There’s no reason why any kind of drawn pornography should be illegal.

And yes, this includes depictions of child-adult sex, sex with animals, violent gory sex, rape, sex involving shitting and pissing, you name it.

Because it’s just lines and colors.It’s not hurting anyone and nobody got hurt making it. It’s pure fantasy and it’s nobody’s business, especially the government’s, what people fantasize about when they masturbate.

It doesn’t matter whether the picture disgusts, offends, or otherwise upsets you. Free democratic societies have a solution for that : don’t look. Don’t seek the stuff out. Avoid places on the internet where you might see it by accident.

Because no matter the content, nobody got hurt.

And there is no such thing as a victimless crime. No victim, no crime.

Oh, and obviously this goes for the written kind of pornography as well. It’s just words on a page, text on a screen. Nobody got hurt.

If we are sincere in our belief in freedom, then we have to rid ourselves of laws that punish people for offending us with their private behaviour.

Don’t like it? Don’t look.

It’s really that simple.

---

Just had to get that off my chest.

Warning, the following contains sexually explicit art of cartoon characters.

I’ve been on a “rule 34” kick lately. For those not familiar with the term, it refers to art depicting sex between well known fictional characters. Usually, these are characters from animation or comics.

You can try to draw stuff involving real people, but it’s way harder. And probably more likely to get you sued.

And I am very into this kind of porn. I am what we used to called a “toonphile” way back in the furry community of the 90’s. I am especially turned on by seeing my favorite cartoon characters getting it on.

It makes sense. I have loved animation for my entire life and so when puberty came along, I started thinking about some of the (mostly male) characters from all those cartoons I loved in that special sexy way.

In many ways, I felt closer to my animated friends than to the rest of humanity. Also, the fact that I was gay in a small town in the 80’s made it highly unsafe for me to think about the real males in my life in a sexual way, so attachment to my animated pals was a safer alternative to getting my ass kicked.

And then the internet came along and opened the floodgates to a world of porn drawn by other perverts just like me, but with visual art talent.

I can only paint pictures with words.

And so I now have tons of highly sexy art featuring everyone from Mickey Mouse…

to My Little Pony…

to Roger Frigging Rabbit getting down with their freaky side.

And where is the harm in art like that?

More after the break.

---

Dat bunny butt. Oh my.

What to do now. What I feel like doing now is sharing more perverted pornography.

So what the hell, I will do that until and/or unless I think of something else.

What cums next. Hmmm.

Oh I know…. the new Ducktales!

That’s out-of-control awesome (from a comedy standpoint) and irritating and awful (from an oin-show perspective) character Mark Beaks (on the left) getting things going with his much put upon occasional employee and well-timed sarcastic responder, Falcon Graves, shown here both knowing he should not give in to his boss’ charms and knowing he definitely will.

There is SO MUCH GAY PORN shipping those two, even though Falcon was only in one episode so far. Clearly, I am not the only one who thought there was a certain energy to their interactions.

As for Beaks, he’s so “hip” and “now” (and spoiled) that I can imagine him seeing sex with Graves as just another high quality thing he wanted and got.

Graves IS hella sexy. Like James Bond but with more gravitasse. Rawr.

Hmmm, what else.

How about some BoJack Horse Semen?

I don’t blame Mister Peanut Butter for going right for that sweet sweet horse butt. Horses got some sweet ass (ha) butts. GIMMIE.

This works for me because Mister Peanut Butter is such an enthusiastic and heedlessly reckless person that I can totally imagining him being bi and not even giving it a second thought. He’s the sort of person who would breathlessly tell you about the awesome night of gay sex he just had, then when you ask, “Wait, since when are you bi?”, he would blink and think about it for a sec, then shrug and say “Since last night, I guess. ”

And then never, ever think about it again.

BoJack, on the other hand, would be bi more or less out of depressive apathy. He wouldn’t think of himself as bi though – his ego wouldn’t allow it. He could spend all day fucking and sucking with a bunch of dudes and still think of it as “not something he is really into, but as long as it’s there, he’ll have some”.

Hmmm. One last pic to finish off this orgy of self-indulgent perversion.

Hey kids, ever wonder where those pretty rainbows come from?

Yes, it turns out they have been Care Bear pee all along!

Personally, I think that makes them all the more magical.

But let’s ask an expert on rainbows.

What do you think, Kermit?

Never mind, I can see you’re busy.

And so ends my whirlwind tour of just one of my many perversions.

Trust me, that’s actually my most publically accessible one, apart from being gay.

I got a lot of stuff that is way, way “worse” than this.

Perhaps some other time.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

And now, I attempt to express my emotions in realtime-ish.

Right now, I feel hungry. My KFC is on its way and I am feeling a little impatient for it to be here already. I am salivating in anticipation.

Yes, that happens in real life, not just Depression-era cartoon.

I also feel elated to be giving this bold experiment a try. In therapy today, I brought up my difficulty in expressing my emotions in the present tense.

I am also a little tense in the present. Ha ha ha.

Anyhoo, when I was talking to my therapist about that, the idea for this experiment popped into my head and I knew I had to try it. I feel excited to be actually giving this a shot and proud that I am going through with it instead of letting it become one of the millions of fantastic ideas I have had then did absolutely nothing about.

I’m great at that. Doing nothing. I can do it with anything.

There is a little fear in my excitement. After all, I have no idea how this will turn out and I might find myself in a really dark state of mind once I start uncorking things like this.

So far so good. But I can feel the worm turning. My mood just started to sink. It was floating on the surface of the dark underground lake that is my emotions like a happy colorful balloon, but now the gravity of my depression has it and is dragging it down.

So down I go. Fuck it. I knew this job was dangerous when I took it. I am not afraid ti “go under” as Nietzsche would say.

Now I am feeling a slowly spreading chill. Like my parasympathetic system reacted to my joy like it was a threat and released a whole bunch of chilling, numbing chemicals to correct what it saw as a too-hot emotional state.

No wonder I am so fucking depressed. I need to shut that shit down. Clearly my body considers depression to be my “resting state”, the state it is supposed to maintain when no threat or challenge is present, and fights to keep me this way.

That would explain a lot.

Along with the spreading numbness, which now more or less perfuses my psyche, there is now a strain of cold, hard, bitter resentment. I am pissed off at my fucked up system and outraged at the thought that my whole fuckihng life has been not just destroyed but denied because my stupid body has the wrong default settings.

Get with the new normal, dammit!

Yay my food is here! Excitement!

Hmmm. Unanticipated issue : arrival of food interrupted experiment and I have felt so many things since I was last here at the keyboard.

Obvious in retrospect, but hindsight.

Only one worth sharing : the image of myself as a non-anthro fox running for the door, arfing and wagging my little tail, eager for my KFC.

I am so darn cute.

Oh well, now I get to see how food changes my emotions in real time-ish.

After all, I never know what is true depression and what is mere low blood sugar.

Actually, I think a lot of people have trouble telling the difference. Who knows, maybe there are people out there who think they have depression when they are actually just hypoglycemic and need to eat.

Just suddenly remembered to make the FRED reservation.

Right now, I am realizing that I have trouble telling thoughts from emotions, and that totally makes sense for someone who intellectualizes as much as I do.

So the EMOTION is dawning realization, and a feeling like I may have stumbled onto something big as I can sense that, as I force myself back to emotions, I am disturbing something that connects to a whole lot of other stuff in my mind.

Don’t escape. Stay with feels. Don’t escape. Feels are real.

“Easier said that done” says my mind to express the feeling of intimidation I am feeling about trying to de-intellectualize myself.

It’s such a deep and fundamental part of me that changing it feels impossible. I feel dwarfed by the size of the task. It involves changing the fundamental way I have dealt with reality for my entire life.

But now I feel some hope, because all is not lost. I at least have memories of the happy, pre-rape period of my childhood to start with when I try to imagine what life would be like without all this manic mentation going on all the time.

I am imagining it now. Life without the megabrain. And it doesn’t frighten me at all. I thought I would be terrified of the notion but no.

To be honest, my megabrain has never done me much good anyway. It should have, by most people’s reckoning, but it didn’t.

So it might be nice to have a trial seperation from it. Figure out who I am without all that noise in my head and the constant need to express my intellect in hopes, on some level, of pleasing and getting praise from some authority figure.

My mom, basically, or someone like her.

I am pretty sure the normal-IQ version of me would be a rather nice fellow, perhaps a tad prissy at times, but mostly a warm and likable fellow who knows a lot of people and a lot of people know him because he’s such a nice guy.

Woops, that’s not an emotion. Dammit.

Right now I feel annoyed that I wandered away from emotion again. This task is much harder than I anticipated.

But I don’t feel like I wasted my time here. I have learned a lot from this, and god willin and the crick don’t rise, I will try again soon and see how that turns out.

I feel happy with my tummy full of KFC, and eager to be done here so I can take a nice little post feast nap like the predator I am.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Thrill to my action-packed adventures.

After a very long gaming session, beat Borderlands this morning. Final fight was difficult but not that interesting and the ending, while cute, was pitifully brief.

Oh well. The game was hella fun anyhow. And now I have moved straight on the the sequel, the creatively titled Borderlands 2, and luckily, it didn’t cost me $30.

That’s because I already paid for it ages ago. I bought a bundle with all three of the existing games in it way back when, and they just sat there on my account for a long time because, for whatever reason, I decided I didn’t like them after trying them when I got them back in the days of yesteryear.

I truly cannot fathom whatever problem I had with the games back then. I can only assume that I was in a pissy, moody frame of mind and didn’t have the patience to stick with it long enough to make the learning curve and start REALLY having fun.

Seems dumb now. But I do have more persistance and patience than I used to, that’s for sure. I have managed to access some of my vast strategic reserves of sheer bloody minded stubbornness and apply that to things I am having trouble with, instead of giving up at the first sign of trouble.

And it’s paid off.

Now if only I could apply it to like….. life.

Anyhoo, have started 2, and here’s the choices I had as to which character I would play.

See if you can guess which one I chose.

In games, I always go for the character who is the most ninja-like OR the one that is the freakiest, and he is BOTH.

Plus, check how he is described in the intro :

Everone else has a normal name and a description, like Axton As The Commando or Maya As The Siren.

But my boy is Zero As A Number. And that is SO ME. I love the idea of being the completely mysterious dark hero who doesn’t even have a name.

Dunno why, but I absolutely love that. Perhaps it’s because when you are a total mystery without even a clear gender, people can’t label you and are forced to deal with you as a person.

Albeit a very weird and creepy one.

Oh. And the capper : he’s a sniper.

There were really no other choices.

What else…. did some laundry. Thrillsville there. The new washer/dryer combo is a little smaller than the previous one that died on us, but way cooler and more high tech-ish.

I mean, the washer part has digital readouts and a clear plastic lid!

Truly, we are living the good life now.

Other than that, not much to report. My switch away from my nutrageous diet seems to have worked. I am not getting sick any more, or at least, not in the same way.

I don’t honestly know what it feels like to be healthy. Intellectually, I know that there were times when I was young when I was fairly healthy. Sure, I was fat, but the walk to and from school every day kept me minimally healthy and I was young, so I had a lot more energy and enthusiasm.

But at this point in my life, there is no such thing as health.

There is only various ways to be sick, some worse than others.

Mood-wise, I have been on the plus side of meh. Cashing my check yesterday helped a fair bit. Like I have said many times before, financial insecurity leads to emotional insecurity, and that leads to depression and anxiety in me.

I feel a lot better now that I have my financial house back in order and have the full set of my little pleasures back in place.

Still, deep down I feel moody and introspective. I get the feeling I am processing a heavy loads of “stuff” and that makes me feel like lying in bed with the lights out and my music on, and just letting my mind do whatever it needs to do.

Beats having the deep processes yank the rug out from under my conscious mind by dumping everything out of my working memory at random moments.

Hmmm. I am intellectualizing again. The previous paragraph was so cognitive, which is absurd because it’s not what I am thinking that is important, it’s what I am feeling.

I’ve made a lot of progress but I am still profoundly alienated from my own emotions and so I still find it hard to talk about my emotions in a really real way.

It’s all been pinned to paper and stuck under glass like a museum’s bug collection. That’s why it is so hard for me to talk about what I am feeling right now.

There hasn’t been time to stuff and mount it yet.

One last thing about today : managed to actually reach my happy squirting time when masturbating today. Ejaculation galore.

That’s it for this month, then. Wish I was exaggerating for effect.

Every time I managed to make it, I am tempted to analyze everything leading up to my sperm squirting in order to figure out “what I did right”.

But I know the answer: nothing. I did what I always do, only this time it worked. Maybe because the demon semen pressure had built up enough, maybe because this time I managed to forget about previous frustrations, maybe because of a million other tiny factors that are beyond my comprehension, let alone control.

Glad it happened though. Felt very good to finally cum after so much frustration.

I wonder if exercise would help me cum more often. Could be that if I didn’t have so much bodily tension built up, I might feel a lot better and certain things would be easier because of the lack of inner resistance and conflict.

But there’s this wall inside me…..

Well, you know the drill.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

When in doubt, stick to autoreportage.

I beat Pillars of Eternity. Killed the fuck out of that evil zealot Thaos the third of fourth time I tried it.The battle was suitably dramatic, with it being down to just a near-dead Thaos and one of my party members (the smoking hot Eder) left.

I mean, just look at the guy.

Now imagine him being rougishly charming, potently paternal in the most positive sense of the world, and laconically witty in that Southern way I love so much, and you get some idea why I have the raging hots for the dude.

At on point, he says something that ends with “Don’t you worry. we’ll soon have you feeling better” to me and I damn near creamed my jeans.

So after going through the ending, I decided, you know what? I need more of that. Little interface quibbles aside, it was a great game with some truly great writing in parts, and I loved the ending.

I got to lock that mass murderer Thaos in a stone pillar for all eternity. I figured that was the cruelest option. Better that tearing his soul apart or returning his soul to the cycle of reincarnation or any of the rest.

Rot forever, you bastard.

Anyhow, after I finished it, I decided I wanted more, so I bought the sequel, Pillars of Eternity 2 : Deadfire, for like thirty bucks.

More than I usually spend on games, but what the hell. The game’s only a year old, and the truth is I can afford it.

That’s another recent event : after looking at my savings and realizing that last month had cost me $200, taking my balance down to approximately $150, I suddenly realized that it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter because I wasn’t doing anything with the money anyway. It was just sitting there. I wasn’t saving it up for any particular reason. There is no goal that last month pulled further away from me at the last second.

So big deal. It did what it was supposed to do, namely cover my ass when I needed it to, and that’s all that matter.

Speaking of savings, I put $80 back into them when I went to cash my cheque today. Yay actually leaving the apartment by myself!

Saw some fun stuff out there, including, I shittest thou not, a family of five wearing five identical pairs of cheap sunglasses.

Presumably they were on sale.

Also observed a woman having a lively conversation in Mandarin with her friend, in the middle of which she made a phonecall in English and her English voice was total whiney spoiled blonde princess.

And I thought, should I be offended? Would that count as a racist cariacature of a white girl? Then again, for all I know, English is her first language and she has always talked like that (poor thing).

Then again, she stole my cab, so fuck her.

Backing up a bit, I went to Pricemart after I cashed my check. Needed to pick up a few things and maybe some kind of treat for myself.

And that was frustrating, because not only do they not sell the awesome single-serving pot pies I love any more, they didn’t have my favorite no sugar added strawberry sandwich spread either.

And strawberry, that’s my JAM, dawg.

But they did have this multi-berry flavour I have not had before, and the minute I saw it, I knew I had to try it, because….

And I swear I am not making this up….

…I DREAMED that flavour.

Seriously. I was drifting in an out of sleep and the idea of an all-berry flavour of something popped into my head and in my dream I could taste it and it was pretty damned good, actually.

So when I saw it in the store, it was a mystical experience. That’s the only word I can think of to convey the emotional and mental state I was in.

Something I had dreamed showed up in real life. It took a fairly big expenditure of will not to freak out.

I mean, technically, that’s the power of prophecy, with no easy rational explanation.

I love that shit. That’s a true Fortean experience.

Anyhoo, I got my jam (dawg), some diet cola, and some munchies, which definitely did NOT include any of the almonds and peanuts I have been using as carb free snacks.

That’s because I have been getting sick periodically lately and I am fairly certain that it was my new nutrageous diet that was doing it.

It’s like my body just plain got sick of digesting all that nutmeat and gave up in digust, causing my peanutty meals to clog my system.

Lesson learned. I, of all people, should know that extreme diets are always a bad idea because the human body needs variety in order to run smoothly.

I will vary my low carb snacking.

I wish I knew somewhere I could get those wasabi dried peas that I love so much. 7-11 used to have them but now they only have the (ickl) sriracha ones.

God damned srirarcha.

What else…. well, I have played the new game and so far, so good. I was a tiny bit disappointed that in the plot of the game, you are definitely playing the same person you did in the original. I was hoping for a fresh start.

On the other hand, the first thing I saw when coming to as my new-ish self was Eder watching over me like the world’s hottest nurse, so it wasn’t ALL bed.

Kinda made me not want to get out of bed, to be honest. But of course, adventure awaits, the world needs me, and there’s no “sex the heck out of Eder” option.

Maybe there’s a mod for that, though.

If not… well there’s always Skyrim.

The urge to reinstall it grows every day.

But I will stay strong! I will resist!

Boy do I miss all the perverted options though.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

These are song lyrics.

I tried so very hard to fade away slowly
But you made it clear that you’d rather be lonely
I lay awake nights wishing you’d only
Had the courage to say
I want you to stay

What did I do to make you so afraid?
Was it all of the passionate love that we made?
Just one little smile and you know I’d have stayed
But you let me fade away
It still hurts to this day

Did I hold you too close? Did I keep you too near?
Was it all of those lingering kisses you feared?
Did my waves of affection make you disappear?
Did they wash you away?
‘cuz I want you to stay

Did the strength of my love cause you to fear
That when the tide ebbed, you’d no longer be here
That you’d drown in lake made of my joyous tears
I didn’t mean it that way
So why can’t I stay?

A smile. A glance. A pat on the shoulder.
Anything except my heart growing colder
I miss being with you. And I miss growing older
With you every day
But I just couldn’t stay

And still, if you asked, you know I’d return
All it would take is a little concern
We’d watch all the years spent apart slowly burn
And together we’d lay
Like that very first day
When you asked me to play
And I said “okay”
And that I’d never stray
Starting today
And you smiled and say “Hey…
I want you, I want you to stay.

---

Well that attack of poetry was rather large. And there is some pretty good stuff in there.

Who knows…. maybe some day I will come back to this, clean it up, and turn it into an actual song or something.

Yeah right. And monkeys might fly out of my butt.

Feeling extra alienated today. No reason why that I know of. OI guess it’s just the random vibrations of my erratic brain chemicals playing silly buggers with me.

So what else is new?

Everything seems strange to me. Life has a very unusual emotional affect. I feel like I am not living in the real world.

Like I am fictional, and this is all nothing but a strange story being broadcast late at night, in black and white, meaningless and yet you can’t take your eyes away from it.

Like an obscure art film.

I can’t imagine what would happen if I had to cope with the world right now. I am having enough trouble keeping up with my own dumb little world. If I had to deal with the real world, Lord only knows what I might say or do.

Anything is possible when I feel this way.

Heck, I might start expressing all the weird shit that goes on in my head and letting the world see just how crazy I really am.

It’s amusing to imagine someone telling me to express what’s on my mind and my taking them at their word and starting to spew out an unexpurgated version of my inner monologue, stream of consciousness style.

“well I was thinking about dog hair and that reminded me of a friend’s apartment I visited once where the landlady never cleaned up here dog’s hair and the dog smell was so thick you could chew it and that made me think of that friend and how I haven’t seen him in a long time and how I miss playing Soul Calibur with him and saying ‘Ow, my soul is burning!’ and then I thought about how hot some of the male characters in that game were and then I thought about how much energy and zeal for life I had back then and how I wish I had it back now that I have something productive to use it on… ”

And so forth and so on.

But even that would be a lie, because I could not possibly express all that goes through my head verbally. I wouldn’t even know where to start. The throughput of my mentation is staggering in its depth, breadth, and intensity, and I could be the best poet in the known universe and I still wouldn’t even get one percent of it out.

No wonder I am drowning in my own shadow these days.

I have never known how to keep up with my own mind, let alone what to actually do with the damned thing. Society was no help. There’s not a lot of people like me in the world and that kind of makes it hard to find role models.

The sorts of things that provide structure and limitation and guidance to other people were never going to work for me. I could see through them, around them, over them, and into them with a mere glance. I was seemingly born knowing how arbitrary authority is and how helpless it can be if you simply refuse to cooperate.

There are no procedures in place to help a kid like that.

And I was not easy to help. Not that I am blaming myself for it, but the truth is, being far, far smarter than even the adults in my life was hard for adults to take, let along deal with on an emotional level.

What do you do with a kid like that?

And yet, at the same time, I was pathetically eager to please. I really needed some kind of mentor and I wasn’t getting it at home, so I did the only thing I knew how to do : show off how smart I am to adults in order to get them to like me.

That’s what my preschooler life had been like, after all.

The argument can be made that no matter how startlingly strange and gifted a child I was, the educational system should have figured out how to deal with me.

Ideally, yes. But I am a pragmatist first and foremost, and realistically, they stood little chance of being able to handle me.

To be fair, I didn’t know how to handle myself either.

Sure gets lonely up here on this mountaintop.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

I’m sorry to be so indiscreet
But I really must excrete
All the toxins I secrete
From my dark s spoiled meat

It’s easily understood
Void the bad, keep the good
Not done as often as I should
In this dusty neighborhood

It’s a dirty little sin
But way better out than in
But as soon as you begin
You lose sight of the end

And so I walk this endless track
Three steps forward, two steps back
Pace this obscure cul de sac
A world of magic on my back

Just waiting for someone to want in.

michael bertrand, sep 24, 2019

I knew an atgtack of poetry was coming on. Some times the emotions I need to express are more than even my randomly poetic prose style can contain.

Had my weekly medical appointment. Was expecting great improvement. The part of my wound I could see when the bandage slipped down were quite encouraging. Scabs sloughed off, healthy deep pink flesh underneath.

So I was disappointed when the bandage came off and there was this big gross nasty patch underneath. It’s not a wound, thank god….. nothing has reopened.

It looks more, in fact, like a very nasty scrape. The kind that is also a bruise. Blue-black, raw, wet looking (but not wet, thank goodness), gross AF.

Also worrying : there was a discolored patch left on the bandage where the wound had been touching it. Looked like the world’s most disgusting BBQ sauce.

So presumably, the nasty bit leaked at some point. Just when I thought I was all done with the oozing.

I am not happy with my treatment by the nurse, as she did not reavt when I pointed the stain out to her, neither did she take a picture of the wound like she was supposed to.

She seemed very tired too, the poor dear. The usual snipping the bandage off then winding the two layers of the fresh compression bandage on seemed to take a lot out of her. I felt kinda bad for her.

I’ve felt fairly lousy today, God I need that shower. And yet, when I had the opportunity to take one right before going to my appointment, I just did not have the energy.

That fucking figures.

I want to draw a hot as fuck bath and soak myself in it to loosen up all the gunk, replacing the water as many times as it takes for me to feel clean.

That feeling seems so damned far away now.

I’m positive that my pores are all clogged to the max and as a result, my skin is not breathing properly and I am not sweating properly and that my skin (and thus the rest of me) is unhealthy as fuck right now.

But I confirmed with the murse that taking the fucking bandage off would be Bad. My leg would swell up and the wound might reopen.

Bad mojo all around.

At least it’s a very nice day. Sunshine, blue skies, the works.

Amazing how what I took for granted all summer suddenly becomes magical and precious again when it’s been rainy and grey for three or four days.

More after the break.

---

Feeling somewhat better after some more sleep.

Finished a major section of the plot in Pillars of Eternity. Man, am I getting sick of cities descending into an anarchy of riots, chaos, and fire. It has happened in so many games now that it has lost all shock value to me.

I just shrug resignedly and says “Oh, right. Of course. This again. Fire everywhere – check. Corpses littering the streets – check. People killing the fuck out of each other for no good reason – check. ”

Ho hum, just another urban hellscape.

Borderlands is becoming somewhat ho-hum as well. It’s still fun but it’s getting repetitive. There’s only so many ways the game can send me to the same kind of place to fight the same kind of enemies with the same sorts of weapons before it begins to wear a little thin.

So it’s like the game is currently coasting on personality alone. And make no mistake, it has loads of personality.

But it only goes so far.

Been pretty sleepy today. Coicidentally, I forgot to have my Diet Coke with lunch.

I am beginning to think I am a caffiene addict and that sleepiness is my primary withdrawal symptom. In which case, great. Beats the hell out of the headaches, nausea, and irritability other people get from caff withdrawal.

Then again, if something was keeping me from sleeping and forcing me to be up and “on” doing things, I would definitely get the irritability at least.

Not that sleepiness is all that fun. I am still sleepy right now, in fact. I have nearly dozed off a bunch of times while writing this.

I want nothing more than to go back to bed and sleep like a particularly tired log.

But I have social commitments and I also need to actually eat a meal soon or my blood sugar will slide down and crash and that would make everything much, much worse.

Sometimes I feel like I am trapped in the glass maze from a fun house. You know, the hilarious maze made of extremely clear glass that you can’t see until you whack your nose into it as you try to find your way out of this world gone mad?

Good times, every time.

Well that’s how I feel sometimes. Like I am in an invisible maze that makes no sense to me, and my opitions are to either sit there and rot, or venture into the maze to try to find my way out, knowing I will endure many painful dead ends and never know if I am makibng any kind of real progress, or if I am just going in circles.

So I just sit and rot instead.

That sucks too, but at least it’s predictable.

What I honestly need is a parent. SOmeone to look after me and keep me healthy and strong. Someone who is far wiser than I am, and strong and competent to make me feel safe in their care.

But I am 46. So that shit ain’t happening.

So I’m fucked.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

I’m in a lousy fucking mood.

Not “I was in a bad mood” or “I guess I was in a bad mood at that time” or any other form of intellectualizing bullshit.

I’m feeling drownright grumpy right now, and I am not (very) afraid to admit it!

The day started out terrible because I woke up and everything hurt.

But not in the full body way that I would get from low blood sugar or the flue or something like that. Oh no.

Everything hurt on a part by part basis, with its own seperate channel of pain.

This sucked so bad that it took me a while to even figure out what the fuck was going on. Turned out that, somehow, while I slept,my whole body became a nest of cramps, tangles,and tension, and so every muscle in my body was pissed off.

So I then had to slowly and carefully stretch and turn and do whatever else it took to works all those knots out of my traitorous body.

By the time I finished that, I had realized that I also had a splitting headache and my joints were aching as well.

Oh, and there was the usual feeling of wretchedness that I always feel when I wake up.

I never earned this karma.

Eventually I managed to flay myself into sufficient shape to eat least eat and watch videos and molest a very cute little pig boy. But after that, I was so tired that I had to go right back to bed, even though I had already slept for around eight hours total.

It’s a special kind of hell when you know you have no choice but to go to sleep – I mean, my eyes were starting to blur a bit – but really hate the idea of going back to sleep because of how shitty it made you feel last time you slept.

It’s like seeing a disaster coming and not being able to do anything about it.

When I woke up again, I felt incrementally better. So I decided to pull the trigger on purchasing a couple of very cheap games from Humble Bundle.

They were $2.70 total, or $1.35 each (CDN, natch), so I figured, what the hell, even if I hate both of them, it’s only $2.70!

And that turned out to be fortunate.

The first game was Miasmata, which was advertised as being a survival/horror game where you are a plague stricken scientist searching for a cure.

And that’s what it is already. Except for the “battling” part, because it turns out that all you actually do in the game is collect biological samples from your enivironmentm test them in the lab, and try to figure out what combination will cure you.

Not what I had pictured at all. In a word, underwhelming.

The other was Call of Juarez, and I had high hopes for this game. A story-dense Western-themed FPS game?

Sign me the fuck up!

I’ve never been into Westerns as a book and movie genre, but I love it as a setting for a first person video game.

That’s why it sucks so much that there’s no Red Dead Redemption for the PC. Grr.

But I quit the game without even finishing the tutorial because the goddamned tutorial kepts expecting things of me without giving me the slightest clue as to how to do it.

Took me forever to figure out how to sneak past this one shotgun-toting farmer. Then I had to use a whip to get into a window and that too forever too.

Turns out I had to hit these teeny tiny pegs above the window with the whip. Pegs that had no reason to be there except to make whip entry possible.

But once I got past that, then I have this bit where I am supposed to sneak out of town past a bunch of pussy-crazed hooligans and for the life of me,I have no idea how the hell to do it. No matter what I do, they catch me and shoot me to death.

So I gave up. Fuck that noise. Life’s too short for me to deal with such vastly insufficient communication. I should not have to look up a walkthrough just to make it through your god damned tutorial.

That said, I will probably try again just to see if the actual post-tutorial game is any better. You can’t always judge a game by its tutorial.

But if the actual game keeps asking me to do things with no clue as to how, I will shitcan that game so hard it bounces.

Needless to say, these twin disappointments did nothing to improve my sour mood, and that’s the main reason why I still feel surly and pissed off right now.

I even tried to relax with some Borderlands, but I had forgotten that when I left the game, I was in a very difficult area.

So that was also frustrating, but at least there, I could kill a lot of people.

That helps sometimes.

Right now, I feel the urge for violent conflict. I really want to beat the shit out of someone who is trying to beat the shit out of me. There is nothing I would like more than to express my feelings of aggression in a direct and very visceral manner.

This is the primitive “raging bull” side of me I tend to vehemently suppress as it does not fit with my self-image as a calm, rational, sensible, civilized person.

But it is just as much a real part of me as all my intellectual bullshit is, and if I am going to melt the ice on my heart, I am going to expand my view of myself to include sometimes feeling like I want to strangle something.

We all have our dark sides, to say the least.

It’s time I embraced my Mister Jekyll instead of always trying to Hyde it.

Even my darkest, most violent and twisted thoughts are still a part of me, and trying to wall them off and pretend they are not there is worse than futile.

Once more, it all comes back to the need to integrate my being. To connect it all to the same circuit, a circuit I call me.

Then all I need is to turn myself on!

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

In that I have been shedding a lot of water.

I have been peeing so much in the last 12 hours! I have emptied a very full bladder at least eight times in that time period.

Not only did it mess with my sleep big time, but now my bladder is very tired and really would like a break from all this retaining and dispensing, please.

As usual when this happens, I find myself wondering where the heck I was keeping all this fluid. My bladder only holds so much. Where was the rest of it?

I could pull a Marvel and say it was stored in a dimension of pure urine.

That would make my urinary sphincter a portal between dimensions.

That would explain a lot.

Anyhow, obviously I am a little worried about the situation. Frequent urination is classic sign of diabetes, after all.

It means your body is desperately trying to get rid of a toxic level of blood sugar by making lots and lots of urine and dumping it in there so you will pee it out.

I have also been craving the sweet stuff lately. Like, hard. It’s quite disturbing. I’ll be in a store and see a chocolate bar or a donut and this surge of pure greedy animal hunger will hit me and I will have the urge to grab the thing and run off somewhere to eat it like I was a toddler on a tear.

I have never experienced this before. Even in the period leading up to my initial diabetes diagnosis, I never craved the stuff that hard.

I just found myself eating entire boxes of cookies and still wanting more.

This is different, and I am honestly not sure what to do about it.

On the one hand, it might indicate that my blood sugar is low and that I honestly really should be eating something with sugar in it to build it back up.

Problem is, despite the cravings, I find most sugary things pretty gross now. I associate them will how gross they make me feel and that makes them quite disgusting to me.

Still, a small experiment might shed some light. Perhaps a muffin or other only luightly sweetened baked good.

On the other hand, there’s different fingers. (*BZZZZZT* START AGAIN. )

On the other hand, it might be that my blood sugar is too high and I am only experiencing it as these cravings because my body is foolishly trying to maintain that poisonously high sugar level.

I really need a glucometer, dammit. Then I would know and be able to take steps to fix the situation. It’s crazy that option paralysis and executive dysfunction are keeping me from getting one.

Why, you wuld have to be some kind of lunatic to have a problem like that.

And I am that kind of lunatic.

It’s a very dull kind of lunacy. I don’t howl at the moon or think I’m a pair of barbeque tongs or dress up like Napolean.

I just stay out of the way and play video games all day every day.

And slowly, ever so slowly, rot away.

More after the break.

---

I can’t wait to get rid of this goddamned compression bandage on my leg.

And it’s not because it’s uncomfortable. It isn’t. And it’s not that it’s painful. It doesn’t pinch. And it’s not that it’s unsightly. With the stocking over it, it looks quite good.

But holy hannah, do I need a shower.

I must smell atrocious, despite all my scrubbing. I have been scrubbing out my armpits, crotch, and asshole quite diligently and yet I still feel grungy as fuck.

I swear, once this thing is off, I will shower for a week. Or draw myself a super hot bath and sit and steep like I am a goddamn teabag and am making very strong tea.

Me flavoured tea, I suppose. Ick.

What I need is one of these compression setups that is water-resistant. Like it comes with a waterproof stocking instead of the sock it’s in now.

Either that, or have it be something I can slip off and put it on all by myself. Then I could take it off just long enough to shower.

Or something. This no-shower bullshit is killing me.

It’s ironic that in order to treat something I got from an infection, I have ended up all dirty and gross and feeling downright septic.

The thing is, without the steam and sluicing of the shower, the deep down dirt and gunk never gets driven to the surface and washed away by the water.

It’s times like this that make me wish I had access to a big ol sauna.

There’s one in this building, but it’s way too small and dark for a ginormous claustrophobe like yours truly.

Besides, I don’t have anything to wear in the sauna, and something tells me that technically, I should not lounge about naked in a public sauna.

Even though that it totally the way I prefer to do it and I would be wearing a towel.

Well, it would be draped over my lap, anyhow. Mostly.

Having the deep down sweat and funk steamed out of your cock and bals is one of the best parts of a sauna, dammit.

Ditto nude sunbathing. Same principle. Hot tubs too.

Great, now I am all horny again.

Maybe I should take up writing porn,. I know I would be good at it. I am good at conveying mood and emotion, and so whatever I write would have both a smoking hot mood and that most vital thing missing from most porn : emotional context.

Don’t just tell me they are horny, make me FEEL it. Sex is so much more than the mechanics of it all.

And the sad truth is that there is always more money in smutty art than any other kind, because not everyone appreciates art, but everyone loves sex.

Well I guess that’s enough drivel for today.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

When they both get bad enough, they become the same thing.

Time for me to alienate people by talking about my sexuality again!

I’ve been very horny lately. Seems like I am always simmering. And because of previously discussed issues, I ain’t getting any relief.

Quick recap : health issues and the medications I am taking for them, especially the antidepressants, make it so that I can jerk off all I want but I will never orgasm and hence will not relieve my sexual tension via sperm squirting.

And this is so much the norm for me that I don’t have any but the most abstract sense that my testicles are overladen.

For all I know, I have been suffering from “blue balls” for most of the time for most of my life. That’s my normal.

It’s sexual satiation that is bizarre and abnormal to me.

And I wonder how that contributes to my emotional state. A certain kind of restlessness and yearning are normally associated with sexual frustration in men.

Were I even a smidge more in touch with my emotions, I would likely be feeling the sort of heat and pressure that causes normal, healthy people to go out into the world looking for some serious sexytimes with a sexy stranger.

Which sounds great at all, but not suited for us socially anxious types.

Especially when it’s as bad as mine. It’s not like I have the option to just go to a gay club or one of the gay bath houses around the GVRD.

The one time I went to the downtown Steamworks bath house. I was experiencing a Level 4 (of five) panic attack the whole times, and the notion of somehow being able to navigate this complicated and sexually charged milieu in order to get myself some cock seemed quite insane.

And that’s when it was pretty empty. I was told there were nights when the place was packed (imagine the smell!), and at first I was like “Yay!” and then I realized that if this low-ceilinged basement was packed, my claustrophobia would be going nuts along with my social anxiety and I would probably faint.

Plus the place was all exposed pipes and bare concrete and very little in the way of creature comforts, and that was very unsexy to me.

How can a place run by and for fags be so poorly decorated?

Anyhow, the point is, no clubs or baths for me. And using a hookup app like Grindr is a no go too because that involves one on one meetups with a stranger and that is a super huge challenge to my soc anx.

I will never call it that again.

The thing is, I have to know someone before I can relax around them, and I have to be pretty relaxed to even consider trying to share happy squirtings with him.

I suppose dating might work. Still scary, but not as scary to me as the prospect of hopping into bed with someone I don’t know and immediately being expected to perform on cue and to get it right.

I iwant slow snuggly sensual sex, dammit.

Man, I am such a chick.

More after the break.

---

Of course, even when i have had sex in the real world, with real adults, it has not gone well for me.

I’ve talked about this before. No matter how horny I am, no matter how into the other person i am, and no matter how stimulating the situation, I have a tendency to have a panic attack when things turn sexy, and from that point on my mnd is scramgled and my emotions go numb and a big part of me wants to run away forever.

That has to be because of the rape.

Yes, that same rape that is probably why I am gay in the first place and that gave me the most unaccepable to the public kind of sexuality also makes it very difficult for me to enjoy the sex acts it forced me to desire.

And ain’t that a bitch.

It’s possible that I am, essentially, sexually crippled for life. It’s a horrifying thought, but I can’t rule it out. Maybe sokeone with as severe a set of interpersonal issues of mine is doomed to a lifetime of solo sexuality.

And even that isn’t very good.

If anything was capable of thawing me out sexually, it would have to be some situation so amazingly stimulating to me that it blasts right through my conscious mind and all its issues via sheer force of id.

Either that,or I would have to meet someone very patient and understanding who is willing to take me through a sexual awakening in tiny little baby steps.

Or someone who can make me feel safe. I don’t know what it’s like to feel safe. I can’t remember ever feeling safe. It’s hard for me to even imagine feeling safe.

Sounds nice, though.

I don’t even feel safe when I am having a great time with my friends, which is roughly as happy as I get in my daily life. Even then, that deep down screaming terror that makes me paranoid and fearful is there, waiting to emerge.

Warmth never truly reaches my heart.

The thickness of the ice around it varies, but there is never a true thaw.

Between the rape, the bullying, the isolation, and the emotional neglect, the ice grew thicker and thicker as I buried myself deeper and deeper in my distractions until the warmth of the sun was only a theory at best and a myth at worst.

Even today, after quite a lot of recovery, I can’t really feel the love people have for me. I appreciate it and I believe it is real and I feel lucky to get it…. but I don’t feel it.

The glacier around my heart is just too god damned thick.

Now i am going to lay down and do my best to weep for the man I might have been, if only I had lived.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

That’s always the biggest question for me. Now what do I do?

It becomes all the more complex when you take out the idea that there is nothing that I am supposed to be doing.

Even though I never had a clue as to what that was, the belief that I was not doing it filled in a blank space in my mind where purpose was supposed to be.

It did it in a very negative and destructuve way, but it still did it.

Now that I am (once more) trying to rid myself of every “ought to” and “supposed to” and “should have” in this capacious noggin, that space is no longer filled and so that entire enormous category of potential answers to the question of what to do is gone.

That leaves only what I desire to do.

And I have no fucking clue.

I mean, I have my dreams and desires. I want to write for TV. I want to have a famous and lucrative blog, I want to launch a political movement based on both compassion and common sense. I want to start a new religion. And so on.

But those are all castle in the sky and do not motivate me to action.

They are just nice ideas to think about, I guess.

At least until I heal my pathways to action. Nothing is going to change until I can let my emotions motivate me into action, even when that action is something I have never done before and therefore scares me.

I can’t go through life playing video games all the goddamned time. It’s not enough any more. I need more in my life. More challenge. More drain on my energies. More purposeful actions. More mental investment in life.

And more work, dammit.

And yet, when I think about deviating from my tiny itty bitty sad little life, I feel such terrible fear. Meaningless fear, really.

In the sense that it is fear without reason or justification. I could not even tell you what I am afraid of.

Exposure, I suppose. Being vulnerable to the world. Leaving the “safety” of my little cave. Having to deal with all that anxiety-provoking overstimulation overwhelming my ability to think rationally and my ability to cope, throwing me into total chaos.

Hmmm. That felt like progress.

Exposure could cure that if I could stick with it. Stimulation levels that seem overwhelming at first become less so over time because the nervous system automatically tunes out repeated or continuous stimuli if you let it.

Hard to do when you are freaking out, but not impossible.

But there is still that deep down fear of the real world that I have had ever since I was raped at the age of 4.

It’s the fear that caused me to retreat into my own mind and just keep going. i have spent my life putting more and more distance between myself and the real, honest to goodness, live and in 3D realtime world and as much as I dream of freedom, the thought of taking all that distance away scares me to the bone.

I am so god damned scared right now, it feels like my heart will freeze.

So that’s how it got frozen in the first place.

More after the break.

---

Then there’s the thorny issue of whether or not I truly want to be free.

The answer is a definitive “kinda?”. Most of me does. But a big part of me does not. it views freedom as the worst possible outcome because it equates freedom with exposure and exposure with vulnerability and vulnerability with annihilation,

It’s hard to escape when you are afraid of reality.

And when you are not one hundred percent sure you want the result, the small percentage of you that is resisting can come up with dozens of ways to sabotage your progress without you knowing.

It can convince you that you just “don’t know what to do next” or “don’t know where to start’. I fell for that shit for way too long.

So look it up! The internet is packed with advice on how to do anything. If there is no clear consensus on what to do, try the first one that appeals to you, or alternately, the one you hate the least.

Whatever floats your goat.

And the thing is, you know this. You know these problems have solutions. That’s how you know that what looks like a roadblock is in fact just a depressive excuse – defined as being something that does not truly block you, merely provides an excuse to stop trying and go back to the “safety” of depression.

It can stop you with distractions. That’s the one wrecking my life. There is always going to be something easier, more fun, and less scary you could do instead of actually trying to pursue your dreams.

And doing so does not even provide any form of excuse.

It’s not like you can say to yourself, “I totally would have applied for jobs today, but dang it, videos games are still a thing” or “I would have studied for that exam but this universe still contains Netflix” or “I was totally going to pick up that thing for you on the way home from work, but they don’t’ sell milk and eggs at the bar”.

Making your dreams requires doing the harder, scarier, less certain thing.

If all else fails, the bad part of you can simply throw up a massive wall of mindless and unjustified fear to block your path.

That’s another big one I am dealing with. Between distraction and fear – the carrot and stick of my dissolution – the path from me to my goals is so narrow as to be invisible.

And it’s the one that provides the least excuse of all.

All I can do is helplessly say, “I can’t. I just…. can’t. ”

And it’s true. And yet, also kinda bullshit.

Because I could do it if I could learn to penetrate that wall of fear and see it for the bullshit it is.

I am totally capable of doing that.

But do I really want to?

i will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.