Visual distortions outlined

Alone in the mirror

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I have in the past touched briefly on my hallucinations, whether it be simply visual snow or artifacts my best has been done to properly explain the texture, color, and size of distortions that I encounter. Up to this point I do feel that overall I’ve been almost completely ineffective at sharing what I see, though in my defense it is tough to accurately represent something visual in words… especially hallucinations. So I devoted a drunken day and spent it representing my visual states visually.
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Making tea to calm my stomach

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Obviously it would have been incredibly hard to create perfect replicas of what I see but what I did was take pictures of what I was looking at and then manipulated the picture until it looked as I remembered seeing it… That is to say the images are actually incredibly close to reality, at least my own. Within my everyday life these are common occurrences and though they don’t make up the whole of my perceptions they are most definitely often happening… For the most part it isn’t untruth wholly created within my head but my mind’s insolence seems to manifest itself in small distortions of my vision. The most common one likely being a flickering or white noise that flows down walls and flat surfaces…. Every time I look at a wall there is a film of moving perspective washing over it. Placed above the surface there is moving swirling and flickering, giving a droll sort of life to those inanimate objects. Sometimes it will alter colors as well, adding an odd tint to my vision. It will come on like this; I will be going about my tasks as I should, completely unruffled… then I will look at something that I know quite well and realize that it is off in some way. Its too bright, too vivid and completely thee wrong hue, then I will look around and realize that everything is a little off… Ill shrug and move on because it isn’t that big of a deal. The visual snow as well is almost a constant and I actually never noticed it for the longest time because…. well it was just there and thats what it looked like… but then I actually began to think about it a little bit and realized it was not normal. The static and artifacts I think can actually be quite closely related to myodesopsia.
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“Look how pretty the lights are!”

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For the most part these are generally unobtrusive, since it’s just distortions on my perceptions and not simply fabricated perceptions I can generally work around them. Actually in many cases what I see can be quite beautiful. Whether it be swirling colors or floating shapes it’s always new and incredibly interesting to look at, with expanding geometric patterns and occurrences they can hold my thoughts for hours. What does cause me fright though is complete fabrications (what you’d think of when you hear hallucination) and my misinterpretation of faces. My head does conjure up things that are not in any sense true and right, things that are more often than not absurd ex. A thumb falling off and rolling away/ A human head rolling out from under some bushes/ or a shadow following closely/. Now frankly those can be be incredibly surprising and halting experiences that cause me to falter in thought but over all I guess you could say that the visions are appreciated.
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trying to clear up the blurriness

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Now the next big format of hallucination is facial distortions, these are frightening, debilitating, and simply unnecessary and certainly unappreciated. This happens in one of two ways 1. I cannot remember a face of someone I know well or 2. A face (either my own or another’s) begins to drip/melt and become misshapen.
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Imagine walking to a mirror and looking at your own face and having it not be your own, seeing someone most certainly… but someone who isn’t truly you. You’re standing there pale as white china trying to find some semblance of a self in your reflection and your eyes start to drop into your head and your pupils seem to be leaking down your cheeks. Your nose forehead and brow becomes exaggerated and the proportions of your face begin to delve in to fantasy. You’re lost in the reflection so fascinated by its lack of resemblance to much of anything and then it begins to hit you. Walloped dead center in the middle of your chest with existential terror. Who are you? Who is that in  the mirror? WHAT DO YOU LOOK LIKE?
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fuck… time to sleep

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There has been more than just a few occasions where faces have rightfully fucked me up… Its due to this seemingly relapsing inability to process expression, or simple what a face is. I try to avoid looking at faces often when intoxicated because that only intensifies the inaccurate perceptions in an absolutely horrifying way.
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not quite seeing double

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I will eventually update with more explanation/images but for now i think this is plenty
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n

“get a breath of fresh air”
my arm is looking a little pink
“you alright? take a seat.”
who’s there?
it does make everything more lively though
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Frank’s

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Frank was a stout, gnarled man. Actually quite as you might expect a Frank to be. A little obtuse, a little dull, but jolly and sincere with a solid foundation of faith based on morality and love. I’ve always had incredibly decent luck with the Frank’s I have met. Only once have I encountered a Frank I did not at least like a little, and this Frank I am considering now is not that exception.
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My family used to live right on the corner of an intersection, in a small town, in the south of the Yukon. It wasn’t an ideal place to live because every single snowy season the day would come where we would all wake up to ferocious bangs and waddle outside in our skinnies only to find some lonely drunk up on the curb with head hung over wheel. Drunkenly accidents were actually such a common occurrence on that intersection there that we erected concrete barriers along the ditchline. It was all going well that year until one of the barriers sent a fucking truck into Frank’s living room… They were promptly removed after that incident.
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But thankfully that brings me back to the subject of this affair… Frank Munro. I always knew of him as decent but reclusive. A collector, a peaceful entity who simply wanted to do what he might… But that was about as far as my knowledge of him extended. We had him over for dinner one Thanksgiving actually, and he was very pleasant, very pleasant… though he was anxious I could tell. The crackling of the fire, the bumbling of my whiskey ridden father, it  clanging of the cutlery. Frank wasn’t comfortable, with the movement of it all. I don’t believe anybody else recognized it at the time, but little 12 year old me did. Actually I saw it very clearly, the distress and the discomfort.  Perhaps it was very apparent to me that Frank suffered from a comparable affliction to one I had; an apprehension to a noisy existence.
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The night ended and my family spoke of what a nice man Frank was, but with every mention of his name came a condescending breath of pity, of observed loneliness. I did not partake. That would have been cruel. Those comments left me a little less jolly so I folded my deck and headed off to bed. I continued to exist after that night of course, unchanged, simply being as I was without ever giving another thought towards my neighbor Frank. At least not until he died. Yeah, Frank is dead.
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I hope I go like him… alone and asleep.
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n

And Set Me Free

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Blend out that notoriety
That far flung severity
Please just let me quietly
Tear up my sobriety
My conscious mentality
Ill pull out my sharpened blade
And scritch scratch my name
Right across your brain
Till all you can think of is me
And then you’ll see that Ive been let free
And I’m far from sight; From your reach
And your meditated violent fucking tendencies.
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n

Abra Cadabra

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It’s magical
It’s all really just magic
The dollying, the twirling about
The drastic devisive contortions
Of method and means alike
It’s just a big trick; a myth 
The job hunting and calorie counting
The repetition for appreciation 
I really can see right through it
Because I am the magician
It’s all a trick; Abra Cadabra!
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The Power of Percieved Meaninglessness

A fluttering reflection on past expression, it will engulf me… It will take me over with a hasty and feverish bout of necessity. I don’t ever feel a longing though, never a thought towards the reincarnation of relationship, or the suppression of my muddied meaning. I truly don’t…. The way I interpret and see, the way I perceive my own windy reality is a blessing, truly more beautiful and meaningful than anything else I’ve come across. It’s kept my head above the mud, above the raging dunes of depression and crashing waves of anger. My pessimistic and meaningfully meaningless outlook has kept me going.
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And I think, however morose or melancholy I find myself… I rarely feel regret, I rarely need to feign empathetic decision either because I am a rotten log flowing down the river. I don’t resist anymore; As more and more of my rotted branches snap off I become increasingly lenient and rightfully resigned, and even more removed from commitment to endure. My mind allows itself to accept, to not grieve over possibilities or failures, and it allows me to keep floating down the river.
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Now I can be a very anxious person, and I can be incredibly… frighteningly angry and deprived…. But in the end I am quite well suited to follow into the unknown. To delve down dark corridors and I can  accept, and I’m honestly proud of that. It is one of the few things that will give me belief in myself, in my mustered resilience.
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n

Flushed Confusion

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You see that I’m sad, maybe even a little mad
But I don’t think you care because 
You’re closely looking into my only eyes
Calling me lonely and false
And I try so hard to forget my faults 
But you won’t let me look past them.
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I can’t see why you are this way
Why you’re causing me this dismay
Do you enjoy it?
Do you get some sick kick out of it?
I don’t quite know and now I just want to flee
To run away and be free from your brevity
And supposed serenity, I want to forget it all
But that’s not an option so I must settle
And learn not to mettle in whats yours.
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I’ll hide my shame and answer to my name
But I just need you to know this now;
You cannot show me such sorrow
And expect me to know of your love
Though I do suppose
You did go to all of my shows
And read all of my prose
So maybe I’m mistaken-
Just a little confused…