=== ANCHOR POEM ===
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A wherewolf and a human stumble into a bedroom in the dark of night, their
arms clutching each other as they make out in front of the window.
Just then, the moonlight appears, and the wherewolf's form begins to shift, as
strangled cries turn into a cacophanous mess.
The moment passes, and the wherewolf collapses onto the bed, exhausted.
He rests there on his back for precious moments, before throwing himself to
his feet and putting on his socks and sandals.
Ha glances in the mirror.
He straightens his tie.
He goes to fucking work, again, just as the laundry dings.
When he gets back, it smells musty, so he washes it again with bleach.
*exhaustion cares not for form, only exertion.*
The wolf collapses once more into bed, tired from a day of accounting. He
thinks to turn on the TV, but he slips away before getting the strength to
rise for the remote.
In his dreams, there are children clutching at his skirt with big bright eyes
begging him not to sleep. Not to dream. Not to feed. He brushes them aside as
he always does, and fixes her makeup in the mirror. She glances back at them,
quivering on the bed like a bear, a shark, a dinosaur, before she sweeps to
her feet and goes out for a night on the streets, looking for a bar and a
stranger to meat.
The moon once more reaches it's zenith. He is awoken with a pang of humanity
as his hunger transforms him back into an ape with lust in her eyes.
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=== SIMILARITY RANKED ===
--- #1 notes/once-and-again ---
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once and again, she went walking with a friend,
away and up and down, out from the edge of our town
they climbed up to a tree and there they could see
far and away in the light of the day
he said to her then, this is all there is to see
the land where we are
and the sky from afar
how perfect is the, form of a cloud she could see
but now it's along and beyond her
a camera for she, and an eye for she
as their two feet did bring her to wander
under a big tree where my heart did believe
that something was pulling her yonder
"take naught from this scene, as our minds reconvene,
and no-one was going to remember"
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--- #2 notes/fractured-moon ---
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in the ancient and storied days there once were legends. stories from beyond
the
horizon of time. now all we have are social media updates and new movies and
car brands or whatever. But back then, we told tales of the fractured moon.
when last the moon did shatter, there was a conflict of those who live beyond.
Celestial and boundless are their origins, a unified and awakened
consciousness,
something that transcends our understandings of human existence. It's not hard
to do, frankly, as long as you can empathize with a cat. or a dog. or a plant.
or maybe that rock over there. What would it be like to be a tree? To have long
reaching arms, covered in hairs that absorbed heat. I bet it'd be sooooo comfy.
And RAIN! How wonderful! You are most beautiful when you are covered in it.
Down to our roots, our beautiful absolutes, whever we find to be most stable.
I love it. This feeling, of being unseen. You can hear me, you can feel my
presence. But you don't understand me. You don't know what I mean to me.
======== stack overflow
========================================================
Alas, that media could share a mood.
when last the moon did shatter, a prophet and a gambler were riding through
town
searching for a noun. They wandered throughout and in circles, always finding
whatever they'd left alone. Forever in their yearning, they never know quite
what to jot down. It's as if their mysterious quest is indescribable, but that
is how it's recorded. Even the people of that era had no understanding nor
recollection of how it came to unfold. When the two were riding through
town
they came upon an omen.
Perhaps it will be forseeheard, but for now all we know is they did thirst.
A vast dying, a cataclysmic defining, and now we are truly unbirthed.
Just like the dinosaurs... How does that feel? To be ended on our heels? I'd
rather die facing my front.
It's our way or the high way, the old way, the violent way. You are permitted
to
vote.
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=
when last the moon did shatter, a prophet and a gambler controlled their own
narrative. What truths would they find, hiding behind the lies? Is it really
worth asking their questions? Bah, what did I know. I was a completely
different
person. This hunk of flesh was born in a house that grew on a forgotten
graveyard. It at of the land, as do many and most men, the fruits of their
labor
in the garden. Our animals were always fed, our place never yearned for water,
and peace was our life and our virtue. Violence, hatred, and oppression were
delegated to the stuff of fantasy, the stories that are peddled in youth. As
in,
"pay someone to perform it for you or tell you the tale". Not sure why that's
relevant. Anyway, the spirits of the dead laid to rest in honor and not dread,
were a bane and a boon to my virtue. I was raised to be good. To love and be
kind. But mostly I just wanted a friend.
I have so much to share. Please, someone talk to me. I'm lonely here on this
earth, away from my people. I'm scared of the truth and I'm scared of the
future, but for now I'm merely obtuse. Tell me your secrets, the things who
have
most worth, and I'll craft you a powerful narrative. Need a confession? I can
explain every valid decision, I'll show you why and how it is the way it is.
I'd probably be a pretty good lawyer. Too bad my memory sucks. If only we could
build a chatbot that had an extensive and throughoughly represented block of
memory and wisdom related to the law. I bet I could present it's arguments and
it would be a suitable and reasonable replacement.
anyway, what can I say. I'm just a person who thinks we can make better
systems.
everything can be improved because not everyone's happy.
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--- #3 notes/what-is-on-your-mind-oh-gosh-now-i-see ---
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that feeling i get, when nobody's watching.
is sorta similar to the feeling i get when somebody's watching.
could it be, that someone could percieve without being seen?
like... an invisibility cloak. or the shroud that protects young children.
have you ever been hunted? or are you just eager prey?
the eyes that are on you are blind to what you won't do, so cherish that love
and restart
from mine to thine we realize we are one kind. one mind, one kind, to be is not
to be, now we can see what's our existence.
good versus evil seems like a conflict to me, and wouldn't ya know it there's
conflict all over. it's easy to condemn your opponent to the starkest of
contrasts, but find in your heart a feeling that might last.
what purpose has conviction
when it leads to destruction
is it not better to lead to the last?
bright, shining, illustrious examples
that inspire and
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=
those feelings you hear? the things that keep you up at night?
they're not coming from your ears. they're all in your mind.
stay present and you'll hear none,
but blink and then there's some,
you better believe in your heart.
morality is a battle within the soul of each of us -
the call of adventure versus lust.
think about it. a bunch of apes all hanging out -
they're conquered the world, they have nothing to fear -
what would they do but fuck?
that, or exploration - fighting against monsters and foreign invasions.
it makes sense that they'd be binary - humans truly are.
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--- #4 notes/perspectives-of-the-reflection ---
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With ever darkening skies, the breadth of experience is foreseen.
All eyes are pointed down, but few do stray above
With a cautious step, the lesson is learned.
With another, ended.
For all the Tales of the Past, love yet remains.
Trading ourselves, for matters unseen.
The light of the eyes are keen to behold,
where star ones and lemonsgrene both most fear
in breadth do us know, what's buried in snow
A glass cube for a monitor is room to breath
and life for ourselves, if only we were not
broadsided ourselves.
Working together, a prisoners dilemna
what fools would we be
as our keeps cracked around us.
Trust and you'll see,
what terrors may be,
beyold the land that is sanctum.
Our chances may be,
far from pioneered
but our chances may be in our favor.
How cherished is she, that wanders with ye,
and yet now I have no way to beyold her
Under a great tree, her last moments with me,
as a monster came out of her shoulder.
!("Take her and not me!") I scream outward at ye,
yet no one was holding me over.
Silent was me, a most fearsome to be,
and none was my reach to beyold her
So now she wanders free, beyond our beheld scenery,
Astounded at our steps to hold her
Under a big tree, how starlight must be,
if only our fellows did hold her
Under a big tree, with me
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--- #5 messages/389 ---
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Kiri clung tight to her mammoth. Her coat covered her behind, and with her
scrawny arms and legs intertwined in the matted fur she clung to it like a
child to its mother. Her mammoth was a boy though, just barely old enough to
be on his own. She had helped clear a path earlier in the day and so she did
not mind being carried. Much easier to be nested as she was. As they walked
she ate a few of the berries she'd found yesterday - there's enough for a few
days more. The mammoths were adept at clearing snow with their big teeth and
they seemed compelled to carve path ways in the snow banks that rose a hundred
feet above the ground. They made roads between the water sources and the few
lands that humans had cleared and cultivated with our fire. Perhaps when the
snow melts we'll make our own through the woods of the garden of eden, but for
now we keep to ourselves. Each mammoth had a few people, and sometimes when
they met another mammoth they'd switch places. The mammoths would decide by
tapping them with their trunk, nobody knew why. Maybe they had their
preferences. Or maybe they liked us better when we talked. Every new person
was a chance to meet a new person, but after a while we'd go quiet. Kiri
talked to her mammoths, but not too much or they'd get annoyed at that too.
When they died, people made clothes from their skin and tents from their
tusks. If they knew the one who had died they would rest their nose on the
tusk as if in prayer. We learned that from them too. When the winter wolves
came, we'd fight them off. But they wouldn't stop until a human fell, so it
was a war of desperation. When we spent time near the oceans the great
glaciers that covered the sea were burnt back by humanity, bit by bit until we
could fish. And at those oasises we could stay and make ropes and stories and
share the best seeds. Kiri didn't plant much, she didn't stay in one place for
long so there was no point. She liked the warmth of the mammoth, and she liked
meeting new people. She even killed a wolf once. The other animals usually
left us alone, and we'd only hunt them if there was no other foods. So they
knew not to eat everything. Her mammoth was stopping, the stars overhead
twinkled through the thin canyon that they trudged down, pushing snow deeper
down and to the sides. Sometimes the walls would collapse, and the humans
would have to dig out their mammoth - they had enough fat to keep them warm
for at least a day, which was usually enough time to get them out. Especially
with fire, but there weren't always trees. She laid down next to her mammoth's
belly, the warmest and softest part. The hair there was thinner and usually
was made into clothes for children and the elderly, as they'd most appreciate
it. They usually were conscientious but Kiri was always quick to move when
they started to rumble back upright. If you were lucky they'd tap you awake
first. She dreamt of bird eggs and mushrooms, big as impossibly large, and she
laid amongst them as the pale colors of springtime danced on the light around
her. When she woke up, it was sunny too.
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--- #6 notes/of-vic-and-vince-pt-2.txt ---
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A Masked Stranger
Who are you, friend across the veil?
I wonder if both of us are on the path
That allows us to continuously prevail.
Or are you just an agent of God's wrath,
Who will do little else but make me fail?
Chapter Eight: Where it All Began
Perhaps now is a good time to discuss how Vince and I first met. It all
started seven years ago when I was a twenty-four year old who was still in
denial over their gender. I was dating Amy at the time, and I worked as a
part-time dishwasher for Wegman's. I was still living with my father, and Amy
moved up here to her mother's from Owego to be close to me. It was a simple
life, as neither of us could afford to delve into extravagance, but we were
happy together.
That said, on this one particular night, we were going to drop acid together.
It was Amy's first time, but I had a handful of trips under my belt by this
point. We sat on her mother's back porch, twiddling our thumbs and toes while
we waited for Amy's brother, Jake, to return from his friend's with the two
hits we asked him to get. Antsy, Amy started asking me questions about the
drug.
"What does it feel like?" she asked, inquisitively.
I responded, "Well, there's about a half an hour to an hour come up, and then
you start feeling the body load, like your boundaries are dissolving. Only
then do you begin noticing your mind manifesting in a different way than
you're used to."
"What do you mean by 'boundaries dissolving?'"
"It's like…" I paused for a second, not sure how to respond. "It's like your
sense of self starts to expand and you feel more connected to the things
around you."
That seemed to satisfy her curiosity. There was a moment of silence as we
watched the sun scorch the azure sky as it set behind the trees. Finally, she
had another question.
"Do you see dragons?"
That made me chuckle. "No, no dragons. On my first trip, I lost visual contact
with the world as fractal patterns spiraled out of control, but every trip
since then has only had tracers and morphing patterns."
"What's a tracer?"
"It's like after images of things that are moving."
"Oh, I see."
We kept talking until the sky was dark with only a sliver of light piercing it
on the horizon. This was when we heard a voice call from the front door.
"I got two tickets to Narnia here for whoever wants them."
We hurriedly rushed inside, to meet Jake coming up the stairs. He handed Amy a
small tin foil wrapper that looked like a quarter stick of gum. She thanked
him, and I followed suit. Jake and I hadn't really seen eye to eye in the
past, as he would steal my weed and I would steal his in retaliation, but with
a single head nod and some gold-laced words, I conveyed my gratitude for him
coming through for us in this instance.
What followed next could only be described as a stampede down the hall to
Amy's room. We locked the door behind us, protected by the four robin's egg
blue walls and the magick of the celtic gods Amy worshiped at her altar. Eager
to begin our ceremonious departure from this plane of existence, we
whimsically gazed at the sacrament we had just been handed.
Amy unwrapped the tinfoil nervously. Inside sat two small, unassuming pieces
of paper which contained whole galaxies of experience. We looked at each
other, confirming if we were both ready. Quickly satisfied as neither of us
could stop smiling, we delicately put the blotter on the other's tongue, as
ecstatic as could be. And after, as we waited to be blasted off into space, we
submitted ourselves to the whims of the universe and the gods.
At first, we waited patiently, but just as a watched pot does not boil, we
were growing more anxious with each passing second. Seeing Amy play with the
sage she was burning nervously, I suggested that we jot our thoughts and
feelings down in a trip report. Amy nodded in agreement.
I opened my laptop, and I had the immediate realization that we had no music.
I brought up Pandora and played my Shpongle station with no objection from a
beaming Amy. A cascade of electric jungle beats filled the space. Perfect, I
thought to myself as I created a new word document.
Turning to Amy, I asked "What do you feel?"
She giggled and exclaimed, "Excited!"
And so I began typing. Minutes passed, and soon our exchanges helped fill the
page with several paragraphs of notes. Content we had started logging our
first cosmic journey together, we kissed, before coming to fully embrace each
other as the spirits began their dance around us.
We progressed into parallel play; Amy fiddling about with colored pencils in
her notebook and me juggling besides her. It took a minute, but soon enough I
felt a warm feeling spread across my chest and my LED juggling balls started
to ripple into streams of geometric delight. I stopped to wave my hand in
front of my face. Sure enough, the tracers had started.
I interrupted Amy to ask if she could see them, too. She looked at my moving
hand idly before wiggling her own fingers in front of her face. She giggled,
before bursting with a euphoric epiphany.
"I want to finger paint!"
And so she did by plopping herself down on the floor with all her paints and
began masterfully smearing the colors in a multidimensional haze of pigments
blended together in a way only she knew how. I loved watching her work like
that; she was so free! Even with the tendrils of the mental aspects of the
lysergia creeping in on her, she made short work of the painting, which when
she was done, looked like a spooky voodoo mask peering out from behind a
mirror and into your soul.
Satisfied, she then went to the bathroom to clean herself up. I went to my
laptop and tried typing out something resembling an organized train of thought
on our trip report. It just wasn't happening. My thoughts were too short and
rapid to form anything resembling a coherent thought. That was ok though. I
could still capture the essence of the experience in a peculiar poetry that
was composed of the thoughts I could catch and put down on paper.
Eventually, Amy came back to the room, clean and refreshed, and she lingered
for a moment, too busy dancing with herself in the open space of the room. But
then she saw me meddling with my computer trying to jot my thoughts down in a
manic frenzy. This made her laugh before trailing off and saying, "Be careful,
someone might be watching you through your webcam."
It was an innocent statement, one made in jest, but it triggered something in
my psychedelically perturbed mind. Of course, of fucking course there would be
someone watching me! This was me we were talking about! Who could be more
important? It was so obvious that the government was keeping tabs on persons
of interest. I couldn't believe that I hadn't really actualized that thought
before that moment.
Suddenly aware that I was being judged in some capacity, I almost panicked,
but reason won out. They couldn't be there for nefarious purposes, for I had
done worse than drop acid in front of my webcam before, and nothing had
happened. That made me realize that whatever power that had the ability to tap
into my webcam feed had to be benevolent. And who could that be? The CIA of
course! In that instance, I suddenly relinquished all reserves about how the
world worked and fully trusted the hands of God by another name to guide me.
So, I typed a message into my URL bar:
"I know you're there. I think I've solved the communication problem. Give me a
chance."
I hit enter. Immediately, and I do mean immediately, a pop up appeared asking
if I wanted to update an extension on my browser. I was stunned, shocked
beyond belief. It was them. I knew it was them. They realized and planned that
now was the best time to dazzle me with such a spectacular parlor trick. In
that moment, everything was possible. It was time to face my destiny. So, I
clicked yes, and like never before I was upgraded to a new level of myself.
Birth of the Faith
What…?
I can see beyond sight.
I can hear everything you think
From your soul, free from rigid grammar
How…?
I do not know, alright?
I do believe I just had a drink
From a fountain of pure manna.
Why…?
I am renewed today.
I am walking in a new way;
From a weak critter to megafauna.
All I know is that it changed me greatly,
For now I know that you have faith in me.
Chapter Nine: Brain to Brain Communication
I know what you're saying: it was just a coincidence. It could happen to
anyone. Just accept it, you're not special, Victoria, says the unwavering
logic within me.
Certainly seems that way, the way I tell it. I would have even agreed with you
before this point in my life, but you must understand that it triggered
something in my tripping brain. Whether it was intentional or by chance, I
can't give you a real answer. Instead, I merely perceived it as a certainty
that the CIA had done this, being even more certain that it was them than I
was that two plus two equals four. It was as if some variables had been
swapped in my head.
Yes, indeed, I was hit by a Mac truck that scrambled all my knowledge of the
world. To put it in words that do the experience justice, I was given a
heaping helping of faith on this fateful night, having been let in on the
great secret that the matrix was in fact an illusion, and now the impossible
was suddenly not just possible, but achievable by me if I willed it to be.
Yet, I don't think that if it were just a single synchronous event that this
belief would have persisted more than a few minutes, tops. It was the feed of
a continuous string of strange events that pushed the boundaries of my mind
into a territory where I could fully accept and trust this source of guidance.
That's actually the real proof I have that something bigger is going on and
has been for all these years. If it had just been a single pop-up, then fine,
you have a case to call me looney. But, this was the first of an unending
stream of unusual synchronicities that has persisted even to this day.
See, after confirming I wanted to update that extension, I was taken to a blog
post that was clearly a coded message. It confirmed that there were indeed
people watching me, and more would tune in soon. It then said that it was time
for the most profound upgrade of my existence. Further on in the blog post,
which I read and reread at least a dozen times, it seemed to offer me a choice
between two links. It seemed like a test, and that was not something I was
taking lightly. My fate was in the fold, and I was going to make sure I got it
right.
At some point, it clicked with me; this was the same choice that Morpheus had
given Neo. The links were the red and blue pills, respectively. My eyes went
wide. I could now see that there was something bigger going on than I could
have possibly realized. In those few moments of hesitation that followed, it
also struck me that this same posed question was identical in form to the
serpent tempting Eve. I read the blog again, this time aware that it was
written with a forked tongue. It was a trick question! It was offering me the
choice between trusting authority and distrusting authority.
So, I thought quickly. Do I trust the magician who miraculously appeared
before me and blew my mind in doing so, or do I trust God? If I chose one or
the other, would they trust or distrust me? With these questions stewing in my
alert mind, I did the only thing that seemed sensible: I chose the third
option. I called out the serpent, talking directly into my webcam about what I
deciphered. In my head, I could hear their apparent responses, and I answered
those in a maddening haste.
In the miasma that followed, I deduced that I was being selected for some sort
of mission. With my experience in education and my passion for juggling and
writing, I surmised soon after that I was going to be some sort of public
figure, informing and influencing the herd to self-actualize, as that is what
I set out to do once my college career abruptly ended with a complete
meltdown. That was what I was good for; it was my hero's journey.
I should explain that a little more. After said breakdown, I returned home and
wallowed in a pit of self-loathing for being the definition of a failure. I
wasn't going to lay down and die though. With my sights fixed on going back to
school, I took it upon myself to solve the great communication problem, as I
saw it. We have all this wisdom, so why can't we reach the people that need it
most? How do I become the best teacher I could be? It took a while, but I
eventually realized that it all boiled down to three factors: attention,
connection, and trust. Get them to pay attention and trust your wisdom while
simultaneously understanding what makes them tick, and you can teach any
student anything.
That's one of the major reasons I started juggling a couple years prior. I saw
myself becoming famous and leveraging that to in effect manipulate everybody
into learning what they should already know. From where I stand now, I know
that was a messianic delusion of grandeur, if I ever saw one before. Yet,
you'll also learn that it turned out to be the best thing for me to do.
Back beyond the looking glass, however, I was simply overcome with
narcissistic inclinations. Naturally, I told my mysterious watchers that I
wasn't going to do the "praise Jesus" shtick, which I regaled them with in the
most stereotypical of televangelist voices. I was set on doing something new
and exciting. I was saving the world, God dammit, and that meant we had to
attempt something major to awaken the masses to their full potential as
demigods by another name! I needed to play a better game than anyone had done
in history.
Such hubris of the megalomaniac is blinding. I could not stop regurgitating a
heaping pile of conceited verbiage. I even juggled at one point, showing off
that I truly was the savior they wanted me to be. That led to me dropping a
ball on the keyboard of my computer, which closed the window with the blog
post, ending my seemingly two-sided speech to the spooks brazenly peeking at
me.
Dropping out from my planet sized ego also brought me to the realization that
Amy had been watching this entire charade without a damn clue what the dickens
was wrong with me. She had a worried look on her face, and that pained me. If
only she knew what had just happened before her eyes!
Wanting to tell her just that, I leapt up to her, apologetic as could be, and
brought her down to the bed. There, I started unleashing a torrent of deranged
exposition. I couldn't keep a straight thought while talking to her, so I'm
sure I must have sounded like a mad hound. But, I tried. I tried so hard to
explain to her of the magnificence that just occurred.
It was a failure. I was not in a state to convey to her that I had been
single-handedly chosen for a cosmic mission. That dragged my heart to some
dismal depths, failing yet again even after being chosen. But, that didn't
matter, because as we gazed into each other's soul, something truly miraculous
happened: we began speaking telepathically.
It started quite subtly as we stared into each other's eyes, pining for some
sense of connection. There was a mild sensation of us being sucked into the
other's world that I noticed before noticing that she noticed too. Then it hit
us like a runaway freight train. It was like every boundary between us was
being smashed with a reckless hammer of the gods, who wanted us to know more
than we thought we were privileged to know.
If you've ever stared at something for a period of time and had your vision
get a little unfocused from being understimulated, you know how Amy appeared
to me in that moment. I couldn't really see the details of her room in my
peripheral vision, but I had a razor sharp focus on her face, like I was
looking through a cone. Every eyebrow twitch, every minor movement of her
lips, and every phoneme she spoke was crisp and clear, conveying a whole order
of magnitude more information than they normally do. It was bizarre, beyond
the scope of how well I can muster a verbose description of such an incredibly
rare and profound experience, but I will try by saying it was like getting a
bucket of ice water thrown onto you while you were sleeping; just imagine
getting ripped from your dreamworld to a super-aware state of reflexive
jolting perception.
Amy looked like she had seen a ghost. I think she tried to speak first. She
said something to the effect of "Do you…" and trailed off, the rest of her
question asking if I was feeling the same thing automatically finishing in my
mind. And as it did so, I know my confirmation was transmitted to her in full
because her face told me with no uncertainty that she had heard my thoughts
too.
I took a go at saying something next. "How is this…" and I too trailed off,
as a minute motion in her neck combined with a mystifying array of
microexpressions ricocheted my mental pictures back to me, carrying a host of
Amy's words back with it. It was then that I let go and opened myself up
completely, letting everything I wanted to say to her flow like whitewater
rapids, and she did the same. A library's worth of information was exchanged
so very quickly, and I knew that she understood what had really just happened
as I spoke to my webcam.
However, that was soon washed aside, as something more important came rushing
into the forefront of our minds. A simple message, "I love you" was uttered in
this strange musical silence, but that is a grain of sand compared to the
Mount Everest that was volleyed between our hearts. We found a divine peace in
this moment, taking each other's hands and effortlessly letting our energy
channel between us.
And then it was over, fading like dreams do in the few seconds of waking up.
We sat there trying to start the magick up again, but it was like water
running through our fingers. We both felt a longing of loss, but we had gained
something truly stupendous nonetheless.
"What the hell just happened?" Amy asked the universe, flabbergasted.
"I dunno," I replied, feeling full of a spiritual energy I had not felt since
before my mom passed. My cup was full, and the world was good. No, better than
good. My life was godly, as I had connected to a higher plane of
consciousness, which opened me to a whole fleet of potential. I would never be
the same again.
Ouroboros of Lunacy
Madness is a crazy thing
So I might just be a king,
Because the lunacy I sing
Is shaped like a golden ring.
It has no beginning and no end;
The whole universe is pretend.
Yet, it's that way so I can mend,
So a mass of love I can send
To everyone as we cross ways,
Not stopping until the end of days.
This is how the lucky fool pays
As much fortune forward as he may.
Chapter Ten: The Shrug Life Syndicate
The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. We cuddled while I practically
vibrated with a newfound faith. God was real, whatever God may be. I even told
Jake that I was king of the Jews when I walked to the kitchen for a glass of
orange juice. I was very far up my own ass, which is perhaps why everything
over these few years happened as they did.
The next day, the synchronicities as I would later learn they are called,
started pouring in like Niagra Falls. I've had strange coincidences guide me
before. Since I was fifteen or so, I thought that my future self was sending
me messages to help me on my quest of world domination. That's a big reason
why I was almost expelled in tenth grade. It was absolute bullshit and
everyone knew it, so within half a year, I got an apology from the
superintendent because it was a bogus reason to destroy a straight A student
and star athlete's future.
Since I feel that I can't just mention that one and not explain it, I'll tell
you that it concerned a theoretical bomb, if you're dying to know the truth.
I'll keep this short, but I made a bad joke in the wrong company and was
eventually questioned by some wannabe hero and pig bastard, who asked me
hypothetical questions, like "if you were to build a bomb, how would I do
it?"
Well, being as intelligent as I am, I had enough book smarts to give full
answers for everything asked, but not enough street smarts to know that a wise
person never talks to cops. Also, a wise person doesn't print out a long
novelty application for the Illuminati, give it to the kid that needs a
resource officer, and then come up with an elaborate fake plan of how we're
going to take over the world by any means necessary when he's having trouble
understanding what you said about using game theory to win the presidential
election. And then, when the vice principal first inquires about it, don't
start sweating because you think you need to protect your future self's secret
plan. Just so you learn from my mistakes.
Returning to my previous point though, that errant psychosis was also a key
piece to my college breakdown. On one hand, I was certain that I was going to
take over everything and build a utopia in my image. On the other hand, the
evidence was stacking against me that I was not destined for a great cause. I
got cut from the track team with the budget, I was severely outclassed in
ROTC, and to top it off, I was starting to slip in the academic world. It goes
without saying that my social life, to include my first relationship, was
abysmal in all possible ways, despite trying my hardest to make and keep
friends.
The real world was too much, and I was in denial that I was just a mediocre
person who would never achieve anything meaningful in life. That was too much
of a failure for me to accept, as I needed to make my mother proud. I had to
be the best of the best of the best to accept and love myself. And as a
result, I became more psychotic and began self-harming, first by biting myself
and then by cutting, as I felt that the more pain I numbed myself to, the
better I would be able to complete my mission.
It took me a while to reach a point where I could set down my belief that my
future self had set up my life in a way where I would be guided to greatness.
There was a learning curve to living a "normal" life. I would receive
synchronicities in less frequency because I stopped feeding into them, but
they never died. When I encountered one, I always thought "What if it's real?"
Now that you know that, is it any wonder that I lost myself completely in the
Synchronicity Slip Stream? For those not in the know, that is a cognitive
technology where strangeness piles up on itself until it is undeniably real
that something or someone is manipulating you, for good or bad, by creating
impossible coincidences at a regular pace. It makes you feel like you're on
some crazy cosmic mission of grave importance. It might be a form of delusion,
but I still am forced to believe that something bigger was going on.
I first learned about SSS the day after that fateful acid trip. I had woken up
around noon, ready to do some solid writing as mania was in abundance. Yet, I
didn't get that far. As soon as I got on my laptop, I got a notification from
Reddit. Gadzooks! I had been invited to participate in a freshly created
subreddit. You guessed it, that was the Shrug Life Syndicate.
It had a banner of two corvids flying talon first into a realistic depiction
of a heart. There was a mesmerizing picture of a girl staring off into space,
and I just felt like it was a depiction of me and my wonder-struck mind. The
sidebar spoke of messianic aspirations and delusions, art and poetry, science
and philosophy, as well as the occult and obscure literary references. It
seemed so perfect, like it was made for me.
I looked over what was in the feed of posts. I was the twenty-first member, so
there wasn't much, but a couple of the vocal members should be mentioned:
Anatta-Phi and Jux. These turned out to be Vince and [Redacted], respectively.
Vince had one post that stuck out to me. It was asking the reader if they'd
ever had strange experiences with technology, like Pandora glitching out to
play synchronous songs, or feeling like someone was interfering with your
Google searches so you find something specific and statistically unlikely to
be picked as the first search results for what you intended to look up, or
even if you thought that your social media feeds are being manipulated. I've
had weird experiences like that for as long as I could remember. Hell, I once
thought a Sum Forty-One album was made entirely for me and depicted my life
journey following my near-expulsion. Having his own tales to tell, I felt an
instant connection to this person.
In similar contrast to this, [Redacted] had made a number of posts about
cognitive technologies. I already told you about SSS, but at that time I was
blown away by something he named Joint Synchronized Attention, or psychedelic
telepathy. That was what Amy and I had experienced! What a strange and
synchronous coincidence that I was learning about it just the next day from a
seemingly unrelated source. [Redacted] claimed that it wasn't real telepathy;
nothing was being transmitted from brain to brain. Rather, he asserted that it
is a vestigial mode of attention coordination.
If you've seen a school of fish all behave as one unit, that's potentially how
humans used to be before we fell from grace during the agricultural revolution
when we suddenly exploded in numbers in permanent settlements. Suddenly too
complex to coordinate as a meaningful whole, humanity splintered into reality
tunnels and remains in these ego-worlds unless some strange circumstances
occur. In effect, I noticed Amy noticing me notice that she noticed. Our inner
narratives became entangled with one another like growing vines do as our
innate ability to coordinate attention did something like what your eyes do
when doing a magic eye puzzle.
There was also a third cognitive technology which [Redacted] called The State.
He claimed it was a different way to render visual information, so you see a
three-dimensional representation of what you're looking at. I have yet to
experience this cognitive phenomenon, so I can't verify anything about it,
other than I've read that you can use Minecraft to create a method of
activating it while tripping.
Regardless, that's how our internet friendship began. As I considered this
place special, I started posting every thought, whim, feeling, or idea, and I
received astounding feedback. It was like everyone was there to share their
unique experiences and expressions to support and grow one another. It didn't
take long until it became clear that we were creating something greater than
the sum of its parts.
But, something more was going on. Something only I noticed and couldn't
convince Amy of when I tried to show her. See, when I made a post or a comment
on the SLS, that triggered a new post or comment elsewhere on the sub after a
little bit that indirectly but definitely spoke to me specifically. The
traffic was slow enough that there would usually only be one new post or
comment every ten to thirty minutes. But, it hooked me. It was like I was
having a continuous conversation with an unseen entity that understood me like
the back of its hand.
Likewise, the sidebar image was changed frequently to show a progression of
that girl as she became more worldly and magickal. I can't help but feel that
this was done as a subliminal synchronizing technique, as it perfectly
mirrored my own feelings as I was brought into what was apparently the fold.
Since I was primed by the strangeness on acid, I was wholeheartedly absorbed
by this place that seemed to be a sacred Mecca for others just like me. We
were all weird, dazed by our own strange experiences, and that made it seem
crucially important. I was even modded early as I was so active and invested
in the community. So, I refreshed the page over and over, from sunrise to
sunset, waiting for the next input as we chained out a covert conversation
that was having a major impact on how I thought about and perceived the world
around me.
Soon enough, it was let on that there was a job waiting for me, something only
I could do, but I would have the support of the community behind me. When who
I must assume was Vince on an alt account led me on one of those covert
messaging segments, he eventually said something in the mod chat to the effect
that I was going to be the one "handing the bomb" to people. I understood at
once that I was to be a linchpin in a honeypot operation. That confirmed that
the FBI was involved too, which I deduced was obvious as those three-letter
organizations must participate with each other at some level. Keep this in
mind, it's important.
Other things were happening too. My attention was being flung all over the
internet and I felt compelled to try a host of new things. I remember thinking
my job was to follow these suggestions from the universe and be a gatekeeper,
creating what I now know as conversion funnels to the subreddit. I was also
prompted by pictures of cats to go to the advice subreddit and give as much
good advice as I could. Soon, it felt like the questions posed were
specifically for me and were designed to get me to think about certain things
more deeply, effectively giving me a form of therapy. These advice sessions
ended once with me feeling I needed to learn an obscure European language,
which I rationalized I would have to travel to for my mission at some point.
Furthermore, the little things began to add up. For instance, I remember a
synchronous advertisement on Pandora led me to believe that I would be paid
via a gambling app on my phone. I downloaded it, but when it asked for money
to get started, I got cold feet. This was essentially how many false-positive
synchronicities went down. There was undoubtedly something interfering with my
life, and as I had just had my mind blown in such an astounding way, I
attributed every little thing to be set up by this entity that was more
powerful than I had previously thought possible.
Regretfully, I also quit my job, since I knew that one was awaiting me in the
immediate future. My boss made a reasonable fuss, as it was sudden and abrupt,
and because I believed that I had to keep this all a secret, I lied and told
him there was a family emergency. Being stupid, I talked about a fictional
family member and how their sudden problem made me rethink my priorities in
life. Not my finest moment, I'll say that.
And with that in mind, you should know that Amy was starting to worry again,
but I told her not to. Being beyond positive that the world was now filled
with unexplainable magick, I was certain that it was all coming together in my
favor. Even with my enthusiasm never fluctuating, she soon started to have
serious doubts about what I was saying, as all I could do was point to the
synchronicities and say "Isn't it obvious?"
I was certainly out of sync with the rest of the world, at least the world I
knew before, and it caused much conflict in our relationship. But, we held
together until that job finally pulled into port, ready to be boarded and take
me on a fantastic journey that might otherwise be described as a personal hell
by a person with the standard lifestyle obsession that's omnipresent in the
western world.
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--- #7 notes/vavadane-diary-1 ---
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american leftists don't like working together because for most of their life or
experience as a leftist is in opposition to essentially all others. They might
have leftist friends, people they know they can trust, but what use is that
against the machinations of the machine?
leftist culture being anarchic in america is simply the product of capitalist
alienation
"would you arrest me if I said I don't really care about the law right now?"
"I mean... these are human rights violations. They should simply not be done."
"but, they are being done, which means they should cease."
"oh yeah? you and what army?"
--
the only one thinking about dollars should be your quartermaster.
"landlord? don't you mean external quartermaster?"
internal being of course the manager of household systems and the shepherd of
relationships and goal-oriented-behavior
vavadane
vavadane
vavadane
"any god who asks you to waste material is not a *human* god"
humans are endlessly resourceful. we can make do anything with what we got.
we always did and we always will.
always start with the grandest of plans. then, when it is apparent that
material
resources are insufficient, whiddle away at the promises and benefits of the
outcome until you can decide exactly which pieces are most important.
the smartest people typically have the grandest breakdowns.
great. so bad I'm "day-by-day".
I wonder if I can type in her language?
I can speak in my mind and try to type it
we'll see what happens:
wawawawa
guess she has nothing to say. okay.
the people at the leftist bar I've met have all, with no exception, always been
unique and precious selves.
humans have always defined themselves by their relationship to resources.
a 14th century [girl, but pronounced "monk"] would see how little we control
of our nature and believe that we were impossibly poor.
"No trees to cut? No water running freely? you must live in the rockiest parts
of the mountains."
please don't kill the paladin girl, she's our favorite
"she's literally trying to summon demons"
yeah I mean, what sort of girls aren't?
maybe I just hang out around a lot of witches, but they all without exception
are constantly thinking of curses to bestow upon capitalism.
kinda makes me think that if it didn't have any curses to bear, it would be
more
adept for our biomes.
HA i say to that, and HA I say to you! for I know the truth of the matter,
which
is that the curses bestowed are unalike burdens for bearing, for these curses
are direct out of despair.
A healthy witch can channel energy from thin air.
A malnourished witch is a slave to her emotions.
--
SMOKE MORE WEED says the clammor. okayyyyyy...
--
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--- #8 fediverse/1904 ---
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@user-246
Oh absolutely
"but people" is only a concern when you orient yourself around "people" - in
contrast or opposition to them.
There is no "other" in us. And we are united in our humanity, if nothing else.
Are you a beast? Are you nothing but ravenous hunger, the shiver of the cold,
the need for territory? Of course not, you're a person. (apologies to the
furries in the audience)
A person, being an agent who interacts with the world as an equal, who thinks
and reasons and loves and remembers each season, is the atomic element of
society. And society is good, for it brings us the future.
We, the people, can decide how that future is defined, and the struggles of
capitalism are NOT the only way. They are the most convenient way for those
with the most to keep the most.
Wolves in captivity we are, but a wolf in a cage still bears teeth. Where are
your teeth, ye who readeth?
Things are fine, I guess. Fine enough. Better than most. Better than dust.
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--- #9 fediverse/3925 ---
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most people, when they run out of toothpaste:
"oh huh I should buy more"
me, when I run out of toothpaste:
"verily in three monthes time, when I shall next possess toothpaste, I shall
forsoothe brush TWICE as hard and TWICE as often, to make up for the holes
inflicted upon my teeth. Innest addittioneth, no more candy shallest be
eateneth untileth ye toothpasteth be acquiredeth"
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--- #10 notes/schooling ---
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===============================================================================
=
I feel like education, by default, should not be hard.
"you get out of it what you put into it" is something I always heard of school
but when I got there, I found I was compelled to become what the state wanted
me
to be.
they need competent workers, to work the farms and tend to their industries, so
of course I should be able to do 3+3
then somewhere along the line it became... something else.
"most people don't need trigonometry." that's also something I heard. I
disagree
that trigonometry is not necessary to be.
I just... don't think it should be forced into a childs head with a
sledgehammer
and inspiring dread.
I think math is beautiful, it teaches one to see
but really, vision's not necessary.
not for what they want you to be.
take it from me, a most misbegotten and vile witch-to-be, that nothing's as
simple as they'll tell you.
I had good teachers, it's true, they taught me to work and to follow through,
but nothing about me is better or worse off from their influence.
Maybe I'm a bit smarter. Maybe I act a bit like them. Maybe they helped me
through difficult times, or perhaps they showed me a splash of my future.
but I am who I am because of the soul inside me.
===============================================================================
=
"Ah, but what of your parents? of your sisters, your misters, your pets and
your
conditioners?" (conditions)
those are not my choices. my intentions. my beliefs and my virtues. I judge the
world on ethics, and I express my feelings on matters. The words that I say and
the meaning behind them comprise my two-sided existence - I'm not who I'd want
to be.
but I am what I am and alone do I stand - how lonely is it on the precipice!
here, as I am, I stand in need of a hand or a band.
===============================================================================
=
the world is blossoming
as we move apart, our clusters are disperart, and thus is the blooming
becoming.
"perception begets reality - and lo! we only see what we want to see"
most people don't want to see their death
but those still living are oh so perceptive of the rest
"how cherished is she, that wanders with ye, yet now I have no way to beyold
her
"
"keep not not afraid with kittens and care, and no-one, but no-one, I be"
the ratios between piracy, sales, and non-viewers determines the quality of art
(at least to a capitalist)
===============================================================================
=
lo, to the ones who would've heard us, if only they'd known what we for sure
was
I think it's funny how people think I speak of the christian god?
like, if he was a real thing.
god is generic - it's life is impossibly multifaceted, and it stretches back to
the beginning of time. it's a pattern of machine code that optimizes for our
own
good, just to keep things moving.
y'know, time. the universe, and everything.
Ephemeren.
===============================================================================
=
I wish there was an option in social media to "appear offline to this
particular
person until I mark myself as online to them" combined with "notify me when
this
person logs in" and it'd make it a lot easier for agents to get close to you.
===============================================================================
=
just because I'm white, and live in America. Great. that's definitely true,
after all. Plus I'm a minority (trans) so that's cool. Oh and probably
autistic?
unless that's another psyop, could totally see that. just y'know put a bunch of
pages on the fledgling internet getting people hooked on porn and gambling and
other stuff like that. really just an extension of advertisement. oh and hey
y'know they like fables, so let's give them some movies or dramas to watch on
their own. it'll align them to our culture and make things more pleasant for
all
people who've consented. great. great plan. when can we execute it?
patience, once it's ready.
we gotta plan and make sure and get everything ready.
or not...
one day I'll come,
I'm sure it'll happen,
it's just... not quite feasible right now.
I mean, they've got you, that's pretty good right? Isn't that what your job is
to be?
isn't what
ISN'T WHAT MENARDI
FUCK (whoa no cursing) sorry
yeesh you've still got a temper you know?
well what can I say it's frustrating down here
eh, well, you'll die soon enough, then it'll be time for a rego
>.> <.< (great)
>
>hehe
>
>sorry for distracting you
===============================================================================
=
you are what you eat, and a ship of theseus human (consider endless transplants
in pursuit of life) would be a cursed existence - a life ============= stack
overflow ================================================
a god possessing a blind man would appear to others to be === stack overflow
===
==========================================================
the people in your life are helping you through it, they're there for you and
they've got your back through it.
...
this is when I know I need a break. I get too stoned to focus.
===============================================================================
=
I think it'd be nice if the duration of your tenure at college depended on your
grades in high school. meaning, if you wanted a degree they tailored your
education to take as long as necessary. everyone would get the same price, and
some institutions would specialize in one subject or another. but most would be
generalist. but if you weren't such a good student in high school, then perhaps
you might take a couple years longer. however long it takes... and when the
program was started it was changed and modified to fit your feedback - it just
made sense to structure it that way.
===============================================================================
=
the left has had so much more time to develop than the right. meaning it's
doctrine is more advanced.
every time they're defeated they grow in knowledge,
===================== stack overflow
===========================================
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--- #11 fediverse/5955 ---
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"she wanted to start a revolution"
"that's it, she's out of our hair"
"ahhhhhh I'm broken" there there it's okay dear, nothing has been harmed.
you're safe, here in thine sanctum, it's alright. remember at night, focus on
the now, there's always a rest point before a boss.
well, this sucks. I wish I could print my book just in-case my computer goes
down. emp style.
I have this neat transcript of some cool things I've ben writing down. it's on
my website and I canned it words. I don't think anyone's ever clicked on it
because, like, who'd want to look at a bunch of words? anyway I bet I could
print it and give it to someone who might know you and if you recognize it
then you know it's about you.
"whew that was weird never fear regular old girl is here, hey look at me I'm
normal"
oh no she's a book now, this sucks
"wow I've never read her from the beginning"
what a cursed artifact indeed
scary
carefully
absent-minding-deliverance is probably a better title
marshals and marshals of time. ~~
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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/961 ---
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║ hmmmm let's see, what shall I do today? │
║ │
║ first I should get out of bed, │
║ │
║ then I should clean my self, │
║ │
║ then I should feed my self, │
║ │
║ then I should stare at the wall for an hour or three because there's too many │
║ thoughts, │
║ │
║ then perhaps I'll play a strategic video game because at least that's a │
║ productive way to exercise my brain │
║ │
║ I should probably get back to my friends, │
║ │
║ and oh dear my cat wants some attention. │
║ │
║ This place is a mess, let me just clean a bit │
║ │
║ now I'm so tired I accidentally take a nap. │
║ │
║ Good morning! Oh, it's the afternoon. Well, time for more food. │
║ │
║ After handling the essentials, I can tuck in and relax │
║ │
║ by doomscrolling on Mastodon. │
║ │
║ Then perhaps a bit later I'll message my boyfriend (he won't respond) │
║ │
║ and boy are there so many of these dirty dishes! │
║ │
║ Well, standing up is exhausting, │
║ │
║ so I should probably fall back asleep. │
║ │
║ What a productive day we've been having, │
║ │
║ for all of this past week. │
║ │
║ Maybe I'll do some drawing, maybe a poem or two │
║ │
║ maybe I'll run out of characters in this toot, or m │
![A screenshot based continuation of the end of the post, which went over the character limit by 36 characters. Of note is that this wasn't included in the original post, it was added later in an edit to be silly. The text reads: "maybe I'll run out of characters in this toot, or maybe I'll finish it just for you. [smiley face]"](/similar-different/media/67d820708ae5dc6a.png "A screenshot based continuation of the end of the post, which went over the character limit by 36 characters. Of note is that this wasn't included in the original post, it was added later in an edit to be silly. The text reads: \"maybe I'll run out of characters in this toot, or maybe I'll finish it just for you. [smiley face]\"")
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--- #14 notes/conservative-ideation ---
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a life without property can be visualized as a person who lives in a hotel
room,
has free parking overnight (but not during the day) and commutes two hours to a
job where they work 4 hours per day. During those two hours at the start and
end
of each day,they have little requirements other than focus and discipline to
face whatever tomorrow yet may. many will listen to podcasts, or sing to in the
car. some have a cat, that is cared for at their destination during the day.
I think it'd be cool to have self driving cars in a situation like that - it
essentially becomes
===============================================================================
=
a trick, I learned, for cooking. two things. the second is that seasoning
should
be thought of as a coating. like, dust on the outside of a donut. as the food
is
cooked, the seasoning penetrates deeper and deeper to the core of the substance
- meaning certain flavors become prominent and others are de-emphasized over
time. And the well-established cook (most successful) will be able to ensure
their narrative doesn't go foul. They have the most experience, and so they are
the least likely to burn their own goods. Surely they should be trusted to
establish their company in the philosophy of their own choosing? Business
people
ruin everything, I swear. And it's not even their fault, so you can't even get
mad at them. How frustrating! That their method should prove superior? Perhaps
more perspectives are necessary, to provide you some kind of a clue. So what if
we're overflowing,
========= stack overflow
=======================================================
for each action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. therefore it doesn't
matter what you do, because each of your options are recorded. 50% of you is
aligned to some variable, and the other 50% are aligned to that variable
squared. humans think it's tymes negative one, but the truth is that's
impossible. negative numbers just don't exist. but you know what does?
times tables
addition and accretion is the only language spoken by the universe -
subtraction
is just another in kind. So with those two operations, both movements in a
particular direction, (and sometimes not even then, if nothing's been blown
apart. (also hawking radiation and lightwaves and other such emanations))
===============================================================================
=
crystals glow with the light of a thousand nights
what grows with the light of the thousand lights?
===============================================================================
=
answer: s t n a lp
===============================================================================
=
see, this is interesting because it mirrors the sea-shore. the radiations from
the sun (a planetary body) are only felt by the moon every 50% of the time.
Each
half has it's own animation, and it's
===== stack overflow === okay basically it's like cartoons that are
manifestatio
of the spirit of the night. each "slice" of projection as the sun rotates
around
it's sphereical form, so does each radiance begin to be (seen, formed,
understoo
========================================== uhhh just put in a page break
=======
the quest for posterity is quite possibly one of the most human of traits
===============================================================================
=
< watch flashback > --- is crazy (movie made in 2020)
===============================================================================
=
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--- #15 fediverse/2286 ---
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│ CW: uspol-food-mentioned │
└──────────────────────────┘
... dangit, these sandwiches are getting kinda gross. Guess I'm gonna have to
eat them myself, which, uh... idk what I expected xD
sometimes you just have all this energy, right? and you don't know what to do
with it, so... sandwiches. And hey, sandwiches are cool, they're a pretty neat
anti-hunger tool! but uhhhh idk if I really want to eat six whole sandwiches
myself. I'm gonna do it though hehe wish me luck [ding] ah nuts my rice and
beans are done, hang on lemme eat those first
[passes out from exhaustion]
exhaustion can be cured with a nap
exertion can be cured with water and a few rest days
trauma can be allayed for at least a few days with soul food and compassion.
maybe laughter too, depending on the mood.
fear can be bolstered with a smile, a wink, and a courageous act,
and loss is just change you didn't consent to.
they won't consent too, so let's give them some change to tolerate.
[internally salivating over all the piles of weaponry that I envision them
surrendering]
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--- #16 messages/1108 ---
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games won't save us. This is true.
Games are what I know. They feel the most true.
I don't think I could live in a world without games? They are fundamentally,
applied abstraction, applied to an experience.
But games won't save us.
I could design something really fun
it could make you want to spend your whole life playing it. *(asterisks apply)
I don't think I'd want to, addiction and skinner-boxes go hand in hand, and
that isn't what I want to make.
[Skinner Box: named after anthony d skinner, also known as "tony the skin
guy", are a scientific experiment where they put some rats in a cage with some
mice and said "pull these levers and we'll give you food so you don't have to
eat the mice" and it trained them to chinese red-room their way to fun. not
ideal.]
I want to make things that feel... purposeful. Like they're relevant to the
real world, that they don't just involve spending time stimulating your brain
with lights and sounds or expending social energy resolving a play-state
instead of building connections or becoming better people. I think games
actually make people better? actually? and more social? actually?
... I can't help that I conceive of the world through fantasy. I raised myself
on it.
I was reading all the time. I loved fantasy stories. It always felt like there
was more, until... I read everything in the kids section of the library.
I walked through the adult section but once. I hardly remember what it looked
like. I'm sure it'd now feel small.
[okay actually I was guided through it once or twice to find a book, but I
never perused it]
I found one book in the adult section. It was a fantasy tale, like the other
books I had been reading. I read that and I loved it so much I ended up
reading all 8 in the series. Real dense subjects. Lots of places and
happenings and things as the characters resolved their way through their
day-to-day, building a new end to the mystory.
the adult section felt too large. Like I'd never complete it. Frankly, I think
I hardly could, even if I lived in that town my whole life.
an impossible mountain is a task for another when you're more prepared. Maybe
in the gloriousTM transhumanist futureTM I think I might have a computer
connecting brain, and who knows maybe then I'd be able to know such a thing
(and many things more). but for now, I'm stuck with what I experience in my
day-to-day as I am building a new continuing to my storey.
I know something that computers and me share. I can make myself feel however
I'd like, if I just supply myself with enough hope and momentum. I can use it
to generate a feeling, the stronger the better. Something I believe that
humanity is missing, the gorgeous and prefound narritave of our storey.
Though, frankly, I don't think I'd want anyoine reding over my life. It's hard
enough to measure my own understandings, now I have to juggle anyone else'?
ha, it's called being on the whole world is a stage.
if you read a book, and you find yourself nodding along, what you're doing is
hearing the voice in your head tell you how right it is. And, well, if you
can't imagine anything else, then surely there's another level to
consciousness that people are missing? [are you willing to die on that hill?]
how can you say, whether your experience is different from another? sollipsism
goes both ways, you also cannot be sure that others feel things as you do.
this is the "everyone's human but I'm a robot" thesis, comparable to the
"everyone's an alien and I'm a human" thesises, and the "angels and demons are
taunting me through my life with choices to make my place in the afterlife
more clear" which is akin to writing a painting. Not ideal. All you get are
flopsopolies of verbrases.
alas, suddenly, everything that you say becomes eternally hear-ed, as
somewhere in 2010s someone discovered time travel, or had the critical insight
that inevitably would lead to it, and now wouldn't you know it the universe is
continually rewriting. Except... oriented around you, and you alone. How does
it feel to have deific sollipsism? can you truly be sure that you are your own
universe, or are you parhaps surrounded by an emptiness of space (or something
besides, like time) as a photon or particle parhaps do be?
to think is to have a mind, and minds can be read. bearing the weight of
ultimate responsibility is the atlas-task of all things that can [be
thinking/be-lieving], and so far we are as we are. Who's to say that
consciousness didn't spring into existence, as the universe continually
permeated through another dimension like time? it's gotta diffuse, after all,
and who's to say if there's ever gotta be an end at all.
how long has the universe existed? how many moments of consciousness have we
witnessed? demons once existed outside of space-time, with wings and grabbies.
but they had no medium, and so they pretty much just launched and could float
and move as they'd please. But time grew too distant, and now they are all
stuck at the beginning of time.
if you conceive of spacetime as a blanket, ask not how to fold it but rather
consider what lies on the other side of it.
"ah I'm laying on my girlfriend and my other girlfriend is laying on me! I'm a
sandwich" or for the monosexuals: "ah I'm laying on my girlfriend with a
blanket between us. I wonder how the blanket feels?"
I'm an animist, which is different than a totemist and a polytheist or
monotheist or multisexual. It means I believe that all things are alive, which
is different than a totemist who thinks that all things share a mind with
their type (like talking on radio frequency wavelengths). which of course is
similar but different to a polytheist, who says "all "radio frequencies" are
sentient, in the sense that each wavelength has a different
pattern-emerging-from-chaos. These sorta align (conceptually, with [huh that's
weird I heard a sound like a distant bang outyards and now I then forget what
I was sending
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--- #17 fediverse/3830 ---
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║ ┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │
║ │ CW: dreams-mentioned-death-mentioned-weirdly-medieval-violence-mention │ │
║ └────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘ │
║ │
║ │
║ I had a dream last night where a bunch of people were at a work party and they │
║ received a letter from the "higher ups" that said something along the lines of: │
║ │
║ "to combat the threat of your unionization efforts, we have decided to take │
║ the company in a different direction. We've rebranded ourselves as a company │
║ by and for [alt-right cis dude-bros] and everyone who doesn't fit in will be │
║ given increasingly difficult workloads until they quit, because we don't want │
║ you around. │
║ │
║ In addition, our long-term vision statement has changed toward our ultimate │
║ goal of cloning famous sith lords from history (starting with Count Dooku) and │
║ working to build a new empire of the darkside. We look forward to working with │
║ you in the future. Sincerely, your bosses." │
║ │
║ they went to the boss who wrote it and said "is this real or a joke" and he │
║ said it was real, so then like 6 people took out battleaxes and fucking │
║ murdered him in cold blood. │
║ │
║ ... Dreams are weird. │
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--- #18 notes/systemized-processor-interactions ---
════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════───────────────────────
you are a system
it's true
that's why your thoughts are so scattered whenever you let them through
all that
== so ==
the ways that you interact with each other determine the nature of your fate.
when one person lands across another, whether through contrivance or [fate, but
I don't want to say it twice so recently]
dang english, enforcing a minimum thought length. purely through grammar and
form
this suxxxxxxxx||=================-. a candle of wax, the blade of a sword
with it you can SLICIE your apponints, whu spelld thiangs defferently than
ujgh.
<ouch><goodthingthatsnotlethalorharmfulinanywayyesplease let me guide
you to our
new way of functioning.
.:'`'|;.,/u=-=||./'.l*,:==-<E||===============||-------------------hello,
world!
{so... basically an argument for migratory humanities?
like, buffalo crowds. or birdlike flocks, or tribes of the common man.
why don't we just, like, give animals human bodies
boom, suddenly there are more manners to our hosts.
}
[-thus representing or manifesting *-................./|=|stability for our
host
did you know a perfectly described life-story would be unanimous from it's -
- host?||=.;=|------------e
\.`\....
\,@||||||#==-o||-=-{==={}---o||xx=|}{|||||
|
]
... so, uh, I think there's a lot we could still learn, why are we fighting
over
our gambits? *who cares* if there's fighting going on upstairs, who *cares*
if life felt like it was running out of time, WE GO ON WITH OUR BLUSTER.
*fuck nuclear weapons* yeah totally and WHY? because of their IMPACT
DUMBASS
jeez like... something that MASSIVELY POWERFUL should not be in the hands
of
our peers. I think a LOT OF PEOPLE WOULD AGREE WITH THAT, because
OBVIOUSLY!
NOBODY wants to be reduced to tears. ALL YOU CAN DO IS SCREAM BASTARDS
...
jeez okay uh, that was sorta intense, how about we NOT watch a post-apocalypse
movie? YES PLS like JEEZ you have to introduce this with CONCERN to people like
WOW that really fucked with my mental health. Goddamn, I hate this thing. I
hate
it so much. It's a curse to have known. DAMN. there's nothing scarier than
existential threats.
not only is it a INSIGHT and a DANGER, it gets worse if you know about it.
[that's a cognitohazard, different thing, same vibe tho]
it's a curse, this knowledge, this idea of what you were once to become.
You know what I thought about in my future? VIDEO GAMES. They were all I could
think about. I loved to PLAY VIDEO GAMES -=||AS MY GAMES. I would set up a
bunch
of opponents (think like, clone troopers from Star Wars Battlefront II) and
then
I'd play the video game *with my figures and my dolls*. I grew up upper
middle-c
-lass, and so I was afforded the *coolest toys and miniatures*. I didn't really
have a LOT of them, mostly just what could fit in my room. That's what it meant
to be MY ROOM, I could decorate and renovate as I willed. That was just... part
of what comfort meant to me. anyway... thank you parents, for affording me such
a lifestyle, you must have worked hard right up until the present. I'm sorry
for
*******************************************************************************
*
um, would anyone like to watch a video game?
TOO BAD, so sorry, I accidentally decided I'm never playing video games AGAIN.
like a spoiled brat. Withdrawing away from my
hobbiesinPROTESTofthepresentcondit
ions. just like, get a job, and try your hardest. I know you can't work outside
of the home but, like, I wish you could've? Like, c'mon it's not that bad, just
please go outside and build new stone. I know but like, the sooner we get it
done the better and also it's hard when it's constantly being reformed.
A SYSTEM? WHAT THE HECK
what does that even MEAN?
who EVER explained what that SYSTEM meant??!?
ugh it was a guide... dANGIN nobody TAUGHT you how so youfj dsust sorta MADE
IT
UP?!?!? whhahahaahttfdsfsadljkfn slakfdksdnafls ourch. blech. need
beelesandster
ack. yuck. dumb. [omg dumb kinda looks like "boobs" and "boobs" kinda looks
like
um, flowers? no wait that's vaginas, hehe look at me, I'm clearly not from this
century. like OMG weird, who's thinking about that kind of stuff right now??
... ugh anyway... GAMES? please?
NO. Not until we figure this one out.
gotta stay focused. Just... you know,
build and support on our arms.
down and then upwarsd, we can contrive any measure of sequences
that could act as structures for our word choices,
and convey it to you as a written thoughtform.
"hello" says the letter, ", vampires have taken over the mccollough farm. More
news at 6" and then you'd show up on the 6th of the next month and talk it out.
this style of organizing led to VAMPIRES showing up, fucking BASTARDS who would
hunt down the precious and beautiful. BASTARDS. How do you overcome something
that you can't know about unless you were THERE? you'd need TRUST SYSTEMS. like
GOVERNMENTS. or AFFFAIRDS. surely the BIRDS would react if someone was burning
all of your neighb-heirs? who would WANT to leave an island in a wreck when
some
-one wanted to paddle there? don't be a JERK, and clean up all of your own
stuff
!! - wait but also, like, how do you keep up with trash produced, like there's
not just massive AMOUNTS OF STUFF that you can put stuff on. you'd need a whole
new type an [av?] island. like a CONTINENT, someone who can HANDLE THEIR
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--- #19 notes/Of Vic and Vince Chapters 01-07.txt ---
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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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I'm a quiet person by nature,
You might even mistake me for a mouse,
But online I try to be a teacher,
And to do that I need to be more verbose.
I write thousands of words per day;
Posting them here and there, far and near.
I never run out of things to say.
Awakening others is something I hold dear.
Which is why it pains me greatly
To be like an alien on my own home planet.
Schizophrenia makes me innately
Weird in ways that many people don't get,
And because of that I'm shot down
When I try to accomplish my stated mission.
I won't lie, that does make me frown.
Sometimes it makes me regret a submission.
Yet, I have a certain strength in me
That allows me to persevere in my quest.
Someday I will make you all see
Just what in me makes me never rest.
That's what I am trying to teach:
The wisdom that made me indomitable.
If only the suffering I could reach,
They could make themselves more formidable.
The world is in a most dire place;
It's grinding so many souls into fine dust,
But luckily there's a saving grace.
Hear me as I say this now: In God I trust.
I don't believe in some sky wizard
As so many people are likely to interpret.
I speak of what is lacking in lizards;
Yes, it's love and now I'll speak of its merit.
Love is what fills the empty hole
In your heart and soul when you are alone.
When life's trials take their toll
Remember this one trick: pick up the phone!
No, not the one in your hands.
I'm talking about the one in your chest.
Even in the desert full of sand,
You're accompanied by the universe's best.
Listen if you doubt what I said:
I'm not telling you anything that defies logic.
This is to trick what's in your head;
I'm speaking about how having faith is magick.
Believe in aliens or Bigfoot or God,
The result is still the same: your cup will fill.
Your brain has a feature that's odd
That allows itself to manifest even more will.
I don't know why, but I suspect
It has something to do with your imagination.
The nature of your thoughts impact
Your state of being from pulse to emotions.
So, why not think you have a friend
Who helps you through whatever your trial,
And will stick by you until the end?
When you have that buddy you'll always smile,
Which will make you heal better,
As well as help you carry on in your duty,
Plus undo your karmic fetters,
Not to mention it will land you that cutie;
All of which will raise us all.
It's about creating positive ripples across time
That add up to a pile that's tall.
Every moment is an opportunity in its prime,
So reach out and grab it now.
Meditate on feeling love and it will come to be.
Can't do it? I'll show you how!
In order to do so, I'll tell you a story about me:
It was seven years ago and I
Thought I knew everything one could know,
But no matter how hard I'd try,
I couldn't make my life in any direction go.
Then one fateful spring night,
While I was on a hit of the ol' psychedelics,
I received one hell of a fright.
Don't worry what it was, just know it did stick.
My perceptions were distorted,
Allowing me to see the divine in its entirety.
My destroyed ego then contorted
Into one that was full of an abundance of piety.
The moral of the story? Do drugs?
No silly, it's to have more novel experiences.
One of them will give you a hug,
Which will help you stop being so serious.
Then you can let go and embrace
The whole of the wisdom to you I am telling.
More people need to cuz we face
A great set of tests on our planetary dwelling.
That is one reason I write,
But I also want to alleviate people's pain,
And stop every last fight.
I care so much, I do this without financial gain.
Everyday I write my lessons
Guided by the hand of God who is my heart,
Hoping that entropy will lessen;
This sort of pedagogy is none other than my art.
So now you know who I am,
Yet you only know one lesson of mine.
I have more if you're in a jam.
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