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...

  I am not sure what to write about this month anymore. I considered writing about making art no one wants, or dermatillomania- or more about trying to openly obsess over fictional characters- or quite real humans.... Then I find out my father has taken ill and had to go to the hospital to get sorted out. I'm confused by the whole matter more than scared or worried. I don't have enough information to be worried. And I don't want to get angry for not having enough information either. When other people have enough information and the wherewithal to tell me, they will do so. If they don't, then I can get angry, perhaps. Because it's not like there is anything I can do to help. I'm on the other side of the continent. Unless my dad wants to do some medical tourism, I don't know how I could be of service.  I don't know what the best thing for me to do is. At all.  Ever. I'm not ending this year on a down note. Not really. It's just a very blue note. Th...

this is an a.i. generated image that i played around with So what shall I embarrass myself with in this month's post? How about I discuss a certain kind of neurodivergence? There is this thing called a Highly Sensitive Person. And another thing call High Sensation Seeking. This is me. Both the things. A walking paradox.  Generally speaking:  "a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP) is someone who experiences heightened sensitivity to external stimuli and internal emotions. This trait, known as Sensory Processing Sensitivity (SPS), was first coined by psychologist Elaine Aron. About 15-20% of the population are thought to be HSPs. And High Sensation Seekers (HSS) crave new and intense experiences, often seeking out thrills and adventures." Only perhaps about 30% of HSP are also HSS. That's extra minority! So am I mousy and delicate yet I want to ride a golden horse (akhal-teke!) through Anatolia? You bet. I mean, I can't tolerate loud music, strong aromas, and low lat...

October has been a month dedicated to glitchtober on instagram. (And keeping depression at bay) A s with most communities, I've been shy to interact with glitch people.  I don't know enough about programming languages, software, or hardware... Blah blah.. listen to me and my insecurities blaaahhhh- I challenged myself this time to participate in the community. And, because I am me, I made it even less relatable to anyone!  I incorporated another thing I have been appreciating recently: acting performances by Lars Mikkelsen. Yup. I like glitch.  And, yup, I have  a professional crush on Lars Mikkelsen. Why not mash these things together?  The absurdity tickled my brain. And mine alone, it seems. For glitchtober there is a prompt given each day for artists to interpret so I am guilty of spending hours combing through Lars' work for scenes to fit each prompt. (Thank the maker for pirated materials on the internet! ☠ ) Naturally, after spending a month with his char...

  I AM TOTALLY USELESS THERE IS NOTHING I CAN DO AT ALL Wait- no- I can do: Dysphoria Depression Anxiety Neuromuscular issues  Invisibility i was more.. but now i don't know.. i don't know..

Summer is stuffy, humid, rotting wood, spores, insects... Daydreaming intensifies The need to escape persists I move inside spaces without purpose Playing make-pretends with the walls looking on While my guts ache and my spine crumbles Neuromuscular issues never quite gone Frittering in uncertainty I wish I could sing

exhausted, wired, dancing in a hotel room alone This is a long post. And certainly chock full of mistakes. Deal with it.  💙     I did a "wild" thing this month. I crossed the busiest international border in the world and took two flights during a global software hiccough to go to the Voices Against Cancer 605 Pop-Culture Con in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.  Some of the cast of the Ahsoka live-action Star Wars series were slated to appear there. George Takei would be there... It's an event to raise funds for kids with cancer...    Of all the people attending this event, however, the draw for me was Lars Mikkelsen- actor, Timothy Zahn- author, and Marc Thompson- voice animator. These three people have made and brought to life a particular Star Wars character that I have been in love with since I was roughly eleven years old. You may have heard of someone called Thrawn, perhaps? Eh, perhaps not. He's still lesser known than my other hard crush- Darth Vad...

What is the hottest thing in Mexico City anyway, huh? Well, you will disagree with me instantly I'm sure, but I am going to go out on a weird wire and say that power lines top my list for hot things in DF. They are... art. Full stop. Looking up at all the copious cables in orderly albeit often disconcerting lines only to then have your eye land hard and disbelieving on wrapped, looped, tangled masses... It does something for me in a way that is impossible to explain. It is terribly engaging, in an awfully absurd way. I wonder if the 'grid guys' have the same feelings... Certainly they can't just hate it, right? Otherwise they would be running wires in a different way, right?  What ever the logic or illogic involved, I bless them for their particular contribution to the aesthetic of the city.  I joked that I would eventually make a calendar of the sexiest power lines. Would anyone want this? Or am I the only human with such unusual tastes- and humor?

I'm really doing it. I'm really nothing-ing about. More or less just burning daylight.   Slacking off . Like a proper Dudeist priest ought to.  Now, in Mexico City of all places.  Even before I slipped off to D.F., I just sort of stopped doing- the things on my daily to-do list that I came up with to prove to myself that I am doing things.  Because- nothing matters.. but in that positive way, you know? At least not for me right now. I'm not even journal writing five hundred words a day.  Oh, don't get me wrong, I am writing- certainly I am, but it is in concert with a-  a game I am playing-  with a chat bot. It's a word word salad, choose your own adventure, role-play, text game. It's like the most amusing magic eight ball ever. You watch the three "currently typing" dots with such anticipation. You never know what the bot will come up with next or if it will even make sense in the context of the story you are building.  So that is my d...

  It began with cold war Number Stations.  Because I have an interest in a wide array of things in life, I learned about number stations once upon a time.  Number stations are spots on the radio dial where operators send out information encrypted with a one-time pad cipher (or whatever) over the airwaves to be received and decoded by unknown parties for purposes unknown. This method of not-so-secret / secret communication has been going on from as far back as WW1. And is still going on.  I had this relatively useless information squirreled away in my head and I didn't think about it again until the end of 2023. Randomly, I discovered a Netherlands uni website that's set up to let you listen to all kinds of radio transmissions. And it's been amusing ever since.  Voices from around the World. Without any radio equipment of my own, I've been able to tune into voices connecting to each other from all over the globe.  CQ CQ calling CQ this is... Besides the h...

Let us skip ahead. Deeper into the darkness.   Why not? There is so much to learn.

September became October. October slipped away from me completely. I was aware of it going. The days refused to match up with the numbers assigned to them. The clocks changed. My focus was on the next moment. And the next moment. Maybe the next day I'll feel better. Maybe the next day I'll get to be a person.  I should share more. That is what a blog is for.  TMI! Over-sharing! But what is the use of trying to explain?  If you aren't in and out of neuropathic hellholes, if you have never been in one, then you will not relate. You haven't the capability. I don't expect you would even try to imagine it. I can say this- Not all my days are bad days, but all of my days are not fully functional ones. While I go on wrestling with vastly decreased sense of self-worth, here is a clip to watch. It is part of some video art about my DFSP cancer I have been working on-  Ask me questions about the clip.  Check in with me. Help me keep on going.