Jcyf94's Blog

How is it that I can be defensive and vigilant yet careless and reckless at the same time? How is it that Others always told me I am smart, sometimes too smart for my own good, when I constantly feel like an idiot with stunted growth? How is it that I am that disabled when trying to express simple concept by speech and adequate in my view at least when attempting the same by writing? Why do I keep on writing but resent it at the same time, knowing I am no good at it? Why do I loath complaining but appear unable to stop? Why am I hated and loved to the extreme? Why do I hate and love to the extreme? What am I hoping to accomplish by this? Why do I keep on asking questions with no solution? How do I let others know the physical pain brought about by invisible violence? How do I as an figurative adolescent learn the knowledges of the grown ups? How can people stand to react when people throw these piles of questions to you, as genuine as they are? What do I hope to communicate? Where do I need helps?

How is it that I can be defensive and vigilant yet careless and reckless at the same time? How is it that Others always told me I am smart, sometimes too smart for my own good, when I constantly feel like an idiot with stunted growth? How is it that I am that disabled when trying to express simple concept by speech and adequate in my view at least when attempting the same by writing? Why do I keep on writing but resent it at the same time, knowing I am no good at it? Why do I loath complaining but appear unable to stop? Why am I hated and loved to the extreme? Why do I hate and love to the extreme? What am I hoping to accomplish by this? Why do I keep on asking questions with no solution? How do I let others know the physical pain brought about by invisible violence? How do I as an figurative adolescent learn the knowledges of the grown ups? How can people stand to react when people throw these piles of questions to you, as genuine as they are? What do I hope to communicate? Where do I need helps?

What are excuses? What are truths? what am I worried about? What have I done to relieve my agony and their agony? How can I pretend that nothing is going on? What do I do to at least stop further self-destruction? What have I done that had caused such ruckus? What is the most urgent and proper way to clean up and rebuild? What, in the silent scorns and contempts, with real reasons for feeling targeted unknown still, do I do to, as sick as I have to repeat the phrase again, pull myself up by the bootstrap? What has been too late to salvage? What is currently vulnerable but defendable? What is the most efficient way to dust the rusts off and get my engine started? What had been and remain obstacles to getting where I want to be and need to be? What are the inherent contradictions internally? What realistically do I have internally to accomplish how much possible. Who want to see me overcome the crises? Who want to see me collapse thoroughly? Who can I trust? Who should I beware? What at this moment can I do to jump start, or keep afloat? How do I speak to my family, let alone take care? How much damages have they taken without their knowledges? How much damages have I taken? What do We do if we are already been pronounces expendable and disposable? How do I consolidate myself to cause the greatest damage possible to potential predators to force them to back off? How much am I really worth in the eyes of the human gods and kings? How much do I hate to be stuck here physically and mentally? How do I counter being denied the fuels to march forward? How deep am I really willing to go I order to procure my life necessities? How much further must I endure to stay alive, sane and healthy? Who did this to me, I ask again? What am I prepared to do in return? Why do I always wake up with ache and dizziness? Why do I want to stay awake and get things done? Why can’t I get anything done instead? How can I near to live in this roach and fly infested garbage pile of an apartment with infrastructure broken down? Why am I so stupid that I dare

What are excuses? What are truths? what am I worried about? What have I done to relieve my agony and their agony? How can I pretend that nothing is going on? What do I do to at least stop further self-destruction? What have I done that had caused such ruckus? What is the most urgent and proper way to clean up and rebuild? What, in the silent scorns and contempts, with real reasons for feeling targeted unknown still, do I do to, as sick as I have to repeat the phrase again, pull myself up by the bootstrap? What has been too late to salvage? What is currently vulnerable but defendable? What is the most efficient way to dust the rusts off and get my engine started? What had been and remain obstacles to getting where I want to be and need to be? What are the inherent contradictions internally? What realistically do I have internally to accomplish how much possible. Who want to see me overcome the crises? Who want to see me collapse thoroughly? Who can I trust? Who should I beware? What at this moment can I do to jump start, or keep afloat? How do I speak to my family, let alone take care? How much damages have they taken without their knowledges? How much damages have I taken? What do We do if we are already been pronounces expendable and disposable? How do I consolidate myself to cause the greatest damage possible to potential predators to force them to back off? How much am I really worth in the eyes of the human gods and kings? How much do I hate to be stuck here physically and mentally? How do I counter being denied the fuels to march forward? How deep am I really willing to go I order to procure my life necessities? How much further must I endure to stay alive, sane and healthy? Who did this to me, I ask again? What am I prepared to do in return? Why do I always wake up with ache and dizziness? Why do I want to stay awake and get things done? Why can’t I get anything done instead? How can I near to live in this roach and fly infested garbage pile of an apartment with infrastructure broken down? Why am I so stupid that I dare

I am honestly overwhelmed by all the features available to me, and I need to spend significant time and energy study most opf them in detail so I will not be accidentally accidentally leaving myself unprotected and prone to hidden dangers and traps. I do not aspire to write for a living, or again devote way too much time and energy on writing as a refuge or an escape., only again to find myself uncover on my blind side. I should not be mesmerised by modern technology and complex details, but as embarrasing as it is to admit that I am indeed so, there will not exist a personal tutor to guide you along all the details and setting I need to pay extra care to. At the age of 37,Bbeing attention deficient and no longer as mentally sharp as I once was, I have to swallow my pride, make mental adjustment to my flattening learning curve, and ask for help. It requires no entry barrier to use Facebook or Twitter; writing down your posts there as a blog is easy and convenient. Intuitivity without understanding how the platform functions probably had caused irreveresible harms permanently and drained away invaluable time and efforts to salvage what can be salvage.

As the past three years and what had happened to me only I and my tormentors know, settings on your blog could never be trusted to work. I spent several monthes doing my blog with setting permanently on completely private. The blog which I do allowed open acces to public had had absolutelyly no visitors. Yet, my entire blog was read, recorded in detailed, and used to either coerce, abvenge, or put fear into me.

The way it was done was using advertisements in the printed press to advocate certain political issue, but many of the words and phrases are used in the article are identicle to those in my blog, under the exactly same contexts. No name was ever mentioned, but the threatening tone cannot be more apparent to me. There is no use asking for help because it involves two things: 1. that I am to receive this message and there were that many coincidences in lie, especially ones that happen in a prepared, published newspaer advertisement. 2. that there is no way I would be able too seek any help because it involves both having the evidence to back up and creditability to have others believes something that reqires trust in something unbelievable because it involves my personal memories and speculations. I would be lucky of I were be sent to a psych unit involuntary. Things like such have completely evicerate my blind tryst in internet, yet it is the only tool that keeps me connected. I rarely could find someone who would be willing to talk about what I thinking and interested in; I even find it difficult to carry on small talks. However, I am trapped because I no longer feel safe writing without restaint, even as something as trivial as brainstorming.

Many had suggested I used my pen instead of a keyboard. I will not divulge why I am following such advice and still feeling that I need to start a blog again. Changing the service provides might be of little use. What I had involved myself with is bigger, and I have no idea why.

I really wish I could say that it is just an unfortunate “misundering”. I suspected whether hackers were involved. I suspected I accidentally have pissed of governments and been deal “person of interest”. I even pretend that I am being overly paranoid and learnt to forget with no energy to gorgive first.

How I lept from learning the difficulties to master the essentail fuctions of a blogging site to my past unspeakable experiences, besides the fact that I split the writing in two days, is actually directly connected. I hoped by learning to control the envoronment, I would build a safer and more private realm to myself, being free of trauma and terror to write, to express, to vent and to heal.”

By now, some would call me a pussy, a coward, a daisy, and generally an emotionally inferior male, having to blab about “traumas” and “damages”, while painting an image of a new-agey, priveleged, jobless and gutless loser of a man who deserves to suffer all I had suffered. The ugly and beautiful side of internet include anonimity and never having to face people you encounter. Sometimes, when push comes to shove, the power of human determination is unquantifiable, and to vent your frustration while continuously being degraded and humiliated, for example, may force a person to determine his fure core of action without the help of rationality.

In a bad mood, in desperation, or in pain, it is easier to transform all your negative emotion to rage, followed by intense Hatred. For example, I would travel 10,000 miles to the other side of the earth unannouced and show up at your door, sharing a cup of Java, and having a long and serious conversation regarding our past online encounters. This is what I would imagine I would do, if I happen to reach a breaking point. I have begun to study the intricacies of internet and electronics. As I stated, no one is willing to constantly live in fear; I got to learn to let go, or pinpoint the sources and the identities of inflictors pain of fear. I just hope most things can come to a pleasant and just resolutions, while sharing a cup of Java. Most things ought to be able to solve peacefully with a closure of tranquility.

CYBERBULLYING, OR BULLYING OF ANY SORTS HAVE LONG-LASTING DAMAGING EFFECTS ON A NORMAL AND PLEASANT MAN. PHYSICAL AND MENTAL TORTURES GO WAYS BEYONG LONGTERM DAMAGES, AND THEY ARE TRULY UNSEAKABLE IN ALL ASPECTS. IT MUST BE KEPT IN THE MINDS OF EVERY LIVING PERSON.

“There is no privacy on the web,” many have repeated many times. From what my experiences tell me, the loss of personal privacy and the rise of large-scaled surveilance have already started a while ago, and there is no turning back. It is perfectly OK to call me a conspiracist; if I do speak in details, it is also perfectly OK to call my a deranged schizophrenic. I leaked a little of what I know and oberved the responses.

I decided that “the sound of silence” is a very good sound.

I am honestly overwhelmed by all the features available to me, and I need to spend significant time and energy study most opf them in detail so I will not be accidentally accidentally leaving myself unprotected and prone to hidden dangers and traps. I do not aspire to write for a living, or again devote way too much time and energy on writing as a refuge or an escape., only again to find myself uncover on my blind side. I should not be mesmerised by modern technology and complex details, but as embarrasing as it is to admit that I am indeed so, there will not exist a personal tutor to guide you along all the details and setting I need to pay extra care to. At the age of 37,Bbeing attention deficient and no longer as mentally sharp as I once was, I have to swallow my pride, make mental adjustment to my flattening learning curve, and ask for help. It requires no entry barrier to use Facebook or Twitter; writing down your posts there as a blog is easy and convenient. Intuitivity without understanding how the platform functions probably had caused irreveresible harms permanently and drained away invaluable time and efforts to salvage what can be salvage.

As the past three years and what had happened to me only I and my tormentors know, settings on your blog could never be trusted to work. I spent several monthes doing my blog with setting permanently on completely private. The blog which I do allowed open acces to public had had absolutelyly no visitors. Yet, my entire blog was read, recorded in detailed, and used to either coerce, ab\venge, or put fear into me.

The way it was done was using advertisements in the printed press to advocate certain political issue, but many of the words and phrases are used in the article are identicle to those in my blog, under the exactly same contexts. No name was ever mentioned, but the threatening tone cannot be more apparent to me. There is no use asking for help because it involves two things: 1. that I am to receive this message and there were that many coincidences in lie, especially ones that happen in a prepared, published newspaer advertisement. 2. that there is no way I would be able too seek any help because it involves both having the evidence to back up and creditability to have others believes something that reqires trust in something unbelievable because it involves my personal memories and speculations. I would be lucky of I were be sent to a psych unit involuntary. Things like such have completely evicerate my blind tryst in internet, yet it is the only tool that keeps me connected. I rarely could find someone who would be willing to talk about what I thinking and interested in; I even find it difficult to carry on small talks. However, I am trapped because I no longer feel safe writing without restaint, even as something as trivial as brainstorming.

Many had suggested I used my pen instead of a keyboard. I will not divulge why I am following such advice and still feeling that I need to start a blog again. Changing the service provides might be of little use. What I had involved myself with is bigger, and I have no idea why.

I really wish I could say that it is just an unfortunate “misundering”. I suspected whether hackers were involved. I suspected I accidentally have pissed of governments and been deal “person of interest”. I even pretend that I am being overly paranoid and learnt to forget with no energy to gorgive first.

How I lept from learning the difficulties to master the essentail fuctions of a blogging site to my past unspeakable experiences, besides the fact that I split the writing in two days, is actually directly connected. I hoped by learning to control the envoronment, I would build a safer and more private realm to myself, being free of trauma and terror to write, to express, to vent and to heal.”

By now, some would call me a pussy, a coward, a daisy, and generally an emotionally inferior male, having to blab about “traumas” and “damages”, while painting an image of a new-agey, priveleged, jobless and gutless loser of a man who deserves to suffer all I had suffered. The ugly and beautiful side of internet include anonimity and never having to face people you encounter. Sometimes, when push comes to shove, the power of human determination is unquantifiable, and to vent your frustration while continuously being degraded and humiliated, for example, may force a person to determine his fure core of action without the help of rationality.

In a bad mood, in desperation, or in pain, it is easier to transform all your negative emotion to rage, followed by intense Hatred. For example, I would travel 10,000 miles to the other side of the earth unannouced and show up at your door, sharing a cup of Java, and having a long and serious conversation regarding our past online encounters. This is what I would imagine I would do, if I happen to reach a breaking point. I have begun to study the intricacies of internet and electronics. As I stated, no one is willing to constantly live in fear; I got to learn to let go, or pinpoint the sources and the identities of inflictors pain of fear. I just hope most things can come to a pleasant and just resolutions, while sharing a cup of Java. Most things ought to be able to solve peacefully with a closure of tranquility.

CYBERBULLYING, OR BULLYING OF ANY SORTS HAVE LONG-LASTING DAMAGING EFFECTS ON A NORMAL AND PLEASANT MAN. PHYSICAL AND MENTAL TORTURES GO WAYS BEYONG LONGTERM DAMAGES, AND THEY ARE TRULY UNSEAKABLE IN ALL ASPECTS. IT MUST BE KEPT IN THE MINDS OF EVERY LIVING PERSON.

“There is no privacy on the web,” many have repeated many times. From what my experiences tell me, the loss of personal privacy and the rise of large-scaled surveilance have already started a while ago, and there is no turning back. It is perfectly OK to call me a conspiracist; if I do speak in details, it is also perfectly OK to call my a deranged schizophrenic. I leaked a little of what I know and oberved the responses.

I decided that “the sound of silence” is a very good sound.

I am not a very good writer. I never pretend to be a good writer. I might never become a good writer. I do not mind not being a good writer.

I write because it has always come natural to me. I am starting to blog again three and a half years after my first attempt because it gives me an illusion that I am having a conversation with someone, and that itself has its healing property. It would be an added bonus if I am lucky enough to receive any genuine feedbacks or to establish any sort of meaningful communication, even with vague knowledge of the Darwinistic nature of the biosystem in this virtual habitat.

Against my better judgement, I am probably taking an unwise risk. To start a blog that is neither commercial in natural nor focused in a specific, non-personal subject is a double-edge sword. To let parts of myself know to strangers would either help myself get through difficulties that seem impossible to cope with, or risk attracting malicious attempts by unknowns to exploit my character traits and manipulate my thoughts and behaviors. From personal experiences, people do it either purely for fun, or for personal gains, monetary or intangible, that would most likely be detrimental to my name, my reputaion and even my physical and mental health in various degrees.

I might appear to be weak, pathetic and prime to be a prey to admit I do feel lonely often and that writing has helped me endure various agony in life that would be otherwise unspeakable and unbearable. Whether using a pen on paper or a keyboard in cyberspace, I apply that which is proven helpful to attempt to pick myself up by the bootstrap with my meager strengths. Maybe I would experience the similarly nightmarish encounters and results as I did continuously before; maybe restarting blogging is an act of tempting fate. The flashback of fright and trembles still lingers, and it obviously shows as covering fear has never been suuposed to an easy task.

I still believe wounds and trauma could be healed, and the power of language could heal with as much might and strength as it had proven to inflict pain and cause damages.

I hope it is a new start and a new day. I still cannot change my idealist within.

I am not a very good writer. I never pretend to be a good writer. I might never become a good writer. I do not mind not being a good writer.

I write because it has always come natural to me. I am starting to blog again three and a half years after my first attempt because it gives me an illusion that I am having a conversation with someone, and that itself has its healing property. It would be an added bonus if I am lucky enough to receive any genuine feedbacks or to establish any sort of meaningful communication, even with vague knowledge of the Darwinistic nature of the biosystem in this virtual habitat.

Against my better judgement, I am probably taking an unwise risk. To start a blog that is neither commercial in natural nor focused in a specific, non-personal subject is a double-edge sword. To let parts of myself know to strangers would either help myself get through difficulties that seem impossible to cope with, or risk attracting malicious attempts by unknowns to exploit my character traits and manipulate my thoughts and behaviors. From personal experiences, people do it either purely for fun, or for personal gains, monetary or intangible, that would most likely be detrimental to my name, my reputaion and even my physical and mental health in various degrees.

I might appear to be weak, pathetic and prime to be a prey to admit I do feel lonely often and that writing has helped me endure various agony in life that would be otherwise unspeakable and unbearable. Whether using a pen on paper or a keyboard in cyberspace, I apply that which is proven helpful to attempt to pick myself up by the bootstrap with my meager strengths. Maybe I would experience the similarly nightmarish encounters and results as I did continuously before; maybe restarting blogging is an act of tempting fate. The flashback of fright and trembles still lingers, and it obviously shows as covering fear has never been suuposed to an easy task.

I still believe wounds and trauma could be healed, and the power of language could heal with as much might and strength as it had proven to inflict pain and cause damages.

I hope it is a new start and a new day. I still cannot change my idealist within.