I never consciously decided to keep going with this whole “more nuanced inner narrative” thing today but clearly some part of me was thinking about it.

Here it is, the first section of my life story.

Patient readers know that… well, see the trigger warning.

Clearly I am going to have to make more videos.

I mean, I haven’t even gotten to where I start school yet.

But making vids about my life does me a lot of good. It feels good to transmit my life experiences like an old guy should, even if it’s via indirect means.

And relatedly, it feels good to sort of go through my memories and re-index them. Our memories are not quite the file folders we imagine them to be. Instead, when you remember something, it discharges the memory and if something interrupted the process right then, you’d lose the memory forever.

Your mind has to re-encode the memory when you are done.

And as the file system of our memory grows as we age, the memories start to degrade over time and your brain needs you to unpack and repack the memories.

And that’s why it feels good to remember the past. Nostalgia explained!

And the older you get, the better it feels to refresh old memories like that. And above a certain age your mind is forced to compress your existing memories to make room for new ones, and it’s not a lossless process, so you forget things after a while.

It starts with the least important (going by how strong the emotional impression is) memories and works its way up.

Only the strongest memories shall survive!

Today was…. odd. Originally I was suppose to go to some sort of group exercise program for seniors at a place with the charmingly pretentious name the Kismet Center (seriously?) at 1 pm, but then first Julian then my wound care nurse Marie noticed that my right foreleg was quite swollen, to the point where it’s like 40 percent bigger than normal, and that plus the blister Marie found just above my wound suggested to me that today was not a good day to exercise.

And that was disappointing but also kind of a relief.

Because to be honest, the social anxiety was starting to creep up on me. It would have meant going to a brand new place and dealing with people I didn’t know, quite probably a large group of them, and so that anxiety gauge just kept going up.

So I already knew I was going to need a Xanax just to get there.

And it just struck me how easy it is to forget you are mentally ill when nothing in your life is triggering the illness.

Usually, when I leave the apartment, it’s to go to Wound Care at the CHAC^[1] or Denny’s, and those are both super familiar locations and situations.

Going to see the physiotherapist was slightly challenging but not Xanax worthy at all. It helped that the building it’s in is quite small and used to be an elementary school so it has a comforting childhood vibe to it.

But this thing today would have involved me possibly meeting an entire class of elderly people as well as the instructor, all in a place I’d never been before, ergo Xanax.

If I am to make it out into the world in some fashion, clearly I am going to have to learn to deal with people.

I mean, have you taken a look out the window lately? They’re EVERYWHERE!

And I think I could do that just fine if I had a role. Even if that role is, say, cashier, or accounting clerk, or whatever.

When you have a role, you know what it is you’re supposed to be doing and what people will asking of you and expecting from you and so the whole awkward no man’s land of social interaction is bypassed.

So if I have a role, whether it’s lead singer or assistant fry cook, I’m good to go.

More after the break.

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Unhappy all the time

That’s just not a thing.

Nobody is unrelentingly miserable all the time. Even when I was at my most depressed, when I was lying on the couch half-dead and in constant pain and being driven nuts by rapidly metastasizing hypochondria, there were better moments.

Times when I didn’t feel so bad, and I could actually watch the TV instead of just having it on, and when I felt relatively okay.

Nothing is all bad. Nothing is all good. The search for purity is toxic. Everything’s mixed.

And life is not a cartoon, with a simple and easy to follow plotline, clear and distinct themes, and readily identified heroes and villains.

There’s a lot of people in my childhood who could have done better by me. Arguably some of them should have done better by me.

But I’m not easy to approach and I can be hard to deal with and I can see how I could be downright exhausting to deal with as a kid.

So those people are not villainous. They failed me but I was not an easy test.

And in many ways I shut myself off from those who tried to help me. I was my own worst enemy in that way. There were people who tried to let me in but I was far too scared and withdrawn and socially clueless to take them up on it.

It was a terrible tragedy all around, really.

I’m not sure I can say I forgive all those teachers and others for not being able to help a weird little fat kid who’s unkempt and way too intelligent and like a big energetic dog is liable to accidentally hurt you when he’s just trying to be friendly.

It would have taken an expert to handle a kid like me.

As for my family, well, they ignored me and resented me but I was severely withdrawn (still am) and so I am not sure they could have reached me if they’d tried.

And maybe they did try but couldn’t get through so they gave up.

And I was too far gone to notice or understand.

So yeah. My childhood was not good but it wasn’t all bad either, and a lot of the players were not so much villains as people who failed to be heroes.

And I can accept that.

One day, I hope to be able to forgive them for it.

But I am not quite there yet.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

But first, here’s something to make your heart glow.

Sorry to get political on you.

But today’s main project was this bit of video nostalgic by yours truly :

It’s all about my childhood, and is therefore rather depressing.

Also heartwarming, I’d like to think. But the depressing part is pretty god damned dark so thank you for enabling me to share that with the world and get some catharsis.

What strikes me about the whole thing now is how adult I sound. Almost like a real grownup. Almost like someone who has processed all the old pain.

Almost like someone who knows what the hell they’re doing.

And I do! Sorta. Kinda. Some of the time.

The rest of the time I just kind of wing it.

You’d be surprised at how well that can go.

Anyhow, as you might (or might not) imagine, that thing was a heck of a lot of work to edit. It was quite the project.

Another thing worth noting in passing : I removed so many ums and ahs and y’knows from the original raw video and yet there are still so many of them I missed!

I guess I was not fully focused today. I do think that over time I have been trending towards fewer verbal fillers like those but like most trends, it’s not a straight line.

Plus I was doing a lot of remembering. Awash in reverie, like I said. So my mind was not entirely on what I was saying.

I’m glad I got to “it wasn’t all bad” before the end. Most of the non-school memories in there are pretty nice, if not exactly thrilling.

And patient readers know that I have been trying to correct my terrible inner life narrative for some time now. I know that viewing my past like it was some kind of unrelenting hellscape is extremely bad for me and I know that, factually, while it wasn’t a great childhood, it wasn’t all bad, so I need to bring my unhealthy inner narrative more in line with what I know to be the literal truth.

But I guess there’s a certain narrative satisfaction to having your life story be easily reduced to a pithy caricature, even if that caricature is incredibly bleak.

The true depth and complexity of our lives doesn’t fit into our stories, and so we tend to strongly prefer the stories over messy, complicated reality.

The truth is that school wasn’t always horrible, not even elementary school. Sure I was a very lonely child but the bullying tapered off and there was times when class would be somewhat enjoyable or even fun.

And yeah I didn’t get a lot of attention at home. Which sucked. I often felt quite alienated from my own family.

But I had TV, books, and video games, and I got a lot of enjoyment from them.

So it wasn’t all bad. It had its good points and its bad points, just like everything else. It could have been a hell of a lot better but it could also have been a lot worse.

I can feel my attachment to the dark false narrative trying to keep it from changing, as though it’s clinging to it with inky tentacles.

Well it’s going to have to let go some time. The truth must win. The reality was more complicated than any cartoonishly simple narrative and no amount of longing for compact storytelling is going to change that.

And if I can just accept that there were good times too, then I might just be able to draw on those good memories when I feel down.

And that’s got to help.

More after the break.

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From our So Cute It Hurts file

We have this very adorably obedient lil pupper.

I don’t know what it’s real name is but to me they will always be Bright Eyes.

For obvious reasons.

I just wanna scoop that lil doggo up and give them a smooch on the ears!

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A brand new era

In other words, I finally got around to trying the new Thermos that Joe and Julian got me for my birthday almost a month ago.

It’s a pretty neato Thermos because not only does it feel good and weighty in my hand, and hold a surprising amount for its size, but it has an outer lid that doubles as a bowl and the cap has a built-in foldable spoon in a compartment on it!

That’s so cool. I love gadgets like that.

Patient readers know that I wanted a Thermos so I could transport wet things like soups and stews and chili from the kitchen to my lil den here in front of the computer.

Well the whole reason I hadn’t tried it out yet was that I kept forgetting to order anything like that when I got my groceries! D’oh.

But last Friday, at the last moment, I remembered.

Yay me and my eventual competence!

So tonight I heated up some No Name brand chicken noodle soup in the ol’ microwave, stuck it in the Thermos, and brought it to the computer in a saddlebag of my walker.

It has two.

And that operation was a success. But I can’t say I think much of No Name’s chicken noodle soup. I found the flavour to be pretty flat and thin and nowhere near as good as the Campbell’s Chicken Noodle I grew up eating.

I just looked it up and the No Name is $1.10 and the Campbell’s is $1.85, so I think I will be spending the extra 75 centers for flavour in the future.

I didn’t use the collapsible spoon. Try that another time, I guess.

All in all, the operation was a success. The Thermos, in all likeliness, played no part in the underwhelming flavour of the soup, and it was aces everywhere else.

I like my new toy.

I find the best toys result in food.

That’s why I have a slow cooker and a bread machine in storage!

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

P.S. Wow, slides from my childhood and the epic story of my new Thermos.

I am really maxing out the banality today!

Well, I made another vid. But I’m not really happy with it.

Here it is :

It’s not a bad video by any means, I just feel like I didn’t say anything that really needed to be said or contributed to the discourse at all.

I just said stuff that presumably dozens if not hundreds of other commenters are also saying about yesterday’s festivities.

Someone once said that at the end of creating an artistic work there comes a “little dissatisfaction” with it that contains the germ of the next creation.

I’ve been feeling like that a lot lately.

I really do want to be a big time YouTuber, and I know that if I wanna do that, I have to raise my game considerably.

Even other commenters have more than just them talking. They at least have clips of the things they are talking about.

And I totally could have done that today. I could have gone onto YouTube and found clips of the squeaky tanks and lazy pissed off looking soldiers marching like they’re teenagers forced to go on a family trip and Trump falling asleep and it would have made my vid a lot more interesting.

I mean, my magnetic personality can only hold people’s attention for so long.

I could have done all that, but I didn’t. I tried looking for the sorts of clips I needed but couldn’t find them and gave up.

Like I so often do. Le sigh.

Well that’s my little dissatisfaction and it will inform my next vid and the one after it and so on. That’s the thing with my brand of iterative learning.

Things get better over time as I do them more and more. That means that things are rarely as good as I want them to be right away, but if I just keep making a video a day, I will get better, and so will they.

It is unfortunate that my particular muse makes me learn in public. I have to keep putting things out there for the world to see or the whole process would grind to a halt.

I could never be the lonesome artist making video after video as he prays for the day he finally makes one worthy of being shown to the world.

Nor could I be the person who has to make things as good as he possibly can, until he literally cannot thing of any more ways to improve it, before he releases it to be seen.

I can’t do that. I truly wish I could. But the nature of my creativity demands frequent release of its energies into the world in order to clear space for the next thing.

Holding on to an idea long enough to perfect it would be impossible for me. My creativity blazes hot and fast and I either use that ball of sparks it creates or it dies and I will never return to that idea because to me, it’s dead.

Just writing that out makes it seem insane and impractical. But sadly we don’t get to choose our muse.

If we did, I would not have chosen that one.

But it is my firm belief that truly great art comes from doing whatever your muse asks of you because it’s the only one you’re gonna get so it’s use your muse or lose your muse.

Hope I didn’t confuse.

And I am getting better at listening to mine and letting the inspiration move me. I know that if I just release the damned emergency brake and let myself become motivated, I can lead a much more interesting (and interested) life and make truly amazing things.

But I’m scared.

More after the break.

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On showing off

That is most definitely something I like to do.

And it’s definitely an ego thing. I tried to deny that for a long time, mostly because in my pre-secondary school career people kept accusing me of “just showing off” by being so academically bright, and to me that was a null set because I was just being me.

But looking back, even then I was actually showing off. I wanted to shine bright and have people go “wow, he’s amazing!” and get some positive acknowledgement that I was, in fact, extraordinary.

And maybe that’s what “should” have happened. In a perfect world someone, anyone really, would have showed up to tell me that I was very gifted and that good things could come to me in the future if I tried just a little bit harder and made me aware of the possibilities inherent in my gifts.

Instead it was, by default, something that seemed like a lot more burden than gift.

Oh great, I get to be bored in class for six hours a day.

All through my school years, I never thought of myself as showing off because, I suppose, I didn’t think my academic gifts were particularly noteworthy.

After all, it was all comically easy to me.

And so forth and so on throughout my entire life. It’s only been within the last decade that I have become dimly aware that being incredibly good at school, to the point of being a straight A student without even trying, might actually be worth something.

Hence that being a perennial subject on this here blog o’mine. I have to keep reminding myself of this fact until it sinks in deep enough that I actually do something with it.

You know, like go back to college and use my academic superpowers to get a degree and scholarships and recognition and such.

I could do it via distance learning. Attending classes via Zoom works for me. I’d rather do them in person but my handicaps make that tricky.

I ain’t going back to Kwantlen though. That place is an education mill.

And hey, if it’s distance learning, it could be any school in the world!

And I guess school would be somewhere where I could REALLY show off.

Hey, I made it back to the topic!

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Once more, I talk about what, I assume, everyone else is talking about today.

Perhaps I have the wrong end of the stick here and this massive nation wide rally was never supposed to have any direct political effect.

It’s just a way for people to express themselves en masse and demonstrate for their beliefs and make their political will known.

I suppose my relentless pragmatism makes me see the world in terms of what will solve the problem, and demonstrations ain’t it.

I have had further thoughts about my idea from the latter part of the video, though.

It would be called the American Hero Initiative and it would be framed as a call to action for politicians who want to be American Heroes and be part of the team that saves America from the forces of evil in this, her darkest hour.

Really push the idea that right now, they are surrounded by cowards and traitors, and it’s up to them to be willing to stand up and stand out and be the hero America needs.

Play up to that enormous American hero complex. Make it seem like they are the “only one person who can save the day” individualist hero they so admire.

And, of course, paint the alternative being as starkly, darkly villainous as possible.

“Are you ready to answer the call? Or will you let Lady Liberty down in her hour of need like all the other cowards and traitors?”

That kind of thing.

I am perfectly willing to push whatever buttons it takes in people in order to see that the side of the angels wins. I think that the left limits itself terribly with a very feeble and fearful sense of “fair play” that makes them incapable of the kind of emotional inspiration that the right specializes in.

There is nothing wrong with appealing to people’s emotions. Politics runs on inspiration. All the great leaders of the past were able to inspire people and bring them together and they didn’t do that with carefully researched white papers and logical arguments.

The battle is emotional and the right kind of leader inspires people by appealing to their hearts and their souls.

Because not everyone has a mind suited for rational discourse. That requires a certain level of cognitive strength and flexibility that is not universally shared.

But all life has emotions.

The left needs to abandon intellectualism and the sort of unconsciously bourgeoisie ivory tower thinking that makes it so hard for them to connect with working class people.

The first thing you have to lose is the snobbery and classism. You are not better than these people. They are your neighbors and their concerns are valid and real and worthy of consideration even if sometimes they can’t articulate them well.

And it has to come from a place of humility and equality. If you look down on them in any way, even just intellectually, they will feel it and they will mark you as one of the enemy and someone who is not on their side.

As opposed to Dumb Donnie. He preys on the people the left have left behind by at least being willing to lie to them convincingly.

Accept that some people can’t think their way to the truth. They are not built for it. They have employed emotional reasoning for nearly all their day to day decisions for most of their lives and it’s worked out well enough for them so far.

These people need leadership, and if they can’t get it from you, they will get it from scum-suckers like Dumb Donnie and be far worse off for it.

We could put Fox News out of business if we were willing to go to where they are, treat them with respect and humility, and try to see things their way.

And wouldn’t that be the enlightened thing to do?

More after the break.

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Out of circulation

Once more, my life has become randomly more fucked up.

So I lay down for a nap. Already a risky prospect. Sleep a rough neighborhood for me.

I sleep a while. I wake up. I’m laying there like I do sometimes, just giving my brain time to catch up with the backlog of incomplete thoughts it always accumulates.

When suddenly I realize that I am shivering.

On a warm June night, I am shivering and shaking like I’ve got some old timey illness from the bad old days.

All while in my clothes and under my cozy comforter!

This did not come as a complete surprise. I’ve been feeling cold at odd times lately. Nothing like this chill but I’ll keep up from lying down and feel this layer of numbness on my skin, like I have been out in the cold for a while.

Basically I feel refrigerated. In June.

So obviously I am worried about this. I don’t think it’s yet another random symptom of dehydration although I am holding off on issuing a red alert until I’ve gotten at least a liter of water into me just in case.

But what really bothers me is the specter of low blood pressure. I’m on several blood pressure meds so it’s something I need to be aware of.

That and the fact that I don’t move around nearly enough to keep everything pumping and you can see why I have hypotension on my mind.

If my blood is not circulating enough, it’s not moving heat around my body enough, and that’s where feeling so cold comes in.

When I am done here, I am going to get up and grab the walker and walk around for a little while. Try to get the blood circulating so that I can feel the summer again.

I’ve had some success with just giving myself a bit of a wiggle. Flailing about with my arms and legs is not exactly calisthenics but it gets things flowing a bit better.

But I am determined to really get things flowing once I am up, so hopefully I have enough gas in the tank to do a bit of pacing and swinging my arms around.

God, i haven’t even mentioned the fact that because my fucking computer crashed while I was asleep, I ended up laying in bed till 9:30 pm when I normally get up and eat at around 8 pm.

Ain’t life ducky?

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

First, as always, today’s vid.

I don’t know why I felt compelled to put the Fruvous theme song on the end of the video for a completely different and unrelated song also by yours truly, but here we are.

I definitely plan on giving my little Fru theme song a better video. Probably one with freshly made AI images so that it’s more in sync with the lyrics.

That sounds like fun.

Of course, my dream would be to have the whole thing animated. And that is just barely possible with modern AI video generation but um, not on a free account, that’s for sure.

The song’s 44 seconds long. I presumably would have to pay a lot for the ability to use their hardware to generation that much video.

We are on the cusp of an amazing new era.

I mean, just check this place out.

It lets you generate entire podcasts just from your ideas. Podcasts complete with conversations between a virtual host and a virtual guest.

Or, and this truly bakes my noodle, you can even have the AI interview YOU.

I tried it but I wasn’t really ready so it wasn’t much of a conversation. But who knows, one of these days you might hear me interviewed by an AI bot!

Of course, being AI generated, the conversations are heavily banal. You are not going to get interesting hot takes from this website. Like all AI conversations, it will be well articulated, probably factually accurate, and highly informative, but have about as much personality and charm as a wet cardboard box.

That’s what I discovered when I gave AI chatbots a try. The AI therapist helped me some because it got me to further articulate my feelings and it turns out that doing that helped me more than I thought it would.

But the AI “boyfriend” turned out to be both boring and sycophantic. Ick. No thanks.

Who knows, maybe in the near future, those bots will become far more sophisticated and there will be a chance that one of them will have something interesting to say.

That’s gonna be weird.

Oh, for those of you who just want the Froo theme :

As you can tell from the lyrics. I conceive of him as a sort of best friend for kids. A virtual au pair, perhaps, whose role is to be there for the kid for whatever they need.

Whether it’s a hug, someone to listen, or just someone to play Mario Kart on the Switch 2 with, Fru is there for you.

Clearly, he’s a wish fulfillment from my inner child. I was such a lonely kid, isolated and ignored and resented. I really could have used a waggy little fox named Froo!

If there really was an animated series, I think there would be him and one child or companion who accompanies him as he magically shows up wherever he is needed by a child, and the main plot would be how he helps that child with their particular problem.

Could be a really big show, at least if I am writing and producing it. Tone would be key. It has to be an extremely warm and sensitive and loving show that understands the problems kids have and is sympathetic to their struggles and loves them anyhow.

That’s what would make it stand head and shoulders above other magical pet shows. A warm and loving heart that truly wants to help kids feel better.

And has the wisdom and sensitivity to do it.

Wouldn’t that be something?

More after the break.

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Oh right, leveling up

Oh yeah, that thing I was going to talk about.

I feel like I leveled up my creativity today.

For one, I worked on the lyrics to today’s song, Pretty Young Thing, longer and more intensely than I usually do.

Not by a whole lot, but still, it’s progress.

It started off with those first two lines popping into my head as I played Monster Train 2. So I paused and opened Notepad and typed them in, and the rest of it grew organically from those first two lines.

I didn’t set out to write a deep condemnation of a shallow and irresponsible person who leaves a trail of romantic carnage behind them, but here we are.

The muse takes me where it takes me.

I wrote around 2/3 of the lyrics in the first go, got stuck on a rhyme, went and played Monster Hunter 2 again for a bit, then came back and finished them.

Got REALLY stuck on one line and I am still not happy with what I came up with but I won’t say which one because I don’t want to ruin it for anyone.

As for the Froo song, I actually wrote and created that song a couple of weeks ago, then felt sort of embarrassed by the whole thing and forgot about it without ever even making a video for it.

But I came across it again today and while it still makes me blush a little, I realized it’s actually a good little song and decided to include it today too.

Overall I feel like I was able to imbue my creations with more of my creativity and passion today, and this pleases me enormously.

Working on the lyrics for Pretty Young Thing outside of my usual time for making videos is a big step for me, especially because it started off as a random inspiration.

Letting myself be inspired and act on it is a good habit to get into!

Hopefully this means that I am successfully loosening up inside. The further lowering of my Paxil dosage is having the intended effect and my icejam is melting.

Who knows, maybe I will have that flood I have been anticipating soon, and it will clear out all my old emotions and fragmented thoughts and other garbage and afterwards I will be whole once more.

And then, well…. who knows what I’ll be?

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Today’s vid is sort of an extension to today’s Therapy Thursday session.

As is standard with me, I am not sure I expressed whatever it was I had meant to express at the beginning, but whatever.

Some of us are just born to wander.

And not all who wander are lost.

I mean, I usually am, but still.

The important thing is that I expressed myself for a bit more than six minutes and got some emotions out by making myself vulnerable and that’s all for the good.

I don’t think of myself as someone who is afraid to be vulnerable. In fact I have always found the reluctance to express vulnerability to be a bit silly.

And yet, I have this smooth persona that I keep clamped down tight over my true self when I am around others and never let slip, and what is the point of that if not to keep myself from being vulnerable?

“I’m not afraid to be vulnerable. ” said the Steel-Clad Man.

I suppose I think I am unafraid to be vulnerable because I’ll tell anything to anybody, more or less. I had to learn not to confess my deepest darkest secrets to total strangers because people, um, do not like that.

Honestly, I’m just so happy someone is listening to me that it can go to my head.

But that idea of myself as open and free clashes with the fact that I am not even emotionally real and present with my god damned therapist.

I guess it’s easy to be free and open with information when you have emotional armor ten feet thick on.

Not having a lot of secrets is not exactly the same as being open.

Which brings us back to that detachment. It’s more than some kind of philosophical pose. It’s a fundamental withdrawal from life on a deep and telling level and its left me feeling both alien and alienated for my entire life.

There has to be a way out of this trap. I should not have to wait for some random super sad thing that I didn’t see coming before I can feel truly present and real. I should not be so god damned different from the rest of humanity and thus unable to connect.

I shouldn’t have to be so damned cold all the time.

But I guess that in order to get comfortable with leaving this god damned frozen foods section I am going to have to get used to the idea of living in realtime, without detachment and thus without being able to control or predict what’s coming.

So I just have to deal with things as they come.

Pretty sure that’s how most of the world works.

So, ya know. There’s precedent.

It feels so risky. Like the moment in science fiction when the astronaut takes their helmet off to see if the air is breathable.

I mean, I know the instruments say everything is okay and so does Doc but still, they might be wrong and I might die.

At least, that’s how it feels. Realistically of course I’ll be fine living like everyone else, being emotionally real and present and letting my emotions inform me at least as much as my high and mighty intellect does.

I need to learn to truly feel my world, not just perceive it.

And for that, I need to truly be here.

More after the break.

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They’re so fuzzy!

Eeee, it’s lil baby coyotes!

And they howl at the sirens! Awww. They must think that other pack sounds weird!

I want to pick them up and kiss them on the snoot.

But that would probably get my face bitten off. 😛

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Weeping in despair

But in a good way.

Today I am feeling weary and worn out. Even minor things feel like they take enormous effort. Physically, yes, but mostly emotionally. I am hitting one of my period where I find it hard to remember why I do anything instead of just hiding in bed and…

…and waiting to die, I guess.

I mean, that’s what would inevitably happen if you literally did absolutely nothing for long enough, not even eat.

Not that I want to die. I’m just feeling weary, that’s all.

That would be the chilling result of the anti-action bias winning a final, deadly victory, though. Which is a disturbing thought.

I’m not worried about my current mood though, because behind the weariness I can feel large emotions moving around and jockeying for position like silent icebergs and that, to me, suggests that the latest lowering of my Paxil dose is further loosening things up and thawing things out and making some kind of large emotion release possible.

And I’m all for that, even if it means feeling large negative emotions.

Fine. Whatever. I’ll be despondent. I’ll be enraged. I’ll be terrified. I will be whatever I need to be in order to release more of the massive icejam of emotions that have been clogging my waterways and damming me up for far, far too long.

Cut that fucker out, Doc. I don’t care if it hurts.

I’m going to try to help the process along. Gently, of course. I know that if I let my overweaning superego take charge of it, that will ruin everything.

The idea is to let my natural healing mechanisms do their goddamned job without constant micromanagement from the ego and superego.

Their advice is super suspect anyway, given how corrupt they are.

No, the main thrust of my approach is to step back, relax everything, go limp, and let the deeper mechanisms of my mind fix things up without me.

It knows what it is doing. I can feel it at work. It feels…. natural. Like things are unfolding as they should and forces wiser than my conscious mind, forces older than our species even, are mending what the conscious mind has rent asunder.

I really am too smart for my own good.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

First off, of course, the vid.

No big surprises for anyone who knows me in this one.

These facts are obvious to non-idiots, so you can why I figured Dumb Donnie and his coterie of fucktards needed an update.

Next time, I will only use short words and say his name a lot.

Oh, and I thought this was quite clever.

Got that off BlueSky, naturally. It feels very good on my jaded Gen X sense of humour.

Yes, we still find self-referential stuff funny. Deal with it.

Oh, and then there’s this gem. Originally from Instagram, I think?

Thinks like that should be labeled “Mormon family sized”.

Bet they’d go through one of those a week.

Anyhow, what I’m actually going to talk about today is that awful beast that just gets stronger as you get older : the feeling that time is passing faster and faster every day.

Wow, when you’re over the hill, you DO pick up speed!

I have to keep reminded myself that this effect is an illusion. I am still getting the same amount of life per minute (so to speak) and there’s still the same number of minutes in a day, and it’s only a trick of how we measure time in our minds that makes it seem like the days are just flashing past like telephone poles do when you’re at highway speeds.

Still, it’s an unnerving sensation, to say the least. And it really gives you insight into why people become more conservative as they get older.

It seems cruel how things start feeling like they are coming at me way too fast just as my reflexes are getting way too slow.

And the urge to shout, “Stop making new things until I catch up, dammit!” is strong.

But I know better. I have since I was a kid. I have always known that what happened to others as they aged was going to happen to me so I knew I, too, would want the world to “stop spinning so I could get off one” day.

So I am somewhat ready for it. It still has the capacity to rattle me if I think about it too much, but I think I am learning to cope with that too.

I just imagine myself as some member of the Royal Family in a touring car waving to the people as we drive by and smiling.

It’s all passing around me like I’m on a dark ride at an amusement park and so what if it feels like the ride is moving faster all the time?

I know it isn’t, and so I can relax, enjoy the scenery, and try to have fun for as long as this silly old thing is going to last.

And at the end, there’s death. And there’s a comfort to that.

Not that I am eager to die. Not at all. It’s just nice to know that there is, in fact, a silence at the end of the symphony, and if we’re lucky, a little polite applause.

I’d be lying if I said that suicide was entirely gone from my mind. It’s still in there, though its cage get smaller as the mental anguish that powers it lessens over time.

On my better days I can even sort of look forward to the future, or at least look forward to the next day or so.

That’s still an improvement over viewing the future as a dark grey nothingness that stretches off into the distance.

A filthy nullity that feels like death at its most pointless and pathetic.

Not so much shuffling off this mortal coil as throwing out some particularly odious garbage long past its due.

By then I will be truly sick of hauling this defective dirigible of a body around anyhow.

Until then, I will try my best to learn to enjoy myself.

Why is it so hard?

More after the break.

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How to have fun

And I mean, real fun, not just the forced fun of compulsively playing video games as a way of hiding from the world by running on a hamster wheel with pretty pictures.

That’s still mostly what I do. When I am done typing to you lovely people, I will lay down for a bit, then whatever time I have left before watching Colbert off the PVR with Julian at midnight I will fill with the universal spackle known as burning my brain with gaming.

I dunno what else to do with myself.

And when I say I dunno, what I really mean is that I can think of millions of things I could be doing and even some I should be doing but that deep freeze inside my head makes it too hard for me to decide on one and just do it.

Oilcan, said the Tin Man. Oilcan.

I’m afraid of my own impulses. Doing something just because I feel like doing it is foreign to me. What if something unexpected happens? Something I can’t predict, control, or prevent? What then?

Wouldn’t that be, like, the worst thing ever?

That’s how it seems to the scared little animal inside me, anyhow. It’s that whole control/trust thing again. On a subconscious level, like I’ve said before, I feel like only the predictable and controllable can be trusted and leaving anything to chance virtually guarantees it will be an unimaginable but horrifying disaster.

And that is, of course, bat poop crazy.

Well it’s not like I ever consciously chose this level of bugfuckery. It’s not like this is a conclusion I came to as a result of rational analysis.

It’s more like important parts of me just sort of decayed into that shape. Presumably from being frozen in place with option paralysis for so long.

So much of me just… did not happen. From never having an imaginary friend or playing with toys to never getting a job or getting into a relationship, it’s like I have been in semi-suspended animation all this time and so much of that stunted growth is trying to come out at the same time that it leaves me paralyzed.

And I still don’t have the strength to figure out what I really want.

All I can do is keep on struggling to be alive.

And kill my fears.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

I did another slideshow.

This one is almost shockingly wholesome!

Originally, I was going to do something more autobiographical. But then I realized I had absolutely no idea where I put those images and I did not feel like going through the Google Streetview of my home town again to regain them.

Plus the siding on my childhood home is this ugly green now.

Still, the concrete front step is a good idea.

Anyhow. Been doomscrolling Blue Sky a fair bit. Trying to keep up with what is going on in Los Angeles. Balancing terror and hope. Fretting.

I do think the good guys will win in the end. Dumb Donnie and his coterie of fucktards are way too stupid and incompetent to pull off a fascist coup.

I mean, he sent the Nation Guard in without food or water or equipment and refused to even pay for lodgings for them, so they all just slept on a floor somewhere.

A Machiavellian mastermind he ain’t.

In fact, it reminds me of Dubya, though of course, much much worse. The Dubya years taught us that incompetent evil can still do a lot of damage.

But as far as I know, while the National Guard and the Marines are in Los Angeles, most of them are not even doing anything yet.

It remains to be seen whether they will truly see action. Right now, I imagine their commanders are doing everything they can not to violate Posse Comatatus while technically following orders.

For the Guard, just being there is already illegal. They’re not invited. But I suppose nothing is illegal if there are no consequences.

As long as people continue to inexplicably follow Dumb Donnie’s orders, that tangerine Caligula is effectively the idiot-king of America.

They could flat out refuse his orders. Ignore him completely. What’s he gonna do? I bet there’s already been a spate of voluntary discharges and desertions. Acting against American citizens doesn’t just violate the law, it fundamentally goes against the grain of the entire ethos of the American armed forces.

They fight foreign threats in order to protect their fellow Americans. That is what it’s all about. If they act against Americans they become the enemy.

And that would be the ultimate betrayal.

So they could just refuse the orders. I realize that would also be a betrayal of their beliefs. I’m not going to pretend this is something they could do easily.

But these are desperate times.

And what’s Dumb Donnie going to do? Court-martial the entire U.S. fighting force? And they have numerous legal avenues for refusing illegal orders.

And of course, Congress could stop all of this. Every Republican in the House and Senate is radically and treasonously failing the American people by not having the guts to stand up to Dumb Donnie and put an end to all of this mishigas.

And it goes well beyond fear of consequences now. They fear him not because he can hurt them but because he is their God now and to challenge him would be to go against the fundamental nature of reality.

They are now the “good” children of the abusive parents, the ones who still obey despite the abuse because they are so heavily indoctrinated into the abuser’s version of reality that to do anything else is simply beyond imagination and thus terrifying.

Some of them are starting to wake up and listen to their constituents but so far no leader has emerged to lead the charge to save America.

And it would only take a small number of defectors for impeachment to go through.

I’m just sayin’.

More after the break.

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I thought this was beyond brilliant.

Between ambition and inaction

It’s not like I am happy doing nothing with my life.

I have a fiery fountain of a roaring, soaring firebird screaming for release inside me.

But I also have an unyielding wall of cold, dead depression standing in its way.

This conflict leaves me feeling like a million pounds of rocks is crushing me against a cold, flat cement floor.

Historically, I have “dealt” with this by not thinking about it. By keeping myself too distracted to feel the pressure and the pain and the frustration caused by such a strangulated state of affairs.

And I suppose compulsively playing video games is my way of allowing just enough of that pressure to escape for me to be able to breathe.

But breathing is not enough. Survival is not enough. Making it through the day is not enough, not any more.

I want to be truly alive.

And that’s going to mean pain.

Pain because the old dead parts of me that are holding me back will have to be cut away and there’s bound to be a little feeling left in them.

Or whatever they’re currently attached to.

Pain because I have a hell of a lot of latent growth stored up inside me and a hell of a lot of catching up to do and growing that fast is never gentle.

Pain because it will mean pushing through the tough, fibrous membrane of fear that has been a fake and worthless part of the tissues of my mind for far too long and when that thing tears it’s going to fucking hurt.

At least for a second or two. Like ripping off a bandage.

But fuck pain and fuck fear. I will summon the courage to leave this cozy but fetid grotto of mine and walk out into the real world and find my destiny.

Or at least something more interesting to do than play fucking video games all day.

Hopefully but not necessarily something that makes me some money. Maybe figure out which AI video gen site is worth investing in so I have a new toy to play with.

Or, ya know, find some other app that’s fun to make stuff with.

I don’t have to suddenly become this dynamo of productivity.

I just need to expand my definition of fun.

I could enjoy that.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Sorry about the rather underwhelming video.

At that time, it made sense to keep it simple and talk about feeling sick. I really was not feeling too good. So I cut myself some slack.

But now I wish I had just done one of my usual kinds of video because doing that one left me very creatively unfulfilled and in a way that felt just as bad as being sick.

So, lesson learned. Do the thing anyway. Sure, it will kind of suck to do it while feeling ill but at least I will avoid a serious case of creative blue balls.

I’m kind of itching to write a song. Mental note.

And like I said in the caption for the video, I do feel better now. It’s amazing what getting enough water on a hot summer day can do for a fella.

The thing is, I almost got it right. I clearly knew dehydration was the most likely scenario, but I played it “safe” by not straining myself much in case it was something more serious than that, and cut the video (quite) short.

Made sense at the time, but in my defense, I had only been awake for about ten minutes and I was quite dehydrated so my judgment was not great.

Oh well. Mistakes are how we learn. Take the lesson then just keep movin’ on.

I keep returning to the idea of life momentum. How important it is in life to stay in motion and not let yourself fall into the doldrums like I have.

But the thing about a “stuck” life like mine is that it’s super predictable. A life in motion is not. Without knowing it, I have been hyper-controlling my life to the point of paralysis out of a very morbid fear of being “out of control” and not knowing what will happen.

The only thing “out of control” was my urge to be “in control”.

And it all traces back to that deep and terrible mistrust of the universe in general and people in particular.

It’s the trust/control complex. The feeling like the world is not to be trusted because it is, on some level, inherently hostile to me and “out to get me” leads directly to the belief, unstated but powerful, that only that which I control and can verify every bit of can be considered safe, and that leaves precious little room for actually living.

Off the top of my head, I have no idea how to convince myself to trust the world. I can tell myself I am safe and that nothing is waiting for me to drop my guard so it can GET me, and that does help some, but it’s more like treating the symptom and the root cause remains in place.

After all, my life was shattered when I was raped at the age of 4. That left one hell of a psychological wound that went untreated for decades and that still has not really been addressed because I don’t know how to address that.

Not via logic and reason, that’s for sure. Maybe by learning to love myself, but I don’t “know” how to do that either.

By faith, or something like it, I guess. By deciding to believe in myself a priori, without needing any evidence, no logical connection, a pure act of will, a true choice.

Sounds good. But so what? So do a lot of things. And none of them matter unless I have the courage to stop thinking about them and actually do them.

I’m working on it.

More after the break.

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Giving myself permission

And just like that, we’re back at another familiar offramp : one labeled, “Flight Lessons This Way”, with an arrow.

Oh, if only it was that easy.

In other words, I need to learn to fly. To leave the structure of contiguous logic and knowledge where everything fits together and makes sense and can be justified in order to simply give myself the emotional inputs I so desperately need without worrying about what the “rules” say.

Sounds simple enough.

But I’m so scared.

What else is new? My life is ruled by my fears. On some level, I’ve been appeasing them, as if giving them everything they want will somehow convince them to let up long enough to let me be at least a little happy.

But of course that doesn’t work. Appeasing them just makes them bigger. And the bigger they get, the harder it gets to say no to them.

So the next thing you know they are running your life entirely for their own benefit. Sigh.

It always circles back to the same old thing : be scared and do it anyway. Have the courage to push my way through the curtain of fire and get to the healthier world on the other side, and show my fears who is boss.

Who are they to think they can trap me? Hold me prisoner? Contain me?

Fuck THEM. I’m the unresolvable variable. I’m the unbound function. I’m the seething madness that is strong than sanity when wielded by the strong and certain hand of my mighty mountain of a mind, and absolutely nobody is going to hold me back, hold me down, hold me up, and lock me in a cage.

How DARE my fears and my issues think they can do that to me. When I die they might as well dump me straight into the ground because no god damned box will hold me.

I cannot be tamed.

And I am building myself up to be able to face that screaming existential void of having to figure out what to do with myself.

Or rather, what I want to do.

It doesn’t have to be video games all the fucking time, There’s all kinds of fun things I might be doing at any given time.

Some of them could even lead to more fun via jobs and money.

What a wild idea.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Because seriously, what the fuck else would I be talking about?

I feel like I had more to say but I don’t know what,

And that’s happening a lot lately. I must be at the dawn of one of my artistic growth phases where I become discontent with what I am making and it’s that discontent that burrows deep into my psyche to find a solution.

Solution : get better at it!

But it’s a tad more complicated than that.

On one of its extremely deep layers, this almighty mind of mine will rearrange its contents into a more efficient form, eliminating redundancies and clearing up conflicts and when the process is complete, I will have leveled up.

That’s seriously how it works for me. Go fig.

Meanwhile I’m going to sit here and fret about what’s going on in L.A. and New York.

Hopefully, at some point, the mighty moron army of the Dumb Donnie administration will realize that despite all their fascist power fantasies, it is literally impossible to fight absolutely everybody and they are actually going to have to learn to use their higher brain functions for once instead of trying to punish their way out of this mess.

But that doesn’t sound very likely, does it? Which means this may go to the bitter end that all fascist regimes face when they reach this point in their degradation.

Namely, the point where they really do keep trying to “solve” the problem with greater and more brutal applications of force, unable with their tiny minds to grasp that for every person they strike down, they inspire ten to rise up, and that every atrocity convinced more everyday people that if they and their family are to be safe, you have got to die.

I will note, at this point, that there’s currently protestors in front of the White House. And there’s already a massive protest set for next Saturday.

Did you see how few rioters it took to storm the Capital?

Now imagine millions.

Sadly, the Secret Service are extremely good at their job so they would undoubtedly get Dumb Donnie out of the White House and to an Undisclosed Location (idea : open a bar in DC called An Undisclosed Location) before the angry mobs could get to him.

Unless Dumb Donnie threw a tantrum and refused to leave. “No! This is MY HOUSE! They should be the ones to leave!”.

I truly wonder what they would do then. I picture an ultra serious Tommy Lee Jones type doing that thing people can do in movies and TV where they punch someone in the midsection in such a way that said person ends up over their shoulder and then the Secret Service person just carries them away.

Anyhow, back to New York and L.A. I really question the sanity of trying to fuck with New Yorkers. These are not mellow SoCal hippie surfer types. They are hardboiled survivors who take great pride in being tough and willing to scrap with anyone if they feel like they’re getting stepped on.

And they have shown how readily they band together when there’s a threat.

L.A. is the bigger story right now, but it’s in good ol New York where you’re going to see the most implacably ferocious resistance.

And of course, young people will be flooding into those areas from all over the country looking to join in the good fight. Especially Gen Z!

These monstrous morons have bitten off far, far more than they can chew.

And I hope they fucking choke on it.

More after the break.

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Precious seconds of humanity

Alright, time to take another swing at this piñata.

If really sad or upsetting things like this music video…

…can unleash a big enough emotional response in me that I actually feel human and maybe even have some idea of what it’s like to be a normal person, what in the name of little green garden snakes am I the rest of the time?

A lot of things, as it turns out, but let’s concentrate on whatever mental state these sad and/or upsetting things temporarily save me from.

At some point – maybe when I was raped, maybe some point after – I retreated into the ice cold world of detachment as a way to escape my negative emotions.

And this made me inhuman. I can see that so clearly now. It made me eerily removed and detached from the rest of the world in a way that I was more than capable of somewhat superciliously defending as just “me being me” and very disingenuously claiming to have no idea what people were talking about when challenged on it.

I could do this because deep down I knew nobody would be articulate enough to actually nail down what it was that was “off” about me.

God, that’s creepy.

And I suppose this involved me hiding my “true” nature from myself as well. When you are as multifaceted as I am, it’s very easy to change which facet is the “real” you based on whatever best suits your self-image at the moment.

So I think of myself, most of the time, as a sweet, fluffy, cute, compassionate, sensitive critter who is lovable and expansive and easy to get along with.

And that’s all true… for one of my facets. The one that I, arguably, like the best.

But I know there’s more to me than that. On another facet, I am that cold and calculating and ruthlessly pragmatic snake. On another, I am a fire breathing rabble rouser fit to lead people into bloody revolution. On still another, I am a junior Messiah full of love and compassion and understanding for all and who just wants people to see the humanity in one another so we can all come together in harmony.

And so forth and so on.

And asking me which of these is the “real” me is as meaningless as asking which side of a d20 is the “real” d20.

They all are. I am none of my facets, and all of them. The question makes no sense.

I must have a sort of meta-facet that decides which facet best suits a situation and, if absolutely necessary, carves a new one if none of them fit.

It feels automatic. Like it’s the world that makes the selection, not me. Situation A stimulates response X, and so on.

And truth me told, I am not sure if I could control the process even if I wanted to.

And I do not.

So what am I when I am not having my seconds of humanity?

Something entirely different and not entirely sane, I would have to day.

But now that I have a conscious of idea of how much good those moments can do me, maybe I can find the courage to seek them out deliberately instead of leaving it up to the whims of fate.

Sometimes it does good to feel bad for a while.

I’ll try to remember that.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.