooden humanoids replacing my family members. They were them, but lifeless. I saw a undefined power that controlled everyone, including me. I had wooden arms when I looked, and every moment we made was due to that divine essense controlling us. It felt weird. I couldn't feel anything.

I didn't like this. I don't know. I feel safe but undefined. This isn't right, but maybe I need this?

I need my doctor. She told me it was normal. I didn't understand. Maybe it's just me? I wish I understood. I wish I knew.

I don't like being touched. I don't like being touched by anyone. It felt weird. I think I'm paranoid.

Where am I?

I need to do something.

Where am I?! Really! I'm serious! Answer me!

You're nothing. Just kill yourself.

Shut up! You know nothing.

Nothing? You mean I know you're nothing? You're useless! You piece of s—

Shut up! Keep quiet!

Hmph. Just know you can't do anything right. That's all you need to know.

Oh gosh, I really need to write. Can't have myself wasting time this time around.

My head hurts. Let's just close our eyes this very moment.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Oh g—

Where am I!?

I need to finish up this nonsense. Can't do this no more.

I listened to someone laughing uncontrollably on repeat to calm myself down.

After that, I listened to a Alternative rock song that came out recently. It was a song that premiered on the video-sharing website. Not bad, I thought.

Listening to my favorite hiphop artist was natural after the number of times I've replayed his albums. He's honest about his hopelessness. Music like his heal me.

Back to work. It'd be really nice if I ate grapes by now after all the apples I've eaten.

I moved changes desks which I do often and moved positions to a different side of the house. I couldn't do this in that apartment before, but now I can. I do this whenever my senses get tired of the environment. It's pretty much a lifesaver in reseting your creative processing.

Imagine it like four sides of farmland. Once you harvest the first side, you refill it with new seeds, and you move on the next side. Once you finish the fourth side, your first and second sides are all ready to be harvested; your third one is not done but close to completion.

You will always have food to eat that way, and that's what we have here when we talk about the "sides" of your creative proccessing. The number of "sides" is the number of times you can revive your spirit or rejuvenate your dulled senses. Basically, the more "sides" you have, the more consistent you'll be!

I use this strategy all the time, and that's the reason I moved here: to increase the number of times I can stay "alive" and going.

Woo! It'd be nice if I lay back and shut my eyes for a second now. I do this all the time when my head gets full and needs to relax.

My streaming channel is now at an average of 6,000 viewers. I didn't think people would be interested in this kind of stuff, but hey! Looks like things are booming, and that's great!

I set up polls on what genre do my viewers have read the most this season. About 11% are into sci-fi probably because of the recent innovations in technology. 26% love rom-coms; of course, it's the calming side of novels Mystery and crime, adventure, and mature are in a great war with each averaging around 20%. The other 3% are people who're flexible and basically change genres after every read.

It's cool having talks like these. The only difference between real life is you feel like you're on two different planes of existence: the chat bar and the live stream.

I have always loved freestyle, whether it was rap or singing. Now that I looked into it. You to have a vast collection of words to express what you're feeling or thinking about.

I wasn't really introduced to music other than movie music when I was a child, and we didn't watch movies that much. So I had to depend on myself to make music since I was music enthusiast.

I wouldn't write down my music because I was slow and bad at handwriting.

What I would do was make up lyrics and sing or rap it at the spot. I thought it was a normal thing until I tried the music I avoided so much out of fear. I soon learned only a few could go live and freestyle whatever tune or lyrics that came out from their heart.

I tell you. It wasn't easy not repeating yourself. I needed to intentionally learn how to condition my mind to new phrases and words without stopping to think.

Even now, I play guitar and play around with spontaneous songwriting for about 5 - 15 minutes to relax my mind.

In the end, I finished my first fantasy action. It wasn't nice deciding whether the Dragonos kills him or becomes his friend.

I had to go with him becoming a Dragonos after completing the challenges set for him. It took a dark turn after being told to train himself mentally, emotionally, and physically. Once he was done, they put him to a long slumber. When he came to his senses, he was a Dragonos' body. He finished the test unconsciously. He realized all he had to do was train and hope God succeeds with the body—his body. God told him he finished the challenges for him: killing people, but before that, he tortured and devoured them bit by bit.

It wasn't a test at all. It was God's playtime.

"You can fly around the sky now. Talk with your fellow Dragonos. This is your eternal reward." He made a face not in the way I imagined God would do. He grinned at the most saddest moment with the most happiest smile.

I-I lost myself.

That's nice. Very existential. Eeek!

Hmm. It never snows down here. I would like to see some snow. Oh wait. Nevermind. The weather would be much calmer when the water all goes down the drain. That's my personal opinion anyway.

Let me watch my anime. No kidding. I need cute and funny, not real life things right now. I've watched too much dark shorts.

Oh, wait, nevermind! My eyes hurt. I'll just cook up some food.

Eggs are phenomenal. I haven't eaten eggs in a week or so, which makes every dish felis na bidad!

Although I'd rather eat apples; much cheaper in the long run. No bias . . . . yes bias.

I finished my egg sandwich, definitely pleased. I got full after two sandwiches.

It was so quiet today. I meditated in pitch-black silence when I noticed how tired I was getting.

I looked at myself without an indication of attachment, fear, anger, hate, love, and worry. I felt happy. If this wasn't happiness, then what is?

Someone knocked on my door. I stood up, walked slowly to the door, and asked, "Who's there?"

It was a woman's voice. She said, "I'm here to deliver a package."

"Oh, sure," I replied, looking down at the ground as the top side of my head leaned against my rugged, wooden door. "I-I'll get the money. Please wait."

"Okay," she said calmly.

"Yeah, just wait for a second," I called from the back; my voice muffled as water poured down my face.

I brought the money, staring at the doorknob as I walked toward the door. I stopped. The door was right in front of me. The person out there was waiting. I, opened the door slowly, hoping to see a kind face.

It was a freckled redhead. She smiled; her eyebrows raised and hands holding out the box she went to deliver.

I tried to imitate her friendly gesture, only to give a half-smile. I thought: "Oh, sorry. Here's the money."

"Thanks. . . . but what, wha-what are you being sorry for?" Her concern revealed as she waited for my decisive answer.

"I, I took too long: sorry," I whispered to her.

She stared at me like she was staring beyond my outward self. She stepped back, looked away, and fixed her hair.

Her eyes are nice, I thought. That's the kind of eyes I have a crush on.

Her hair, too, I thought. Medium length semi-curly hair.

Her face too, I thought for the last time, That circular face with all those features. She's . . . . she's amazing.

She looked hesistant, either looking at me this second and looking away the next. "I need to tell you something." she cooed. "Wanna sing a song I've working on?"

"Uh, why?"

She shot me disappointed looks, and I was just there wondering what genre of novels I was in.

She was pacing back and forth like a mob was after her or something, so before she could think of leaving my house front, I shot back her bewilderment, asking, "May I ask?"—she instantly turned back to me who had started to whisper—"Why do you want to make a video with me?"

"Oh, I just, yeah, it's nothing, it's nothing, never mind, I-I'll just go."

She was leaving. Oh no. I-I can't leave her like that.

I ran after her and grabbed her hand. She had a bracelet around her left wrist. It was pretty.

Wait, why did I grab her hand?

"Uh, hey. I can do it. L-let's do it." What the hell am I saying? Sounds so off. Why in the world am I thinking? I should let go of her hand quick.

I let go. She should have blushed at least.

Oh shut up. I've got no time for you.

"O-okay. Meet me at my house tomorrow morning? I'm Rino and I'm your neighbour by the way. I'm right"— she pointed to her right —"there!"

I looked over to where she was looking. Oh, that house. I thought it was a family house. Like the one with an entire family in it.

"Oh, I'm an only child and my mother and father died two years ago."

Oh, did I say that out loud?

"Yeah, you did."

"Oh, I'm sorry about that."

"It's okay. . . . meet me here tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure! Oh and, I'm Skyler. My name is Skyler."

I waved good-bye. It was nice having someone to talk to every once in a while; I realized.

"Oh, hey . . . hey! Nice to see you here."

"Oh, I feel the same."

"Yeah . . . let's just go in."

"Ok, sure."

She has a nice place. I mean, her room's great—great for recording!

We sat down two stools with an amazing pale-colored background—Oh gosh, save me. This is too good.

The cameras were up high. When she showed me one of her videos, We were both going to be at the middle in the lower corner of the video.

She placed an transparent frame attached to the wall. The icon resembled herself posing, facing the left side, and eyes looking elsewhere. Her logo was taking half of the icon with herself taking the other half and overlapping a little bit.

After seeing everything, I asked her: "Why do you need me?"

"Oh, I hear you singing from time to time and just thought maybe you wanted to record a solo? The show's not exclusive to me only, you know?"

"Oh, thanks. It's nice being acknowledged by a fellow musician. I can feel the passion."

"Thanks . . . wait, before we get all emotional, what song do you want to cover?" Or do you want to sing an original?"

"How about this?" I asked her if I could take my guitar back at home; she agreed.

I came back, explaining, "I have a song I want to sing. Will you take a listen first?"

"Oh, sure, you can give me the audio file and I'll play it on my speakers."

"Oh, no, uh . . . I'll sing it here and now."

I took my guitar from its stand, sat on the small stool, and began to recite the words: "Your love is a dear grave, I can't escape without the pain ripping me apart

"I'll climb my way back to freedom, even if my feet crumbles under the heaviness of my mind.

"This is my way of life, my answer to death, my answer to lies. . . ."

"That's, that's, that's amazing! Your voice really brings out the genre and mood of your song. I love it!"

"Oh . . . thanks."

"Oh man, I just sounded like my voice teacher just now. I'm sorry about that."

"It's fine, though," I assured her.

I finished the recording and went right back home to my cherished, newly washed pillowcases. Ha, amazing! This . . . is just . . . amazing.

I love recording, but most of the time, I'd rather sleep and not care too much.

I'm not saying I'm scared of trying my best and going after my dreams. It's getting my head wrapped around achievements and pleasing people so badly that it hurts. I really don't want to care at all.

This is how I want to see it—I do care, but I don't. I only want to live in peace while helping people—that's all.

Ooh! Another day of me being myself. No bother at all.

I lay down quiet nicely, daydreaming of the world I wanted to look at right this very moment.

I talked out loud to my "bros and sisters" who are the voices in my head. We only talk for my convenience actually. It's nice to sort out thoughts when you need to.

If I didn't do these things, I would just stay still in silence in pitch-black darkness, and I did.

I faked death for hours. . . .

I can't say this any other way. It's just fun not feeling attached to anyone and anything in any way. I feel free.

I remember a time when I used to hate caring about what other people say about me. I got anxious whenever I made a mistake from fear of the words that people would throw at me. I'm a highly-sensitive person, so these kinds of things really hit me in the chest.

Being a HSP isn't all that bad. Music hits me harder which makes it easier for me to recognize beats, rhythms, and melodies. I write and express more dramatically from the average person.

I've changed though. Things don't affect me the way they used to back then. I no longer feel inclined to get into relationships. I get attracted to beautiful women or enjoy the fun friends have, but when it comes to "me" connecting to the world in an interpersonal way, I don't feel pleasure for it. Instead, it makes me uncomfortable and trapped.

I'd rather stay alone as this is the most free-est feeling.

Good evening everybody.

Good evening, Hank.

How's everythin' going 'round here?

Everything's going great, Sir!

That's great. . . . hey Daisy, Rainbow, come over here!

Oh, hi! I haven't seen you in a while. How's it been?

I released the book of Dreamer yesterday.

Dreamer? Where's Dreamer by the way?

He's sleeping right now.

Oh, I see. . . by the way, what do you want to do tonight, Sky?

Ah, I don't know. I might just listen to music.

Hey Sky. What's going on?

Oh no.

Wanna go [] yourself today, Sky?

Look at this. Look, look you piece of []!

I think we should st—

Hahaha, [] you! All you [] do is [] lie down and [] do nothing with your life!

I need my music quick.

Now you can go shut up now! All you do is laze around and nothing but []!

Oh gosh, he's really loud.

I listened to music before I went and slept. I can't let him terrorize me like that. He needs to stop.

Where were we?

Oh yeah, we were handling papers. I need to pay bills.

And yes, I do talk to myself out loud normally. Most of the time, I say something in my one voice—myself—and reply to myself in a different person—or voice. I don't understand any of this, but I do it all the time. Well, it's really embarassing knowing the world doesn't talk to themselves in this manner.

I don't always do it any way; it's only when I need to disconnect from my body self and readjust my perspective.

Now, to the bathroom!

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"