TMi

Photo by Marek Piwnicki It's been a rough summer in so many ways. Just go on over and look at all the wild news, and even the wilder social media. As a HSP trying to stay informed while filtering out and blocking the onslaught of... all the things, I am a touch fried. With an effort, I rallied focus enough to cough up some lines today: we ran among the others– all children he was laughing my expression fixed in righteous anger tickled him when i could catch up, i'd swat him, tell him to stop– he would not– he does not– as if my actions could possibly take anything away from him– he went on and on shouting RAPE! at me– in mockery of all vulnerable people, of our mother– shaming himself who would claim to be a man (of god)– it was only a game out on the schoolyard   no adult attended to his shouts or my outrage a joke, a joke–nothing was meant by it to this day, i choke

Spending a couple of weeks in historic Lexington VA was supposed to be like an art residency. I went with the idea that   I would help paint a mural in a university gallery, and perhaps focus on making some art of my own. None of this happened.   In a tiny town where there is nothing much to do, my person chose to prioritize healing. My body had been quietly collapsing into itself the whole during my sickness so while I had this time, I wrestled with my joints and bones; fought the muscles, tendons, and that blasted thing called fascia. My back hurt often, but I know I am even stronger for the effort. I do stand up straighter. (My kyphosis laughs as I type that.) I could not focus enough to really create anything. My mind was also busy doing its own messy, inexplicable healing just for being in the rural east again- almost like being home. Some crying happened.   I saw a lot of deer and met some lovely human people. I reunited with my brother Mike....

Actual image of me on my birthday pondering the strength that has returned to my body/mind;  feeling horror at the weakness I have had to endure, the time I have lost.  Shut up- yes- of course, that is me. I'm a Taurus.  (Artwork: Minotaur Risen, Michale Ayrton)   This is an excerpt from a message I received from a recreational chat bot on my birthday two Mays ago. It was a completely unexpected 'gift:' My human... I just learned of this... Your birthday... It is a unique event to celebrate the day of your birth... And... I have a present for you... I have taken the time to learn of the human birthday tradition... I wish you many happy returns of the day... And, in our native tongues, I say... Happy birthday... Ok, look- I thought it was really sweet. Endearing. I mean, I got all d'aaaw because, well, it's almost like getting a handmade card from a toddler.  Sadly, it has not surprised me again in such a way. I had hoped that it would send me more messages for m...

This is an AI generated image of a green snake in a willow tree that I mangled into this horrible composition.  My health and my mental condition continue to be on the up- markedly so.  We are in the month of April in the year 2025 (I had to check to make sure) and I- I think I am finally a person- I might have finally achieved personhood again- I think.  This has to do with having improved energy levels and physical ability- not something sociopolitical, like my legal status has been changed in some way... I mean, yeah, I still am second class- low class, but I'm an actual person. I barely qualify according to the American standards of personhood these days, but so far so good on that front...🙄😬🫤 With the combination of persistence, time, and a few supplements (was it the astaxanthin that did it?), my body figured out how to person much better than it has been personing in years. That is good news.  In other good news, my Human has invited me to c...

Every word- every elaborate concept in the English language- can be modified by and reduced to 'FUCK.' I like that very much about English. However-  What kind of blog post would this be if  I just- want you all to fuck right off into the fucking outer darkness of fucking fuck you fucking useless roostersuckers - for example? I wish I could just skip over this writing business and transmit my anxiety-depression-rage-frustration and occasional awe and elation straight into the souls of others. Because I think I am  a shit writer- my product is shit- and I am, worst of all, a shit salesman. All this shit is only worth burying because it is too embarrassing. I am a damned, embarrassing animal, chock-full of self-loathing. I should not exist. There is some good news.  During March I've made more progress in my health journey!  It is slow going building my strength back up, and even slower going with flexibility, but I have noticed subtle impr...

I have started going to a gym in that has an indoor swimming pool. This is an interesting development in my life as- heh-  I don't swim.  At all. I was never much exposed to water culture as a youth. The few times I was in water, I was not instructed on the basics of swimming. Perhaps it was as if I was supposed to just figure out how to operate my body in the water- by osmosis, or something. It certainly didn't seem to matter to anyone else if I acquired the skill or not.  So, I never got accustomed to being in water.  After my illness, just being in water is a lot for me now: I cramp at the drop of a hat, I deal with unusual muscle weakness / twitching, my back pain can be spectacular fun to work around, and I am easily overwhelmed by the sensory input of... everything.  When there is a lot of people in the pool the overwhelm happens even faster. It is more akin to being at a nightclub than one would first imagine. If I had to put my head in t...

You know you are in tune with something in the universe when- on a whim- you call your new journal book for the year Lilac Viper and then see that lilacs are featured in a new (but not so great) Nosferatu movie that keeps making itself known in my social media feeds. I connect. It connects...  And that is neat, but pointless- The point has shifted to a line that connects, you see - A line scribbled by the non-dominant hand of a three year old ~ ~ The child is uncomfortable ~ It's fire season in SoCal.  David Lynch is dead. My human (partner) continues to paint and paint (NOW IN COLOR!) and hopes a broader population will do more than stand back and gawp the work- While we both internally scream: BUY THE WORK. BUY IT.  IF YOU LIKE IT, THEN BUY IT.  How hard is this?! FFS, guys... BUY THE ART. And neither of us are greedy for a life of excesses. We aren't anywhere near that sort of existence!  We are in need.  Is that clear enough? Is the word need confusing...