Onnaloves visuals

Onnaloves

Ha ok. Keith’s suggestions are falling flat now, or how about by appreciating his suggestion so much, he now tells me how to make a three part mold.
When I think, it’s weird I think visually, I see the mold parts come together, and a controlled thickness sheet of gelatinous material sandwiched between the two mold halves that give a perfect thickness to the Medusa Skin.
I was visually imagining how to make this gelatinous sheet to control the thickness during mold making and Keith always wants to know where I am in my head when I dissappear into my thoughts. I made the mistake of trying to explain what does not have words.
He jumps to conclusions and thinks he has a great idea: why don’t you take another Medusa and plug it into the mold with a 2mm gap, so it will be 2mm thick all over?

UMMMM NO! Jesus fuck mold making doesn’t work like THAT! Wtf?! He thinks that’s an engineering approach? Don’t make me, WHATEVER. I try to control my absurd reaction to this stupid suggestion. I mean really fucking stupid. But I can’t control my face. It must have sneered at him in the same way he sneered at me that day when he insulted me and said the scanner only works in black and white… (I still haven’t pointed that he was incorrect yet to him)
He saw my facial reaction that I was unaware of, and then did his usual hissy fit silent treatment.

And I thought ah funny! He doesn’t like it at all when I am in a place of thought above him. Even when I can’t say 3D pictures with words. I mean. Stop fucking asking me the language of my brain is nothing he can understand. Even when I sketch out a 2D sketch he can’t understand. He can’t understand engineering drawings, sectional drawings, or projection drawings. He can’t understand axial view, or directional view. He just is that vacant when it comes to the form of shape.

So anyway I go back into my world to work this gelatinous layer out…
Clay won’t work because it’s opaque, and it will leave the mold mucky. Bakeable clay won’t work either. As the temperature will damage the mold and there is shrinkage. So how about gelatin I thought. Gelatin would be perfect!!!
But we don’t have any, and when I asked keith for some gelatin, he goes and asks why. I get bored of explaining, gelatin would be perfect, but I just can’t explain anymore. I just need it.
But he decides because I can explain it, priority is bottom. So I’ve decided to cast 2mm sheet of soft silicone instead. I’ll put translucent pigment in it so I can verify thickness throughout the mold cavity.
Then I will cast the other half of the mold but it has to be cleaved in half.
Then I need vents, and injection sites… so all this is going on in my head and I finally knew what I had to do. Absolutely my normal. But I can’t even draw the shit that goes on in my head. I would need a computer to render how I see shit.
That would be utterly cool to see. Everything, all shapes all forms have a flow, a density, a repellent force, forming directions and curves and ratios. Such that mathematically, when my mind is folding that shit as I watch, I know the ratios and formulas and densities of everything. It all becomes maths, simplified to relative density, direction of flow, aspect ratios to one another. It seems very primitive to me, very fundamental, like none of my thoughts exist without this foundational language of my mind, seeing form, resonance, paths, resistance. All things that are parallel to the way the flow feels in my head, of blood, and static ripples and echoes. The flow I feel is just a primitive version of the visualization that goes on in my minds eye.
My minds eye exists in another space, it’s weird. I can’t quite imagine it being dimensional. I can examine things by zooming in, through, rotating, seeing through, and also seeing how things are distorted through the various shapes, as though the light passing through is somehow affected and pulled off its path depending on the density and flow of the object. It’s a kind of non-dimensional space or multi-dimensional space, that I can lift off the overlay of the world around me, and examine elsewhere in my mind- yet my memory photographically- is utterly bollocks.
Visual memory is fucking useless. I can’t remember my mothers face nor can I describe how anyone looks. So I have this complex or primitive minds eye, that sees things as fields of flow interacting with one another, but it is colourless, like in actual fact, an engineering drawing within the minds eye. A blueprint for reality. Or not.
So visual imagination is just a blueprint? For how you remember the world? Yesssss that’s it! Everything in memory is just a fraction of what you remember, stored as a blueprint. Patterns are here, colours are there, sounds are over that way, smells and vibrations this way, and they all come together and procedurally generate your memory, or hallucination, or psychotic episode.
For me, it is more like an X-ray vision, delineated in 3D multidimensional space. Like fields of the moving surface of a bubble, seeking each other, merging, deforming, or being destroyed.
And this is the exact way I feel the echoes of my brain, just like an echoe map, of ripples and frequency and direction.

But, honestly my visual memory really sucks.

Onnaloves

Hmmm ok, Deef’s Journal caught my eye in the recent multiple interactions about suicidal ideation and need for closure - maybe?

Recently I’ve been going to bed, imagining this will be the last time I’m awake, and that if there’s a tomorrow, what will I jump in to try to finish my next last day. It’s bizarre, like I’m not in control of these thoughts.

I wonder where the blackness and folding of my mind will go when I’m gone. This feeling of quenching the folds forever, what a shame I could not render them first for everyone to see and experience who maybe do not see them. I see them strongly at night when my eyes close, and then there is the next day, with a spit of memory about the journey I was on in the night. When the fields procedurally generated familiar places or interactions to try to describe to me my emotional state. Like it’s trying so hard to solve a puzzle that emotions make no sense to it. So it looks for my analysis by conjuring patterns from similar areas of reaction, intensity, and vulnerability.

Vulnerability comes up a lot in these states, the flow fields will generate the feeling of my teeth falling out of my head. The sensation of having wobbly teeth, aching jaw. And a physical location like a school, with repeating people around me, a teacher, and shame? That I am chronically not looking after myself, like brushing my teeth, and the price I pay for that is Public shame and my teeth falling out, so that I will never be able to speak or smile again.

It is a powerful scenario, that is colourful in deep dreams and the most detailed it can be, compare to the rest of the blackness of my mind during falling sleep and daytime. But I know, these sensations are being pulled from different areas of my brain to reproduce the scenario of shame, hiding, stubbornness, chronic illness and neglect, and lack of pride to smile about. No matter how hard I try to be prideful of the work I do, my dreams tell me otherwise. That I am infact underneath, a decaying shameful dirty being, who can never please the teacher.

This is my death doolah, or what Deef has suggested in the past a death drive? But in me it’s flipped to try and try harder, so that my dreams might change and reward me. So far, that has not been the case. I accept most of my dreams are horror stories in which I rarely feel fear, but my mind tries to make me feel fear. Instead it chucks a lot of shame and failure at me.

Like situations where I’m not flying and I know I can fly, but something is wrong with my energy that it’s so weak and pale, it cannot overcome the density of the world around me. Like I need to feel the world around me MORE, in order to carve my direction through it, swimming through the air with ease against the procedural drag that my mind generates as it visualizes. Like I have to be stronger than the way my mind recalls the world, in order to skull against the viscosity of the dreamworld and rise above it. With the same pressure as an air bubble always getting faster as it rises through water. There is a hydrostatic balance to be able to perform control, and I am mostly, on most nights, unable to do so. My wings are clipped, even though I fly without wings. I cannot swim through the world with ease, as I feel too heavy, too depressed, and I must try harder to find the joy to charge and lift me.

Even with all the passion I feel these days, there is something wrong that keeps me on the ground, picking and climbing over the debris in a procedurally fractured world. And it’s exhausting.

Onnaloves

Just recalled the dream from last night. None of it makes sense. I got a free ride to a destination that was not where I wanted to be, but some ex- who took the ride with me, at the obligation. Of some enthusiast who was only interested in giving me a ride, because the destination was HIS interest.

So everyone wanted to be at this place except me, but I had enabled it. I had enabled and negotiated others to reap the benefits of this destination, without enjoying anything for myself.

Then at the destination, it was horrible. It was a place full of old war time instruments, indetonated bombs, gas masks, various rotor equipment to keep infantry moving over alien territory. All stuff to be self sufficient but not designed with any ease or comfort. And there was a challenge at the destination, he who survives the tunnel challenge wins. Something, I don’t know what. So I went down the tunnel to see what the challenge was and saw, after many obstacles that it was a deeply hidden bunker, and that there were triggers for the outside world, such that whoever made it into the bunker, would detonate the outside world to oblivion, while they were safe in the bunker. And the prize, was merely to live through it while everyone else was cleansed off this earth.

So I went back out to tell my exs, and the curious passenger/driver, what the challenge was. As they were searching all the military assault courses nearby for any challenge to win. Completely unaware that someone could be in the tunnel, about to destroy their world.

They climbed down, and didn’t believe me, and wanted to see for themselves. I showed them the way through the tunnels, which had sealed areas from the outside world where you had to dip under some water - and no one would notice except me.
And they took the path that I showed them, found the trigger, and immediately without hesitance set the device off.

What followed outside was a ripple in the earth making everything jump and fall over. All the assault courses where laid flat and the military arsenal became a junk yard of bloody people trying to find their way out.

Then the sky turned red as a curtain of fire cleansed the land and remained in the atmosphere high above like a red storm. Everything around was burned beyond anything. Metal melted, glass melted, bodies were simply vaporized to cinders, and nothing could survive. Not plants nor trees, nor anything except the amorphous clumps that were once vehicles.

And as I sat in the bunker, uninterested in consoling my tale coat stragglers who started the inferno of the world, a few of them had perished in the collapsing tunnels, and we were sealed in, in the dark, with no way out unless we dug our way out. And who would know if we would survive what they didn’t know was above.

So I let them panic and die also, as I knew the way out was through the water to the sea, a long underground tunnel I would have to save my breath for, in order to make it out.

6 days I spent, waiting for my coat tail passengers to all die off and their smell was forcing me out of my hole, so I had to leave the tunnel via the pond and turn towards the sea. The sea was warm. And as my face broke through, the heat of the world felt like scorching eggs on a hot pavement.
The most I could do was to find a cave where I could live underwater sheltered from the hot radiating red sky. A smell of foulness in the air, of chemicals and cinders. Nothing to eat except the bodies of my companions who I didn’t want to please. So I ate them. And wondered who else had survived as I spent the days in the contaminated water of the cave. Surely the only things that could survive were rodents living deep underground, that I could find when they came up to search for food?

The earths surface was cooked and roasted and hot. There was no way to return to the earth to find out. And one could not swim far enough under the red sky to find other caves like mine. But there were fish, who came near the surface in the shelter of the cave, and it grew possible for me to eat the fish by catching them underwater.

I wondered if anyone had survived, the mistake of my passengers. This time, the red sky turned to black, and there was no sun in the darkness that followed, the waning heat of the oceans surrounding the cave became cold, and I could venture on the land but still could not find anything to eat. Everything had been cooked so long but rivers where dried up to mud baths with the bodies of fish lain around. And creatures like crocodiles slurping through the mud and hoarding all corpses for themselves. Nothing was safe even to come to the remaining water on the land, as the monsters would be waiting at every dried river bed of sludge, cinder and mud.

Forests were gone, and the world was suffocating under the stench of death in the cold night of former day. Only caves, and the oceans edge, and potholes of land served any form of sustenance. And still I had to find others. There was military remains of gas masks in the tunnel, that allowed me to cope with the acidic air of travelling as deep as I could go following the stench of old rivers full of mud monsters. But no where was there any tree or green. No sign of life, and the cold became bitter and froze the mud.

Onnaloves

I love this daily stream of consciousness, just tracking it and going over it shows me so much about the way I seem to evolve. In my daily life now there is not much time to think, so writing here has proven to be a good time to ease into sleep at night and dump any ills so I can sleep - without zombie apocalyptic nightmares.

Actually to me they are not nightmares but an examination of my discomforts. I’m wondering what a burned out world meant to me. In the face of utter destruction the will to go on living is strong, not just for me but my Children’s future. This must be predisposition instinct to continue living through our children, to continue living forever as a species, until we have no choice and the earth is wiped clean.
And I do put up with passengers.
And yes I would eat them if I had to.
Maybe my will to live is being proposed to me in my dreams, that I will survive no matter what is thrown at me, I will find a way to fulfill my purpose regardless.
Today I had to sign papers at the bank. The banker, Amir, was excited; he apologized and said no BS, I’m really really excited for your business and can’t wait to follow your growth. I have seen all the comments from the women and this is such a profound thing. I can’t wait until everybody knows about it.
And he casually mentioned his clients are Penthouse magazine -who also bank with him. Not that this is anything like that, but he said I’m so excited, that I’m laughing at the banker who turned you down! She is going to miss out big time. And he chuckled and said I’m not bullshitting you, this is so exciting. And you did this all in your KITCHEN? He shakes his head. It’s amazing to me you did this all on your own in the kitchen. No help from anyone.

And apart from the banker being totally excited for me, Keith stepped in and asked that he be added to my personal account… I winced. I don’t have anything to hide but once again there is this feeling that, I don’t know. Sticky beak. It’s my personal account. I’m just uncomfortable even if I know superficially his intent is open and on the table “just incase”. Amir said that we would have to do it a different business day and I would have to sign to accept the addition.
I have a few days to process this.
The production molds are coming along nicely. They are solid transparent resin, so one can see there is perfect contact on all details. Next to trim is the thickness sandwich layer, so that I can build the other cleaved half of the mold.
I’m still debating on my mind wether to make the production mold unique to the egg insert, or not, and just have the insert interchangeable…
My mind tells me it will make a complex join, that would be hard to control tolerances under pressure, so I think I will do the insert included on the back plate, rather than a separate attachment.
Hmm. These details are constantly swiveling and being examined in my mind for flaws and weakness for predictable failures. It’s like forensics put to the test in my mind, as I experiment with different injection points and vents on the back of the mold, the pressure differential must be homogenous. So I let my mind do the work while I’m busy using my hands, rotating and predicting the paths of flow from different combinations of injection points.

My eczema is coming back. I feel my cheek bones getting red and irritated. Wonder what it is this time? Possibly the resin. Great now I’m allergic to resin?

Wonder what apocalyptic dreams I’ll have tonight? If it isn’t about me being walking dead, or watching skeletons, or drownings and suicides, it’s something beyond my control. Oh that’s what it is, the feeling of shit being beyond my control! So why worry about it?

Don’t know if I’m worried about anything. I must admit I am kicking myself dissappointed that the development has taken so many detailed iterations. It’s pissing me off. I’m impatient yet there’s always a better way of doing things to reduce failures. I need a 100% success rate.

Does everyone go through a massive change in their 40’s? Is this a common thing? I feel like I’ve got a second chance at life after some sort of kick in the teeth awakening and I’m pissed at myself for not acting sooner in life.

The Medusa, has been part of my life for so long I cannot remember the exact inception it’s started in my dreams. I do remember telling an employee about 15 years ago my idea and being shunned, poo pooed, accused of being a weird pervert. But I’m the years since I first mentioned it, the dream of Medusa inside me, and it’s manefestation in real life, has evolved from a collage of latex cutting, to a refined and incredible mold process - that has never been done before.

There is literally no video to describe the type of mold making I am doing. As if no one has thought of it, no one has a need for this type of vascular mold, and no product requires such type of mold.

OH MY GOD!!! I have literally just this minute experienced a new approach to add to my molding technique!!! I could for example, attach syringes to the venting points army strategic intervals, and use the syringes to pull a vacuum!!!

Shit! This is entirely possible now with solid molds - to combine pressure and vacuum and increase the pressure gradient and degassing all at the same time! Well guess I’ll be dreaming vacuum distribution points now. Ugh. I was enjoying the apocalypse and wanted to see how that finished…

Onnaloves

Just trying to think about how outside of normal range my poo habits are and for how long.
Yesterday I had tummy aches all day and today I’ve had the usual erratic poops. Different colours mixed together and peanut chunks of fat. Actually, it was 4 months ago I told the doc I was putting up with this kind of shit for already 3 months.

So that’s over 7 months of not being able to poop normal. I don’t even know what normal is anymore. So now I am getting concerned as my next appointment due to the pandemic backlog is not until March. I’m going to try and get an appointment with the gynecologist and see if she can find this lower lump that’s bothering me. I feel it now when I sit down. When I walk I feel like I have a heavy golf ball stuck in my butt. And driving over bumps makes me want to shit.
This is literally turning into a pain in the arse. Then there’s the pancreas problem. Which is turning into a daily dodgeball. I eat and I’m never quite sure if I’m going to regret it two hours later…
The bloating burping and pressure i feel is seriously uncomfortable. The doc said I should go in and have the cancer marker checked again to see if it’s going up or down. Apparantly it’s tracking a problem if it rises, or I’m healing if it lowers. I hope the fasting is working and lowering it. It’s quite normal for me to fast outside of 11am - 4pm, so I don’t even feel hungry anymore, I was enjoying food before, but now there is a kind of anxiety as to whether there will be payback later on.

Mold making is slow progress. These hard molds need so much more work, more shaping, beveling, sculpting vents and injection sites. Ugh. And I have to do each one. It’s not like the slip mold where I could just lacquer the fast prototype and then pop the mold back from inside out. This shit is patient work, and while I work, my sweat is irritating my sensitive skin and making my face red with eczema again.
I’m wearing protective equipment but that makes me sweat like a bitch. So much work and only my hands can do it.
Can’t wait till I finish them and start new pour sessions. Also, ive learned that whatever projection I make, double it. Because so far every projection I have made has been wrong. Shit just keeps on happening. I really don’t know how to schedule anything do I?
Also, im working all hours of the day and I come back upstairs when I’m sweaty and uncomfortable and burned out to the point where I can’t talk again. And I need more adderall to keep me going. It actually helps me keep my speech going into word salad.
Maybe I’m overdoing shit. Maybe that’s adding to the poop misbehaving.
Hoping to have more apocalypse dreams tonight, it’s strangely fascinating. The continuation of the barren acidic landscape was intense, I thought I was even catching the acid in the air by coughing at night.
The land was dark, getting icy cold fast and the rain iced over and sterilized the ground… where once there were forests there were mudslides, and the earth had a strange red and orange hue to it, if there was any colour. I could not see anything green. The light was pale as night, and I wondered where could there be any form of life. I was now able to search the land far by flying over the starless darkness, burned ground, monochromatic landslides, until I found a stone forest. Of tall karsts that had somehow protected at the bottom of its canyons, life, in the form of fungus, mold, and insects.
Under the shelter of the tall stone karsts, there was a sign of life that might come back and return to the world, if one could bear the cold of an endless winter… and perhaps there were survivors here, others who were lucky enough to have been shielded from the oven red sky, and acid storms that had so far sterilized all land - but here. One could survive here, on the orange hued fungus, and the insects that seemed to swarm between the base of the stones. There was poisoned water here, but it flowed slowly through the karst forest, and that enabled the water to become clearer and clearer as it trickled down through the stones, seeping from somewhere under the stones also, and leaving strange hues of bacterial pools, of multi coloured slimes and crusted stones from the acid rain. Life was here, but not as anyone knew it.
So I decided to make my camp here, but I camped high up in one of the karsts, because below, in the trickling bacterial pools of sludge and insects, there were more monsters who could survive the toxic and rotten waters.
I longed to see the sun again, or life as I had once known it, but rain was frequent, precipitation that was often frozen, and north of the karsts the world became layered in ice. The heat of the bacterial pools was enough to keep water visible and clear after having traversed miles through the stone forest. It would simply be too dangerous to go north, as there was nothing to survive on the endless ice that seemed to grow endlessly.
Years went by and it was still a dead earth, and life had returned only to the cave systems of karsts and other underground systems. The oceans were toxic but formed a new kind of kelp that seemed to thrive on the acid wash from the land, giving it an orange colour again. And the sun returned but paled out from the constant precipitation of acid wash, the oceans seemed to produce bursts of slimy colour Blumes and smells along the coast, and there was a huge amount of jellyfish that seemed impervious to the bacterial waters.
Then I saw the most impossible monster break the surface, swathing up heaps of jellyfish in its jaws. It was the size of a ship but not a whale, it coiled like a worm, crowding jellyfish together until it could dive through and take another swathe of jellyfish in its massive jaws.
There was no fur in this land of acid wash. But one could make skins of fish leather, that worked pretty well against the acid rain. And it was surprisingly soft and supple, and perfect to be dressed in a snake like skin, that seemed to match the new environment which had no green.

I stared across the ocean from the top of my stone karsts, watching a dragon in the seas with utterly no competition, yearning for some companionship to share in this new world.

Onnaloves

These apocalypse dreams are getting so weird. Why am I not dreaming of people anymore? Nobody, just a weird version of nature gone alien.
Decades passed and the sun had returned causing small green ferns to appear, coated with the orange spores of fungus. As I flew around the land, there were still no trees that seemed to have overcome the acid soil, but ferns of all kinds grew, some as large as trees but like an alien kind of triffid plant, I just didn’t want to approach. The new shelter these ferns offered offered protection to new kinds of amphibious mammals, and crabs that could venture the land as spiders. Protected by their shells from everything, and able to consume the debris on the fern forests floors. The dragon in the seas had dissappeared, as though it was now hibernating for another era, full of the jellyfish it had consumed.
North of the karsts had turned completely to ice miles thick high and punctured with mountain peaks in a mostly flat landscape offering zero shelter. Even stretches of ocean were anew land of ice, encapsulating ancient forms of life forever in a Time Capsule since the destruction. I had managed to find small pockets of people, that had somehow survived the era, maybe as I had discovered by the means of deep caves and underground systems sheltered from the atmosphere. The pockets of life were centered around volcano systems, where enough heat from the ground and lava tubes offered life that was hardy to acidic gasses a safe haven for adaptation and bringing sea creatures into the land. Crabs were now the size of dogs and could climb anything scavenge anything, and had now become a primary food source for surviving people who also used their shells for resources. People now wove their clothes from a new kind of fluffy seed pod that had formed to protect flora from harsh weather. They made quilted jackets from fish skin leathers stuffed with cotton and woven with the fluffy pods of seeds and other forms of life that had adapted to make these pod-like cocoons. Colour was now in abundance among tribes who uses the strange resources of chemicals and bacterial waters to synthesize new kinds of dyes and elements and ores. And there were rumors of a new kind of ancient beast with huge teeth able to snack on crab-dogs like peanuts, but used the cover of bacterial sludge pools under ice for its evolution. The Karsts had become a dangerous place because of these creatures and people now clustered around volcanic islands instead. But the Karsts had been my home and I decided was the safest place to store the history of mankind and who we once were high upon the karst faces protected from any weather damage or creature, like spells kept in the stone forests, that had guardians of monsters down below.
It seemed that I was no longer one of these people, that I had become something different myself, only able to observe from a distance and not interact, because of some invisible force keeping me unseen from other humans, which didn’t seem to bother me at all, except I longed for a companionship to watch with me this new world.
I decided to search the world for other beings that were capable of hiding, like me. And I decided the best place to do that was to go where no men could go, north into the ice terrain, to find anything that could possibly live or survive.

Onnaloves

I am literally bemused at the strange turn my dreams have taken.

First anything like it was the emperor and the stone. Now, this apocalyptic world of acid, crabs, ferns and orange poisoned liquids.

And it seems as though in my dreams I am no longer part of time, but geological time, wondering where humanity is going to go next and repeat itself, wondering if there was any way I could spend endless time with someone to share and experiment with.

Why the people could not see me, and I still wore a suit made of fish skin leather that looked like a silvery snake against the stone karsts where I lived, climbed, flew, and carved into the rock an history of humankind’s anemia.

I prepared for a long journey north, to sp me the next few days flying in an icy wind, to see what had become of the ice world. Since I could only fly with my own body, I could not carry food, nor shelter with me, so I wove a huge silk from spiders webs that I gradually lengthened from the top of the stone karsts, and decided that I would fly with a huge streamer like a kite, onto which I could pocket a few small resources. I waited for the wind to pick up north, and flew up with my silvery streamer, that soon billowed around me in the jet stream, towing me and my small resources farther north than I ever had the energy to go.

Using this method of going high enough to the thin air that travelled fast, I was able to tow the streamer to the highest thin air I could manage, and wait for the streamer to be caught and take me the rest off the way. With the white earth far below me, I now was able to investigate any areas of colour that I saw below. And after the first day of flying during the day, I saw a lake, and steam… meaning heat… and the familiar sulphuric pools of another acid live volcano.

But the lake was massive, like an ocean in itself, it was so huge surrounded in ice, that I wondered how water could exist in the ice terrain.
I got my answer when I landed. Numerous fumeroles where from a warming heat underneath, and the lake was the cleanest of any water I had seen so far, with the exception of the staining fumeroles dotted around the northern perimeter of the lake.

And there was something in the water, the huge dragon like creature coiling through the waters. I could not tell if it was trapped in the lake, or had somehow found it’s way from underneath the ice.

I think it saw my streamer in the sky, and mistook it for one of its own kind. It approached me from the water, like a hairy snake of glass-like hairs. Silica that was impervious to everything, this was not a carbon life form I thought. And yet, it had the traits of every animal rolled into its body, giant claws from an eagle, a soft fur from a tiger up its elbows and shoulders, the belly of a snake, the scales of a fish, the spines of silica on its back, the whiskers of a carp, horns like antlers of a deer, the snout of a tiger, eyes of a lizard, and the long tongue of a snake. And it coiled up the shore towards me. As though it recognized me. Yet I could not think for a moment how it was familiar to me.
I do not remember when I had separated from mankind, but something about this dragon told me that I was already dead, and the lives below of ordinary people ran so fast through my sense of time, that if I were to join people in their time, I would not see the dragon before me. I wept at the loneliness, and wondered how I had slipped into this other world of time, with a dragon as my only companion, who held the memory of all creatures in its body, and I held the memory of all man and nature.
I wondered how we could rebuild the earth to its former green and blue, like the marbles in the dragons eyes. The memory of earth as it had once been.

Onnaloves

I just have to write this now while it’s bothering me. Keith is so arrogant, it’s in his being and nature that sometimes just witnessing it is almost unbearable, unbelievable, and just down right disgusting.

Example: just now 10 minutes before a scheduled zoom seminar he is speaking remotely for a university; he leaves the room for whatever fucking reason and his phone starts ringing (probably the program organizer trying to hook him up).
It rings, and rings. Is he deaf? This isn’t the only occasion.
He walks back in and the phone rings again; looks at it, mutes it, walks back off to another wardrobe fix, at which point I just snapped and said - Your phone has been ringing constantly for the last 5 minutes you know?
It was a spam call he said and continued toward the wardrobe-
I mean BEFORE THAT CALL, there was another, and they left a message.
He stayed in the wardrobe until he finished whatever the fuck he should have done prior to now, leaving the first 10 minutes for technical to make sure the rotation to his presentation runs smoothly…

I can guarantee, every time he has an appointment, no wait, even MY APPOINTMENTS, he just doesn’t think timeliness applies to him. Whenever I rely on him for timing, I lie. I say half an hour ahead and never tell him the time I’m due, because he thinks appointments shouldn’t start until the minute you are being paid or after, not before.
It doesn’t matter if it’s a hospital scan, airport run, bank appointment or whatever, he is guaranteed to be 10-15 minutes LATE. Rarely on time, and never early.
Why does that shit apply to him? Why is he the first to complain when clients aren’t on time? And he never is. Worse, he’s always phaffing around washing his face, checking his clothes, deciding to go for a pee, microwave a coffee, or whatever the fuck seems to happen consistently before any appointment.
Ok, so he’s on the rotation now for speaking and they are still introducing him, but honestly, this kind of timing issue that is endemic to his very nature is highly stressful to me. I get stressed over HIM turning up to HIS OWN PRESENTATIONS. Like, I am not supposed to be managing his reputation but I can see it snapping like the last straw ANY TIME. And since the industry is tough at the moment, you’d think he would be grooming and massaging to keep client relationships?
Or is this his way of programming others to always wait for him? Is that it?
I just find it completely opposite to my nature. I respect other peoples commitment to me, and I want to show that respect by being EARLY. Anything other than early is not on time, it’s LATE. Sorry, it’s just a really irritating peculiar disjunct between our polar opposite styles.
So I have worked out how to live with it. By lying to him in order to manage him, but even when he figures out what I’m doing, he becomes late on top of late which then makes me go nuclear inside.

Ok, another shit happened last night but I’m not going to boil over it now. Got something cool I’m working on and wanna show you.

Cuz it’s just cool as fuck, I can barely believe my eyes myself so I just have to moon over it again and again like maaaan I can’t believe I did this but I have to write it to believe it.

Onnaloves

Literally was so uncomfortable just now I managed to have a complete bowel blow out. It has been painful lately but such a relief to get out. The blockage that’s hanging down is seriously getting in the way. If this is what a prolapse feels like, I’m dreading not being able to suck my guts back in and just turn inside out all over the place.
But, I somehow don’t think this is a prolapse. I had a good poke around it last night in a hot bath and it’s grissly and tough, lumpy not smooth, firm but refuses to slide. And I can feel this from both sides either through my bum hole or my vagina. I don’t quite have long enough fingers to give it a good pinch from both sides, but that’s probably a bad idea anyway, because the discomfort would no doubt send my shit up the wrong way or something.

It’s definitely a physical blockage that weighs in at least an ounce. The size of a good golf ball.

So this blower blow out was such a relief because it’s been stuck behind this pump for a couple days now. And now I am sore inside and feel swollen and mushy.

I want this lump GONE. Seriously getting on my nerves when I sit down like a shit that’s stuck and stuck to my pelvic floor trampoline every time I perch on a stool or ride in the car over a bump in the road.

Anyway, keith is now busy on his lecture, (earning money), I took off for a shit and a hot bath and relaxed here.

About last night; we were doing product photography and Keith was getting fustrated with me and started huffing puffing and showing his anger. No joke. All I’m doing is holding a fucking product, and he has to get angry with me? Like seriously?

So I said to him on the way over to the banker this morning; of course I’m really excited to be doing product shoots but I don’t like his anger vented towards me. I said it right before entering the bank, so he actually couldn’t retaliate in public to me 🤣 -because he has to behave in public like a different person of course.

Then in the car on the way back, it was all the excuses. I let him rattle off about how it wasn’t me, it was his fear of not getting money in time, frustration at somethungtodowithproductshoot but not me excuse. Which is a load of shite, so I said, well you need to fix it because I don’t like it 🤷‍♀️

I just left it at that. If I don’t like it, then I don’t care what the excuse is. I shouldn’t be on the receiving end of his anger for any reason. I haven’t done anything wrong and don’t expect to be treated like that. “I just don’t like it and it makes me very uncomfortable” END.

FINALLY I’ve been waiting for him to do product shots so I can upload them onto the website:

Yes he’s good! But I can’t assist an asshole can I?

I just don’t want to feel that uncomfortable ever again. So I let him know the terms for the next shoot: do not make me uncomfortable like that again.

I don’t know what goes on in that head when he’s spewing like that. Does he really think I am invisible? Huh. He must. He thinks he is doing the important work and I am just a mannequin, that is badly programmed o stay in position for indefinite amounts of time stretched out and faking relaxed gestures at full extension into the frame.

I try not to tremor, I hold my breath, I start to feel my arms shake and my fingers twitch and the product starts slipping from my fake relaxed grip that’s actually precariously trying to not let silicone slip through my gloved smooth finger tips. While I’m on tippy toes to get my arm coming into the frame at the right point. (Now tell me he wasn’t shouting at me)

But sure Keith has the most important job in the world. Ok 👌

Onnaloves

Fuck my fast. I just broke it with a tub of cherry ice cream. Damn I’m gonna pay for that.
I was working at the website today and Keith sidled up to me, rubbed my shoulders and apologized for getting mad during the shoot.
…. But then he took it back because he started whining and justifying himself why he was mad. So. I didn’t accept his apology. And said so.
Are you whingeing? I asked. I really didn’t like you being mad at me just because you’re stressed out.

And I don’t know when I started to just stick it to him, maybe it was to do with the IMPENDING DOOM DEATH SCARE LOL of cancer, and it hit me hard like - why the FUCK am I putting up with ANY discomfort and babysitting HIS emotions when I DON’T WANT TO BE UNCOMFORTABLE OVER ANYTHING. ANYMORE. Ever!

So there’s that. And I’m not even thinking about the disease in me really, I’m just uncomfortable with lumps and blockages and sick and bored and tired of the slow creeping shitache.

Oh. I had a tantrum yesterday. Basically I was getting on carving and finishing some molds, and the bloody rotary tool burned out on me. Gave up. It’s not like it was over heating, but the wimp ass motor in it decided to not only flake out but I’ve totally shredded the cheap ass Chuck threads. So the tool doesn’t turn when you gently tap it to any surface and you can hear the thing grind itself instead.

Anyway. Came upstairs, had a tantrum because yeh, I’m experiencing some real pressure trying to get production molds ready and my fucking tool burned out and OH LOOK the tool I had on back order to replace this one HASNT SHOWED UP, which is a big problem because I HAD PLANNED for exactly this kind of failure.
So after checking the tracking status I blew my top had a full on tantrum and bitched at the supplier who refunded me today. The new to got lost in post. Shit happens. Timing ugh.
So yeh things are kinda critical for me not that I was waiting since when for photos to go on website or anything.

Then the tantrum breezed over, problem solved, ordered a new tool should arrive Weds. so between now and then I’m switching to website AND completing the resculpt design of Medusa 4th or 5th iteration? LOL gotta finish that tomorrow! Then I can make molds of it!

Oh fuck. Need to sketch some ideas fuck I need to do that and I’m in bed. Note to self: plug adapter to mold. I’ll sketch in the morning and see if I can finish the design while I sleep to get a head start.

I honestly think everyone should get in touch with a little bit of deathscare because wow. Shit happens. But it’s sort of, pathetic on the scale of things and of little or no interest or consequence, which is why I have no hesitation to call Keith out on his incessant bloody whingeing and micro aggressions. That shit is cumulating on me like a shit jacket on a dung beetle. And I’m just gonna roll it right back at him.

Don’t want that kind of disrespect.

Oh. Wow. I keep looking at what I’ve achieved and going- whuuu did I really do this? Did I really make this shit? Holy shit. I really am happy aren’t I? How many women am I going to help. Every one I sell to, that could be a lot of people helped. That’s amazing.

I have got such a tummy ache right now from that Icecream. Oh well. Hope I can sleep it off if my pancreas doesn’t give up on me. Bloody March post pandemic backlog appointment.

Ahhh something else, my apocalypse dream took a weird turn!
Gonna start a separate post for that:

Onnaloves

Ok so where was I? Gonna try and be quick. So this pearly silvery translucent shimmery opalescent dragon. You get the idea. It looks like a Chinese dragon, only actually the actual embroidery lifted off the silk and brought to life. Made of glass-like silica, with opal fish scales, a soft pearl belly like a snake, white striped fur covered legs and big eagle claws, you get the idea.
Only he spoke to me, like wink-wink, familiar or what? So dragon and I discussed how the land had been turned to poison, and he revealed to me that there was a way to cleanse the earth and bring it back to the blue marble of the sun. He was lapping by in the clear blue lake, the only place with such clear water, and he wink-winked and said, “I could release this ocean of water back over the world you know, and was it clean of all the toxic poison that has rained down in the earth
How on earth will you do that?
Well I’m a FUCKING DRAGON! I could spend some time stirring up this ocean of water and melting it until we can release it from the mountain tops as it crashes between the mountains once the glacier breaks.
Right. But what about the people? Down below? There are new tribes, they’ll all get washed away!
Not if you tell them, dragon said.
But they can’t see me!
That’s because we exist in a different time scale; geological timescale, everything humankind does now is but a virus growing over the earth, and you want to WARN THEM?
It’s the right thing to do, give them a chance.
The only way you can communicate with humankind on geologic timescale, is to leave stones sealed with scripture on 5 mountain tops that will be safe from the floods, and they will find these mountain treasures and learn of them all over the world pointing to the same timescale of the stars here…

And dragon pointed to the sky which I had not noticed before, was moving like a clock over the world.

So dragon and I made 5 eggs of rock, of different colours, each representing the elements of wisdom we wanted humankind’s amnesia to never forget, in order to warn them of a big flood to cleanse the world.

Don’t worry! Said dragon, an hour here is a thousand years to them, they will find our stones and learn them. You’ll see wink-wink, nudge nudge.

So together we coiled through the skies and dragon curled the mountain top and laid the egg into which I placed carved scripture on the INSIDE of the egg, so that it would never erode away and would be protected forever like a geode until the day humankind would find and break it open.

In one giant egg made of jasper and cinnabar, a precious red egg, I betrothed all the knowledge of medicine of the ages.

In another giant egg of blue lapis and agate, I betrothed all the knowledge of maths, science and astonomy.

In another giant egg of aquamarine and sapphire, I betrothed all the scripture of the seas, and climate, and fossils of the Crinoid demonstrating the evolution of DNA

And on, and on, we coiled in the skies, and coiled atop the mountains, and came to the last giant egg stone, of jade, into which I betrothed all the knowledge of wisdom, and truth, and time and heaven on earth, the source of all power. I have about 5 hours left to stir the ocean ontop the mountain glacier said dragon.

But, dragon, I miss being with people. This is not my world, I cannot bear to watch them toil like this any longer and make the same mistakes again.

And dragon said; well you can warn them in person then, but the only way to leave geological time, and return to mortal time, is to go through a rock. And since you are here, on the last Rock of your home in the Karsts you could wait in this jade rock until you are found in a couple thousand years, which will only be two hours of our time here, and when they find you, you can warn them then, you have five hours in total, that’s 5 thousand years.

So I entered the stone and waited, such that whoever would find the stone and cleave it, would release me back into mortal time, to live as human again, a new chance to start over.

But I waited, and waited, and fell asleep, it felt like I was there for a week, I had lost track of time, and I was patched and needed a drink… so I commanded the rain to come and trickle in, but the storm cleaved my rock like a mirror with a thunder strike, the other half descending and falling to the bottom of the karsts, and still no one came and found me…

Meanwhile, dragon had kicked up the glacier into a giant meltwater ocean of clear blue, and finally the glacier broke and released an ocean from the mountain top, that quenched and ravaged the earth and all the poison and acid that had burned the ground away. Entire continents were washed with a 2 mile high tsunami… surely no one could survive this unless they found all the stones that spoke of the same event.

And when I woke up from my dream, there were people, greeting me, as I emerged from the stone. Quickly I asked, have you found all the stones? People shrugged and did not know what I was talking about. Quickly, lead me out! And the led me out into the night where I looked up at the still starlight, now past the clock of time by 5 thousand years.

I must have been waiting for 10 hours, I thought. And I learned that there was an emperor of this land who had been using the stone of wisdom to build armies and start more wars over again.

But what about the floods I asked?

They looked at me and said there were no floods?
Flood like the ancient times? Those are a folk story 5 thousand years old nothing more.

But I remembered from my dream, that dragon was talking to me while I was in the rock, and he said:

Now remember, time is non linear, it comes around full circle, you just have to wait long enough, you have another chance to stop the act and memory of war that starts this all over again… I’ll be watching, he said, you have another chance…

Wink-wink.

steveoscar

Onnaloves The idea was to stay focused and not fuck up, knowing that phone notifications were going to trigger me during the game. I managed to reduce the frequency of flinches, jolts and burns after about three months, then I had to look elsewhere to trigger me.

This just suddenly hit me. I definitely focus on the trigger which cause the rumination cycle and emotional flashbacks and then emotional self crucification(anger and depression).

If you avoid the triggers completely and do all things to AVOID being triggered according to you does it work.
For example , If phone notification triggered you why not throw the phone our, or ampute the phone in ways that doesnt give notification.. (Just the metaphor of that…)
I am at a point where I notice the triggers are quicksand into my past history of vulnerability. I wonder if Ill ever get freed completely from the shackels (of my past that happened 2 years ago)? ( It got a little better though but still i feel Im 50% still stuck )

Onnaloves time is non linear, it comes around full circle, you just have to wait long enough, you have another chance to stop the act and memory of war that starts this all over again…

If the time is circular , then you get another chance to stop it later from happening again. Stopping the action is plausible but how can you stop the memory. What does the advise of Chinese dragon point to?

Onnaloves

steveoscar If the time is circular , then you get another chance to stop it later from happening again. Stopping the action is plausible but how can you stop the memory. What does the advise of Chinese dragon point to?

Rumination is a hard thing to break, and even though I do feel I have dissolved the CPTSD, the memory of the rumination, the trap is still there. It really is like addiction, and recovery feels like acknowledging the addiction and knowing it’s addiction and being stronger than addiction blah blah.

That’s what I live with now. All my triggers are related to Christian, he is my addiction and when I catch myself thinking about him. I cringe and nervously laugh at myself because my reaction is now trained to be disgusted at myself for falling into addiction.

It was about 6 months of severing myself from my phone and notifications and “trying” not to think about him before I started on purposely triggering myself while using focus techniques. For those six months I realized the CPTSD was addiction, I used to burn 20x a day, the rumination was nearly constant. I was compounded and dysfunctional due to the burns.

So I let the sensitivity to it all level out and diminish by cutting the world off for 6 months and focusing on editing and listening to music that kept me constantly in a different realm, so that the main addiction NEED would pass to something bearable. I literally went through cold turkey and withdrawal symptoms, I developed other health issues during this time. It was that bad.

But after about six months I realized I had slowly reached stability after about three months, and the last half of my severance was a much slower improvement, so I was ready to change tactic with the burns and rumination cycle.

Honestly I’m laughing at my dream about the Chinese dragon after the apocalypse - I really don’t know where all this shit comes from 🤣 I told keith about the apocalypse dream, and he said once again turn it into a childrens book. So another project to ignore my addictions…

steveoscar

Onnaloves he is my addiction and when I catch myself thinking about him. I cringe and nervously laugh at myself because my reaction is now trained to be disgusted at myself for falling into addiction.

New and Insightful. Ill try to train that along with distracting myself with Imagery and Problems to Solve. Oooo that is difficult to be consistent at it.

Onnaloves , having pleasurable memories ruined by knowing I was addicted to the shell of a human being that he was.

Self Betrayal burns which might be the case why attraction to another person is harder. Increasing Self Love and compassion might be a potential vaccine against this happening again. Oooo thats hard, specially when you have automated parental instinct ..

Onnaloves I literally went through cold turkey and withdrawal symptoms,

The worst withdrawal is the amnesia of forgetting all the negatives, and picking my brain to find the negatives to balance the positives ). And then rationalization and self gaslighting kicks in. Its like choosing to believe a lie is sweeter than the truth. Dammit. I guess I better work on my fragile Self Esteem.

Onnaloves My coping mechanism to defend me from the brutality of my butchered insides, basically screwed me up to always search for the ONE that I could do it with.

Noted. Butchered inside ´(Pain, Depression, Grief, Sadness, Loss ) . While you were in your rock the dragon might have advised you to be prepared when your another chance arrives in the future. That makes sense and also one way to interpret it.

Also Having an unmet need triggers a response to search for significant other.

Onnaloves But I seriously don’t have the time, interest or energy to go looking for that kind of distraction.
Probably absolutely I would if it fell in my lap.

I understand. Im interested, that kind of distraction is rare in my life, probably because Im utter lazy and been avoidant of it. Ill indulge in Pete Walker material to understand more about CPTSD and how to come in terms with vulnerability to an extent .

Onnaloves

Fuck I’m so proud of what I have done. Seriously? I can’t get over myself. I’m worried my head is gonna be too big I feel ashamed of being so proud lol.

The thing that mitigates it, is that these squelchy things have a purpose- to allow women to fuck around again.

I miss fucking around. My vag is so sore from personal experiments and fuckimg around with my holes in he bathtub, it’s kinda fucking aversion therapy to actually wanting to fuck around.

Except, the deeper part of me, connected to my addiction misses LUSTINESS. The actual physical attraction which I have only experienced with Christian it’s so fucking annoying, having pleasurable memories ruined by knowing I was addicted to the shell of a human being that he was. Knowing I was addicted to the reflection of perfection I saw in him that was only my imagination.

Knowing that he is just a flawed human being, who I became attracted to, for all the reasons that simply didn’t exist, and it’s not really entirely his fault, because I shared and we amped the delusional fantasies together. Ugh.

Wait. I suddenly realize, the seratonin quadrant is what attracts us to people with force! Fuck! Seratonin seeks like-to-like, no matter what you physically do, the magnet works on matching people who SHARE the same emotions AT THAT TIME.

So, theoretically, my emotions were flawed, they were idealistic, impossible, unrealistic, imagination of perfection… so that’s what I found and saw in Christian and became so lustful after, as he was to me.

So now, if my theory is correct, my emotional state of … hmmm passion, solving a huge problem in sexuality, art, going with the flow of life even if it’s telling me I’m dying lol, enjoying every hour that I can as opposed to just being satisfied, putting up and shutting up… means that I will fall into attraction only with another who shares the same amplitude to emotions that I do.

Which is little else actually. I seemed to have trained my addictive behavior into physical manefestations. Fuck it’s so fulfilling to make shit. I just miss my vag having someone else take care of it. I feel like a right chopped up liver down there at the moment. Misbehaving meat pocket. I mean seriously no one would be attracted to that, not even I.

Fuck I do miss lust. But not Christian. This lust thing surely isn’t a once-in-a-lifetime event. That people “find each other” bullshit.

I realize now I have the commitment with Keith and to my work, and to vagination lol whatever that is.

If only I could dip into sex, real sex when I wanted and not have any other commitment to this person.

I have given up on sex hunt. The tinder thing, the dating app on Facebook, bumble? Yeh, they are still on my phone but I don’t waste my time lusting over male pics.

Because I don’t see anyone with any kind of passion that I am attracted to. This is why I thought Christian was the only one. I knew he was passionate to the point of self destruction - about his business. As I became too at one point, but now, nothing can shift me from my purpose of digging up vag to the world out of the recessed pockets of dead bedrooms.

It would be hilarious to see medusae all over pornhub. Women stretching their monster vag open and fucking around making slurpy noises. I would just die laughing at that shit. BAD DRAGON I’m gonna eat you up haha. Everyone knows about bad dragon, and suddenly Medusa is about to land in the world of porn. My daughter already has a plan for using it on OnlyFans. She has a collection of squirty bad dragons and now wants the entire collection of my fannys.

Oh boy. What have I unleashed. I still miss real dick. I know it’s possible for me to enjoy sex, but without that magnetism for someone, I just don’t enjoy it. It’s like mechanical and bruisy ouchy.

What is the fucking point of living WITHOUT SEX? I mean come on, it’s a basic human activity and I made this so fucking difficult for myself because of. Oh wait yeah the physical problems and pearls of pain. Ugh. It wasn’t my fault. My coping mechanism to defend me from the brutality of my butchered insides, basically screwed me up to always search for the ONE that I could do it with.

But now I realize that’s irrelevant and maybe I’m disabled in that way forever so just accept squishy play with Medusae. I don’t really get to share that sensation with anyone. But I seriously don’t have the time, interest or energy to go looking for that kind of distraction.

Probably absolutely I would if it fell in my lap.

Take Brenton for example, I found him dead attractive, it wasn’t just his Arian blue eyes blonde hair and German language, (sheesh I’m a fucking hitler now), it was his lonely passion, of documenting history, it was so passionate I really felt lusty about him.
Supposing I called him up, asked if he wanted to test out medusas with me? I mean seriously. A real dick test rather than my weak assed fucking machine with a chonky fat dick that gets stuck at the entrance and fustrates me.

I had the women in the Facebook group killing themselves over my descriptions of testing. Frustrations at the dumb design of a fucking machine and how maybe I should fix that with my own version of a tentacle fucker. They said if I don’t share the development of a tentacle fucker with them they’ll die. So if I manage to get onto that project yeh I will. I have already sketched out the chambered tentacle system and how I’d make it out of thin silicone.

All I’m doing is taking every one of my coping mechanisms and bringing them to life. I don’t see it as taboo or fuckery. I see it as the only way I survived after a lifetime of rape, pimping, and just the nasty memory of the smell of sex, crusty spunk, fucked up memories of being dirty and diseased.

The only way my brain could cope with all of that, was to rewrite over it with monsters that were responsible for giving me pleasure in the face of disgust.

My brain is weird, Chinese dragon is not a monster, he’s a funny thing, wise and coy and messing with me. Actually I think I really love this guy, like he is a weird personality I actually fell in love with when I THOUGHT that was Christian. Weird! I’m in love with my dream dragon 🤣 ah that makes sense now. But, I just realized I left his world to come back to real time.

Hmmm

Onnaloves

steveoscar hahaha there is some credence to your processing of my thoughts. It’s hard for me to understand it until I write it out, then you spit it back at me with condensed narrative, and I’m like ooooo bingo. Because I don’t know what I’m feeling most of the time.

As for where the fucking dragon came from, I write in my journal before I knock out to sleep, and usually by morning I have fresh vigor to get everything done because my subconscious spoke to me and knew what to do, in this case it’s dragon.

Unfortunately in my case, there is still an addiction to Christian, because my Chinese Dragon, speaks with a fucking GERMAN accent. Which is hilarious because it’s like having a german accented Yoda with lots of cchhh sscccchhttt. Ssshhhlluss scchhttuff vocalizations which seems to actually suit him and his funny broken words gagging from the back of his long jaws.

I think my brain is super visual about everything, and because there are no words for how I feel, the visuals speak to me more in concept than does verbal explanations.

Apocalypse? Death drive. What would I do in the last attempt of living

Dragon talk? Turn my love back into the world, dragon is attractive to me, but not where I belong. And yes, we can always start over. But it’s so strange to me how my dreams are so universal in context. That no matter how much I zoom out and see the world from a different life of me, the patterns of chaos repeating itself, are all exactly the same.

Fuck!

steveoscar

Onnaloves the patterns of chaos repeating itself, are all exactly the same.

Yup. Its still hard from my eastern perception to grasp fully the patterns of chaos. It is certain it is been cursed from when we were littles. To me Chaos is darkness, it says when I came you failed to recognize me. You got seduced by me, and now you have chaos inside. You can not escape until you pay the price(whatever the hell that is.)

steveoscar

Onnaloves hahaha there is some credence to your processing of my thoughts. It’s hard for me to understand it until I write it out, then you spit it back at me with condensed narrative, and I’m like ooooo bingo. Because I don’t know what I’m feeling most of the time.

Thank you. Deefs materials are great. I use it regularly as a frame to understand myself. Just read you have Alexithymic. Is it like a FREEZE RESPONSE, like you are jolted when events happen, mind going blank. I remember I needed-hunted a friend to talk to restore myself to optimal . For Alexithymic do you need to process in writing to make sense of feeling and then release energy by physical activity_..didnt mean to sound offensive.. just curious.

Onnaloves

steveoscar there are so many stories in Chinese culture that I grew up with, mainly not of morality but of intent. It is strange to me that western culture has good bad and moral of story. It’s so black and white. But East is full of the balance of intent. Intent is neither good nor bad, but you end up making your own suffering from your intent.

Also, many Chinese as Deef first revealed to me, so in actual fact carry generational trauma. This is predispositions into us in many ways, hormonally, behaviour (manners and respect) - OH and the refusal to talk about subjects because of shame. THAT definitely upends us to continue fucking up with mistakes.

But, as an adult, I do not want to blame my parents for anything, merely that I did not fully digest intent. That I served an intent for the protection of the family above self, and THAT was the resulting chaos because now I’m fighting fire instead of not starting it.

Sometimes, it’s good to be a little more selfish than we are culturally “expected, to respect”.

I don’t give a shit about morals, lol seriously, I didn’t agree to those collective rules of good and bad, so I won’t take them on now. However, self respect, is a part of intent that I have started to FINALLY LEARN. I wish I had taught myself this as a younger self. Because by punishing me in the way they did, taught me I was unloveable and unworthy of any kind of respect.

My intent these days is to focus on self respect. Be more selfish lol

Onnaloves

It’s bollocks not knowing what you want to do, or should focus on your whole life. I think it’s rare for anyone to really know except for the example their parents set for them. For example, doctors tend to run in families all in healthcare; civil servants are the c grade students who end up in shitty admin roles, army people run in the same vein together with police, airport security etc.

My dad, was a very talented engineer, who made model steam engines all machined in his workshop. He was also a computer engineer, in the days when mainframe computers were the size of a room and ran on tapes, or were even programmed with punch cards. He taught me how to build computers, network them, wind my own motors and turn a laminated armature on the lathe, all by the time I was ten. I knew how to balance his fuselages for his model airplanes, and dope the wings, but after I was ten or so, he stopped.
And mama took over then, she would teach me Chinese painting, fan dance, cooking, sewing, and I finally got the drive to just learn how to make jewelry by myself. I knew how to solder, how to polish, use power tools, blow torches, machine shop stuff by the time I was 13.
And that was utterly my normal. I never thought anything of always doing something. So my parents did in actual fact impart many practical skills to me, but, no real sense of my place in society, as I was always to remain hidden.
Mama wanted me to be a doctor, but I grew a phobia to biology due to my own suffering. Dad was an engineer, and since I was a savant with maths at that time, I thought I’d just get an engineering degree and carry on.
But, after I had run away, and realized I had zero competence in the world, I sought to fill the vacuum of belonging with anyone. Just anyone that would keep me. So I just ended up in more trouble. And the pain started, the grief, of my parents never reaching out to me, to find me, to open the door, gone.
After 17 years of obedience, I knew nothing else and I felt unworthy, so I tried to fill myself up on study, to be something my parents could take pride in, if they ever would reach out.
But they didn’t. So many years of pain went by, not knowing my place in society, and thinking Love was conditional, and that I was used and damaged goods, unworthy of my parents blessing to give to a man.
The highest price tag on my head was £14,000 for an arranged marriage to bring someone over from China for the visa. And I blew that. So I thought mama was just disgusted with me.
Which kind of was the plan, choosing to destroy what value she had placed in me, because as a teen and turning into the biology of a woman, who felt that a woman’s place in the world was a complete lie, that somehow, even society gaslit me. That I would never even become anything other than to sleep in some man’s bed and cook him dinner.
And I never knew what I wanted for myself.
But I knew I was good at doing shit for others.
So I followed THAT PATH of doing other peoples business, just because I was good at it. But I hated it.

I hated doing as I was told. I hated performance KPIs. I hated the pointless goals that didn’t match up to real success. I hated everything and didn’t know where to go next. Such that I always seemed to fall into the next job or the next, get fired again and again, my confidence eroded away, and now I hated my engineering degree.

BUT. Somehow I have used all those skills. The jewelry making fine detail sculpting, the engineering of mold making, machining, and just - amazing shit I had forgotten was part of me.

How rare is it for people to come into contact with that sort of constellation of innate skills? Some people know their interest and passion, but keep it as a hobby to live to work to pay for the hobby.

But now, I am working to live.

And everything seems to make sense to me like it all snapped together in timeliness in a way that could not have been predicted or imagined.

I feel like society is enslaved. To what people think they should be doing, what their path is supposed to be. And even what order you’re supposed to do shit with. Find boyfriend, get career, get apartment, get car, get a house, get married, have kids, and… yeh done that’s it.

Me: no boyfriend, no career, failed my masters, got a batchelors degree instead, got an apartment, had baby, got a house, got second baby, lost house, lost kids, went on a world walkabout in a fucking daze wondering what to do with my fucking life, where to go, how to escape memories and start over. Find a place to belong, get a career, get boyfriend (boss) loose career, cuz I’m a loser that pretends to be successful with imagery and grades and shit.

Basically there was no linear path and no gradient of incremental success. It was more like, running from a burning building using stepping stones made of COW PATS. So essentially running away from fires I started, and stepping in shit on the way out. Brilliant.

Until I lost my fucking shit altogether. Broke my brain. Etc etc. you know the rest of the story.

So how is ANYONE supposed to know what to fucking do, if I was so smart but didn’t have a clue?

It was parenting. Parenting that currupted my sense of worth, but strangely - actually - has given me a bunch of skills that I never truly appreciated until now. Full circle, everything came together and I am so grateful for what they could do.

I was only ever a survivor in life, from an endless cycle of victim - but that is NOTEFUCKINGNUFF

It is not enough to just survive the world another day another winter, another year. Fuck that shit. The one thing I do have, which is a positive possibly, was that “running away” can actually be construed as being ballsy enough to just fucking do it.

I ran away from home and knew nothing about paying taxes or shit like that. But it was better than being in that place up for sale etc.
I ran away to london after I lost my kids, dissappeared into the underbelly of under the table cash work for a twisted millionaire, that was pretty ballsy. I should have been a criminal. That would have honestly been a better career choice because if you fuck up, hey at least jail is like a hotel pit stop.

I would have been good at sneaky stuff if I was ballsy enough without the “morals” of society which never really worked for me anyway.

I should have been a fucking criminal. LOL.

I ran away to the Philippines for gods sake. I could have dissappeared then but didn’t. I took a job there and turned it into 18 months this time working for a crazy german billionaire who owned a film studio and was also a crack smuggler.

Then planned two years ahead to make it to the US, another departure from my past that kept on catching up.

Then Austria for another two fucking years. I mean, if I think about it, it’s not that I was crazy or completely stupid. That’s pretty ballsy, I give myself credit for just diving in.

That’s a real strength I have, so now I’m proud of all the shit I went through. Like it taught me the real mistakes, of not valuing myself enough. And always thinking I’m different and excluding people, judging them. But I’m actual fact, I’m pretty sure most people are familiar with these feelings,, and the amplitude or scale of trauma or disaster doesn’t matter when pain is normalized.

So, the amount of trauma you survive is the testament to your strength. Which means, you are of value, to someone, to a special community somewhere, to a place where you can belong. And that strength and determination to evolve through the pain of trauma, is your lesson to teach others.

Packaged for your tribe.

My tribe, happens to be women. Oh that’s a lot I know. But the criminal part of me is just going to milk it. After all, I had to always strive for the biggest and best right? Hahaha me a capitalist after all. Ha! Hahaha

Onnaloves

steveoscar gosh I didn’t see your reply because I was writing. Again you are correct. Because I can’t understand my feelings I don’t even miss people. Long lingering sensations I can figure out, but immediate contextual feelings I do freeze up, no reaction either way, cannot compute or disinterested.

I figured out that in dreaming, my subconscious illustrates to me the nature of those feelings by conjoining scenarios for me to assess the decisions I’m making based on emotional rather than logical constraints. However, until I started writing it down, the process just evaporated from me and the dreams would happen over and over in different ways until I got it and the message/decision/ realization would sink in.

Just like there are no words for pictures, I have no words for emotions. I do feel a lot actually, but can’t figure it out so I don’t ponder on it at all, I don’t react I just try to asses what decision I’m required to make, what choice, what explanation, as the emotional construct gives me no heads up for what is right and wrong - I could in actual fact be wrong, most of the time. So I shut up even more. And it definitely leaves me prone to PTSD

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