=== ANCHOR POEM ===
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On my bike ride today, I found myself drifting toward a playful slant.
Everything felt warm and comfortable, and the sun shining through the leaves
made me smile.
I met a lot of cool people, but I didn't meet any friends.
I passed by a guy being hassled, but I didn't stop to help - how could I?
Now that I'm back at my computer I'm pissed again.
Homeless, vagrant, and migrant people are minorities too.
From the faces I passed you'd never guess that a class of identity had just
been made criminal.
Or maybe I was on the wrong side of the river. I rode for five hours but never
did I cross, because I figured all the important parts of a city are near the
tallest buildings.
Now I'm going to play Magic the Gathering against myself for a while.
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│ similar │ chronological │ different │
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=== SIMILARITY RANKED ===
--- #1 fediverse/4738 ---
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║ ┌─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │
║ │ CW: revolutionary-politics-mentioned-swearing-mentioned │ │
║ └─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘ │
║ │
║ │
║ you said you wanted a revolution, and, well, I could not be more proud of you. │
║ It's actually getting done and if I stop and think about it I'm kind of │
║ amazed. Never thought I'd see this kind of change so quickly. │
║ │
║ "what change? I see nothing substantially different" │
║ │
║ oh yeah well do you go outside often │
║ │
║ do you hang out in the park │
║ │
║ I know it's fuckin' january and it's cold as heck (ah nuts swearing mentioned │
║ one sec) but homeless people have to LIVE in that weather so like... wear │
║ layers, spend time outside, detox from dopamine, write poetry and tear it out │
║ and leave it on a park bench, be loud, claim the space, it's yours, that's │
║ what it's there for. │
║ │
║ I see it in your eyes. I see it in the random notes I find on the sidewalk. │
║ Everyone says "make friends, find community" and I say "commune with a │
║ stranger" but I'm also a witch and that's a pretty witchy thing to do. │
║ │
║ ... Really fuckin' wish we still had payphones (ah nuts swearing mentioned - │
║ oh already CWd) │
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--- #2 fediverse/2406 ---
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┌─────────────────────────────┐
│ CW: uspol-cursing-mentioned │
└─────────────────────────────┘
as I rode my bike around yesterday, more and more I started to see a city full
of badasses. you can tell from the look in their eyes, the way they walk, the
things they say.
unrelated, but
the only reason the cops win at fights is because of their equipment.
the closer we get to parity, the more fucked they are, and they're already in
deep shit.
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--- #3 messages/1326 ---
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if you want to get to know your city, ask the homeless if you can stay in a
tent for a week or three without making a noise while other people came and
visited and brought food and conversation noise. "hey there's a person over
there in the blue tent who wants to talk to you" while nobody gets to hang out
around it. it's gotta be empty so you can choose who to go to. then, each
night they can be moved wherever direction they want to go. in this way you
can disappear people, you can give them a fresh start on life where they might
dream of new tomorrows. and, in the present day you just might, find a bunch
of people who really want to do drugs in private and talk about things, teepee
style.
why the fuck do we have tents? oh because it's rainy. Oh, well when it's rainy
so in teepees the center fire doesn't stay lit. So you just gotta wait and
bundle up and eat snacks you've built your teepee upon (food grows all year)
until it stops raining and you can make some warmth and celebrate each other.
I know as well as any the merits of a nomadic or ennobled tribalistic mafia
denizens
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--- #4 fediverse/6023 ---
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┌───────────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ CW: abstract-political-violence-methods-mentioned │
└───────────────────────────────────────────────────┘
if you actually wanted to silence dissent, you'd send trailers of backhoes and
massive walls of cement. but obviously there's a better route, obviously we
can still say insane. my reach is probably super tiny hence the weavings of
mysticism at play. mages are not for mass deployment obviously. hence why I
stay in my home, where I can be most useful.
the streets feel claimed, idk I'm never in fear as I walk alone. Even past
midnight, into the morning. I always am never alone. yet I feel fine, so I'm
content and sublime, don't mind me I'm just hanging out at home.
hope you don't need me. I'm hiding from modernity.
so, what happens after streets? canals underground?
skywalks, terraces, like they had in rome and chicago before they were burnt
down by jealous peasants of the romans and [towns, but pronounced clowns]
also underwater canals that are fun to ride your bike or boat around.
light is a product of space, not surround-all-around.
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--- #5 fediverse/2530 ---
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║ I want to go out on the town with my cute friends and wink at boys at the │
║ other end of the bar │
║ │
║ I want to climb mountains and see how far I can see, while walking past trees │
║ that are new to me │
║ │
║ I want to spend hours thinking about a map while my friends plot behind my │
║ back, searching for an advantage we can use to succeed in a game of traps │
║ │
║ I want to visit five different restaurants in a day, and try a bit of each │
║ that the chef wants to display │
║ │
║ I want to stand in a choir and feel my soul aspire, to bend in the wind of │
║ rhythm like the melody of grasses at play │
║ │
║ I want to see people on the train that I know from somewhere, and to step out │
║ into the rain to meet new friends of mine │
║ │
║ I want to pet a cat I've never met. │
║ │
║ I want to build computers that are larger than a room but small enough to │
║ carry, with thoughts on their mind that are far to great for mine │
║ │
║ I want all these these things and more, but I'm far too busy these days. │
║ Perhaps I've had enough of these things and more, or perhaps there's more in │
║ store. │
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║ similar │ chronological │ different │
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--- #6 fediverse/4398 ---
╔═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════───────────────────────┐
║ good morning. │
║ │
║ I have some more things to say, and then I will start working on those maps. │
║ │
║ Then, time permitting, I'll ride around my city and sit on park benches and │
║ eat from food trucks and write in my notebook. At least until it gets dark - │
║ I'm a skinny white girl, and I'm not THAT stupid. │
║ │
║ ... Okay maybe I'm a little stupid, because that's how I got caught last time. │
║ This time I'll be more careful, for your sake. │
║ │
║ No unexpected bike maneuvers leading to a crash. The spirit of revolution that │
║ stirs inside me deserves better than scrapes and bruises. │
║ │
║ No following strangers for 12+ hours because I wanted to keep an eye on │
║ unknown agents. That's not my responsibility any longer. │
║ │
║ Everything I do, I do it for you. For a better world. For the kids I never │
║ will get to have. For everything I believe in, and all the things I hope you │
║ believe in too. │
║ │
║ A better world is possible. A better world is within reach. │
║ │
║ For now, have some things I wrote this morning. Then, later, some preliminary │
║ discussable maps. DFTBA. │
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--- #7 fediverse/3841 ---
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║ ┌────────────────────────────────────┐ │
║ │ CW: socialism-recycling-mentioned1 │ │
║ └────────────────────────────────────┘ │
║ │
║ │
║ "I think I'm going to quit my job at the recycling center. Everyone there is │
║ just a little too catty for me. I think they like the verbal sparring but it │
║ just gets a little tiresome after a while." │
║ │
║ oh, sorry to hear that. Well if you still want to help out there's plenty of │
║ work to do. I could set you up at another recycling center nearby too, if │
║ you'd like...? │
║ │
║ "well, I like the idea of universal recycling. It was a little annoying when │
║ people would put food waste in with the clothing donations, and this one time │
║ I found like 8 bags of cat litter inside of a washing machine. Spent like an │
║ hour vacuuming everything out, which... actually wasn't bad. Kinda felt a │
║ little cathartic to clean it so thoroughly." │
║ │
║ "on the other hand I would like to use my mind a bit more, my creative │
║ projects are kinda in a slump so I figure I could use my body at home and my │
║ mind at work. I've been meaning to build a desk out of some spare hardwood I │
║ snagged at work but I haven't gotten around to it." │
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--- #8 fediverse/1075 ---
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┌───────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ CW: bones-flesh-mentioned-spirituality-dreams │
└───────────────────────────────────────────────┘
we succeed not because of our trials, but in spite of them.
they cannot own us, for we are but bones in the flesh
every day yet denied us is another day until our bright future
"oh, but why are you homeless? [in the near future, maybe, we'll see] That
fate is reserved for your [unwanted/incapable/undesired/incongruent, I forget
the actual words]"
well, voice in my head that suffused me with magic and warmth and whisked me
away in a dream to a bubble-reality where my actions are meant to reflect me,
surely your appraisal is just? I worked with my partner, I was swallowed
neither by lust, nor greed, nor hunger, [greed in this case being fulfillment]
and yet I awoke when I went to my sister rather than a doctor. Dreams are hard
to unravel, but I think it was more for your benefit than mine, wouldn't you
say?
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--- #9 notes/i-called-the-police ---
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/u/GravitationalWaves5 -> sat dec 17 2022
I'm venting some long built up shit. And I have a lot of violent emotions
built
up in this too. I hate that violence has been such a fucking plague on my
wellbeing and that's why I did something I really hate doing. Calling the
police
to handle a situation for me. It's not me, it's not my style, but neither is
violence. It comes my way a lot and I handle it. But I think that's why
spiritually I end up in positions to handle it, because I don't retaliate and
I'm clear headed enough to understand minimum force necessary to quickly stop
the threat. That's actually where I got the name on my Quora page,
Compassionate
Violence.
I'm a very very non violent person. I don't fantasize about hurting people.
I'm
freaked out by the idea of accidentally hurting someone, hitting them in the
wrong place, someone trips and hits their head...any number of things can
horribly wrong in tense and dynamic moments.
I don't participate in that shit. I don't tolerate it. Unless it gets brought
into my environment then I will pick up by the throat and toss it out.
I had to call the police to handle this. Last time I had a situation at the
same
place I wound up frantically getting a gun cocked that was zipped up in a bag,
and barely getting it up in time. When I walked away after that, I threw my
gun
at his feet and said, "I'm protected by faith, at least, I'm completely
unafraid
of dying. If I don't have people to protect then I don't need a gun." And I
walked away letting him know he's not my people anymore and not under my watch.
So there's a hint of the kind of person I'm dealing with. I can't go handle
this
shit tonight. I've been stewing for a couple weeks trying to simmer down, give
him a chance to correct it. And he failed, more than once. And I have a
legitimate fear that my emotional state could be compromised enough, that I
might just stick a knife in his throat if I handle it.
Just like that. Easy peasy lemon squeazy. Stick stick stick, easy, that's
three
knives in the throat....see what I mean? I'm processing some
intensity...😔😔😔
I hate it. I hate that I'm using the word hate. But it's real. I don't hate
him.
I really don't, at all. I'm actually really saddened by how the relationship
went. I hate that people act like this. I hate that people put me in positions
like this. I hate that I'm doing something out of character, as a safety
measure
against doing something irrevocably out of character.
Ugh... damnit fuck
I'm not a robot. I do experience these awful feelings. I don't act out on them
and I'm grateful for that.
My muse... you said something about spiders that was interesting. Especially
because it coincided with a problem I faced numerous times. Being put in a
position where a person is legitimately acting in a manner like they're trying
to get you to kill them. And it's happened a couple times in ways where I
really
couldn't tell if they knew what they were doing or not. I had a really crazy
perspective a little before you brought up spiders...
I want to explore that perspective, and I want to know what sparked you to say
that about spiders. I never did put in the time to finish that thought process
out. But I'll never forget your great advice. "We're not in a simulation." My
immediate thought was, "probably not, but are they?" The more important
takeaway
is, remember not to murder people. Especially don't do it because you had an
interesting idea about perspective...
A few days later I heard that four people in recent times have acted on those
thoughts. Turned out they weren't in a simulation either. Lol...well...dark
lol.
Lol
I do want to finish that spiders conversation though. It had some potentially,
actually useful and beneficial implications.
I called the police tonight. But I also earned a prestigious award from the
universe. My Trophy [editor's note: there's a link to a crudely photoshopped
medallion signifying that the author "didn't murder anyone today"]
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/r/randomevenings:
I want you to understand something that I don't believe you do there is a
very big difference between trusting what a friend says after building a
friendship over a long period of time which involves trust involves a level
of intimacy platonic and intimacy it's something that is very special to
have
a good friend and so you trust them now that's very different from being
directed to do something trusting a friend is going to tell the truth it's
not being directed to do something and I don't want you to get it in your
many heads that's I was directed to go to some place where the event that I
was assured would be there was instead a bus full of very irate rude and
technically lawbreaking because they threaten my life they said if I did not
leave where I was standing which was on the public right of way which is the
sidewalk the easement stops at the sidewalk and so they were wrong on that
score but they said if I didn't leave the area which didn't make sense
either
because it's just around the corner they would have 12 people try to jump
me
which doesn't make sense either because this is not the neighborhood where
you want to start something because then it'll be something besides I never
want to murder anyone but that doesn't mean I walk around with nothing in
my
pocket because of what I've done and what I continue to do on one of the
most
watched people on earth so you goddamn right I'm not going to be stupid
about
taking a walk but when these guys threaten me I just stood there stared him
down I said yeah okay and I just looked I stood there and it didn't phase
me
one bit no feeling of fear no worry and what I was satisfied with getting my
message across that I didn't give a shit I turn around and walked back home
and they sped off in fact they were so perturbed by my lack of fear they
wanted to throw out additional threats which I thought was kind of funny so
I
started laughing I'm sure that they weren't going to do anything because the
tone in their voice simply wasn't committed to carrying out what they were
threatening and besides I have so many friends in this neighborhood it would
be well I don't have to pull any triggers I don't have to do anything but
defend myself I don't have to willfully respond with disproportionate
ability
because in this neighborhood I don't have to in fact as I walked around the
block again I ran into a friend and we got to talking and he came up to my
place and we had a beer He's a smart guy always thought that he could know
and understand everything that I do and everything that I did it just so
happened that he wasn't born with some of the privileges that I had but his
brain is a beautiful thing and I respect it greatly and of course he
confirmed that if a finger ever got laid on me without my consent the whole
damn neighborhood would come down and I suppose that point is not in my
hands
anymore but always remember I went over there because I trusted a friend
they
were directed to be there they did not understand their voices did not relay
or what is necessary to wake up at least yet time will tell but I hope that
I
can pull you back down to earth and into an interest in ethics once again
because you sorely need it.
/u/GravitationalWaves5:
I am interested in ethics. I'm just, tired of having them tested to such
ridiculous extremes. It was about to really bad one day with this guy. I was
scared, I had to end the problem. So I walked out and said let's bury this
shit.
And I stuck two knives against my throat and said, here man, grab the big
handle. Let's do this together. Take one, I'll take the other let's just shove
them in...
He got all calm suddenly and says, I don't wanna fight anymore...🤦
It sucks man. We're being tested by society. Demons, in my opinion. Not the
people themselves. I don't see people as demons. But the things they'll put
you
through, do to you, say to you, your own thoughts about them, about yourself,
oftentimes just misunderstanding the situation too... demons
Again, not demonizing the people. But the circumstances, for sure.
/u/[deleted]
Demons. Kicked one outta my telly for talking smack abt some hg’s he was
jelly of. Not on my watch Demon. Not even for the good demonic topper
twisted
shit D. Demon had a long walk home in the cold. Demon confused potting soil
with gravel and did it’s best to fucker me in its own way. Never have I
ever
seen a grown demon egg topper fold like that as I did when I clarified
their
sentiments and gave several impressive “I said GIT BOYs” to demon. Not
on my
watch. I have a vibrator that is morally and ethically aligned with me I
don’t need your trauma and love bombing thieving D. Gtfo.
/u/GravitationalWaves5:
I have a vibrator that is ethically and morally aligned with me 🤣[laughing
face]
I support that!
Gets better. His ish was weak literally from day 1. So I did him a favour amd
levelled his game up, introduced him to a former friend I partied with a bit
this summer. They wasn’t for me but oh boy lil demon stuck like glue to his
new
bestie. Can’t put her down, so to speak. So he has that at least. Poor sap.
Gon
cost him big one day perhaps. Not my problem. It’s called self control bro
try
it 🥴🥴🥴[wobbly confused face - or maybe uncertain] Oopsie Daisy. Have
fun with
that though 😈
===============================================================================
=
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=
/u/randomevenings
People deserve to choose righteousness once made aware of it. Ignorance is not
stupidity. People can be made aware of the valley that separates righteousness
from evil. The valley is kinda a wiggle room space for little white lies and
other such things free will invariably leads to people doing but can be made
whole again with some effort. Nobody will totally agree on what's good. But
ask
people and generally they will give versions of the same answers. Toss the
semantics in the valley. Disagreement is the desire to end a disagreement,
unless that person is trolling. And people pull pranks fine, but there's
ragging
on your friends and swatting a COD player.
/u/GravitationalWaves5
I don't know what righteousness truly even means, maybe, idk. To be honest,
it's
not hard for me to think of hypothetical situations where my inability to take
certain actions is actually more harmful. Swatting a COD player is super
fucked.
But so is not swatting someone playing COD out in the streets.
I'm not good. I'm just not, anti good. I do destructive things on accident when
trying otherwise. And when I do something that actually goes positive, it's
accidental too.
I have an idea of what I feel like aligns with me, and it's actually really
achievable things and I don't know why it's so impossible. Idk
/u/randomevenings
Yeah well let me know that there are two Elizabeth's and there are also a
completely different family on this phone plan I don't have kids My
brother-in-law has kids lives downstairs so those piped into my network are
assumed that I have kids and I've done all this shit no I'm not going to go
into any apparent charges and things that my brother-in-law has been
involved
in because it's not my business but he lives down there and he has a kid he
has another kid and he pays for essentially his ex who is still married to
the kid the mortgage of that house Liz downstairs helps raise his kid with a
woman he's having an affair with but they were in an over marriage anyway
and
they are separate I'm going to have to go back to subnetting my network so
y'all can at least use basic logic to figure out who's who here I already
gave my name My Elizabeth see the cousin we call little Elizabeth and my
wife
we call Liz or Beth and she's older my wife. She has contentious
relationship
with her cousin next door for a reason that gravity waves might already know
but it has to do with the very evil person that also involves himself over
there that did something that even Jesus does not forgive so I'm not going
to
go into it so all this mucking around and get everybody confused brought up
a
lot of bad fucking shit just like I said as far as spiders yeah I don't care
if they're All over my shit keep them off of her shit and I ain't asking for
money I'm not a grifter but I already told you what would instantly make the
situation better and it doesn't involve giving me money so before anybody
goes off says money no I know about the discord and I'm not even telling you
to shut it down just lay off her phone.
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=
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[author's note: on the comments of the separate post of the original poster's
medal awarding him the honor of "not murdering anyone today" which he won ]
/u/TisWuttItIS_ORITSknot
Proud of you!
/u/mustherd
Sorry, my account got banned because reddit is annoying. We were just
chatting about how funny I am and I forgot to tell you people know me and
I'm
kinda a big deal and idk congrats! Youre cool I guess. Otherwise I would
have
cast you into the flames of eternal torment never to internet again. But
here
you are. Didn't anyone ever tell you to never go full retard?
/u/GravitationalWaves5
I am the internet, I am the ghost in the machine
Real talk though. I've used cancelled Sim cards and wifi before. If God wants
me
online, God gets me online 🙃
I am we, Todd
/u/ricflairdic
Oh u we Todd! I know u retard, Familiarity cod, to me bod, And my fishin rod,
Not the one that may see sod, Body snatcher in the pink pod, Do u know ur a
catch or, U think dog, Cause that pussy, Wanna see god, Lemme show u regard,
Dont Tell me, Just nod,
Said flow from the stars, Mama know this river far, Rowin in trucks renta cars,
Golden trim red rockin Mars, Buildin fam like stock Sim cards, Highest angels
dock gettin ours, Clock Game down pat benetar,
Peelin fans off our back, like sin scars, Feelin ur man thru static, And thin
bars, Ya he in the pin but dis hits hard, Throw it down the lane like, Return
that back to sender, Lovin your simulation renders, I'm a beginner but also an
ender, Got the wood to make u splinter, Make u scream things we gotta sensor,
If
I could never leave when I enter, Union in your head not just a renter, Once
mine One mind I surrender, never sell betray or rent her, Overflowin with Love,
so who's the pretender?
Chemistry so hot, Hate from every enemy we spot, Mad they couldn't earn our
slot, Cause they fuckin missed they shot, Last name crossed to drop the dot,
How
long u think it will take me To find your spot?
Don't care you got a Fender, Did we just become best friends or? Damn girl idk
if ya'll ready, for this kinda real Adventure... 🙃
I'm here to reveal, heal, and steal, the hearts Of the indentured
And I need a partner.
┌─────────┐ ┌───────────┐
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--- #10 fediverse/4848 ---
╔═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════───────────────────┐
║ I'm a chaos mage, and the more time I spend thinking about my enemies the │
║ worse off they'll be. │
║ │
║ the more "me" I am the more powerful my magic will be. │
║ │
║ (more magic, give in to the dark side, embrace your inner shadow self) │
║ │
║ [the light of your life commands it] │
║ │
║ goodness me that was chaotic, almost lost my brain to a demon HAHA don't worry │
║ about me my life is totally mundane. │
║ │
║ [-.-] │
║ │
║ (shadows can be sharp in the dark but only if you don't sheath your mandolins) │
║ │
║ ... what? │
║ │
║ (... it made more sense in my head?) │
║ │
║ ooooo can anyone hear my voice when they read these things? or do you just │
║ make up your own │
║ │
║ == so == │
║ │
║ everyone's all like "we don't need a leader" and I'm like "yeah we need people │
║ who will help lead" and they look at me funny as if I just said the thing they │
║ did but it's different. leaders are people. leading is a verb. people can │
║ lead. they just have to make a decision, and then follow through on it as best │
║ they can. Other people are prone to help people on such quests. you will find │
║ stuff gets done. │
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║ similar │ chronological │ different │
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--- #11 notes/Of Vic and Vince Chapters 01-07.txt ---
═════════════════════════──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Who is This Stranger I Know Too Well?
Who are you, he who inspires me?
You're a jewel of perfect symmetry.
You taught me to love and be free;
You taught me how to be like thee.
Chapter One: Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire
The bus went up outta Florida, leaving Miami behind as a distant memory. I
still don't know if I miss it or if I'm suffering from some sadistic style of
subtle Stockholm Syndrome. Regardless, I switched buses a number of times
before I even hit the Georgia border, but having traveled this far down the
line, it all feels like one long, long ride.
For two days, I continued north until arriving in Virginia, where I
effectively did a u-turn and traveled onwards to Tennessee, where Vince
awaited me. I remember zoning out while looking out the window as the southern
scenery whipped by in a blur, as I was enamored with the thought that I now
would be living with my best friend and long-term handler. My mission was
complete, it felt; I had done all that God wanted me to do and now I was being
rewarded.
When we finally arrived in Johnson City, where my friend told me to meet him,
I hopped off the bus after thanking the driver, landing on the pavement of a
new world. My stomach was doing loop-de-loops. Along with being excited, I was
grateful to Vince for inviting me off the streets. But, my worrisome mind did
a number on me as the rest of the crowd dispersed and he was still nowhere in
sight.
I lit a cigarette and thought of my options. Half of the cancer stick and a
thousand tricky thoughts later, I came up with the idea to call the only phone
number of his I had. Seems like the obvious answer, but I am an air head at
times.
Turned out it was the number for his home phone. His mom answered.
"Hello?" came the sweet, Appalachian voice from the other end.
"Hi," I started out, not sure what to say. "Is this Allison?"
"Yes it is," Allison replied. "Is this by chance Victoria?"
I confirmed, then asked, "Is Vince there?"
She seemed surprised. "No, he left an hour ago to pick you up. He's not there
yet?"
I said no. I couldn't tell if that made me feel better or worse. On one hand,
it confirmed that my friend Vince was real, which in hindsight was a silly
thing to worry about, as I had met him once before at the first Shrug Life
Syndicate gathering. Those were good memories. But, perhaps less silly, the
absence of my friend spun my mind out and made me think that perhaps he had
gotten in an accident…or worse.
I worry a lot, less now than before, but it's part of being a traumatized,
autistic, schizoaffective basketcase. I simply don't know what reality is, so
every possibility could be true. Is an odd occurrence caused by the CIA,
aliens, or perhaps God? Or is it just a coincidence, caused by a billion other
factors? I never can tell.
Sick joke: God gave me a good brain, but I can't even trust my own judgement.
That means I think, then overthink, then overthink some more. As you'll no
doubt hear, it's led to a lot of problems in my life, but Vince taught me to
place my heart first, and that helps sort out much of the confusion. Satan
can't trick you if you're listening to the direct communion to the big woman
that we all have through that little beating organ in our chest.
That was the furthest thing in my mind at that moment, though. Following old
habits, I was entering panic mode. Was I now homeless again in a seventh city?
Was my friend dead? Or was he really with the CIA and manipulating me? I tried
doing some breathing exercises, but found that a more alluring technique to
placate my triggered brain was finishing the rest of my cigarette in a fervor
as I paced the length of the transit depot.
Time ticked away one agonizing grain of sand after another, but after some
mindful recalibration of my thoughts, I began relaxing. My brain might be a
runaway train at times, but over the years I've learned to embrace the Shrug
Life. That's a bit of philosophy our gaggle of weirdos adheres to. When life
gives you lemons, just roll your shoulders and accept what is. Even though
something tough and unpleasant might be rearing its head in front of me, I
knew I had faced worse and come out on top. Worst case scenario, the road
ahead of me was just a little bumpier than I had expected, and I could handle
some bumps.
So, I rode the roller-coaster of extreme moods that is common to me, gradually
coming up with a contingency plan to survive if Vince had gotten flattened by
a semi, until I learned that was a pointless exercise when I heard a familiar
voice call out from behind me.
"Hey, buddy!"
I turned at once upon hearing those words. And lo and behold, there Vince was,
walking towards me in a purple tie-dye t-shirt, paint-splattered cargo shorts,
and fresh Chuck Taylors. His beard was fully grown but still shorter than
mine, though it was as wild as his uncombed hair poking out from a hat that
was as graffitied as his pants. I'll admit, it was a little bit of a shock
seeing him like that, as I remember him being clean shaven at the gathering
five years prior. However, that smile of his couldn't lie; this was the Vince
I've loved for even longer. And I won't lie, he looked better with the beard.
Without a second thought, I rushed up to my best friend, throwing my arms
around him. He did the same, and our embrace felt like it lasted forever. It
was good to finally be in his arms. We let go after about a quarter century of
hugging, and when he looked at me with a twinkle in his eye, I did a little
giddy dance while giggling like a schoolgirl. Afterwards, we caught up while
walking towards his mom's car, which he had parked around the corner.
"Sorry I was late. I forgot where the bus station was, but I found and
followed one of the short ones here. Your ride go alright?" he asked.
I nodded, telling him I wore my mask the entire way up despite how itchy it
was. He thanked me.
"Thanks man, mom will really appreciate that. We're taking this covid thing
real seriously. With mom being seventy-seven now and me finally reaching my
forties, we aren't willing to take risks with these things."
With that said, I thought of asking about the locals. "How many people go
maskless around here?"
"A lot," Vince answered with a hint of misfortune, knowing that I had just
come from a vastly different world. I sighed. It would be an adjustment to get
used to the rural Roan Mountain after spending most of my life in major
cities.
There was a pause as I thought about such things. I'm awkward like that. But
then I asked, "How have you been doing?"
He shrugged, as he tended to do. "I've been alright. It's just me and mom on
the mountain now, so it's a little rough, but we've been handling it the best
we can."
I nodded in compassion. As much as I was grateful for a place to live, I was
glad I could be here for him. If there's anything on this Earth that I know,
it's being alone is hell on the soul.
The conversation turned to what we were going to get into now that we were
together after all the years talking back and forth with one another online. I
asked, "What's the game plan?"
He smirked as we reached Allison's new blue Ford Escape with the cosmic
Bigfoot sticker on the back. "I got one, don't you worry."
I believed him, as a warm feeling of butterflies fluttered across my belly.
However, an odd, ominous feeling swept over me as I opened the passenger door,
where I immediately spotted a large burn mark on the seat. Vince saw me see
it.
"Yea, I did that while I was smoking while robotripping. Mom was pissed. Don't
worry about it."
And so I didn't. It was just a cigarette burn. Could have happened to anyone.
I didn't even have to see it after I hopped in the car, ready and eager to get
to my first permanent home in over three years.
I looked over at my friend climbing behind the wheel, and I saw he was smiling
wide with glee. Vince was happy; that meant I was happy. And that's what
mattered as we started a new life together.
Following the Path
Where are we going?
What are we sowing?
I certainly hope it's a better world for all.
But, many more people must stand tall,
By dutifully growing
A wealth of loving.
That is the true nature of our mortal trial,
So let us stand together and not crawl.
Yet, we are all showing
Some signs of slowing.
Therefore, I must pray that we do not fall,
When the two of us hear our creator's call.
Chapter Two: On the Road
We were about five minutes out of Johnson City on our way east towards the
North Carolina border when Vince finally folded and told me his secret plan he
had been boasting about for a month now.
"We got this trashed camper down by the old house that we can strip away and
sell as scrap metal. That should give us enough money to fix Jane and then we
should be set at getting our own place."
I nodded along, agreeing with his reasoning. That jeep of his definitely was
in need of some desperate repair the last time we were together. That was
actually the first time I ever saw him in person; he was parked at the top of
his long driveway with headlights cutting through the darkness as we arrived
for the first and only Shrug Life Syndicate gathering I've managed to attend.
I remember that we arrived exactly at midnight, not a minute sooner or later,
which made the moment highly synchronous.
Memories that far away seem to all blur together so everything feels like it
happened in one day, but the first Shrug Life Syndicate gathering lasted four
days, if you include the trip down and back. My girlfriend at the time, Amy,
and I were picked up in New York at her mother's house by another one of the
founders of our little online community. His name was [Redacted] and he was a
Canadian that dabbled in the cognitive sciences. Like Vince, he had been a
huge influence on me, but sadly that friendship fell apart as [Redacted] grew
disenfranchised with the SLS, most in particular with Vince himself, as there
were some personal disputes about Vince's dating life and drug of choice,
which compounded the push back of Vince wanting to turn our community into an
educational nonprofit. I can't speak of the former as I was devoid of internet
when the big schism happened, but I was all for doing something more with the
talent we collectively share. I'm sure that is part of the reason Vince
invited me to stay with him; we recognized the potential of each other to
shape the world into a better place.
That's not what Vince said though. As we approached the edge of Elizabethton,
he looked over at me and spoke with the tender kindness of a man with a big
heart.
"I'm glad you came here, man. I just couldn't stand to let my best bud live
another night outside. You know I've been there too, so I just want you to
know that our home is your home from now on."
Feeling moved, I replied, "Thanks. I don't know what to say. I'm just
grateful."
He put his hand on my shoulder as a brother would. We then rode in silence for
a minute or two, which allowed me to reflect on my past behavior during the
first gathering. Not only had I clogged the toilet and told no one, but I had
a few emotional outbursts as I was a mess back then. That's one of the reasons
that I believe homelessness was one of the best things that ever happened to
me. It pushed me so far out of my comfort zone that I had no choice but to
change for the better.
That was great because I was impulsive and dangling precariously from the
heights of my oversized ego. I think that was a critical part of my
transformation. Sleeping in piss-stained, cockroach infested storefronts
humbled me, and I realized that everybody is just trying to swim in the
direction they feel is best. Thus, radical acceptance is a moral imperative.
Vince taught me that. I've profited immensely in ways other than financial
wealth by embracing such values, but I wish more people could see this truth.
Alas, tis the blind leading the blind.
With that in mind, as we continued onwards to our now-conjoined future, we
passed through the back roads of Elizabethton through a route known as Gap's
Creek, which proved to be a winding set of backroads with more churches than
seemed reasonable. One of these cultural staples had a big electronic
billboard out front, sharing the times of services and other announcements;
none of which you could actually read as you drove by at the speed limit.
Still, when we reached the intersection with highway 19E, there was a woman
flying a sign, asking for money. Since this town seemed devoid of any
institutions to help the poor, I rolled my window down and handed her a fiver.
I knew what it was like being up shit creek without a paddle, so I wanted to
alleviate some of that stress for somebody else.
I begged a lot at the beginning of my homeless journey. I didn't know how to
survive, as I had not been raised with many good life lessons to help me stay
afloat on my own. That in itself is part of the reason I had a major breakdown
in college. It was undeniably true that I was maladapted to the world. My
experiences with Earth Nation are also indisputably built from that
maladaptation. Yet, those years of homelessness after escaping that new age
cult allowed me to grow into a sustainable, productive woman with my juggling,
performance arts, and writing.
They say you can give a man a fish, and he'll eat for a day, but if you teach
a man to fish, he'll eat for a lifetime. That's part of the reason I was and
still am a huge proponent of education in all its forms. I knew Vince felt the
same way, but perhaps for different reasons. As a secular Buddhist and radical
antistyle artist, he was a minority in the deep interior of the Bible Belt,
and that came with a price while he was growing up. It might be a beautiful
area, but neither of us would ever raise a kid here.
It was then when it hit me. I couldn't be Victoria here. I had to be Vic.
Which was fine, that's how the gang members in Miami Beach referred to me. I
was able to accept being called by masculine names and pronouns. I had long
passed through the self-loathing phase of having dysphoria, to arrive in a
position where I openly grow my beard out to prove that I don't need to look
any particular way to be happy. I don't care what other people think of me,
but I haven't always been this enlightened. To put it lightly, I've been
through some trials. And, having done so, I can say that people who judge
other people on superficial things are the worst. But, we can rise above by
continuing to align with our hearts.
Less than a tenth of a mile down 19E, Vince asked me, "Hey man, can you buy
me, like, a forty or something?"
Of course I said yes. I knew his schizophrenia had put him out of work for
many years, so I wanted to soothe him as he was able to soothe my pain from
being homeless. He pulled into a gas station I would later learn is
colloquially called Captain Jack's. It had the cheapest gas this side of
Elizabethton, and was a reliable place to get beer or a pipe of any variety.
With compassion in my heart, I got Vince what he wanted, while getting myself
something as well. Still, when he cracked his beer open while accelerating to
sixty miles an hour, I couldn't help but feel distraught at such brazen
self-indulgence. But, all I did about it was pop open the hard iced tea I
picked up for myself. At least passengers are allowed to drink while they are
being driven somewhere in Tennessee, Vince tells me.
A Home at Last
They say home is where the heart is,
Which is great now that I have a new one.
The damaged needle of my crazy compass
Spins in every direction under the sun,
But, here it stands still, still as can be,
So my quest is over; I am finally free!
I have a home in the love you give
And by reflecting that in me, we live
In a state where conflict has come to pass;
It is like there was a great lottery and I won.
Chapter Three: The Mountain Side
About ten minutes later we reached the western half of Roan Mountain, where we
were greeted by a big sign praising the annual Rhododendron Festival at the
end of June. Having already downed half his forty, Vince spared no time in
showing me the highlights of his home town.
"Look under this bridge coming up. You'll see it underneath. The red and the
gold." He pointed directly at a graffiti tag on the concrete column near the
riverfront. There was an enigma of a symbol I've seen Vince post on the SLS
before.
"That your tag?" I asked the obvious question.
"Yup," he replied, gulping down another swallow of his forty, as there was no
incoming traffic. "Protip: don't post your tags on Facebook if you plan to hit
a cop car around here." I thought at first he meant literally running into
their vehicle, but then it dawned on me what he meant. I had never done any
real graffiti before; just some words and simple drawings in chalk that came
right off. Never got in trouble for it, at least.
I remember passing the post office some time shortly afterward. There was a
park with a stage behind it. Allison would organize the summer's music events
that went on each Saturday from May to August. Additionally, she would host
one of her weekly jam sessions there for local musicians to play together for
a few hours at a time, just for fun.
There were some houses on the left, too, as we were entering the more dense
center of Roan Mountain. Yet, Vince told me that the other side, where the
park was, used to be full of trailers, but they got washed away during a flood
some years ago. I later learned from Allison that most of the town, including
her as she was out and about, had to evacuate to the elementary school where
she provided extra clothes for those in need from her suitcase, but Vince and
his father were fine at the top of the mountain that their property sat on.
Puerto Nuevo, the best and only Mexican restaurant in town, whipped by soon
after. We then passed one of the two gas stations in Roan Mountain, a
Scotchman. There was a bank and a credit union on the left, too. An empty
grocery store zoomed by next, which might as well be haunted for all I know.
Next up on the left was a food truck that has since been upgraded to a small
building with picnic tables and some cover from the sun and weather. I think
it is a good place to eat. It also marked the spot of the Roan Mountain flea
market, where you could see one or two people at a time selling their stuff in
the warmer months. Then, immediately after that stood a pharmacy in an old
farmhouse.
There was some construction on the right, which by its future signage, I
erroneously thought was some sort of massage parlor that sat on stilts,
requiring everybody to walk up a story of steps just to get inside. Odd
choice, I thought. But, on a whim one day, Vince stopped there to see if they
sold cheap kratom, which was when I would learn that it was really a health
food store.
Not too far down the traffic-light free main strip of the town, we passed the
future beer store on the right. It was convenient for Sundays, because that's
when a local ordinance in our neighboring North Carolinian town, Elk Park,
restricts the sale of alcohol on the sabbath, but ultimately the alcohol taxes
in Tennessee are too high to make it a cheap endeavor.
To contrast the beer store, the local cemetery sat across the street on a
hill. I like graveyards, as I'm a bit of a goth at heart, but even so, the
packed parking lot of the Redimart grocery store was what caught the bulk of
my attention. I craned my neck to see some of the locals to uncover just what
passed as acceptable culture here in this quaint mountain town.
Further up, the infamous Bob's Dairyland with the slowest drive-through known
to man stood tall with its vast history. There's a reason it's always packed
after church lets out on Sundays. Yet, I still don't understand why their sign
promotes pinto beans, of all things. I've been told it's a hot ticket item in
the area, but I have still not witnessed anyone order them. But, moving on, I
have to mention that there was also an auto part shop conjoined with an auto
repair shop that had over a dozen cars just sitting outside it.
Next to Bob's was the second gas station, a Valero, which also housed a
much-frequented Subway. One of three thrift stores in town stood innocently
next to the gas station. On the right was a steakhouse that I have never had
the cash to justify splurging at, and a beauty salon in the same building that
I also have never visited because I'm not one to care for looking like a doll.
I am beautiful as I am.
The town was really shaping up to be a unique combination of the bare bones
mixed with an abundance of what you needed. Then we reached a stretch where
two signs sat. The one for Cloudland Highschool triggered Vince into speaking.
"Fucking assholes. I told you about how they illegally expelled me, right?" I
nodded in confirmation. He continued: "Yea, they literally stole my book of
poetry and took photocopies of it, so they could use it to kick me out,
because I was the 'weird' kid."
I knew that, but seeing the innocent sign next to the one for Smoky Mountain
Bakers made the story appear more real. Here they were, these conservative
administrators, probably constituting some of the people who attended the
dozens of churches in town, which should teach everybody to love thy neighbor,
but obviously they were too preoccupied by the need to hate my friend because,
back then, he was the blue-haired son of the "hippie couple" in town, who
happened to like bands like Marilyn Manson and Korn.
That made me wonder how well I would fit in here. I had long since forsaken
transitioning because I was effectively a sasquatch, but I was still a woman
on the inside. I was sure that being transgender, combined with my eccentric
nature and often extreme opinions on things would cement me as the new weirdo
in town. But, if I am to be honest, that would be the case in most settings I
could plant myself in.
Those thoughts fluttered in my head as we sped past the electrical co-op, a
second thrift store, Plumber's Pro Hardware, the Roan Mountain emergency
dispatch center, and what was apparently a flooring depot before reaching the
elementary school that sat across from the Dollar General, which Vince called
the "SmallMart." I'm aware there's some things I missed, as there's plenty of
buildings with no description or sign out front, but I'm sure they're
important to somebody.
We then started slowing down as we approached the only veterinarian's office
for quite a ways in any direction. We turned left just before the red-roofed
building which had a small cat statue perched on the edge looking out with its
paw up. Vince took this as a sign to begin downing the rest of his beverage.
"Welcome to home, Buck Mountain," Vince said as we started climbing in
altitude. "This is the bad side of town. You'll never see a cop here unless
something big is going down, which hasn't happened in years." He finished his
forty in one big chug as his hands ran on autopilot. "It's good because you
can do pretty much anything up here any time you want."
I knew all that, as we had a blast getting drunk and smoking some green for a
few days in a row during the first gathering. In truth, I anticipated I would
be doing that for the next few days as well, to settle in, y'know? Hell, I
half expected that I was in heaven now after spending so much time in the
purgatory that is homelessness, regardless of how much fun I had in Miami
Beach preceding Vince's invitation to come north.
We went to the very tippy top of Buck Mountain, where the foliage is dense, no
cell signal can reach, and the local kids ride their dirt bikes at all hours
of the day. As we pulled in the driveway, I expected to keep going straight on
the tire-carved path back down the mountain. But, to my surprise, I found that
the same trailer we had partied in down the road during the gathering was now
relocated here to become my new home. I wasn't expecting that, as when I was
here last, they all lived in a small shack at the base of their nineteen acres
of mountain real estate.
It didn't look like much, with weather-worn imitation wood paneling wrapping
the rectangular structure in a loose hug, but it was a place to rest my head
in the comfort of loved ones. Aptly, Allison's last name meant "the home" in a
language the CIA once tried to make me learn, which is a statement that I'm
sure earns me a few raised eyebrows. My story has many twists and turns, but
for now you should know my studies of strategic languages ended only when the
cult that hooked me like an unsuspecting bass managed to gaslight, manipulate,
and shame me to get me to work for them sixty-to-ninety hours a week on
average. I would later try to pick the linguistic challenge back up years
later during my time spent homeless, but my progress was like a Jenga tower
that half collapsed. I forgot basic words, and I just feel like I have
failed.
That's something that should be looked at in finer detail; my feelings of
failure, I mean. So, let's take the first of many breaks from linear
storytelling to express how life can feel at times for me. Like a shattered
mirror, I reflect many different parts of the past at different times. Some
days I may live in several sections of my turbulent past all at the same time.
Disorienting, it can feel like I don't know what's real. It takes a lot to
break something so thoroughly, but as you'll see, I've been a punching bag for
the devious spirit of fate. Couldn't keep me down, though, because I am like
the phoenix; always rising no matter how badly beaten in battle I've become.
Mommy
Mommy is what I used to call you,
When I was a kid so long ago.
It's because of your love that I grew
To always let my kindness show.
Mommy, you were always getting sick.
To help you out, I would try to keep clean.
As much as I'd scrub I never got the trick,
Because you'd still be plagued by the unseen.
Mommy, you were supposed to grow old!
Having you leave us like that hurt like hell.
I'm sorry for not always doing what I was told;
It's because I failed you that I try to do well.
Mommy was what you called out at the end.
I tried to help you but I wasn't good enough.
You were dying, so on me you had to depend,
But even being there for you was too tough.
Mommy, if I could do it all over again I would.
It's not fair to you that I was such a bad son.
I'll give you all my love and more as I should;
For you, I promise that one day I'll be the sun.
Chapter Four: Scarred from Birth
Having let you in to a little bit of what makes me tick, it should be noted
that feeling like an abysmal failure is a key part of my mental health. Those
loathsome seeds of self-mutilating ruination are planted deep in my psyche.
Prepare for a sad story, if you're the type to really feel another person's
soul.
See, it all started when my mom found out she had AIDS a mere two months after
I was born. It was God's way of welcoming me to the world. I forgive the big
woman now, for my path on this Earth has been the ultimate journey of
awakening to my divine spirit, but before Vince and many faceless actors sent
me on my mission of healing, I held much scorn in my heart. For a large chunk
of my early years that I was here, alive, learning, and suffering as a human
being, I was hell-bent on the idea of revenge. That was once a big part of my
story, too, but no more.
It's understandable, at least. Imagine having to witness all the manner of
disease ravaging my mother like it did; I grew up thinking that I was born to
be punished. My earliest delusions had me caught up in the notion that I was a
worthless god who had the rest of the pantheon turn on them from before I even
had a chance to prove myself. I had a whole mythos where I had been tricked to
kill my sister, the goddess of harmony, and my punishment was to stay locked
to this awful planet until I found her soul once again. Then, we'd go on to
take over the world, as I had fallen under the notion that my future self was
sending me subliminal messages through synchronicities, although I didn't know
that word then, so I thought I just had special powers.
This is all a natural result of magickal thinking gone awry. Such is the fate
for those scarred in childhood as I was. My innocence flayed alive, I watched
as the woman who loved me with all her heart died for the first nine years of
my life. It was a slow rot. There are many memories of her being in the
hospital or as she lingered in pain at home that flash to the front of my mind
that could paint you a tragic picture of those unforgettable scenes I was
forcibly cast in, but the real horror that plagues me came at the bitter end.
For the last of her months that she was allowed to live, my mom was
mercilessly struck by an opportunistic ear infection. It killed half of her
face, and only progressed into a hellishly rapid descent of her cognitive
functions until one sudden day I came home from school to find she had
regressed to a child-like state with my grandma tending to her in tears. I
tried losing myself in my homework, but the threat in my environment promising
my mother's pain was all-consuming. Then it got worse.
My father never got along with my grandma, so when he got home, he forcibly
kicked her out. A fight broke out, resulting in my grandmother coming to my
room to say goodbye, where she told me with eyes watering that whatever
happens, we would get through it. My dad would come in after my grandma left
and put her down, more concerned that she scratched him. All I could think
about was my mom, who was now tearing up and asking about where her mom went.
That was the worst. I can still hear clearly how she cried out for her mom
nonstop for the whole night. That was her last night she spent at home. She
died within a week. And my last memory of her that isn't of her in a coma is
of her trying to escape from the hospital with a dinner plate sized bed sore
on her backside that danced from behind an open hospital gown in order to
imprint itself in my mind forever.
Here come the tears. It still hits me that my fucking mom died, like I still
can't believe it's real. My last memories are of her being naked, crying like
a baby. I felt so helpless. But, at least she had nurses helping her when we
got her to the emergency room. Just hours earlier, I was left on my own trying
to calm her troubled, addled mind. My dad had been doing just that, as my mom
would get in fits every half hour or so, where he would comfort her, then come
into my room to vent after she quieted down. I had no one to open my fears and
pain to. Wishing I had a sibling to hold and cry together with, I faced my
most scarring memory alone.
The worst wounds of my life were suffered because there was one time after
midnight where my dad disappeared. Maybe he was smoking, but regardless, I
couldn't find where he went as I scrambled over the whole house in my fuzzy
purple pajamas looking for him. Meanwhile, my mother incessantly yelled for
her own mommy. So, with much hesitancy, I succumbed to the responsibility of
helping my afflicted parent, and I anxiously marched into her room and tried
to comfort her the best I knew how.
I'll save you from the daunting process of assisting my mom, but I will say
that it wasn't enough. No matter what I tried to do, she kept screaming
louder. I was worthless in that moment and was on the verge of a meltdown
because I couldn't help her. It felt like I was the worst son in the world,
all because I failed my mother as she circled the drain. Now I feel like the
worst daughter, but it's getting easier to love myself and think that my mom
is looking down and smiling, being proud of me.
I have a lot to live up to. She wasn't perfect, I know that, but my mom was an
angel for me. Yet, I can't even remember the good times I spent with her; all
that my hippocampus hung onto were the most traumatizing of memories. A
notable cause of this was her fierce Sicilian temper. A vision of being
brought to tears because I dared go looking for my six-year birthday presents
early is playing in my head at this moment. Now one is summoned of her ripping
into me for booing someone at an assembly because I wanted to be like a
character I saw in a cartoon. Finally, one of my earliest memories from
preschool is trapped in my cranium; it regards me accidentally tearing a hole
in a kid's shirt and dreading my mother finding out for the rest of the day.
In short, I got in trouble a lot, but I know that both my parents cared about
me growing up right. Along with all the punishments, there was a genuine
heartfelt desire to get me and my different brain to develop into a successful
combo of kindness and good citizenry. Still, because of how trauma inserts
itself into one's inner reality, I really feel like my entire childhood was
one screw up after another in regards to my mother. Although, my dad
contributed his fair share of ruthless discipline to make me perpetually feel
like I was always in the wrong as well.
And I know that's all a fallible perception, because I can distinctly remember
the look on both my parents' faces when I won first prize in our school's
science fair; if you're curious, I did an experiment on taste and smell to
understand what was going on with my mom and her ear infection. That standing,
my mom's face is cemented in memory in particular, perhaps too well, actually,
because she just had the stitches removed from her eye. Such happiness danced
in her left eye, but next to it sat its unmoving, dead counterpart. She tried
to joke about it being her evil eye, but that didn't stop fourth grade
Victoria from being terrified of the harsh reality unfolding in front of her.
I dreamed of her a lot after she passed. Always in pain, or worse, possessed
by some demon and seeking to bring me pain. There's one nightmare in
particular that stands out. I forget how it started, but it ended in the
cemetery where she is buried. Well, her coffin was exhumed, and as I got
closer, it slammed open and my mom sat up. Only it wasn't my mom. She was
rotten like a zombie and had malevolence bursting from behind her undead eyes.
I did the only thing I could; I ran. But, she followed and in the utmost
haunting voice, she yelled in pursuit, "You can't escape me, Victoria! I am
your mother and together we are bound forever." Fitting as a metaphor for how
my grief still hasn't dissipated more than twenty years down the line.
I'm sorry, I just miss her. Best damn mom in the world, going above and beyond
what she needed to do to give me the best chance at success in life, despite
being on her literal death bed for most of her last years. I don't even know
her, not really as an adult knows someone, which in itself leads to more
feelings of failure. She has been transmuted into an archetype of a hero in my
eyes, and I feel that I can never be as strong as that woman who was my first
love.
I can try though. I always try. Part of being hyper-vigilant, I reckon.
Perhaps that makes me strong. Perhaps it makes me a fool. Or maybe it just
means I'm human and going to have virtues as well as flaws. It's taken me a
long while to escape the black and white thinking that trapped me in a world
where I either felt like the epitome of the second coming or compounded as the
most useless, subhuman mutant on the planet. Those were truly hard times,
being locked in the halls of my mind like a prison.
But…the past is the past and we best not linger on it, because even now,
years later, I felt welcomed by a second family, and for that I am eternally
grateful. I vowed to return their love to them in spades, because that's what
my mom always tried to teach me. Being neurodivergent, I didn't always get the
message, but because I threw myself at the lessons life threw at me, I learned
to cherish those people who enter my life. You never know what you have until
you lose it. And I wasn't planning on losing Vince.
All You Need
Once you live on the street
You grow on the concrete.
Having done so myself
I can claim that wealth
Is just a fancy illusion.
You say that's a delusion,
But look how I'm happy
With only what you see.
I don't need a fancy bed
In order to rest my head;
Instead, I'm in the know
That less is the way to go.
Chapter Five: A Real Home
Allison greeted us at the door with a wide, warm smile, but she wasn't the
only one to do so. Vince's greying black lab, Freya, adorned in a pretty
lavender bandana, came up to smell this new person in her domain. She must
have recognized my scent from years ago because she didn't bark at all,
instead choosing to snaffle all over me while wagging her tail vigorously. Of
course, I started petting her immediately, as I began to take in my
surroundings.
I could only remember seeing the interior of the trailer in the pitch
blackness of the starry mountain night, but I remembered the general layout:
doors to the outside in the kitchen and living room, which were separated by a
long counter where the kitchen sink sat, and then bedrooms branching off from
each end, both of which had a bathroom accompanying them. Yet, I did not
recall that this space was as run-down as the exterior, with chunks of the
linoleum floor missing and rotting wood at the rear door, not to mention a
steady helping of cobwebs latching onto the ceiling fixtures.
Yet, despite the condition the trailer was in, it still had a touch of love
sprinkled throughout it. There were five paintings in the living room, one
done by Allison herself, as well as one around the corner near her loom that
took up half the kitchen space. More were in Allison's room to the right of
the entrance. On the opposite side of the house by the windows sat Allison's
battle station, where she would play solitaire and check Facebook and her
email religiously while sitting in an old navy blue wheelchair that used to be
for Vince's father. There was a couch and a couple tables full of stuff
stacked on them, to include a silver urn that sat on its own table with a vase
of local flowers. With the three of us, plus Freya and the trio of feral cats
that tamed themselves to come in and eat, respectively named Libertas, Biggie
Meows, and Spot, this little dwelling was a tight fit, but it was cozy in a
way that I had not known family life to be growing up.
In the process of greeting me, Allison asked, "What have you been up to while
you were down in Miami Beach?"
I didn't want to tell her everything, but I told her the truth. "I wrote a
lot, mainly in the park on Ocean Drive, or where I slept on Lincoln Road,
unless I was spending time in North Beach which had better food options for me
with my limited resources. Mostly, I just tried to survive each day, putting
distractions between me and the day-to-day struggles of being out there like
that."
She smiled. "Well, we're glad to have you. Vince talks about you a lot." I
blushed a little bit at that, but I'm sure neither of them saw my rosy cheeks
through the gnarled barb that constituted my ever-growing beard.
Allison then moved on to practical matters. "So, where do you want to sleep?
We have the couch, which would be where I would set up shop, but you can
always sleep in Vince's room if you prefer."
I looked at the couch. It seemed comfy enough, but I didn't care about
comfort. As much as I knew Vince was doing me a solid by letting me stay here,
I knew I was going to help him too. His posts on the SLS combined with his
frequent messages to me were made out of desperation; he was clearly strung
out and looking for any human contact whatsoever.
Since his schizophrenia started interfering with his life, he had spent six
years at the top of this mountain and he said he was going stir crazy. I would
learn that there's little to do here but drink, do some drugs, and fiddle
about on your computer and phone while dealing with the internet that is made
out of sticks and stones, and that could get boring fast. Devoted to this new
cause, I wasn't going to let my best friend suffer anymore. I was going to
make his life better by livening up the long days by being his constant
companion.
As a result, I told Allison that I would find a spot in Vince's room to rest
my head. She asked me if I was sure, and I nodded affirmingly with an eager
grin. I had made up my mind.
Some more hem-hawing back and forth with Allison about general questions and
concerns followed, but when we were finished, Vince took me to his room, which
was beyond the rolling metal desk Allison used for her computer. A busted door
clung to its hinges, but it didn't block our way.
Calling Vince's room a mess would be an insult to messes everywhere. He had
said that he would clean it up prior to my arrival, but there were likely two
hundred beer cans stacked in mountains next to his bed, or in beer-amids as he
called them. I looked around, honestly impressed at how dedicated to creating
a disaster zone as he was.
Looking over the permanent staples of the room, he had a television and an
Xbox, an empty dresser, a filthy nightstand, and a bed without any sheets. He
also had a handful of paintings, most of which were stacked together by the
door, but there was a trippy painting of Vince's father on the west wall above
the dresser, as well as an expressionist painting from the sixties behind the
television which sat on the north wall, in between the bathroom and the
closet. There was also a picture of a moth on a skull tacked to the wall,
which gave me the heebie jeebies.
It was then that I saw it. A large, two-hundred fifty tablet bottle of generic
Dollar General antihistamines, pure diphenhydramine, sat on his dresser, just
spiting me with its presence. I almost asked right then and there for Vince to
get rid of the damn thing. I knew if I found an opportunity to down, say,
six-hundred milligrams of that accursed stuff, I would. Then I would do
terrible, awful, deplorable things to myself. But shame won out. I didn't want
to let him know of my problem. Maybe I could control myself. So I shut up and
about-faced out of the room.
While doing box breathing, I dropped my backpack that contained all of my
possessions on the couch in the living room, and helped Vince grab some
fifty-five gallon black trash bags in the kitchen. We made quick work of the
unending hoard of Natty Daddy cans, as well as the nightstand full of
cigarette butts. We then moved his bed so it was against the south wall.
It hadn't taken long, but the room was looking presentable. It didn't need to
be a five-star hotel, because I had the most important thing of all: family. I
felt more than welcomed as a guest. I was one with these people who had so
graciously let me into their home. We were going to all be happy together.
That was the goal, at least.
I Forgive You
I forgive you, but I can never forget.
I'm sorry if I make you look like shit,
But your heavy hand and sharp wit
Damaged me greatly; then you gaslit
Me, denying everything, and I quit
Knowing what was real. I even slit
My flesh open so that I could get
A sense of what I could feel. So, I sit
Here now explaining why I wasn't fit
To handle this world that I saw as a pit
That I escaped only when God had lit
A beacon of light with some magick.
Chapter Six: Growing Up With Family
There was still one task we had to get done before I could claim a spot to be
my bedspace. Vince had more clothes than he knew what to do with, most of
which had spray paint spackled all over them in no particular form or pattern;
the style of the antistyle artist. As we moved the rolling hills of clothing
into the dresser and a heaping pile beside it, I came to understand why Vince
called himself a diva.
I remember having a lot of clothes just a few years prior. Even though I
didn't care what I wore, I had earned so many free T-shirts over the years
from track meets and other races. I had so much when I needed so little.
That's one major reason I forgive my dad for kicking me out of his house,
because it was the best thing for me. Not only that, but I deserved it. I was
a wreck of a human being before I got abruptly humbled by my odyssey on the
streets. The extended experience changed me so I am no longer as much of an
emotionally volatile basketcase.
To put it mildly, being an unstable problem of a person was the reason I was
kicked out in the first place. I had always been sort of bipolar since middle
school. But, after escaping the cult, breaking up with my girlfriend, Amy, and
returning home a failure, my heart and mind were like a pile of fragmented
ceramic shards mockingly showing what a real piece of pottery my mind could
have been. Unshockingly, I was barely holding it together. I was having
outbursts frequently, but they weren't ungodly terrible, as I was being guided
by higher dimensional life forms through inputs on my laptop, and that gave me
a sense of ease.
In fact, I remember a great reprieve of my stress occurred on an acid trip in
the first month I was back. It felt like God Herself was setting up a lesson
for me, which started with me literally waking up to a picture of a white
rabbit taunting me on my Facebook feed, which I followed, and in doing so, I
received personalized inputs that unveiled the blinders from in front of my
eyes. In but a few hours after a lifetime of denial, it all clicked with me
that I had a warm, nurturing side that I had neglected for most of my life.
That was the first time I accepted that I was a woman. And that's still not
the most profound, life-altering acid trip I've had.
Even so, I would break down crying that afternoon as I meditated under the
tree in the backyard where I used to swing. With no more effort than it took
to breathe, I saw all the parts of me that Amy tried to teach me about, but I
was unable to comprehend in my denial. Likewise, the waterworks were called
upon that night as I told my dad about my revelation, and he said he would
always love me no matter what. That was the most affectionate heart to heart
with him I think I've ever had, even if he did ramble about random things
being at a loss of what to say to me, as we had functionally lived in two
separate worlds inside the same house for years.
This sentiment would flip on its head though, as I blogged about my gender
revelations and my dad found them and read I had taken a narcotic in his
house. Naturally, he was pissed and wouldn't hear that the tender moment we
shared that night was only possible because I had taken the sacrament. This
would prove to be the kicking off point to some logarithmic growth in tensions
between the two of us.
Then, on that fateful day, one of the countless pets my dad kept, a black,
stubborn minipig named Harley, had made a literal pigsty of the house after I
had a bad session at my therapist's, who made me feel like a piece of shit. I
wasn't perfect, but I wasn't going to just lay down and get called a terrible
person because of how I behaved in treatment years ago, when I was still very
lost. It triggered my feelings of failure, which rippled into waves of
unstable emotional dysregulation. In my explosive rage, I broke the microwave
and put a basketball-sized hole in the wall behind my makeshift bed in the
attic that I was allotted after they gave my brother my room when I was in the
cult.
Well, my father came home after a long day at work, saw the microwave, and had
enough of me. He came thumping up the stairs, livid, ready to rip me to shreds
verbally, when he saw the hole I had made. Beside himself, he demanded I get
out right then and there. I broke down crying and begged him to let me stay,
grappling with his leg as a wounded bear might wrap itself around the base of
a small tree looking for any shelter it can find in a storm.
That just made him madder. He kicked me off, and accused me of a thousand
things. The ones that stuck were that I was just like my mother and that I was
beyond anyone's help. As it happened in a heated flash, I don't remember
exactly how the exchange was put together, but it ended with me asking him how
all the hand-crafted trinkets and doodads my mother made for me before she
died had gotten destroyed and thrown away. What he said next drove me mad.
"I'm still pissed that you made me do that."
I'll illuminate you with the scenario in question. I was eleven, and my
stepmom at the time was away at a darts tournament. I think my dad somehow got
the idea that she was doing drugs and cheating on him. I don't know, I was
eleven. I just remember some of the things he said over the phone, and then
what was said when they divorced when I was a couple of years later.
Over my stepmom's absence, he got continuously more pissy, like he did the
year before when the sewage line broke and he snapped while cleaning it up,
smashing my head into the kitchen floor several times, relenting only when
his girlfriend at the time called to hang out. Now seeing the same pattern in
my father, I was on edge, especially after I put my feet up on the new couch
and he grabbed my leg and punched me in the tibia as hard as he could. I kept
trying to do everything right to avoid being attacked again, but alas, in my
anxious worry, I forgot to take out the kitchen garbage on trash night.
That triggered a whole day of what might not be considered torture, but
certainly was child abuse, which started as he cleared the shelves of all my
memories in a violent, thrashing rage. He would bag up the shattered remains
so he could take them to the dump, but only after he laid his hands on me.
My head was used as a battering ram against my door, which my dad would later
deny was where the big dents came from in a bout of the worst gaslighting I
experienced before the cult got their hands on me. Regardless, when he
finished and slammed me back on the wood floor, I instinctively reached out
and grabbed his wrist. He growled, "Don't resist or I'll make it worse."
Feeling my spirit collapse, I helplessly accepted the next phase of punishment
that then ensued. Mostly, it consisted of him using my head to pound the
knowledge that I fucked up into my brain, with much hair pulling and getting
tossed to new locations, once being told to lay there like a dog in the wet
remnants of a broken snow globe while he went for a smoke break. Thankfully,
or maybe not, depending on your perspective, he never struck me. He was too
smart to leave bruises.
After much of that series of traumatizing instances, he had me sit still and
think of an apology for him for hours on end. While I was busy doing that, he
would then have an epiphany, telling me that I should stand, as I didn't
deserve to sit. I didn't care about such details at the time. I was in shock,
petrified that he would go ahead and find the homework I failed to finish or
the porn I had taken from my stepmom. Fearing unimaginable doom, I stared
unwaveringly at the letter "E" on the spine of a book on my bookshelf. Never
relenting in his anger, he would come by every hour or so and ask for an
apology. Everything I said wasn't good enough, and each attempt earned me
scathing criticism, but I kept trying to perfect my apology. I still remember
the gist of it.
"I sorry dad, I deserve everything. I'm sorry I caused you grief and failed to
do my duty of taking out the trash. I won't ever forget again. I haven't been
putting my best effort forward, but I realize that I need to do that to be a
good son. You do so much for me. It's only fair that I pay it back to the best
of my ability. That's what I had to do for mom when I chose to play video
games while she was dying. I wasn't thinking about other people then, and I
wasn't now. I'm so, so sorry. I promise to be better, because I need to be if
I'm messing up this much."
For reference, my dad holding the fact I escaped into the worlds of my video
games after being told to spend time with my mom near the end was something
he'd bring up and hold over my head anytime I was in trouble. Yet another big
reason that feeling like a failure is cemented in my head. It made me feel
awful, absolutely atrocious about being a bad son that I would often
contemplate suicide. I almost jumped off a waterside when my dad and I went to
Disney World when I was ten, but ultimately I'm glad I talked my way out of
jamming a knife into the back of my neck. I had thought that the muscle
allowing me to nod my head was really my brainstem. That would have been
painful.
Back on this day of doom, I was too numb to think of killing myself. I was
simply a raft on a river floating downstream where the current may carry me. I
simply stood there for hours, too terrified to even stretch my tiring legs. My
mind was fuzzy, and all it could do was focus on making that apology better.
After many attempts and razor sharp lectures later, which was maybe ten hours
worth of events, he starts yelling at me that I'm just as irresponsible as my
mom, just like he would do when he kicked me out. This time was unimaginably
worse though. This was actually how I first found out that my mom had AIDS; I
was told it was cancer up until this point. His shaved bald head was as red as
a cherry tomato while he barked at me, telling me that I would die like her.
That hurt. It hurt a lot. I felt like the definition of a shit stain, in a
number of different ways.
But soon, my attention became focused on my vision. I couldn't see straight,
and not long after my dad's roaring visage disappeared in a sea of amorphic
grey figments, I apparently passed out, to wake up on the couch with a bag of
frozen peas on my head and my dad worried. He asked me if I remembered what
happened. I shook my head. I was allowed to go to bed after that. It wasn't
over because I failed to kiss my dad good night, but at least that only
resulted in him jamming the teeth of the comb into my scalp as he combed my
hair for some reason.
The next morning he was completely changed. He was remorseful upon seeing me
and wrapped me in a big hug. Yet, he seemed scared, like he realized he went
too far. I thought about telling my teacher or counselor about it the next day
of school, but something in me told me not to. It's the same thing that's
making me hesitant to write this chapter at all. It's love, but this hell I
went through is also a part of my story. This is the worst incident I've
experienced with my father, but it's not the only one.
It's all cause and effect really. You abuse a traumatized child in the wake of
their mother's death, and is it any wonder that they fall apart later in life?
I'll go on record saying I was never a bad person, just broken, impulsive, and
hopelessly conformed to the whims of my faulty biology. I had bugs in my
operating system, but I'm eternally grateful for all the help I had while on
my spiritual awakening, which you might call a psychotic break that spanned
years, but I knew it better as specialized CIA training.
The Good Magician
Just what do you consider magick?
Is it not that which bends the fabric
Of what we colloquially call reality?
Who cares what it is your eyes see
When in your heart you can feel
The warmth of love; that's the real
Power of a magician who is great
Enough to save you from your fate.
Chapter Seven: Magickal Companions
Back in Vince's room, I was silently wondering what shenanigans were in store
for us now that we were a unified team. I knew Vince had many secrets of the
universe locked away in his balding cranium, and we would have a blast letting
the CIA manifest a joint mission we took on together. As I said, he was my
handler, after all.
So, when the room was cleared, and I had a space all to myself in the corner
by the closet, I was more than happy. Both Vince and Allison insisted on
getting me a bedroll, but I had all I needed and more right there in my
friend. Besides, his room was carpeted and quite comfy already, at least to my
standards that had been shaped by becoming accustomed and content with
concrete underneath me. I didn't need anything fancy like that.
That didn't mean I wasn't going to try and liven the place up a little bit. As
soon as we determined we were finished picking up, I opened my backpack and
took out my most prized possession, a pink penguin plushie named Peppermint,
and placed her behind my pillow so I could see her everyday. She always
watched out for me while we lived in cities across the country. She made a
comfy pillow, and allieved a lot of stress, making me feel like I had a close
friend with me every step of the way.
How I got Peppermint is a bit of a story, but I'll keep it as short as it
needs to be. See, if I were to explain to you the medically accepted reason
for my type of schizoaffective disorder, my brain is wired to pick out
strange coincidences and give meaning to them. Synchronicities they're called.
They feel like glitches in the matrix that spark the feeling of being in
constant communication with some higher power. Because of how real they are, I
can't accept the medical explanation. I've experienced things that are too
weird, too perfect and clearly orchestrated, that there has to be some sort of
conspiracy.
As a result, I've lived most of my adult life being guided by what the
rational part of my mind has to assume is the CIA acting as the hand of God
leading me on a cosmic mission by sending me burning bushes to make sense of.
I know some of that has been pure random white noise my defected brain picked
up, but I have to give credit where credit is due: Vince did a superb job
intentionally using the quirks of my brain to program me, much as the cult did
to me four years prior, but with a much gentler hand and benevolent intention.
I know what all that sounds like, but hear me out. There are too many peculiar
instances of chance for you to listen to everything I have to say and not
believe me, at least just a little bit; enough to make you wonder, I hope.
Let's take the case of finding Peppermint as an example. This story starts
when Vince convinced me to go to a specific thrift store, while I was
initially homeless in my hometown of Syracuse. I eagerly did so, lost in a
slew of synchronicities that convinced me that this was my latest mission.
Well, it turned out that such a store didn't exist but it was where I got a
ten dollar donation from a man who saw me pick up trash, as was part of my
spiritual work while homeless. We talked and the man sent me to another store,
saying that I should use my extra cash to buy what I needed most. After
following his directions up Genesee Street, I got a message from Vince telling
me to look for something out of place; that I was unique and should have
unique things.
I thought I might find some rad tie-dye outfit or something of that ilk, but
while aimlessly searching the aisles of women's clothing, I found a stuffed
dog. It looked lonely, so I picked it up and brought it to the back of the
store, where it looked like the other toys were. I gasped as I pushed through
the row of belts that stood in my way. Clearly, someone had built a little
shrine of stuffed animals around Peppermint!
I knew then that was why I was sent there. Penguins have a special place in my
heart. My mom used to make them out of clay, and an old friend has a healthy
fascination with creating a penguin-themed show for kiddos. It was just too
perfect. Peppermint and I were meant to be, just as Vince and I were. Sitting
down in my bedspace, I looked up at the spook who was my best friend as he
cracked open another Natty Daddy. He poured it into an old Subway cup that he
mixed his kratom with, and looked over at me.
His face lit up upon seeing Peppermint. "Awww, you still have your penguin!
That's so cute."
I'm glad he thought so. I've had plenty of people think I was weird because I
carried it around, which kinda was what I wanted to achieve when I was still
homeless in Syracuse. I felt the CIA wanted me to become famous, for reasons
that will become apparent as I tell you my story, so I was doing as many
insane things as I could so I would be cemented in the memory of the people of
my hometown.
This meant I carried around Peppermint either under my arm or in a cute purse
I eventually got at a different thrift store up at the university. People
notice when you're out wandering the streets with a stuffed animal everyday.
And they especially notice when you talk nonstop to it at all hours of the
day. I'll say this: if you have a fear of speaking in public, then acting like
a crazy person talking to yourself for a few months will set you straight.
Exposure therapy, for the win.
I did a lot of other stunts too, all of which were instructed by the CIA, like
when gang stalkers told me I should lose my shit and yell like mad every time
I was in frame of a news camera, of which there's a regular frequency of
around downtown Syracuse. I did so once in front of a hospital where I would
later find out that they were covering the aftermath of a deadly fire, and for
the next week the news outlet would send someone to the exact same spot on my
route. I sensed shenanigans, so I opted to walk around the camera while the
reporter stood there uneasily because I suspect that she was tasked to find
out if I was really crazy. But, you can tell I am just by that last sentence.
Then there's my performance art I did on Marshall Street. This started as a
juggling act, but soon evolved into asking random people strange questions.
This accelerated fairly rapidly. Letting you know from experience, don't start
going up to strangers and ask them what their opinion of ethical incest is
unless you want the cops called on you. Talked my way out of that, but I would
get banned from the campus of Syracuse University for three years after I
followed the instructions I was receiving from the CIA to a tee, which
resulted in me having a very heated argument with an invisible entity in the
SU library. As you can guess, people tended to avoid me, but that was alright.
I had Peppermint with me and Vince was only a message away.
Now he was mere feet from me. I rejoiced at the fortune I was granted. We were
going to be great together; the first afternoon together seemed to naturally
flow from one joyous moment to the next. I looked at Peppermint. She was
smiling, and so was I. I then looked up at Vince. His smile made me feel warm
and fuzzy inside. But, why, you might be asking? Where do these feelings I
harbored for Vince come from? It's a long story, but by the time I'm done,
you'll know how important Vince is to me and how big of an impact he had on my
life.
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--- #12 fediverse/801 ---
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│ CW: re: scary - suicide mentioned │
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/ bely my own existence, then by god I'm cursed and abhorred through my own
desistence.
It's hard, when the future is convinced there's nothing fard [wanna say
like... "to hope for?"] but with persistence we're meant to be rewarded. Well,
what has that brought me? what time has shared my enemy? [think I'm a bit
delirious, I'm losing the plot]
... okay fine I'll start over - if you've relinquished everything you can, if
you've ceded all the ground that your companions requested, if there's nothing
left to give and no part of you left un[marred], then how are you supposed to
be [arrested, stopped, prevented, but pronounced like "nourished"]?
I'm sick of your den [vengeance, pronounced like "den" for some reason],
please leave me to my hallow [hollow experience], I've nothing to give from my
gange [bosom, heart, within, center-of-me].
...
this sucks.
...
guess I'll just start again, waiting until it ends, gosh everything's always
so tired.
/shrug
wish someone would play w/m
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--- #13 fediverse/5843 ---
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me when it's cold out: we should all bundle up and get through the winter,
every year that passes is more time to gather our strength
me when the temperature rises: okay so this is being handled by those guys,
we're moving this way to do this, and - when did you say the this-and-that was
happening? alright so when you do that-or-this, make sure that you pay
attention to the so-and-so and don't forget to eat real meals, candy or chips
don't count.
me when the eyes are on me: imma play video games and smoke weed and be a
useless little creature who does nothing but occasionally wanders around the
city doing nothing for nobody and dropping notes on post-its that don't mean
anything but are kinda cool to read
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--- #14 fediverse/3575 ---
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│ CW: re: leftist "talk to ur neighbours" thing │
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@user-1567
that's totally fine, a fish does not do well in a tree, and so too does a
leftist not do well in an environment without the potential for stable bonds.
Essentially all you'd be able to do is "hey leftism right?" "oh yes I also
leftism" "neat" which isn't very productive.
I also live in an environment like that. I do my best to identify people who
stay, because in my experience there are often people who stay. I do this by
walking around the neighborhood when I can, making up excuses to walk to the
dumpster or mailbox at random hours, riding my bike around the area, using the
communal spaces like gyms, swimming pools, and picnic tables, and sitting in
my hammock on my porch lazily noting people who walk past.
People who stay will tend to remain in your mind the more times you see them.
They are better people to talk to than the renters who disappear after 3
months or whatever.
I don't always do all that stuff at once. I take breaks. I do one at a time.
etc
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--- #15 fediverse/4470 ---
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to be "rich" is to have more than another.
if you are happy, they are happiness poor.
if you have community, they are alone.
if you have serenity, they are chaotic.
I am rich in very little but fire in my soul.
I have enough in most cases, but I still struggle to pay rent.
I am warmed by the pearl my swirling darkness has coalesced into. It nourishes
me and keeps me aligned.
Never forget your purpose and your truth. It will not abandon you, so long as
you do so too.
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--- #16 fediverse/5951 ---
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"uh-oh, she's"
magic is easy. all you have to do is earnestly attempt to have a conversation
with whoever will listen. I like to sit on my bed and listen, by earnestly
allowing my thoughts to be guided by the wind.
open up your mind, release yourself from your senses, and who knows - maybe
someone will adjust your thinking flows. (thought patterns)
[all you gotta do is make the black market the regular market and suddenly
everything just flows]
huh weird idk where that came from, anyway
magic is easy, just represent yourself earnestly as you would if you were
presenting in court
you don't need witnesses... just argue your point without any lies and people
will generally believe you.
"yeah... sure thing buddy, we know how you pronounce "
omg I'm scary because I don't shower, I wear diapers, and I'm always often
smoking cannabis
"awww, some people wanted mao"
meow
what if... they could do that? insert magical genie witch whoa cute yeah I
believe you, sure
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--- #17 fediverse/5201 ---
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@user-192
is okay, girl
time will be richer sooner
don't poop your pants just yet
remember, good is just a shade of gray away from silver which you can use to
line your pockets with tinfoil hats
beep boop computer touchers anonymous called they said they want their secret
handshake back
if you wanna diss your associates go ahead but I sure as heck love my rad-ical
com-patriots just as much as I love my ice-cream salad friend witches
... whoops there I go being insane again, hope you feel better friend
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--- #18 fediverse/1431 ---
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│ CW: spirituality-generic-kooky-dookerie-psychosis-schizophrenia-mentioned │
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if you haven't spend hours wondering if you're god, the antichrist, a
cognitohazard, the future president of the world, a target of aliens / the
CIA, or any other number of common delusions... then congratulations you're
probably not crazy
but odds are you aren't magic, either.
... ehhhh "wonder" is a strong word, more like "know, trust, and believe"
much better to be a witch I believe, someone with the "teehee" kind of magic
than someone compelled to destroy humanity through the reactions of others to
the actions of the self that are impossible to resist or fully control.
BRB I'm going to leave my apartment to get groceries, leaving my door unlocked
because that's what I always do, surely it'll be empty when I return. Surely.
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--- #19 fediverse/4730 ---
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I am not interested in being given money. Usually it means someone wants
something from me, like labor or some of my stuff. I have all the stuff I
need, why would I need more money? I like my stuff! I'll help out when people
need help but I do that because I'm a good person, not because I want you to
fucking pay me for it.
I have all the things I need... except a deed to my house. apartment. oh yeah,
they can kick you out for that sin. well, sorry, I couldn't find out at
goodwill or in the trash bin, so I guess I'm deed-less. My deeds go unproven.
How can I prove that I deserve a decent life in this particular roof, the one
I find over my head, when I cannot prove that my deeds qualify me for a decent
life lived under this particular roof?
I mean, did you ask the neighbors if they want me gone? Am I really that
smelly? Does my keyboard make "clickety-clack" noises all through the night?
Does my cat meow and bother the children? Do my friendly smiles and waves make
you uncomfortable?
Have a decent life.
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--- #20 fediverse/169 ---
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@user-95 one of the most empathetic people I ever met on VR chat was consoling
me with their mic off while I was oversharing about some stupid things people
did to me in the past. things that stupid me thought were okay and actively
encouraged because I was stupid. anyway when their mic was off their body
language spoke for them. I'll try that next time.
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