Commodore

Everywhere I look

I feel negativity

Sense it

In my eyes

Glaring at me

From the screen

From my brother’s room

From torment

 

I am duplicitous, no

But shonder’d off again I be awake in misfoot

Haven before Sunyard’s set

 

See mee goo

Say me go

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?

;)

Needle(s)

Couldn’t decide, plural or singular.

Getting on with it…


They slide into you

Painlessly

And then you are immune

To death

 

The real kind, are fine

Just don’t get a contaminated one!

Always fresh

 

Always fresh, the pain

My mind, and the mental ones

That stab, puncture, maim

Make unbelievable wounds

These are my needles

I am not immune

Censored

My brain

can’t think

. pause .

the blocks

the walls

the bricks:

solid

. pause .

I strain

I fight with ferocity

against the walls

in my mind

. pause .

and strive

to undo

the covering up of

my mouth

my pen

my voice

and my soul

. pause .


Tried something new out with the “. pause .”-es. Not sure it works to well. Ehhhh. Oh well.

Psychosis

you

don’t know the extent

of the atrocity

I’ve been through.

the nightmares,

the torture,

the rape.

none of it was real.

none of it was real.

what can I say?

I didn’t survive;

I died many times over.

I shouldn’t be here,

on this Earth

breathing.

life is fickle,

and the middle finger the wrong way

can land you in Guantanamo faster than you can say

“I love you”.

Anthropods: Mental Models

I sort of get infected by the nightmare of people

What I mean by that:

 

They, the people in my sphere, in my perception,

Come to life, on my inside, in my mind.

Doesn’t mean it’s authentic.

I have–my brain has–enough information to make a mental

Model of the person.

But it shies out of control. Tends to.

So, I “see” people doesn’t really adhere to canon.

They’re not really there–

Only, they are.

 

The modelling parameters are corrupt, when

Such “nightmare people versions” are instanced

In my mental model

So the people look nasty, or malicious, or what-have-you

There’s no web certificate of authenticity

There’s no SSL encryption

Just the barrier between inside and outside

So I see them:

The people I already see

On the outside, on the inside

 

I think I’ve explained it

Any ambiguity can be discussed in the comments section

Thank you for coming to my TED talk

Chaos, Utter Chaos of a Blog Post

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…

Something.

SOmething.

 

Nothing.

 

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.

Well.

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..

To continue:

And then:

 

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..

Cya!


Oh yeah! I should write a poem for you, the Audience, my cherished audience, as this is a poetry blog. Here we go!

 

Under Mine

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…”

 

~v

What the flying fuck:

I don’t know. This is a long shot. I’m hoping it ends longer than a single paragraph.

I don’t have anything.

That doesn’t seem like a profound statement but think about it.

I don’t have… anything

Oh Jesus. Whatever.

Well, I’m alone, there’s no fun in my life, and all I have is work work work more work. Even these two weeks off to adjust my psych meds to get less ill have been me mostly occupying my time with work and development projects.

But what happens when I don’t have the muster?

I don’t know. I don’t even want to write. Kratom is great, but it’s no high. I don’t want anything dangerous. I’m never doing coke. Not “again”. I never have. Just never. I wouldn’t want my nose irritated like that. So dangerous. You have to know your shit to do hard drugs safely. And it can be done.

What was I saying…

Oh yeah: Nothing.

Well.

It’s tapering down.

We’re in that phase again.

 

And the damn scrollbar is broken.

 

What the flying fuck.

 

Why am I double whitespacing these sentences.

 

Sentence.

Think about it.

Finish

Your

Sentence.

 

I have nowhere to go, either. There’s no escape, really. I just don’t know. No one to talk to. The big three: Nothing to do, nowhere to go, no one to talk to. Isolation. Perfect, deadly isolation. The perfect deadly kind.

What do I have?

I’d have to ask someone–a professional–to take an inventory for me. To take stock on my behalf. They’d have to be a mind-reader. Of course, these days, with me, everyone is. That’s where my illness kicks in. I don’t really have privacy anymore. People visit as they wish. They come, they go. No corporeal, totally in spirit. But very real.

I need to update my psychiatrist. I’m no way am I going back to work in a week. I can’t be around people that much for that long. It kills me. I found the term for what I am: anthrophobic. Yeah.

So. There you have it. My life. Dumb. Dumb life. Smart me. Dumb life.

Yep, scrollbar’s definitely broken.

And I don’t get why people try to influence me so much. What the flying fuck. I have no idea. So many motives. It seems.

Once again, blogging solved nothing. It didn’t let me vent, I came up with no genius ideas, nada. What a waste of time. Not that the rest of my life isn’t. But you know.

But of course you do. You all do. You know all about it. Don’t you.