Fresco

The pain of a dyspeptic diabetic interlude swing-song sway-on down the cruise to the river colluding with my mother’s–WENCH she was–last living brother

No jovial touch-down on this beach or that planet

Just juggling apples and twiddling thumbs as cataracts build in my middle school mathematics teacher’s eyes

She had surgery and told us

No, she didn’t lose her eyeballs out of ‘r eye sockets

Like a zombie

But I did attend Math Club

And it was just riddles

He, the brother, told me not to go too hard on my own

For they are your last

Psycho freak he is, I had to trust him

For once he was soft-spoken

My insulin comes in packs

They don’t mail it one at a time

Stem

Some stems stay near the base

Father, buys things

The mother and the brother yell at him

For buying things

The tree is sturdy but has mold

I lay near the bottom

Leave splatter the floor in slow motion

Where wind stings hurried face

He is always in a rush, father

He is always stressed

No one acknowledges it

Mother & brother say so many things

To try to make it better

For him

We all do our best

It’s hard to tell which of us is/are the black sheep

We all do our best

For him

To try to make it better

Allsores

Gala, soft spot fer her

Yep, right in between thousands of bicycles

I guess some people think it sounds better live

Yep, there’s a glitch right on the computer’s screen

Letting through the bits and filtering out the wit

I’m a whore, dumping this misogyny on the world

You know me, we dance and we let out some steam

Then the clean things say, “Louder, louder”

And I forget, the world forgets, me-me-me

 

I lived with my family for the years

In the same house, they were years wasted

We could have been in love

And laughing

But time holds no bias for how you spend it

We could have rode bicycles

We could have rode bicycles

 

There’s an unused piano and a drum set in the garage

Downstairs, yeah, that’s where we go to smash

That’s where wo go to make a ruckus

No disdain in these eyes, in this heart, only capability

 

Soft spot, yeah, for them all, but F–could’ve lasted longer

Hell, could’ve had fun

But that’s just how it is

The closest to you are hardest to love and you’ll know that someday

So don’t go on vacation with your sister, man

You know it, eye-sore, yeah, you know the stain on the retina

blerg, feeling v. unsafe but happy

Someone really freaked out about my life. Not someone particularly powerful, but with power over my life. They freaked out and pulled some strings to change how the world interacts with me. The civilized world, the natural world maybe even.

It harmed me greatly.

I am here, at <5 am PST waiting for the markets to open to trade <$75 in stocks commission-free. I am getting out of pharmaceuticals as that’s where I lost my 25 and into some other fun stuff. This is just for fun.

This voice keeps interrupting my thoughts. I don’t know why. Freedom is much better than overactive police. Maybe it’s trauma from the one time I was arrested. That would be a reason to talk to my therapist, only I don’t even fucking trust him. I trust my psychiatrist. The one drugging me with healthy pills. IF they can be called that. Typo, sorry.

I don’t really have anything to say. I’m so exhaustedly exasperated. I’ll take my medication this morning like every morning, and it will wear off by around 5-7 PM PST and I will act out my mental illness by yelling at people online and all around making lives miserable. Woe is me. Turns out the poorly understood does not seek to understand, either. I sent literally 14 private messages to my psychiatrist over the weekend. 14. Wtf. He doesn’t work on the weekend.

I need to shower and shave but not really. No one gives a fuck. Except my mom. And she’s just trying to present me well, she doesn’t actually care either. America’s only free because no one cares. No one, it seems, except the authorities: the police, the sheriff, the FBI, CIA, NSA. WHY in god’s name, are there, btw, three national crime-fighting agencies? Why can’t they just roll it into one? It’s way overdone. Silly. Probably a waste of taxpayer money.

I’m going to trade on Forex and I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I just need to transfer my savings to a different bank with yield higher than inflation and I should be good. And make repeating regular transfers from my checking account. And I should be good. You think I’m sick–and I ask, “Why?” You’re so narrow-minded.

What was I going to say…

I’m happy with my new medication. It doesn’t make my episodes better (it does), but it clarifies my mind and allows me to cope much better. Not emotionally–I don’t have emotions–but psychologically (if you’ll pardon me using that bastard of a term for a moment). Windows e-mail program reminds me of my e-mails at the most random times. I’m so creeped out by modern computing. There’s no security anywhere and everyone’s fucking trying to steal your information, which is threatening and dangerous (yeah right). Watch out, they might do their taxes for you. The U.S. government is more dangerous than the criminals it tries to stop. (Guess I’m one of those people now, who say shit like that). And don’t think there’s not a blacklist of psychologically profiled individuals who have been judged to be not loyal to the country; there is, and I’m on it. You’re on it. We really need to watch ourselves. The word loyalty has been corrupted. Authoritarianism IS happening like everyone says, only… behind our backs, not in the open. Nothing is a mistake. It’s all fucking on purpose. It’s not safe. This place is dangerous. But thank you, whoever’s spying on me and happens to know a colleague who’s solving gruesome murders. Statistics says you don’t matter, but I’m sure you feel good about yourself for indulging in your necrophelic fetish.

2 minutes till markets open. My family. That’s all I have to say.

Thanks for listening.

Father’s Schizophrenia is always there

I can sense my father’s energy and I was wondering why he was so strict.

It’s this: He fears for his life. His schizophrenia never goes away. It’s always there. That’s why things must be done a certain way, to avoid the negative energy. I need to help heal as much as possible. I have a lot of contribution to contribute. It’s really scary, feeling like your life is under threat. I have schizophrenia too so I know what it’s like.

Probably genetic, not that that matters.

Even when he’s acting “normal” more or less, that feeling of life-threatening danger is still there. He has gotten used to it. He lives with it. He has to.

Request for help dealing with suicidal brother

My brother is suicidal and I don’t know what to do to help. He locks himself in his room all day on the weekends and in the evenings, and he’s struggling at work. He’s probably going to be fired and then freak out and kill himself. We don’t want that to happen. We the family.

I really need your guys’ help now. What do I say to my brother to ease his pain? I am so at a loss for words and he gets angry so easily and rejects all affection that it’s impossible to help him. I really need help right now. I don’t want him to kill himself.

Fucking stalkers (muses?)

Self-care.

 

What was I going to say…

Oh yeah. Work was alright today. I’ve been in such a deep hole for six years that my standards have lowered (not really) and I call really bad things acceptable just because it’s a glimmer of hope. Well, that’s not really true. I smoked a lot today. I now take breaks past the parking garage beyond a stream and over a bridge. The area could use some public land improvement. I think all of America could use that. I want my tax dollars to go towards that (instead of funding wars? maybe? not sure). It would be interesting if you could elect what your tax dollars funded. Maybe I just don’t know how government works and it already sort of works like that? Anyway I messaged my ex-bully ex-coworker good wishes at his new job on linkedin and he didn’t respond. I can’t really figure him out, only I know that he’s a bigger rock star than me, and a lot of people have called me a rock star. So that’s something. I respect him, I wanted to start fresh with him after I got back from my mental illness-induced LOA. But he quit and got a new job (not in that order). He’s an analytical chemist. So fussy about details. I bet pharma drove him crazy, the imprecision. And the upper echelons go on and on about precision. He knew precision. But it was within my grasp. I understand so many things so well. Haven’t seen a reasonable challenge in a while. Lots of sexual tension at work today. It is sexual harassment, only the cards are stacked against “crazy” people so my boss would probably toss the problem right back at me and coach me into improving or something. Which doesn’t sound that bad. Oh golly I’m actually writing something. Saw my therapist today. Lots of tiny choices. He said something about inspiration seld-made posters. And apparently he was in a lot of debt from a master’s degree. He seemed so poor when I saw him today. It made me sad. Fortunately sadness is not an issue for me. I like sadness. I got an emotional gutwrench in the morning from leaving the family (mostly my mom) at home and having to leave for work. We’ve declared our friendship for each other, so it’s official. She still creeps up on me every now and then though that is the mental illness speaking. Traffic on the way to the therapist. Voices. Halt! Who goes there! I have a pen! Or rather, a keyboard. Same thing. WRITE IT DOWN!! Two exclamation marks, alright (but two question marks is rude, see?? (guess it doesn’t work for me)). Everyone at work has no respect for writing but my therapist inspired me to fight the good fight. To fight for e-mails. Not that way. What I mean is, to fight for the concept of e-mail communication as a valid form of communication. Muses. They’re so useless. I would’ve loved ancient Greece, though. Battle of the wits. So classy. My brother agrees. Through walls and doors and empty space full of air. I still have to eat dinner. Sorry this is turning into a big unreadable chunk of intimidating text. Maybe you’ll read it. You know me so well. Golly.

 

Break time. More soon.

 

Bye!

Calamity, psychic calamity, and calamity

Mayhem. Brother injurred his back because father distracted him while we were putting up the tree, and mother says we should have waited for her. Father “loves” us but acts like a monster, which I don’t understand. It wasn’t too interesting, all in all. Except now I have to do laundry for my work clothes and my dad is seeking asylum (granted) in my room (on the floor of it). So I’m set up in the kitchen on the dining table (good thing this is a laptop!).

Father just needs to move to Ukraine like he wants to, and leave us all alone. He is such a bad person. Maybe he just has a bad character, but is not a bad person. I suppose there is a fine distinction. Now we can’t play tennis today because brother injured his back.

I started vaping 6 mg/mL nicotine liquid. It’s more satisfying. Well, I was at 4-5 mg/mL (estimate) mix, so hopefully 6 doesn’t give me a stomach ache.

It’s kind of refreshing blogging from a different location. I just wish I had more followers and more interaction among my followers…

What else…

During tree shopping, I was vaping a lot in the parking lot, outside the tree area, and I had some telepathy. Interacting with people that way, strangers. It wasn’t too bad but not too pleasant, either. Kind of neutral. There were no real take away messages, other than “SEX!”, which is nauseating. I’m tired of sex in front of my face all the time. The world is so pornographic. And the psychology of it, is right in front of the children. No one cares. It’s disgusting. Sex should be in a closet with the water bucket and mop. Right where it belongs. Hidden away.

Do I really mean that?

Family on my mind.

Good nicotine liquid. 6 is so satisfying. Thank god the family allows me to vape indoors, or I would be going outside every three minutes. Yikes. Scary prospects. And this way I can vape while doing things (like blogging!).

Wish the kratom tolerance wasn’t there. I’m still an addict. I couldn’t wait half an hour between doses last night, the circumstances were just too dire.

How are you all doing? Let me know! (It can be a psychic message, I read those.)

Had dinner. Mom’s cooking. Not bad.

Not sure what to say. I could describe this family problem but I won’t. It’s not worth talking about.

I subscribe to this schizoaffective disorder search hit collator on NCBI and I don’t even read the headlines. I’m not interested in the research. My mother thinks we can solve the problem through the research, I don’t really understand, it’s not like we’re going to find a solution someone else hasn’t and then manufacture our own medications. Not sure what her logic is. But I don’t fight it. I don’t fight most things. Even when I should. This applies to all facets of my life.

 

I don’t feel like talking anymore. I’ll let you handle the rest. See you later.