Onnaloves visuals

Onnaloves

The fulfillment I feel now, is nothing I have experienced in my whole life, only it took me a lifetime to get to where I am, having a purpose.

Am i stupid? I’m 44 and it’s taken me this long to get my shit together? Possibly in the last few years of my life. What is the point of living if I was going to live like that? Every time I look back, I see the denial, the suppression of myself, by my own doing.

The choice to stay with a wanker of a relationship. The choice to stay quiet when I gave up and thought I wasn’t listened to. The choice to believe if I was listened to, it would displease the other person, it would put on him some kind of responsibility or discomfort…

But that is exactly what is supposed to happen, and if the other can’t take your choice to be heard, then they can fuck off or I SHOULD HAVE.

This is possibly the most simple explanation for my whole fucking life BUT NO ONE FUCKING TOLD ME.

Hey, imagine a classroom of kids, and the teachers said:
„Todays session, we are going to discuss and debate whether Parents have to be LICENSED to parent. And if they don’t hold a license, they can’t have kids… or the kids will belong to the state.

Can you imagine what every kid would say? I bet, most kids would say yeh my parents shouldn’t have a license. And then there would be parent protesters bashing down school board doors screaming that they shouldn’t be taught to debate parenting skills…

Anyway, just a weird thought experiment I had.

When I was 10, I had a very sheltered life that was different from the school world. And therefore I adopted western food, western behavior as a mask for living, but in real life, the calligraphy, the joss sticks, the cuisine, the food preparation, the attitude to study… and the also head-banging traumatic paranoia my mother carried from her escape during the regime rise in Indonesia…

They were Chinese expats living in Indonesia, and were noble society, and my mother kept unusual photos from that period that also signified their position and wealth… but my mother told me the nightmares she endured during the rise of the regime, including those of her mother and the Japanese, and it was basically terrorizing. I was too young to understand any of it, but carried with me the total fear that I had to stay unnoticed, underground, and neglect my own needs.

And that was the programming of my life.

Now my daughter has experienced the other side. She has been neglected, abused, ashamed of bringing anyone home, and now her programming is… obligerant, entitled, refusal to listen, stubbornness dressed as fear… I know I know I sound like I’m bitching. I’m just aware of how blind she is, and I somehow have to open her up to it.

Every opinion of hers is triangulated as a test before she reveals her own thoughts, but she thinks she’s right about everything, and therefore acts like she knows it all. This is troubling to me as people will sense this arrogance, and it’s not going to bode well in life for her.

She thinks she’s sweet and deserving of much attention, practically wants to be a princess. Seeks a boyfriend of means to enable her reality denial.

I don’t like her boyfriend. But then again, I don’t need to place commenting that to her. I am convinced a man older than me, shouldn’t be dating my daughter. It’s gross, it’s stealing her opportunities, her brain is still developing and he has essentially given her reason to not come and visit under excuse of anti-vaxxing.

There is no doubt in my mind that if he was a good man, he would be enabling her to reunite with her mother and meet mum for the first time face to face.

But he doesn’t. So he’s in the shitter in my opinion. Not that I’m much better, but I had zero parenting after 17, and I know that has affected me for the worse. The reason I am so late to my purpose, is because I didn’t get much early on.

Not one bit. No encouragement, care, or assistance with anything. And my young brain believed I was unworthy, left overs, not good enough for anything with a horrible curse following me everywhere. Some darkness I could not shake off, was my own black hole of need from others. A need to Never be alone, because I did not have faith that I could support myself. So infact exactly the same as Eldest in some ways. I adapted by surviving and putting up with being treated like shit, because it meant I had a bed to sleep in. Even if it was the landlords

Onnaloves

A whole long busy day of pouring. Oh boy I am tired. My lab is accruing sticky surfaces everywhere and I’ve enquiries with the chemical supplies what is the best way to clean up the place from silicone. It transfers from my gloves to virtually any surface, from my pliers to retort stand wing nuts, to balancing scales, machine switches, everything. And because it touched my gloves it doesn’t cure. It just stays sticky and I can’t get this shit off.

No wonder I became allergic to silicone. Before I was tracking it all over the lab, it was going all over my hands and everything. I was a bit lazy with the protective equipment because I couldn’t feel through the gloves with my numb hands.

Onnaloves

Oh. I’m hallucinating again. I just saw a bug crash land infront of me kicking about on its back, but when I got down on my hands and knees to look at it, it was just a fleck on the floor. So I realized I have infact been hallucinating bugs all day, crawling on me and falling on the floor.

Haven’t said anything to Keith. He’ll think I’m going backwards. I also forgot to take my adderall today, but, I can’t imagine a dependency on adderall forming so quickly that I start hallucinating when not on it?

In addition I was putting cream on my face in the bathroom, and Keith was hoo wrong downstairs when I could hear a crackle noise behind me… in the wall. When he came up I said there might be something wrong with the electrics because the wall was crackling when he put the vacuum cleaner on.

He investigated and there was no socket behind me, but, in the room next door there was a socket. So he turned on the vacuum cleaner and asked me if there was a crackle again. Yes there was.

This time I followed the crackle noise which was becoming difficult to hear over the din of the vacuum cleaner… and found… the source of the crackling noise was a beater brush inside the Hoover head, scratching the inside with a clump of my hair. So. Keith looked at me like an alien, because I heard that noise upstairs through the walls, amped up near wall sockets.

And yesterday I was freaked out because I thought there was another intruder downstairs while I was in the lab… I went hunting around the house and nothing, but the noise again… I found a Keith upstairs dust panning the bathroom sink, and said OH MY GOD IT WAS YOU! I thought there was another intruder in the house opening cupboards and trying to be quiet moving things around… but you’re up here making the noise. He said WHAT?

You can hear me dusting things in the bathroom?

Yes. Of course. I hear when bunny has a grumbly tummy and tummy pain from downstairs because he scratches the floor in a certain pattern. So I come up to comfort him…

Keith said that’s impossible to hear, but oh well, he shook his head because I can anyway. Only I’m on high alert because of the recent intruder.

And I think that’s why I’m hallucinating bugs falling on the floor and kicking their legs.

Weird. I’m sure this is my brain and not my eyesight. I even feel them crawling on me, but I slap myself and there was nothing there. Hmm. Maybe this is a side-effect of adderall. I’m able to hear things I shouldn’t be able to hear and it’s compounded with my brain filling in patterns of sound and vision and memory. With shit.

I can imagine any normal person would be kinda freaked out with this. But for me it’s just a trip down memory lane. Still fucking weird though. Ali thought these hallucinations had gone and left me alone, apparantly not. Apparently being on high alert or any form of anxiety gets my brain filling in patterns that it smells the tiniest hint of. To show me to pay attention or something.

I must be anxious.
Oh. Yeh I guess I have a lot of reasons to be. That’s it! The results might come in tomorrow. FINALLY hope I get to find out what to do about the bowel blockage giving me pencil poops.

Onnaloves

Oh yes! Forgot to mention. Spoke with my editor few nights ago, can’t remember when exactly. It was stupid o’clock midnight. He was going through some passages of my manuscript and asking me about the illustrations I’ve done, where to put them etc.

Then he said. Juliana can I be honest? Uh oh. It’s too difficult to read or something.

Juliana, I think we are sitting on a gold mine. Shit, what? You are talking about my manuscript right? Or Nüwa Medusa the business? Your book. He said.

Well how often do you tell people that? Isn’t it premature to say? Is my style of writing to difficult TJ read? I know my grammar is utter shite because I write like a whirlwind just to get it out and don’t pay attention to it very much.

No, no, no. I mean. I have never edited anything like this before. Seriously? What do you mean?
Your stories, the Science, the research, the bibliography. You aren’t just making this up. You studied and came to your own ideas, out of quite frankly, stuff I can’t imagine but it makes sense.

So I still figured he’s either blowing smoke up my ass, or, he’s having difficulty with the amount of garbage I’ve given him. I apologized for giving him a headache. No no no, it’s fascinating! I really mean it, I have never done anything on this kind of structure before, and I’m engrossed and wondering what’s next…

Ok then. Keith heard him say that to me. I had the phone on speaker because it was late and I was using my computer bibliography documents as references to certain pages he was talking about.

So I guess, I have to finish like 10 things at once. There’s not enough of me to go around LOL. I’ve been drawing hands this evening, to show how to insert a Medusa. I’m making the note let inside the package look like a copperplate print, with hands that show the method for collapsing a Medusa.

With all the fuckimg disasters I’ve had developing this thing, I now know why no one has ever decided to make a vaginal anaplasty before. I mean, if there are flaws in a dildo, no one will notice the odd bubble in a lump of silicone. But a Medusa? A bubble means a tear point. If the mandrel is not sitting quite central then there’s another tear point. The cup has to be thin and soft, but if poured at the wrong viscosity thins out in the mold texture and creates more tear points. The Medusa gets beaten up to save a vagina from getting beat up, so I have to abuse it in order to make sure it will work. Hence the fucking sore vag.

OH my estrogen vaginal cream is working!!! It feels all plump and jelly strings inside! What a fucking relief I tell you. My sore beat up vag has atrophied from being a bat cave out of service. I don’t even masturbate, and when I do try to get off it aches like a motherfucker and I just can’t quite finish or continue. I kinda have no choice with the Medusa, since I’m testing it out for size shape and fit. But damn, if I’m not horny or wet enough, nothing wants to go through the trap door. So I do it in the bathtub, with super special lube I ordered, and usually watch some fetish porn as it’s the only way I can get aroused. Sex doesn’t do a thing for me, but extreme fetish works.

Just so happens my daughter was laughing about using the same lube I use.

Onnaloves

Ugh. I’m getting a referral for a pancreatic Oncologist. Nothing showed up on the scans, but I’m looking at it and I am seeing a mushy shadow… actually it’s a mushy hyperintensity, I’ll defined and definitely mushy or fuzzy. However,
The results are NORMAL, insignificant, unremarkable, LOL. So just the cancer marker, and my own visual of the pancreas… and I’m not a radiologist or doctor.

Which means I could be totally seeing things right? I could be totally wrong after all. But I still need to see an oncologist, because of the marker, to rule it out. As if the marker is somehow possible without having cancer. Which apparantly is not possible to show up without a tumor being somewhere, which means, they are still hunting it.

Well. I knew this was invisible to scans because it’s a fatty mass. Hmmmmmm. I just really need to have another opinion either way, and it looks like I have more effing scans. Maybe if I have another blood test, the cancer marker will go away? Be gone? I just don’t believe the radiologist, and to be honest this is now out of the range of my physicians field.

I hate all this back and forth.

Onnaloves

I am not a radiologist. But I have found some things in the CT scan the radiologist didn’t pick up on. Missed. Or maybe misinterpreted?

I really need a 2nd opinion. I can see a Tumor infront of the bowel and invading the wall causing a blockage. Which is stage 3. I also see a hyperintense shadow the head of the pancreas. IF that is a cancer, if I am reading this right… then it has metastasized and is stage 4.

I don’t know how they could read this any other way. It can’t be a prolapse down there, the uterus is distinct. And there is definitely a brain-like mass growing into the wall of the colon. And what about the distended bile ducts I can see? They are distended beyond normal. At the very least my pancreas is showing signs of struggle. And I have a physical explanation for the poop blockage.

If these two things are related, then I have all the signs of adenalcarcinoma. And I should not be diagnosing myself. Quite frankly I’m pissed that I can spot things in an MRI that the radiologist has missed.

Onnaloves

Well this is kind of shit news.

I am no going to hide from her what is happening, as she showed me what looks like a melanoma on her ass she needs to get checked out. And I hope she overcomes her fear of hospitals to go have it removed.
I saw it when she asked me about moles. And told her it looked bad and to get it removed ASAP. A month has gone by and she refuses to pick up the phone from the scheduling office.
Now this. Her mum has Cancer, and I’ve got to start the biggest fight yet. How else am I supposed to tell my daughters. I have not yet sent it to Zoë, as her sensitive disposition would likely send her into a spiral. So I will wait until I have a treatment plan before I tell her.
I kinda hope that Anja and Zoë do get their passport shit together and come see this business. I can’t persuade them with any more rigor than already having cancer.
Anyway, heating mats have arrived, I’ve got to solder the power distribution unit together and get this all working! So excited! Finally, photography is happening tomorrow.
Inching closer!
Hmm I wonder if there are other masses they might have missed? I can feel these two, but now I’m wondering if it has gone elsewhere in its spread. Think I’ll go check. I know this is not something I’m supposed to be able to do… but shit, I love studying radiology. Just, I need to get these scans over to an oncologist to confirm. Ugh.

Onnaloves

From what I can see, the mass has occluded the sigmoid and enveloped it. It’s not just 4cm.
And the mass in the pancreas is about 4cm, in the main body, blocking the pancreatic duct. So, surgery is unlikely to remove this type of mass, as it is wrapped around a main artery, and no simple whipple surgery can lop it off.

FUCK

As for the occlusion of the sigmoid, it progresses up the left side and has enlarged all the lymph nodes around it.

Double fuck. It’s big.

Doctor is going to be mad at me for reading too much into a CT scan, but I’m sick of being dismissed. I feel something, so they can explain what that shit is then can’t they?

And the radiologist missed it because they were looking at a huge distended transverse bowel. Which took their attention away from the subtle thickening of the sigmoid, and the hyper density in the main body of the pancreas.

Understandable. Doc didn’t tell them what to look for. UGH. I gotta get through this

Onnaloves

NTW something ironic happened today. Shiva the crazy bitch ex-bestie? She is doing her usual anti-vaxx campaigning, (she’s the one that punched a cancer patient)… well, someone posted a video of Shiva blatantly and proudly recounting punching this woman.

And I saw the cancer in her neck. It’s big now, and her eyes bulge so it’s a toxic mass, in her neck. I mentioned to the cancer patient (friends with because she happens to be antifa and part of the journalist group) And I said, okay, whose going to tell her?
NOT ME she says, let her Jesus save her.
You realize when she discovers she’ll think antifa Satan worshippers put a curse on her?
And BTW shiva has no health insurance, I remember from our friendship she stated she was worried about that. During our friendship I had a hip replacement which cost me $13,000 ON TOP of insurance, at $10k a year (I have no idea why it cost so much) and the hospital fee was $140,000.
When I told Shiva she was like - I can’t afford that! If I had to have a hip replacement I don’t know what I’d do! I have to make a living with my body! She freaked out.

Anyway, thyroid cancer is very treatable. Compared to other cancers a 98% survival rate if treated. That’s huge. But Shivas mother died of cancer, I don’t know what type, but funny thing is, Shiva does not know she has something very wrong in her neck. The goiter is clearly visible now. My dad’s goiter grew to the size of a grapefruit in 5 years after radiation treatment. But he survived it. He also survived colon cancer. But now Alzheimer’s…

Anyway, I just thought it was ironic. That I see this shit? And feel this shit? And know this shit. I mean, I really know it and always have since I was a kid, when I painted my dad’s pathology in my art exam painting - and was sent home with it because it did not belong in our Roman Catholic school. They honestly must have thought I was Satan worshipping because I used candle wax to simulate the structures I could feel. I painted by dripping wax over the paper, then using an emulsion of black paint. And Yellow.

Three months later, my dad was diagnosed with thyroid cancer and had radiation treatment. I was never allowed to paint again.

I had even stopped my brush calligraphy. Fear of what might come up in the flow I guess.

But now, I recall I knew some heat was happening to her in her neck, making her voice hoarse, her mouth dry, and I could feel it. But, if I’m right or wrong it doesn’t really matter. Who’s going to tell her?

What about her daughter?

Hmmm. What is the point of having this ability to sense disease? I’d have the bedside manner of a robot if I were to be a doctor. But, then again I think I would have done an amazing job of surgery skills, it’s like an art form I guess, you have to have a certain control of feeling, without tremors, but main thing steady precision and subtle tissue dissection.

Anyway. I’m making vaginal anaplasties because no one else can or will do it. So there’s that.

Onnaloves

Soooo i have a referral for a specialist. And my doctor called and apologized whatever for not getting back to me. And assured me that the results were still open to pancreatic infection, and bowel adhesions from the infection.

I.e. not cancer. Suddenly I feel relief. And I realize I have infact been super anxious. But not because of adderall. LOL. Doctor increased my dose of adderall to test my headless chicken response. I told him adderall doesn’t seem to affect me, it just stops headless chicken…

Which apparantly is something that should happen if you are ADHD. The adderall is an Amphetamin to push extra blood into the time awareness processes and therefore stop headless chicken.

So now I’m up double dosage and told that when I feel headless chicken to just pop an adderall as needed. Cool.

So after that long phonecall, I immediately gave Anja good news, that it could NOT be cancer but an infection with adhesions… and the doctor has ordered more tests on the existing blood panel to confirm.

Plus I’m going to have a special MRI done from the inside, can’t remember what it’s called to narrow down on the issue with the ducts that are being blocked up. Maybe they can just stent it at the time of investigation. So yeh I’m fucking happy. And the bowel adhesion? Another surgery but hopefully nothing malignant. Explains the enlarged lymph nodes all around that area.

I’m so fucking happy right now. As for the chronic infection of the sinuses, there is a mucosal thickening which is inline with the current symptoms of chronic infection, but it seems that my chronic infection could be a kind of allergy induced inflammation that gets infected. No masses, just tissue granulation that’s trying to constantly heal and causing me to drop chunks of skin out of my nose.

Amazing grossness. I think I’m super relieved and happy right now to not have this cloud hanging over me.

Onnaloves

KEITH JUST SAVED MY LIFE! OMG ive been thanking him profusely. I was preparing some Medusas for photography and sitting there with my fine surgical scissors trimming flashing, as Keith watched. Then I had to do a big job on Nura, because she has 3x the surface area of the others due to her high detailed ridges. When I pulled her from the mold, the mold got destroyed as she ate up the release agent, I had to put loads more in and work it in with the nano brush, but didn’t. Do I spent a good amount of time pulling chunks of mold off of Nura. And faced with another mold remake, I was slightly depressed with the amount of rework after rework I seem to end up doing.

Then Keith said to me: what if you made the molds hard, so that demolding is quick and there is no flashing? And I thought about this as common sense, why didn’t I think of this before? LOL so now I’m making resin negatives off all the prototypes to recast Medusas faster than ever with no tricky retort stands YEYYYYYYY.

I don’t know why I got stuck on slip molds, but I know how to make a negative shell that assembles together so I’m looking forward to it! I couldn’t continue this evening because tummy pain got to me. This thing in my belly just keeps on pushing me. Doc said to keep fasting as it does rest the pancreas. But I feel right rotten this evening. I hate nausea

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 👌

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