Well no one seems to be sustaining the party or doing the heavy lifting tonight (but bless you all working on books, blogging about travel and gardening, mysticism and magick, the plethora of things you do–so wonderful), just on my feed I mean, in my opinion, nothing is quite for me.
So here I am. Doing it myself.
Here’s the thing.
I might have…
Okay well nevermind. I just never really have anything to talk about. So much is off-limits. I don’t know what to say. My finances are in check. I even started budgeting, never mind that I practically have enough savings for the deposit on a new house. I’m so financially responsible it hurts. Well, not that financially responsible; it doesn’t actually hurt.
Hidden in this, somewhere, must be some meaning that I’m just not seeing.
Sorry, there was a implicit change of topics there.
“No one’s holding you back.”
That’s the obvious thing to say. Innit.
You know what I think about that, if you know me half at all.
Chess: For analysis. Not a fun game. Brutal, failure feels terrible. Chest pain. Pressure. It’s not an overdose.
What am I talking about. I’m drifting off. Segues. On the road. On the blog paper. What is blog paper? I wish they made it. They = the market. The market = commerce section of society.
Maybe it exists in some country. I don’t know all the countries. Interesting thought on my evening walk earlier tonight: I’m just doing everything wrong. No, sorry, that was an interjection without the appropriate punctuation. I just had to get it out. What I meant to say was: Well now I forgot. That, too, was an interjection without the appropriate punctuation. Oh me. What do I ever do. What do I ever do.
I haven’t the slightest.
But you know; and you know; and you know.
Three’s the magick number.
But for loss of words, there isn’t much in the blogosphere.
Not that I’m bashing.
But there’ it could be much more personal. And it’s already helluv friendly, but it could be much… well, more. Unless my illness really is a psychotic paranoid dystopian world enforced upon me with no traceability back to reality whatsoever.
Man. I don’t want to.
Mmmm. Hmmm. Right. Now. so..
Okay okay okay. I don’t know. I’m sorry. That might not have been what you were expecting but for sure I don’t have any legitimate clues. And he flips it, and now it’s some sort of symmetry group for me to analyze. That’s right: I know some math.
I bought like four books on math for my Kindle within two days recently. Within the last week. Kindle books are cheap, but they’re not free. What can I say.
Don’t trust what you read on the internet.
I guess what I’m supposed to do now is try to remember that interesting thought I had on my walk this evening. Here we go…
*clocks ticks away*
Okay, now I realize: There were more than one. I like the way I said that. But anyway, there were more than one. The one I remember is: Things can be categorized into two categories: 1) Art; and 2) Everything else.
Doesn’t that sound interesting?
Art, and non-art.
For starters, what does that say about the way your mind works, if that would be by chance how you categorized the things and concepts found in the world?
Interesting, for starters.
And then, why this sharp disjunction–one item category vs all-but item category.
I was trying to, basically, come up with a word (or at least a phrase) for what non-art things are. But I couldn’t! So I just thought: Art, and non-art.
Why? Why look at the world that way? Muse. Interesting. The Muse of Interest. Not financial. Not computational. Not informatic. Just conceptual focus and leisure.
So to me, folks, that’s how the world is. There’s so much art in it, really, that it’s not like a 1/99 like it seems; I’d say it’s more of a 45/55. [Art/non-art].
Excuse me, I might’ve overdosed on my psych meds for the night (can’t remember) so I might be complaining about minor chest pain interjectedly throughout this post.
The dead giveaway will be if my speech is slurred. So I just have to talk to myself every once in a while–nope, starting to feel it. I probably overdosed. I don’t think it’s lethal though. It’s such a small dose to start with. The other dead giveaway would be akathisia (intense restlessness-like second-by-nanosecond counting down the moments not moved, always needing to move, nonstop, incessantly) and as you may have guessed, no, I did not get up out of my seat and start crazy pacing around the room. I’m still here writing.
You know, the worst thing I would feel about if I died were my family. It would hurt them so much. I just can’t die. That would be so unfair to them.
So I better be fuckin’ careful.
And sane. About my actions.
So back to the topic: art vs non-art. Art is something aesthetic, or, inspiring, or sentimental, or full of feels or a certain genre of cognition. Style comes to mind. Motion, ideas, dreams. Some words that I see coupled to art.
I just did a slur check. Turns out, talking to yourself is surprisingly amusing. I should try it more often.
I don’t know what to say about the art thing though, folks. It’s up to you. Define art for yourself, as a homework exercise, and I’ll give you a cookie and a web beacon as a reward. It’s a deal.
The next topic I wanted to touch upon was…
Well actually, I’m not so sure again. I didn’t really have one planned. I’m sort of making this up as I go along. So much animosity from these family members. Egads.
But it’s kind of funny, brother The Youngest did a Mario RPG pratfall in his room (I deduced from the sound of it) and it was simultaneously funny and intriguing. Like, what was he doing in there? It’s such a bemusing (in a good way) little gesture. Gesture I guess is the word for it, right? Would it be? It’s a little more whole-body than just a gesture, though.
See? Topics seem to spring up.
Oh. A visitor who I haven’t seen in a while. Miss [name omitted for confidentiality]. Knew her from school. That’s about as personal as I’m going to get (this time).
Well at least she’s not bothering me or being abusive or anything. How nice of her. Feel free to hang out and watch, motherfucker! =)
Pratfall. Mario RPG. You should look it up. You probably can’t find it. It’s such a small piece of the game I doubt anyone’s dedicated any videos just to it alone.
Here’s the first google youtube hit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ClOF5s8Xfnc.
That’s right: Mario RPG IN GERMAN, motherfuckers.
What a term of affection. A word which I feel is mispelled officially, but I won’t digress.
What was I talking about? My mom just texted me from the beginning of her shift at the hospital so I got distracted from this post. You know, this post I’m seeing behind everyone’s back.
Lol. I’m just obsessed with wordplay aren’t I.
In any case, do I say that a lot? Yes I doooooo.
Okay. Getting a little loopy.
In any case:
Actually I think that was the end of our topic.
Ugh, starting to get a headache. Weird. Don’t normally get headaches. As long as there’s no akathisia or slurring, I should be alright. I can tolerate minor pressure/pain in the chest. I’ve had that before with no consequence. My regular blood pressure is fine and I exercise mildly routinely so I should be in good enough cardio shape.
What’s on all your guys’ minds? Guys’ and gals’. I never hear from any of my followers, it makes me so sad. I would love to get to know you all better. I know the majority just slammed dat follow button and never logged back in at all, but some of you I recognize by your icon or alias as regular Like-ers. Thanks! Thanks for all the Likes! I really do appreciate it.
God, you can tell my mental health is just milestones better than it used to be, can’t you? Go back and read some of my blog posts from two years ago. Jesus fucking Christ. Horrifying. Bad horror novel.
Yeah. I was not in good shape. I don’t want to talk about it too much, but I don’t want to suppress it and not talk about it at all, either. Moments of time belong in time. So it goes.
I am on such a roll, I just don’t want to end this! Ugh, more chest pain. Like a knot behind my left pectoral. I rrreeeeally don’t want to go to the ER. Such a hassle. Why isn’t it spelled hastle? Cakes. Anyway.
I could go on for ages. I really feel like so able right now. If the risperidone (the one I might’ve overdosed on accidentally, just a mild OD), the normal regime, doesn’t do the full job, we might increase my abilify back to 20 mg. So anyway, that will probably be the nail in the coffin for the schizoaffective disorder.
That feels like a good note to end on. Just namedrop that bomb of my disease on y’all. Yall. Y’a..
Oh yeah! I should write a poem for you, the Audience, my cherished audience, as this is a poetry blog. Here we go!
I nearly died that night
Thinking of you in your red dress
Caressing the pet cat and meowing at me
For not displaying enough affection
I was underperforming at the pinball
Machine and as usual gave up too soon
But you resurrected me and now I am here
Well, there’s not enough to be said about the
Situation, circumstance, matter
Lest the hats we wear control us a little more than
We may think to know
I give up on you when you know me
But weld the two joints together and
Animatronic love chaos unfurls its
Sails and dives into the Caribbean
The only Bean native to the American cost
Loss, and all strangers associated with it, may
Be assailed, at whim with will, to distribute the
Funds set aside for their own well-being
I give up when you call me
A loser, anyway, sticking tongues out doesn’t
Renew the lease or unleash the peace or
Mend the tears in the fabric we wear together
We knew then, as we do now, that holding it–
Hands in hands in sacks–
To such high standards wasn’t wise
So we grew out of it, on purpose, and touched our lips to
The soothsayer’s ball and sand a lullaby, soothing
“Go, go, little ball, go…”