Resurrection, Warrior

I simultaneously feel like I’m dying and resurrecting

But the turnout for the show’s not great

I recurrently forget what I was th-h-h-h-inking.

High. Higher than Mount Everest (why is it spelled that way?)

Beyond the breeze

Gentle mist

Ahhh—the crest of your chest bounces

As demons take shape in the land

Never abandon

Never forget

Party on, warrior(!)

Elizabeth — Treacle Heart

she looked like a girl I knew but stranger a creature dental-floss hair ice in her eyes tattoos on her toes tequila on the tip of her tongue where did she come from? that whole afternoon we told stories by the pool about parents and books and drugs and the moon and smoked cigarettes on […]

via Elizabeth — Treacle Heart

This poem by Elizabeth @ Treacle Heart really touched me. It’s about spontaneous connections and reflection, both good and bad, and the interplay between the two, on what life has dished you. Check it out!



They say you need a hobby like it will revolutionize your life

I write poetry and it doesn’t make me feel much better

But now, I am writing one small poem

And that is a difference in the world

Maybe I was overestimating how much of a difference I could or should make

Maybe my input will always be small

My effect

But I can live with that

I can write this small poem

Writing poetry doesn’t make me feel great, but it’s something–sometimes the only thing–that I can do. So I choose to do it.


Questions — Words for Ghosts

Is belief in the sentiment of love & of revolution a contradiction between singular & universal: must one sacrifice the other or is the distinction no more than a mistaken understanding? To what extent are the things that we say & do beyond our control? Even though the choice to say “No” […]

via Questions — Words for Ghosts


Beautiful piece by Words for Ghosts here. Highly recommend it and his poetry blog.

Personal Update (more than two lines long, for once)

Hi everyone. I got some good coding homework in today and I feel much better than yesterday. I think work, of any sort, is good for me. No, that’s not true… only work that engages me is good for me. My previous job was a disaster. Could not stand it. It was in biology lab. Pharmaceuticals. Mystical world, right? Not really. It’s so fucking regulated, there’s no room for creativity whatsoever, unless you’re at the higher-up level and you have to solve problems in one way or another and you have to figure it out on your own.

But I wasn’t at a higher-up level.

So I’m taking a course on Python and I am thoroughly loving it. This course in the series is about plotting data. This homework is very difficult but I’m learning so much more than I ever did at my previous job. I’m hoping I will have the opportunity to learn and approach problems creatively at my next job (hopefully in data science or bioinformatics). But I don’t think the hardcore companies would want me for lack of skill (so far), so I’ll probably be with one of the lesser companies. I still need to scope out who’s in the industry! God, but data science is in such high demand (or so they say…). I’m hoping I can get back to work doing something I like for once pretty soon. As soon as I finish this course series, would be best. The courses should also give me some fodder for my GitHub profile. Quiz question: What’s the difference between Git and GitHub? There is a difference and I know what it is, but I’ll let you figure it out (Google is allowed).

So, I don’t have much reason to use Git itself because I don’t have any huge software engineering or bioinformatics pipeline projects running, but GitHub is alright as a portfolio storage system (for me, at least–I’m sure for others, too, though). That’s how my youngest brother landed his first job (which he promptly quit for feeling tortured to death at it–crushed soulless (ouch)). I feel really bad for him, and he hates me so there’s nothing I can really do for him. I think my main focus in life right now is taking care of myself.

My illness is doing pretty well, meaning, it’s rather light. Minor symptoms. It’s fucking great. Living with a brain disease is a fucking nightmare. Holy shit. You have no idea how much it interferes with daily life. I’m so lucky that I’m starting to recover. Jesus.

What else is on the radar…

Still into indie video game design. Need to finish up this first one and launch asap to build our studio’s brand (comprised of me, the middle brother, and my mom). Mom does the art, brother designs game core components and music, and I’m a game designer/coder as well. We haven’t the three of us collaborated on anything yet–that would be super-mondo- cool! I want to do it! He’s made his few games on his own in a different software studio than what I use (I think mine is better (Unity vs Construct)), but he has indicated he’s willing to learn Unity. I’m working in Unity. My mom does the art. Aaaaand enough repetition, cue…

I am highly suspicious that kratom may have been the source of a lot of my anxiety. You develop a tolerance if you’re using at high doses, and then any minute without it is just the most restless, anxiety-inducing thing you can think of. It’s not a good plant. Maybe in small doses to help heroin addicts taper, but I would bet that that’s about all it’s good for. I was in the other camp before–that it helped with my condition and fought my symptoms, but now that I’m drawing broader connections in my mind, it seems to be the opposite. Oh, insanity is one of the strangest, most difficult things to comprehend. Such creative things happen when you haven’t any marbles in the sac.

I think that’s it for now. I don’t know what to do for the rest of the night. Oh! I had two webinars for career development scheduled for today, but I skipped both–the first b/c I wanted to sleep in and the second b/c I was engrossed with my Python homework. Wah-wah. It’s okay, they are recurring; I can schedule new ones for myself. Maybe next week. I also need to meet in person with my career development rep. sometime. Not on the ball, not on the ball…

But actually, kindof am?


It’s Done

So it’s finally over. The torture.

I got fired.

I’m “mentally touched”, without legal disability but with psychiatrist, and my company couldn’t accommodate me. So they’re letting me go, with some severance pay (not too much but a good amount).

I’m so so so so glad it’s finally over. Working at my company (employee still until Friday) has been a fucking nightmare. My psychosis was regularly overwhelming and it felt literally like living in a lucid nightmare, WHILE trying to get shit done. And that shit is helluv tedious, intricate, delicate, sensitive, detail-oriented shit! It’s biology! Working in a lab sucks. Don’t do it. (Unless you actually like it, you lucky sunuvagun.)

Ugh. Talking about it doesn’t make me feel so good, though. Maybe I’m resurrecting demons I shouldn’t be. TALK ABOUT EVERYTHING, or, as a neighbor on WP says, Write long and hard about what hurts. =)

I didn’t do anything to get fired. My psychiatric accommodations required were just too much for the company. I won’t go into the details for confidentiality reasons. It wasn’t anything too much. Basically I COULDN’T FUCKING WORK IN LAB BECAUSE IT WAS TORTURE. Ugh. And my brain didn’t handle it well.

I know, I know. Shh-shhh. Gentle.

I’m tired. I don’t like writing. This isn’t an interesting topic. I just wanted to update you.


Passage of Time

Man the last days of August absolutely dragged on, while these first few days of Sep. absolutely flew by! Whoosh! Such contrast. I wonder why.

To celebrate our misconstrued passage of time, here is a poem! I’ll try to keep it simple.

He huffed instead of hmmed

Because he was older

And grew backwards

From sage to child.

He grimaced instead of smiled

Because time was slowing down

Not accelerating like he had hoped;

But au-contraire, he liked it–

The subtle bits of hallucination embedded in his clock

And the way it ticked just like him.

He met and kept meeting and knew how to make do

Foreboding himself, setting the future for the past a passage

Through itself, under itself, through the forested woods.

Limestone and rust–no texture mattered more than that of the fabric of time

In which he wrapped himself, it simultaneously bumpy and smooth,

Delicate and rough

Sandpapered silk.

Damage? Unknown (to him)

Just saying Hi! to strangers

Along the way

And sinews snapping and reforming

The synapses of the watch on a parapet

The bridge connecting here to there–

Never forever, ever always,





~Don’t work overtime unless they pay you, folks!