I admit, I am kind of tempted to write another fluffy piece like yesterday’s blog entry.

That shit was so easy to write that I felt like I was getting away with something. Like I had somehow hacked the system. And objectively speaking, that article was a lot closer to the sort of thing I could actually sell to a magazine than my usual dense, imagistic, darker than fuck soul-searching prose.

So, stick a pin in that. It could be super important. But it’s not what I feel like doing in tonight’s blog entry.

Instead, we shall revisit the issue of my episodes of strange sensory effects.

I have spoken in this space before about strange visual effects. Like the time a flickering flourescent tube made me feel like my head was going to explode in elementary school. or how there have been times when someone was wearing something that glittered or sparkled in a way that I found extremely hard to stop staring at.

Yes I know I just ended a sentence with a preposition. And I know some English teachers say that is “wrong”. But personally, it’s never been something that I have ever had a problem with.

I have thought of other visual weirdness over time. Like times when lights blinking on and off, like on an Xmas tree or an emergency road sign, have given me that feeling I spoke of before that something is emptying out my mind and replacing the missing contents with pure white light.

It’s all very frontal lobe. And who knows, maybe if it didn’t freak me out so bad, I would be able to use such things as a form of mediation and reset my brain.

But it scares the ever loving nitrogen rich orangic fertilizer out of me.

Or how there was this one time that a particular bold (but non-clashing) color combination in a magzine ad for makeup felt like heat to me. Like the line where the colors met was a red hot knife. I could feel the heat coming off it.

But there has also being audience weirdness, and that’s what got me onto this subject tonight because I experienced some of it tonight.

My roomie Julian has a tendency to leave the Stingray electronic dance music channel playing as background music. And for the most part, that is not a problem.

But there is a particular technqiue some songs use in order to create a more ‘pumped up” kind of sound – a way of making it sound like the whole song is pulsing in and out to the beat by maximizing the volume dynamics.

In other words, it makes everything go JWAH JWAH in and out like you are experiencing a negative brain event.

Or at least, that’s how it effects me. It’s like the JWAH effect goes straight into my brain and makes me feel like all of reality is pulsing in and out along with all the blood in my head and it makes me terrified and nauseous and like my head is going to explode.

So that’s the kind of shit I just can’t be around.

And that’s…. pretty weird. Pretty sure that’s not something that happens to most people.

I would have heard about it if it did.

But that’s not even my real topic for tonight because what I really want to talk about is how very very weird it is that these things have happened to me for my entire life and yet it never occurred to me to tell anyone about it.

What the fuck is up with that?

My first approximate answer is that one of the dire side effects of my social isolation and the developmental damage it caused is that as a kid, I had no idea what was normal.

Sure, it’s easy to see now that these weird effects are the sort of thing someone should really have been told about back then, but at the time I was just a kid and had no idea how to draw the line between harmless mental strangeness and the kind of thing that prompts emergency cranial ultrasounds.

But that’s not really it either. Or at least, not all of it.

The real nub of the whole thing is that my way of coping with all this mental weirdness was to cope with it while it lasts and then immediately scrub it from my mind after.

Not in a cognitive sense – clearly I remember the events.

But in a working mind emotional sense. I cleared all the upset and terror and confusion from my mind and more or less rebalanced my mood by sheer force of will.

So while I did not forget the incidents, I did mark them as “not safe to think about” and that made any kind of sustained response impossible.

You can’t tell anyone about something when you can’t even think about it.

And more than that, going to others for help was simply not something I did back then. To put it very mildly, was a behaviour that was both actively and passively discouraged in me, the unwanted and unloved child.

So I had to cope with absolutely everything completely by myself right from the very first day of elementary school.

That’s so incredibly wrong. No kid should have to raise themselves. They are bound to do a very bad job.

After all, they are just kids. Even the ones who talk like grownups and radiate intelligence and seem to know more than most adults.

I still needed everything other kids needed. Love, support, affection, a sense of belonging and safety and having a place in the world.

It’s not my fault I was born with an overabundance of IQ. That I was too smart for my own good. That I was too clueless to know that I should not be constantly showing off how frigging smart I was.

I still do that. I think it’s pretty fundamental to my personality. I need to shine. Like most artists, I have a powerful need to express myself and I would rather shine alone in the dark than hide my light under a bushel around others.

I gotta be me, baby. Now and forever. This is not negotiable.

But that should not mean I have to be alone.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.