Route of Attack

We sit up high

There are places I see from my peak that I can not reach nonetheless

In my mind exist a few

The sparsity of the phenomena

To explore

But have no say

What I mean is

There are distinct problems

That are very large

That I guess I could attack

Knew I how

At this point people call me crazy

Maybe it’s not even real

The language is simple

Overly so

But I must communicate clearly with you

I have goals

I have problems

And others have problems with my problems

So it’s pretty antagonistic

In sum

This leads to a lot of discord

And conflict

Inside and out

But for now

I’ll just get my coffee


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

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.

Why can’t I work more?
Why can’t I focus on work?
Why can’t I watch a movie?
Why can’t I focus on a movie?
Why can’t I focus on anything?

Why am I so wrong?

So I don’t know what to say. I have ideas. Do they work? There was a lot of talking on the car ride home. That means something. There’s a few connections.

I don’t know how to write right now. There’s a lot.

Conversation. Too risky, I suppose.

All these coworkers in my room.

First you hvae to peel the dead skin off your scalp with your fingernails. Then you have to separate the balding hair that come off with it, attached to it, from it. THen you have to eat the dead skin. It is pleasant. The balding hair detached from your scalp goes in the trash so the floor can stay clean. Eating the dead skin keeps the floor clean, too, but sometimes eating it in front of people does more psychological damage than dropping it on the floor would and it’s better off just to litter indoors. We vacuum in any case, and this is one utility why.

Part of my brain has been relegated to others at work. Part of it has been relegated to a family member at home.

I feel like a baby, with all this dead peeling skin on my scalp. Off my scalp?

Oh yeah! so today: my peripheral vision is safe, my focal vision is dangerous to look at people (it hurts and causes discomfort), my focal hearing is fine (I rely on it), and my peripheral hearing triggers panic in me and it hears vaguely English gibberish from people, of a threatening sort.

I bought a new album prerelease and it just came out I downloaded it and it is not very good. It’s like a girl/woman singing gently.

Girl: To denote a sexual attractive female. Woman: To denote a female to whom respect is deserved.

Note to self, I suppose.

Hi T_____a. Hi Amber. Hi R____l. Hi B__t.

Just naming some visitors of the evening. I donn’t feel like naming them all but I might have to.

Fifty percent of the population believes correlation implies causation, and the other half believes it does not. this means half the population doesn’t even see what the other half does, in a very fundamental worldview-tangible way, in concrete situations.

What’s Theresa still doing here?

SOmetimes the mental voices of people talking is just them just translating my style into their language. I can’t stop it too, I mean what I mean to say is I can’t stop translation, in my voice, of other’s thoughts, into my language, of their behavior, at will. It happens against my will.

We had big problems at work today. I was at the center of people’s attention for a large swath of my time.



I need to make a charm. I have to buy some jewelry and come up with a spell to enchant it.


I look forward to this plan.

Avoiding things to avoid conflict. That’s it.

Who is this?

I wonder who it is.

They have such good precision. Right in my thought space personal space.

We had to make a single document, with like, literally five lines on it, at work today, and the senior scientist and my group partner just royally freaked out. Wow. It was impressive. I don’t understand their reasoning for how they handle documentation, and they don’t explain it to me.

No one explains anything at work.

I have no hope of ever learning anything about pharmaceutical science whatsoever.

I guess it’s not a school. They’re not paying you to learn.


I’m going to start a five-step recovery plan for the mentally ill:

(its not finished)

  1. Remember your love / what you love [note to self: impossible]
  2. WRITE; it will strengthen your inner voice and self-control [it may take up to a year and be such slow progress as to cause fespondency]
  3. I haven’t gotten past 2

My dinner meal is ruined tonight.

B__t is a frequent visitor.

Maybe wine?

Can’t eat the delicious food. Barriers.

I guess I am obligated to talk about this thought-realization I had during my to-home commute: I have deduced that I will become LESS risk-averse as I grow older, as I learn how stifling aversion to risk is, how much it kills freedom.

I have a female thought-neighbro in my thought-neighborhood in a mask. I don’t know who she is! She’s been around a while.


I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do.

That means something.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.

I dont’ know what to do.


I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.



But I don’t, really.

I still don’t know what t o do.

Come visit my sushi restaurant: Todo.

I don’t know how to describe the space it is in.

Maybe a mix of artistic space and thought space, for starters. Probably a very specific blend of distinct, unique spaces. That I don’t have the vocabulary to enumerate.

People do not allow how I groom myself.

Pain is the only thing that matters.

Corolary: do it yourself

Okay this is a first: A thought space neighbor was just having a conversation with a reality neighbor (in thought space). I wonder how they both reacted. To the novelty.

I don’t understand why everything is so inexplicable. I also don’t understand why I am punished for so much.

I don’t understand where the power of evil comes from. How are physical forces generated through channeling? Is what they’re using channeling?

I had another thought… it’s probably gone…


obligatory re-announcement: fish-hooks in my mouth


Okay it actually exists already:

Where does power come from? I think some people just have it. It’s not about status or any correlative whatsoever. It’s on its own, as an atrribute. Powerful people, weak-influence people. My group partner at work, N, is powerful.

I think we’re getting closer, though.


the best thing that happened to me in grad school

was thrashing my room

smashing my guitar on the desk

kicking a hole in the desk

putting my mother’s birthday card for me in the guitar as a curse

puking on the matress

and pouring cleaning fluid all over it

I didn’t brush my teeth tonight. I had two eggs for breakfast and I wasn’t hungry for lunch, and I wasn’t hungry for dinner. My mother prepared tacos. I did not eat dinner. They might make kratom illegal. The government can do whatever it pleases as long as it has loyal followers with guns. Maybe swords would do, as well.

I don’t have any stimuli nor relaxants. I’m supposed to call the drug rehab center near my home tomorrow at lunch from the car during work tomorrow to I suppose schedule an appointment. Then I come in in person and they offer talk therapy and non-addictive drugs to get you off the addictive ones. I’m not very interested in getting off kratom. I don’t think it’s harmful. It’s hard for me to see how kratom causes my hallucinations. It’s an opiate receptor agonist. I’m not sure what that entails. Our results won’t ever be published. Unless we go to or something along those lines. Maybe that’s what that website is for.

No stimulants for the rest of the night. I drank immediately when I got home and that is calories but that’s not an argument for my parents. They want me to eat solid food. I take lots of herbal supplements too which I am suspicious may be doing more harm than good. The word “supplement” seems to apply to what’s happening to my thoughts so if the word stretches meaning like that then it’s a suspicious case. I would have to suggest taking a break to my mother though, who is in charge of robbing the bank. My dad contributes to but in regards to herbal supplements or like amino acids or whatever else she shoves down my throat.

The nicotine doesn’t really do anything. I don’t want to walk into my brother’s room and take his alcohol, wake him up and let him know that we’re literally getting drunk twice withing about four hours. I don’t have a healthy life. Modern medicine is such a failure.

No privacy. Walls don’t work.

I wish I had more to write, like in college. But everything was good in college because I was paying other people tens of thousands of dollars a year for an artificial environment. And I just today realized that it wasn’t even good, it was pretty bad. But it was less bad than what I usually get so I enjoyed it. Relative, I suppose.

I don’t know what to do until work in five hours. I don’t know if I should stay up or force myself to sleep. I don’t know if I am capable of forcing myself to sleep. I don’t know if I should go to the group’s morning meeting tomorrow. I kind of got scared that I don’t look at my family’s faces anymore because I am so scared of people, or perhaps more aptly, because it hurts (tangibly) to look at them. Muscular discomfort in the face and neck. So maybe I should spend more time looking at my mother’s face (because I might not be able to some day in the next few decades?–is that the motivation?). So maybe I should stay at home tomorrow morning until she arrives from work. Also we can ask if she hid our kratom shipment somewhere but likely it was delivered to the wrong address. Always factor that into ordering replacements. Maybe they should have a subscription service. I wonder if it would make them more money. I don’t know what money is for. It’s not for anything in my life at this point in time, and I am making so much of it. But I guess if college is a lesson then money can buy freedom. In an artificial environment. The only place freedom exists. My mom says we’re saving to buy a house. I don’t know where we would, or if we would just pay this one down. Not having monthly house payments might be nice. I don’t really know if my problems would go away. I don’t have a very good imagination.

I have to work in lab with my coworker all day tomorrow. I’m going to take breaks because my mental stamina is so poor. He asked me what took so long today. That struck me pretty hard, I guess the word would be. I could just call in sick tomorrow and let him deal with day 1 of our purification but I don’t know if I want to do that.

I don’t expect to get much support from the psychiatrist, and then likely the government will outlaw my only medicine, and force me into alcoholism.

I met one of my thought space neighbors a little better tonight. I am controlled and have no range of motion or sight in thought space. Not literally, but pretty much. It’s not like reality where I can move and adjust my senses. It’s very restricting. She can control the framework which limits my thoughts but she has a character so she doesn’t all the time. I wonder what would happen if she got angry at me. I don’t know what to do.