Tinhuviel Artanis

I have stuff in real life and online that I never interact with or touch. For the past few years, I've sporadically let go of things and people that I -for things - I have no longer interest in or - for people - with whom I have no contact. But, lately, I've been purging.

I've gotten rid of most of my "about" information on Facebook and unfriended about half of the folks there, most of whom have little to no presence online, so I doubt they'll even notice. I'm not purging anyone here, because I don't come here often and Dreamwidth isn't at interactive-friendly as Live Journal was.

I'm giving away my collectors' addition of The Lord of the Rings, because it belongs on a shelf and treated with love, not sitting in a box, untouched and unseen.

Today, I found someone willing to take my portable oak altar.

I've already sent some of the rare Shriekback collectibles to a fellow Shriek fan who deserves them more than I ever did.

Next on my agenda is finding someone who is keen on having a load of cool DVDs and CDs. I know they're on the verge of being obsolete but, for now, they're still viable and will hopefully make someone happy.

It feels really good to shed myself of all this extra baggage. I feel like Inanna, descending into the Underworld. Will I gain wisdom, once I've reached my destination? I don't know. I doubt anyone or anything knows. And I doubt I'll be able to tell anyone when the time comes.

This is going to be a different year.

Very different.

Toby is quite unwell, probably because he's honestly quite old.  I don't know how old he is, considering he is a rescue dog, but I'm estimating he's going on 12 years old.  He's got bad cataracts, and his hearing is going.  He also coughs constantly, which I know is more than uncomfortable for him.  But he's also been having seizures.  They're few and far between but, since I have seizures myself, I know that's no way to live.  I can't afford to take him to the vet and pay for whatever treatments will stave off the inevitability of his death, so I'm saving up for euthanasia. 

When this happens, I will be without an animal companion for the first time since 1981.

I won't be getting another one.

My belief has always been that, if you can't afford to properly take care of all your family members, "pets" included, you shouldn't take on new members.  It's one of the reasons I support abortion, and the main reason I will not adopt another cat, dog, hedgehog, fish, bird, or llama.  Another consideration is my health.  It's not getting any better, to say the least, and a fur friend deserves better than someone who barely gets out of bet more often than I'd care to admit.

I'm still in the process of sizing up my life, current situation, and possible future situations.  While others dream while never using the tools at their fingertips, I look around to find no more tools for me to utilise, so I've chosen pragmatism over folly, because I have never liked to dream without an arsenal at hand to achieve those dreams.  Maybe it's a Virgo thing, maybe it's a holdover from my childhood, where I watched the dreamers in my family fall victim to their dreams, and become delusional shells.  

I need to stay true to myself, my beliefs, my experience, and my convictions.

After examining the events of the past few years, I've reduced the litmus test to the path I've chosen to take from hereon to this:  Does this make any relevant difference to anything, and will it?  If the answer to that question is "no", I will disregard the issue before me, whatever or whomever it is.

I was born into a world that was preset to reject me.  I've made some friends over the years, but more acquaintances than anything.  I am an afterthought to most, and a mild, forgettable entertainment to a few more.  When I was younger, I had hoped to change that, and was bothered to think that my efforts to change my role in this world would amount to nothing.  I'm older and wiser now.  And I've come to realise that nothing, nothing, ever really changes but one's own beliefs and ethics.  You have to stay true to those, and fuck everything and everyone else.

That said, in 2019, I'm no longer writing.  For decades, I wrote for two primary reasons: to get the stories rambling around in my head onto paper and to bring others some kind of happiness with those stories.  To a degree, I believe I succeeded with my fanfic and The Vampire Relics.  But the stories have stopped telling themselves to me.  Hell, even Cadmus has gone to ground.  Ever since the 2016 Presidential election, my ability to write - anything - came to an abrupt halt.  I've been too consumed with fear and outrage to even properly function as a writer, even as a blogger.  There have been short periods where that wasn't the case, but they are so brief (an hour here, a few minutes there), there do nothing but serve to frustrate, so why bother?  I'm distressed enough as is, I don't need any more stress by trying force something that will not happen.

Facebook.  I tried to leave Facebook in 2017, and ended up in jail as a result.  So I went back, but I rarely post anything personal over there.  As far as I'm concerned, Facebook is a tool to share political opinions, jokes, and memes, pretty much as a de facto welfare check, so there won't be any coming to my door.  But my connection to Facebook ends there.  It's not important.  Nothing is.

Really, the only thing that makes me feel even remotely alive now, is the momentary rage I feel at what's happening to my country.  But I can't even volunteer, protest, or do anything of meaning to try to change it.  The only thing I look forward to, is seeing that orange Fascist bastard get ousted from Washington DC and, hopefully, thrown in prison, but then I stop to think that he'll only be replaced with something worse eventually.  It never ends.  But the churning in my guts about it is wearing me down, and I feel that 2019 will find me looking at the mess from a cosmic point of view, and sinking into a comfortable ambivalence.  Of course, that doesn't mean I won't drop my connection with anyone I discover is a Trumpist, friend or no.  I've long been in the process of withdrawing from others, so being outed as a Trumpist will only speed up what's bound to eventually happen.  If you want rid of me quickly, go MAGA on me, and we'll seal the deal.

I'd like to talk about other "big changes" in 2019, but my life is so insular, boring, and unchanging big changes can't really happen, now can they?

When I was five years old, my parents split acrimoniously. The Father Unit did not handle it well at all, given his mental health issues. The Mother Unit was almost instantly out of the picture for a variety of reasons. The good thing was that I had bonded with Aunt Tudi, in particular, and with Granny. They were the ones who spirited me away from the house when the shit hit the fan. They were the ones who comforted me in the following days. But, because the Father Unit was my biological parent, his rights were considered before anyone else's, and he got custody of me for two weeks. I remember every detail of being taken from Aunt Tudi and Granny, of sitting in the back of the station wagon, my hands pressed against the window, weeping from a broken heart, and abject terror. I didn't know what was going on. My short life was in a shambles, and I desperately looked for the crimes I had committed to deserve this punishment. For the duration of my time with Daddy, he did not allow me to see Aunt Tudi and Granny, even though we drove over there four times over the course of two weeks. He made me stay in the car. My evenings consisted of his railing against Mama, and me counting the woven threads in the back of the couch. I cite this as the beginning of my OCPD where, to this day, I catch myself counting inconsequential things, just because. I saw Mama once during this time. He took me to where she was staying, and I begged her to come back, just to make things normal again. Obviously, that didn't happen. On the way back home from that visit, my dad got to crying so hard listening to Lobo's "Me & You & a Dog Named Boo", he lost control of the vehicle, and we almost had a fatal car accident. Honestly, I still wish we had.

Even though things turned out okay - my dad got some psych help, and I was returned to Aunt Tudi and Granny, who eventually adopted me - that separation and the associated crises endured at that time have clung to me like an undead skin of mistrust and isolation. My experience with other humans over the years only served to compound my feeling of separateness and, to this day, I am very aware of my walking wounded status, stemming from this profound upheaval in my life. Even my relationship with David is being affected, because I can't bring myself to let all my walls down. Honestly, I am not even sure I know how to pull them down anymore.

Why do I write about this, you may ask. I write about it, because I see over 2000 kids who, at the age of 50, will probably be struggling to act "normally" in a supposedly "normal" society, when their sense of normal was eradicated at their most vulnerable. This has nothing to do with politics, with social issues, or even human rights. It's deeper than that. What the Trump administration has done is damage the souls and spirits of the least of our species. It wasn't done because of mental/emotional lack of judgment, like with my dad, but with intention. How many of these kids, if they grow to be my age, look back at this time in their lives and wish they had perished on the journey to America, just like I do thinking back to that car ride from visiting Mama?

This isn't unethical behaviour. This isn't inhumane. This isn't even criminal. It is the very definition of sin and, if there is a god and he has a hell, it is my sincerest wish to watch every one of the perpetrators and supporters of this atrocity bust those gates wide open to infest the only place fit for them.

The End.

Yet another one.

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Nope.
2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? It's been a while. I can't remember.
3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Not anymore.
4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? Tomato.
5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS? I've never been hungry enough to grow my own meat.
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? That's a good question.
7. DO YOU USE SARCASM? I speak it fluently.
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Affirmative.
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Only if Donald Trump were on the platform with me and it was the only way to get the fuck away from him.
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Grape Nuts.
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? I wear Birkenstocks.
12. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM? Ben & Jerry's Wavy Gravy
13. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? What symbols they may be wearing.
14. RED OR PINK? Red. WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? My health.
15. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? Aunt Tudi.
16. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO COMPLETE THIS LIST? It'd be nice to see others' answers, but it's not a major thing.
17. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Grey pants, black socks.
18. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? CNN streaming.
19. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Crimson.
20. FAVORITE SMELLS? Egyptian Musk, Frankincense, Gasoline, Vick's Vaporub, Wood fire.
21. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? The Harpist.
22. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? It wasn't sent to me.
23. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH? Martial Arts and Winter Sports.
24. HAIR COLOR? Brown
25. EYE COLOR? Silver blue.
26. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? No.
27. FAVORITE FOOD? Potatoes.
28. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? Scary movies. There's no such thing as a happy ending.
29. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? Boogie Nights.
30. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Plaid.

I found some of my old poetry books, and came across this one poem, dated January 12, 1995. Uh...

NEW WORLD ORDER
I have seen the future, it's hands raised in salute
to an ancient, evil power dressed in a business suit.
And I heard the people choking on the fumes of industry
as the freshly-fired ovens burned away diversity.

I have seen the future in the eyes of every child
denied their human dignity, and destined to grow wild
in the streets of dying cities, in their spirits, hearts, and minds,
in the nightmares of their music, brutal acts of every kind.

I have seen the future and its endless stain of slums,
where the law men batter citizens and make them worship guns.
I see us moving toward it now with every new disgrace.
Big Brother builds a New World for his victims to embrace.

How long before the cameras see us staring at ourselves
and screaming at the ghosts we see for fear they come from Hell?
Perhaps that's where we're going.
Perhaps that's what I dread.
In the New World Order, we'll be jealous of the dead.

12 January, 1995

Thursdays get me down. Why? Because they are the only day that feels like it should be Friday, but isn't, yet it is too late in the week to resign yourself to the bitter fate of what is called a "work week." Why do we enslave ourselves to the notion of such trivial and fabricated ideas?

The good news, however, is that it's raining. And the temperature is at a more sane level. Here's a look outside my window at approximately 11 AM, Eastern.  

For quite a few days, the temperature never made it anywhere close to freezing during the warmest part of the day.  As a result, David's well-water froze as if he lived on the moon Europa, which isn't too very far off from Fountain Inn.  He's been collecting water from my pad, and showering here during this difficult time. One pipe near the well actually burst, but it wasn't a life-changing, bank-breaking ordeal, so he was lucky there.

I've been doing my laundry at his place but, obviously, no clothes were being washed during this deep freeze, so now I'm dealing with Chinese-laundry-level cleaning to do.  Luckily, I'll be able to address that later on, since I'm heading for D's this afternoon.  We're having a laundry-themed pyjama party that will end with his hauling my butt to the doctor tomorrow morning.  I'm going to be harassing her for some topical stye ointment.  Don't ask, just nod in agreement and move on.  Whilst partying with dirty clothes, I'm guessing we'll finish up the movie, Splice.  After that, maybe we'll check out some Riverdale.  David seems to think it would behove me to visually ingest this television show.  Since I used to really be into Archie Comics, and I've heard some nice dark things about this interpretation, I'm not at all averse to the suggestion.  We shall see.  I still need to catch him up on Breaking Bad, so there's that as well.  

Not to mention he's gotten me started on building LEGOs.  Fucking LEGOs.  When I was a kid, I always wanted to get into LEGO, but we just couldn't afford it.  Now, I'm 50, and I built my very first LEGO just the other night.  One super-awesome Wonder Woman.  I took a picture, but I got a message from D later, letting me know I'd forgotten her.  I explained that I assumed he was just letting me put her together. Apparently, if you assemble a LEGO, it's yours. Do they imprint? Who knew?

Anyway, it's Thursday, and it's raining, so that makes it a good Thursday.  Good Thursdays are rare.  The only way this could be a better Thursday would be if Robert Mueller had Donald Trump, his family, and every last one of his allies and supporters arrested and publicly shamed.  Guess that's too much to ask at this precise mo, though.
 

Because she has a higher-tiered membership that allows her access to international records, Julie McLaughlin is being kind enough to assist me in building my Ancestry family tree.  Tonight, she identified one of the individuals I knew had died in Auschwitz during the Holocaust.

I had always known I had relatives who had fallen victim to the wave of Nazism that enveloped much of Europe in the early 20th Century but, until now, I'd never been able to afford a name to these people.  Honestly, other than Aunt Flora, I don't know if I have anymore casualties to the Holocaust. I hope not, but I don't know for certain at this time. And, to be realistic, I don't think anyone of European Jewish descent doesn't have at least one relative who ran afoul of Nazi hate-train in the early 20th Century.

What I do know, is that my support for groups like Antifa is not misguided. I have always been a keen proponent of Nazi-punching, not only because Nazis deserve punching - and so much more, but also because of my own deep-seated connection to the rotten fruits of Nazi labour. There is no such thing as a decent or "fine" - in the words of our Hitler-wannabe supreme leader Drumpf - Nazi. They are motherfucking psychopaths with an absence of anything remotely redeemable, and they deserve whatever they get in the public forum.

Records like this also drive my disgust for the ongoing conservative Israeli policy. It is as if the Jewish nation has learnt nothing from our own oppression, and seem hellbent on repeating the same atrocities that were visited upon our people, on the Arabic Palestinians. What goes around, comes around, Netanyahu. If we find ourselves in another Shoah, you and your ilk surely are one of the main reasons why. We need to break this cycle of oppression, lest it revisit us, this time most-deservedly.

Do I sound extreme? Yes. Do I rage at our current plight? HELL YES. Who wouldn't? It is time to either call a halt to this vicious cycle of hatred, or hasten the extinction of our species, so that the hatred is eradicated by proxy. Let the Earth heal and reclaim a natural order. The abomination of Shoah and atrocities like it, are a distinctly human aberration. We have the choice to rise above it, or surrender to the inevitability of our resultant extinction. The choice is ours.  Let Flora, and those like her, guide your decisions. And let them be wise ones, for the love of god - or whatever.

Over the years, I've tossed around various ideas, mainly to myself, of potential business ventures. My longtime favourite was The Granola Bar, a health-food coffee and gift shop. Well, no more. In a sublime moment of epiphany, I have found my business calling, in the form of the mighty, mighty llama, and its propensity for pronking. What? You don't know from pronking? Let me enlighten you. Check out this gif.

That is a llama pronking. Ain't he just cute as fuck?

Now, since I love All Things British, it only stands to reason that I would turn this adorable pastime into the name of a proper English pub. And, so it goes. All I need now is several hundred thousand dollars and some business-savvy partners to make my dream come true. So, who's on board? Who wants a piece of The Pronking Llama? I've already made the sign, so that's ninety percent of the battle fought and won, amirite?

Behold my official First Blog Post of 2018. In keeping with my eternal obsession with filling out useless surveys, my 2018 maiden voyage will feed that beast in fine fashion.

1 - Who was the last person you texted?  xevokitty

2 - When is your birthday?  10 September.

3 - Who do you want to be with right now?  Jesus.

4 - What sports do you play?  Flambodious Butt-Walking.

5 - Who is the first person in your contacts? Aki Dreaming

6 - What is your favorite song as of the moment?  "The Promise" by When In Rome.

7 - If you were stranded on an island, who do you wish to be with?  Neil deGrasse Tyson. He'd know what to do in such a situation.

8 - What do you feel right now?  A tad chilly.

9 - What chocolate is your favorite?  Super-rich milk chocolate.

10 - How many boyfriends/girlfriends did you have?  Four, but one of those is on repeat.

11 - Why did you create a Tumblr account?  To store all my Tim Roth Tutorials in one spot.

12 - Who is your favorite blogger?  My journaling friends on LJ and Dreamwidth.

13 - Where do you want to be right now?  England. Always England.

14 - What do you want to be in the future?  Dead? I'll get some good sleep, finally.

15 - When was the last time you cried? Why?  When I lost Smidgen in July 2017.

16 - Are you happy?  Happy-ish, I guess.

17 - Whom do you miss? Aunt Tudi.

18 - If you were given a chance, would you like to have a different life?  Oh yeah!

19 - What was the best thing you were given?  A second chance.

20 - Who was the last person who called you?  David.

21 - What is your favorite dish?  Anything having to do with potatoes.

22 - Who is your bestfriend?  I really don't have one anymore.

23 - What is your biggest regret?  Not being more patient with Aunt Tudi.

24 - Have you ever cheated on your partner?  Nope.

25 - Who do you spend crazy moments with? Define crazy.

26 - Name someone pretty.  Barry Andrews. Dude is a total Elf, and you can't tell me otherwise, so don't even try.

27 - Who was the last person you hugged? David.

28 - What kind of music do you listen to? Everything, but I do have a weakness for EDM.

29 - Are you over your past?  NEVER!

30 - Who is the last person in your contacts? Travis.

31 - What kind of person do you want to date? Someone who is not terrible and doesn't make me want to murder them.

32 - Do you have troubles sleeping at night?  Most of the time.

33 - From whom was the last text message you received? xevokitty

34 - What do you prefer, jeans or skirt? Jeans.

35 - How’s your heart? Doctor says it's strong, despite my efforts.

36 - Did you ever have a girlfriend/boyfriend whose name starts with a “J”? No.

37 - Do you like someone as of the moment? Sure.

38 - What would you want to say to your latest ex-boyfriend/ex-girlfriend? I wouldn't.

39 - Do you have any phobias? Myriapodophobia

40 - Did you try to change for a person? When I was young and dumb.  Fuck that shit now.

41 - What’s the nicest thing have you given to someone?  The trip to England to Aunt Tudi.

42 - Would you go back to your previous relationship?  I kinda have?

43 - Are you in a good or bad mood?  This is trick question, isn't it?

44 - Name someone you can’t live without.  Stephen King.

45 - Describe your dream date.  No such thing.

46 - Describe your dream wedding.  No such thing.

47 - How many roses did you receive last Valentine’s?  I've never gotten roses on Valentine's.

48 - Have you ever been kissed?  Yes.

49 - How long is your longest relationship?  Six years.

50 - Do you regret your past?  Yes, parts of it.

51 - Can you do something stupid for someone else?  I don't anyone else to do stupid shit.

52 - Have you ever cried over someone?  Yes.

53 - Do you have a grudge against anyone?  I'm a Sith, so what do you think?

54 - Are you a crybaby? Aw, HELL naw!

55 - Do people praise you for your looks?  They have on occasion.

56 - Did you fall for someone you shouldn’t? HAHAHAHAHA! yes.

57 - Have you ever done something bad but you don’t regret? Many things.

58 - Do you like getting hurt? Not emotionally.

59 - Does anyone hate you?  Probably.

60 - Did you slap anyone whose name starts with an “R”?  Who wrote this survey, Theresa Caputo?  No.

61 - What hair color do you prefer? On others, dark brown and black. On myself, green.

62 - If you can change anything about yourself, what is it?  My health.

63 - Do you love someone as of the moment?  I love my Tribe.

64 - Have you ever thought of killing yourself?  Suicidal Ideation is a bit of a hobby.

65 - Do you have issues with somebody in your school?  I had issues with almost everyone in school.

66 - Can you live without internet? NO.  NONONONONO.

67 - What’s the song that reminds you of your special someone? Stolen Kiss by Ronan Hardiman.

68 - Are you good at holding back your tears?  I'm an expert.

69 - Are you crazy?  Aren't we all?

70 - Have you ever experienced being hysterical?  Indeed, I have.

71 - Are you a KPOP fan?  A casual one.

72 - Do you study hard?  I never had to, for some reason. 

73 - Have you ever sacrificed something important to you for someone you love? Yes.

74 - Did you ever have a kiss under the moonlight? Yes.

75 - Have you ever ridden a boat? Yes.

76 - Did you have an accident last year?  Other than falling repeatedly, no.

77 - What kind of person are you?  Professional Misanthrope.

78 - Have you ever thought of killing someone?  Yes, O yes.

79 - Have you ever been jealous?  Once upon a time.

80 - How can you prove your love to someone?  Unconditional, non-judgmental support.

81 - What are you thinking right now?  How I'm kind of regretting filling this out now, but I refuse to quit.

82 - Who is the 6th person in your contacts?  Matt fucking Anderson.

83 - Do you have any memories you want to erase?  6 November, 2002.

84 - Have you been hurt so bad that you can’t find words to explain how you feel?  Absolutely.

85 - Did you ever badmouth someone?  When do I not?

86 - Have you ever had an argument with someone?  Who the hell hasn't?

87 - Do you have trust issues?  HELL YES.

88 - Are you broken-hearted?  I have been.

89 - Who’s the person who first comes to your mind when someone mentions “love”?  Serena Williams.

90 - Do you think all the pain is worth it?  I am withholding judgment for now.

91 - Do you believe in the phrase “If it’s meant to be, it will be”?  YES.

92 - Who do you want to marry?  I don't believe in marriage.

93 - Do you believe in destiny?  I do believe in destiny.

94 - Have you ever thought “I already found my soulmate”?  The more accurate statement would be "I already know my soulmate."

95 - How do you look right now?  Like roadkill.

96 - Do you believe that first true love never dies?  No.

97 - Have you found your true love?  Is there really such a thing?

98 - What should you be doing right now?  The Lambada.

99 - Name one of your ex-boyfriends/ex-girlfriends.  Lewis Boyd.

100 - Did you ever feel like you’re not good enough?  No doubt.

It should be of note that I did not read through this survey before answering it in real time. This is how I prefer to do surveys, 'cos I think you get a more a honest, or at least a more entertaining, collection of responses. I may do a search later for a political survey, just for shits and giggles, 'cos I have the feeling my answers to something like that may set the roof on fire.

I have noticed how many of the breakfast places like IHOP, Waffle House, and Eggs Up offer options like scattered, smothered, and covered.  Then, I got to thinking it'd be cool to start up my own little breakfast nook and provide even more of these options, just going a step - or three - further. What these would mean, I have yet to discern. If you have any ideas, or if you have an option suggestion, I encourage you to let me know in the comments. So, without further ado, let's have Breakfast in Hell. All plates can be served with the following options:

• Scattered
• Smothered
• Covered
• Beaten
• Humiliated
• Abused
• Rode Hard and Put up Wet
• Exiled
• Bullied
• Tortured
• Slapped Repeatedly
• Charged with a Felony
• Traumatised
• Caned
• Doxxed
• Mocked
• Defeated
• Molested
• Possessed
• Fired
• Incinerated
• Steamrolled
• Pile-driven
• Frightened
• Disenfranchised
• Profiled
• Slaughtered
• Intimidated
• Held back a Year
• Kicked
• Invaded
• Pillaged
• Pilloried
• Executed
• Cooked by Joss Whedon

He’s dating the Hulk. 

David couldn’t open the bottle of Sangria, so I stepped in to save the day.  He declared that he was dating the Hulk.  I did not realise we were actually dating, nor did I realise how strong I am.  Then again, I did “inspire” a coworker to become an amateur weight lifter by being able to bend a hardcore spring.

Since I went into seclusion over Smidgen's death, so much bullshit has happened, I just don't know how to properly process it in an acceptable word format. I've been reduced to forwarding news stories and memes, and posting brief interludes of shock and horror at the dismantling of my country. Now, I could share everything I post on Facebook here, but I don't know if that would be something people would want to see, so I leave it to whomever reads this. Do you want me to rant and rave in images and micro-blogs here on the Cliffs, or shall I reserve that for Facebook and Twitter?

In the meantime, if you're wondering what I feel like being so speechless when I'm typically the one who won't shut, just reference this gif of John Cusack. Verily, he is my spirit animal.

Smidgen is dead. She was 13 years old.
Her kidneys and liver took her.
Now, it's just Toby and me.

After a long absence, Rob Dougan's Clubbed to Death decided to make a special appearance on my iTunes.  Where Rob Dougan goes, Cadmus Pariah follows.  That said, this drabble fell out.  I still feel horrible about his childhood, but Cadmus wouldn't be Cadmus, were it not for Nissius of Rome.

The young Gaelic Tarma kept his dark head bent in silence, his hair hanging in his huge liquid eyes, as they shimmered like stars from the agony. He would not even dare a single tremour of any muscle in his frail, white body. He knew that this, just like everything in his life, was a test, a trial, and that every tribulation he survived would make his small body impenetrable to any ill, and would sharpen his mind to diamond precision. When the time came, all this woe and horror would transform into a glorious power, and that power would be all his.

The strap drew another red gash across Cadmar’s exposed back, the fourteenth one.  Just six more to go, and Cadmar would be left to his own devices for the rest of the night, to hunt and replenish his strength.  That is, if he did not lose consciousness.  Should he succumb to the pain and blood loss, he would go hungry that night, and receive 25 lashes at sundown the next sundown.  Each night he could not withstand the trial added five more lashes the next night, until he hardened to it, accepted it, welcomed it.

Cadmar welcomed the night when his power would eclipse that of his master, Nissius for, on that night, it would be his head bowed in silence, awash in the ecstasy of suffering known only to the Elect.The old man spoke of Hell in the after life, delighted in promising Cadmar an eternity of what the Elf already had a bellyful of on Earth.  But Cadmar did not believe him.  Cadmar was learning that you create your own hell, just as you create heaven, right here, right now.  And he believed his current hell was well=deserved, for Cadmar was not yet strong enough to remove himself from it.  Once he was, Cadmar planned to create his heaven, awash in the blood of this filthy creature of the Apostate.  And he would continue to build his heaven on Earth.  His bricks would be bones and his mortar the very marrow of the creation itself.

And so the day has come.

With the revelation of the New Moon, a new era is dawning on my beloved online journal. As it should be common knowledge amongst people who have long followed my various adventures and rants, I've been in the process of moving operations from LiveJournal to Dreamwidth.

After an extended absence from journaling, I returned to LJ to find portions of it in disrepair, and the climate it once enjoyed denigrated and anaemic.  it's been more than a little depressing to see a once thriving community deteriorate before your eyes, and that is the primary reason why I am leaving.  It's painful to watch, so I have chosen to no longer look.

It would be a lie to say I will not miss LiveJournal, but my remaining here will not bring back the LJ I came to know and love.  That place is long gone, and it's hard to navigate through all the weeds that have overgrown this digital garden.  My departure is long overdue, and so I go.

If you wish to continue reading my ramblings, I have set up housekeeping at Dreamwidth, under the same name, The Cliffs of Insanity.  You can click the title here in the text, or the image below, to be taken there.  If you subscribe to me, I promise to reciprocate!  I look forward to seeing you over on the new Cliffs, and to many more years of interaction, sharing, venting, and being as creative as possible, with my friends and Tribe.

One of the things that is imperative for a happy, healthy dog and, as a result, a happy, healthy dog parent, is establishing a routine. In fact, it is probably the most important thing about a dog/human relationship in our modern times.

That is the one thing I did not have in San Diego.  As a result,  I had a dog who was utterly confused as to what was expected of him, and seemed hellbent on pissing in the house at every given opportunity. His habits degenerated from going out when he wished and doing his business outside, to going outside and just waiting to come back in, at which time he would then relieve himself.  I had to invest in puppy pads every single month, and keep them all over the bedroom floor.  It was a disgusting situation for everyone involved.

There were a number of factors as to why this was the case. First, the area in which we lived in San Diego was at the bottom of a series of canyons.  With my health issues, walking in the neighbourhood was exceedingly difficult on the best of days.  On top of that, with my depression out of control, I had zero motivation to step out of my room, much less the house.  Matt had set up a very long leash system that allowed Toby access to the entire front yard, where he even had enough room to run to play fetch, which he did a lot of with Matt. (One thing I can say about Matt is, he is very good with animals for the most part.  I don't agree with his hard-on for César Milan, but Matt has a huge heart when it comes to animals, and he and Toby were best buds for four years. I really believe there was a chance Toby would not have survived our time out there, had it not been for Matt.) If no one was out there with him, though, Toby would do nothing but sit by the door, waiting to come back inside. Matt would let him in and play with him out in the living room but, instead of letting him back out to use the bathroom before sending him back to me, he'd just put him in my room, where Toby would then relieve himself, since he hadn't been out in a while. Thanks to the humans around him, Toby developed horrible habits and appeared to delight in doing the exact opposite of what was expected of him at any given time.  At some point, I just gave up and kept a puppy pad carpet on the bedroom floor, and let the unruly boys do whatever the fuck they wanted.  None of it really mattered.

During the move, Toby was thrown into even more upheaval, and his behaviour got worse.  Whenever critters are thrown into uncertain situations and unfamiliar environments, they do exactly what small children do - they act out.  With dogs, their acting out often comes in the form of reprehensible bathroom behaviour.  Toby was marking anything and everything, both outside and indoors.  Nothing I did seemed to stop him, no matter how often I took him outside.  When we were staying with Janice, I thought she was going to have to be committed there a couple of times, especially when Elvis - Blake's little Chihuahua - and Toby were together.  Elvis wouldn't stop humping everyone, and Toby wouldn't stop marking to show his ownership of and dominance over all which he surveyed.  Truly, it has been a nightmare.

The first day were were in the new pad, Toby had a couple of mishaps in the apartment.  Thankfully, he chose the side of Smidgen's litter box.  I cleaned it up easily, and thanked the Mighties that Toby didn't choose to soil the carpet!  That very day, I started him on a schedule, taking him out every two hours the first couple of days.  The landscape here at Stonesthrow is relatively level and a 100% improvement when it comes to being walkable.  Plus, there's a dog park that allows Toby to freely roam as he chooses, instead of always being tethered to his crippled companion.  By the time the first week was up, we had established a set schedule that works for us both.  In the morning, we go out around 6:30 am, then 10:15, 2 PM, 6 PM, and sometime between 9 and 10 PM.  Toby swiftly embraced the schedule, and has readily adopted it to his internal clock.  

After four years of excremental horror, there have been no more bathroom incidences since we have settled into the new place.  Plus, I'm getting more exercise than I have in ages, as well.  The ability to move more without excessive pain, or the threat of blacking out from over-exertion in a landscape hostile to the mobility-challenged.  I downloaded an exercise app the other day, because I was curious to see how much I'm walking with Toby each day. After using it these past few days, I'm pleased to report that I'm averaging between 2 and 3 miles each day. After storm season is over with, and there's not a threat of being drenched only moments after you were strolling under the sun, I intend to expand our wandering out to the main roads like Pleasantburg Drive.  I don't really need to lose weight, but I do need to build back my muscle, and Toby definitely could slim down a little, after spending years being fed gobs of people food and living a sedentary lifestyle.

I am amazed that it took basically just a week to turn Toby around.  His breakthroughs have also been my breakthroughs, because the increased activity has helped me manage my depression which, in turn, allowed me to stick to the new routine, and actually look forward to mine and Toby's times out of doors.  

Coming back to the Southeast has been the wisest and healthiest decision I could have made for myself, Toby, and Smidgen.  No regrets!

It’s been an interesting few days.

I’ve been trying to unpack and do laundry, but have been battling where to put what, because I’m having problems getting this chest of drawers and side table put together, and I’m unsure where to place the shelves until I get the couch and have it in the proper position.  So I’m just sort of in a move-in suspended animation until tomorrow, when I’m scheduled to finally get the couch.

As I unpack and sort stuff, I learn of the things that I need and don’t yet have.  Like a broom.  I’ve already asked that someone revoke my Witch Card, because this shit is off the hook.  Who has ever heard of a Witch without a broom?  I was going to use the Swiffer one kind soul sent to me, but I forgot the sweeper needs batteries, so all I can do until I get to a store is just look at it, and look at the floors that won’t be getting cleaned for another couple of days.  Oy vey!

On Wednesday, a maintenance dude came to refurbish my tub and sink.  At first, I was told that Toby, Smidgen, and I would have to be gone for four hours after he had used the paint, but he seemed to think that the complex people were being overly-cautious.  He did warn that the paint had a strong odour, but that was fine, because I liked it once he used it.  Then again, I love the smell of gasoline, so I'm a bit of an olfactory mutant.  He got to work sanding the tub down, as he waited for his boss to bring the paint he needed.  She brought it after about two hours, but she brought the wrong paint, and what the dude needed was all the way in Simpsonville.  He asked if he could return the following morning, and I said yes.  He had to leave all his equipment in the apartment overnight, so I kept a couple of lights on, so I wouldn’t end up falling and breaking my face, or arse, or something else I might need.  He returned the next day and finished the job shortly after Noon.  Right now, I’m super-ripe and look atrocious, because I haven’t had a shower in over 48 hours now.  It’s currently 11:30, so I have less than an hour  to go until I can clean up my act.

Yesterday, Micah was swung by to pick up some incense I had for them, and give me some quarters for bills, so I can do laundry.  Stonesthrow has an on-site laundromat, but the machines only accept quarters, and they have no bill changer.  I found a drink machine in the gym this morning, and thought that might be an option for when I don’t have quarters or a way to get quarters, but the drink machine won’t take my bills!  Frustration is too weak a word for this situation…. Anyway, a few hours before Micah was to arrive, my phone died.  I figured it just needed to be charged.  But it wouldn’t come on, even after an hour of charging.  Nothing I did would make it show any sign of life.  I panicked.  With my health issues, not having a phone is not an option.

Thankfully, Micah was kind enough to haul my butt to AT&T, where I was prepared to bite the bullet and sign a contract, so I could get a new phone.  Everything was in order, until they asked for my identification, which I lost, along with my social security card, in the move across country.  The only way I can get a new phone, the service agent said, was to order it online.  Shiiiiiit!  But she did try this one wee trick to see if there was any hope for the phone, and the battery symbol popped up on the screen.  She explained that, sometimes, phones just get locked up and, if you press the power and home buttons at the same time, it can reboot them, and they are okay.  She suggested I take the phone home, hook it up, and do the reboot.  

IT WORKED!

So, it appears I don’t need a new phone after all.  I just need to learn every clever tip and trick having to do with the iPhone 5s, and I need to do it as soon as fucking possible, before I find myself in a panicked state, simply because I’m ignunt.

Anyway, it was great meeting and hanging out with Micah, whom I initially met online through my friend Cameron.  They are a delightful person, and I’m really looking forward to watching them perform in an outdoor production of William Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night’s Dream, in which they play Puck!  Cameron, Cindy, and I were originally scheduled to go to the Saturday production, but Cameron is now thinking it’ll be Sunday, instead, which works better for me, considering I’m supposed to be getting that couch on Saturday.  Back to Micah, we share a fascination for the Arabic language and alphabet.  They are learning Arabic in school and seemed pleased when I told them that my original Rhyllan alphabet was inspired by the Arabic alphabet.  (I really need to turn Rhyllan and Tarmian Tarmi am Tynillim into digital fonts, but I’ll have to wait to get a printer/scanner for that.)  Micah is a brilliant person, and exudes a deep kindness.  Toby could not get close enough to them when they were here.  When they found out I was a Witch, they expressed some interest in learning more about Wicca, since their brother had recently been talking about it as well.  Once I have all my gear unpacked and have the apartment in order enough to where I can cast a Circle to my satisfaction, I'm going to invite Micah, and anyone else who might want to participate, to an open Esbat ritual.  By then, I'll have furniture for people to sit on, and receptacles out of which they can eat and drink!

I find it telling that I have only been back in South Carolina a month, and I’ve already made a new friend in Micah, and a potential new friend and neighbour, whom I met a couple of days ago.  Her name is Christa, and she stopped me as I was walking to the mail box, because she spotted my Pentagram pendant.  She’s moving in later on this month, and she’s an herbalist/acupuncturist who has dabbled in Wicca in the past.  She wants to get together once she’s settled.  I spent four years in San Diego and only made a tiny handful of friends right at the end of my stay in the area.  It isn’t that San Diegans aren’t friendly, this is about me.  I have to admit I was unwilling to get out there and be proactively social.  To be honest, I think that if I had remained in San Diego, I would have become a shut-in, because my social anxiety out there was out the roof.  I don’t know why, but I intend to suss it out over time, because I think it’s important to know the reasons behind my inability to interact with others there, when I don’t seem to have a problem with it here.  If I discover the roots of this behaviour, I can work to rectify it in the future.

Thanks to my Tribe, another very happy difficulty I’m having with getting unpacked and organised, is I keep getting more packages, which means I’m inundated with boxes, which are getting in the way of unpacking more boxes.  I’m not complaining, I think it’s ironic and hilarious!  For now, I’m holding on to the better-made boxes, and have put out the word that they are available to anyone who needs them, for whatever.  If I haven’t heard anything by Saturday evening, I’m beginning the arduous task of breaking them all down and taking them to the recycling bin across the way.
 

Speaking of Tribe and new friends, I’ve also connected with a local artist, who has created a piece of art for the new pad. I’m looking forward to meeting Modesto and seeing the barn he has drawn.  I had told him to make anything he felt would be good for me and, even though we’ve never met, he decided on a barn.  I have a weakness for barns and, especially, lighthouses, so this was perfect.  I’m thinking the barn will go in the dining room.  I can’t wait to meet Modesto, with whom I hope to work in the future to create an all-inclusive artistic community for the Upstate of South Carolina.  I’m in the market for other art, as well.  I’m hoping Janice will paint me a lighthouse, when her life settles down enough to where she can get back to her painting.  Also, I’ve found this print representing my patron Goddess, Lilith, that I’m keen on putting in the living room.  I also want to get a Tolkien-focused piece of art for the living room.  The other picture I want to put up is the picture of Jesus that Granny painted when I was just a baby.  I grew up believing he was a hippie whose eyes followed me when I moved, and I would flash him the peace sign at least once a day and say, “Peace, brother!”  I left the painting behind when I went to San Diego, because I was afraid it would be damaged in the move.  Now that I’m back, I’m reclaiming it from all the stuff I still have stored in the old house.  Of course, my Shriekback poster will eventually be gracing the bedroom wall.    As for the hall and bathroom, I’m not sure yet what, if anything, I’ll do in the decor department.  Despite my accrual of a shit=tonne of stuff in a very short period of time, I still consider myself a minimalist!

Smidgen vomited day before yesterday, and did so again overnight, but she seems to be doing well, other than those two incidences.  Rene is insisting I stick with the plan of taking her back to Dr. Patch next week, so I’m going to swallow my pride to acquiesce.  If it were me, or a situation that did not involve a living entity, I would just wait to address the issue when I could afford it, but that’s not the case, so off we go to the vet’s office one day next week!  And, actually, as I was writing this, she vomited again.  It was clear fluid with a light yellow tinge to it, so I’m a tad worried that her liver is not doing as well as I had initially hoped.  

I’m out of milk and sugar, so I checked to see if the Instacart service was available in this area.  It is!  So I’m having my milk, sugar, and a couple of other items I needed, delivered in a couple of hours.  Since I’m waiting on this, I’m postponing my shower until after s/he has come and gone.

Yesterday, I called Charter Communications to set up Internet service, after AT&T fucked up every order I set up with them. Like, every single one. The gentleman I spoke with told me the technician would be at my pad between 8 and 9 AM. While I was out with Toby's morning walk, I got an automated call from Spectrum, informing me that the tech was en route. It was a quarter til 8. Toby and I hied our way back to the pad and about 10 minutes later, Chase the Spectrum Tech was standing, smiling, at my door. It was 8:06! He had everything set up within 30 minutes, and even checked with the other tech in the van to see if he had a lighter or matches for me. I haven't the ability to make fire at the moment, so I'm starting to feel like Naoh!

When Janice realised a few hours ago that I had put my feelers out for a twin/half bed, she told me that I could have hers, which is in pretty much brand new condition. She is wanting to get rid of the bed, because she has a new suit with a larger bed that's better support to her ailing back. Fine with me! I was pleased. Feelin' groovy.  Paul Simon was prepared to serenade me!  

Then, about an hour after that good news, I got a call from JoLee at Stonesthrow. I could tell by the tone of her voice things weren't good, before she even had the chance to say, "We've got a little issue with the apartment."

Oh, no.

But it wasn't a bad thing at all, except for a brief delay in when I'll move in.  JoLee went on to explain that the apartment would not be ready until Friday, June the 9th, three days after my initial move-in date.  I told her that would be fine, it was not a really big deal, 'cos I knew Janice wouldn't mind me staying a few extra days. That's when JoLee told me that the property manager had taken off the pet deposit, as well as the monthly pet rent, for one of the furkids, to make up for any inconvenience the delay might have caused me.

But wait, there's more!  Because my move-in date changed, I had to contact the power company and AT&T to change my utilities transfer and Internet installation date.  It was whilst chatting with an agent at ATT.com, it was revealed that the price of $30 the first agent I'd spoken with had locked in for me had not actually been locked in, and I was designated in the system to be paying $40 a month for Internet, after paying my $99 installation fee.  

Oh, no.

But the agent told me he could correct the mistake, that my promised price was good.  The problem was, the system wouldn't let him change anything about the order, so he had to cancel it.  That's when things got really good.  Not only did he place me a new order for the 9th of June, but he also waived the installation fee, for the inconvenience of the botched first order!  I have confirmation of the new arrangements in email and chat.

Thanks to these folks wanting to ensure I wasn't upset about [not] being inconvenienced, I now have fundage for groceries in June (and stuff to cook them in and eat them on, thanks to my Tribe, you know who you are!), barring any unforeseen horror stories lurking in the shadows of chance.

The past few days have seen a good friend post several Pink Floyd songs to his Facebook timeline, a news story on Roger Waters' unsurprisingly politicized concert tour and, just now, my iTunes essentially saying, "Okay, asshole, the universe is telling you to listen to the Floyd, so I guess I'll just put you back in cosmic line. Motherfucker..."

There are often reasons for why I choose not to listen to certain songs or bands at certain times.  One reason is because of the memories associated with them.  Another is because of the pain of musical empathy.  Pink Floyd falls into that category, so I have to be careful of my mood and mindset before I partake of the auditory manna that is Pink Floyd.  

What exactly is this thing I call musical empathy?  Basically, it's when I feel the message of the music so deeply that I become that music.  I got a double dose of musical empathy with Pink Floyd.  Even though I'd heard their music before, I didn't really get into them until I was given a 45 RPM of 'On the Turning Away' by Uncle Michael in 1986. While I was reading an article in Rolling Stone about Pink Floyd, the next 45 that dropped on my record player just happened to be that record.  I heard the song for the first time whilst reading about Syd Barrett's descent into madness for the first time.  What are the odds? I felt his story so deeply, so jarringly, I felt like I was losing my mind.

It didn't help when, just a few months later, I would meet the man who would be my closest friend for 25 years, and he was very heavily into the band, particularly 'The Wall'.  I saw the movie for the first time with him.  We ended up memorising every single vocal noise on the album and the movie soundtrack.  There were times when we'd spend almost every evening after work, watching and acting out the film, or just listening to the album and singing along.  It was a beautiful time, but also a dangerous one, for me.  I was too immersed in it all, and my first bad bout with depression occurred right around this time.  It would be a few years before I was diagnosed with depressive disorder, but I think Pink Floyd awoke some long-slumbering serpent that may not have reared its head for a long time to come, if ever.

Do I regret my relationship with Pink Floyd?  Only when my mood prevents me from listening to them.  This past week has seen me in "one of my turns", so listening just wasn't an option, until today.  So now I'm bingeing and it sounds and feels oh so very good!

Why do people get so schmaltzy about a woman's behaviour the moment she brings a child into this world?  It has nothing to do with love, and everything to do with chemistry. Most women are hard-wired to experience a deep, unbreakable love and connection to the child they just bore, because mammals are programmed to experience such joy to ensure the protection and care for the new life.  Women, in general, have this instinct.  Some women, like myself, do not.

But when I see people get all squishy over the normally natural instincts of a female caught up in the heady miasma of birth, it makes me sad that so many are oblivious to the science surrounding it, and prefer to attribute some mystical love-fest to the proceedings.  Let the woman be what she is in her moment.  Don't decorate the experience with obsolete beliefs. She's doing the exact same thing a mother cat does when she removes her babies' placentas and cleans them vigourously.  Her instincts, in the form of love, which is a collection of chemicals triggered by childbirth, dictate that she does this, just like most women are desperate to hold their newborns to their breasts.  

Don't get me wrong.  I honour the customs that surround childbirth.  I sympathise with the mystic traditions that have been born out of the birthing process.  I understand and sense the work of the Goddess in such events.  But I also know that science has explained a lot of what we once thought divine in nature, and that's something that we cannot deny.

Be happy for the new mother, if she is indeed happy to be one.  Celebrate with her.  Enjoy the customs and traditions you practice in regard to pregnancy and birth.  Just do so from an informed position, rather than from one of superstition and ignorance.  Yes, she is in love.  Yes, she is glowing with joy.  And yes, she's enjoying a high from a cocktail of chemicals that demand she feel these things, for the well-being of her newborn child.

Walter White will tell you the same goddamn thing.

If I am correct in my forecast of the final eradication of the republic of the United States, those of us who are, have very little time left to truly speak out against the current atrocities and the coming abominations.

After I am finally settled in the new pad, I plan on getting more involved, hands-on, locally.  Until that's possible, I'm doing what I can online. That means telling people as often as I can what the true nature of these fake Christians is, how they can fight it (while they still can), and what resources they need to research my dire warnings for themselves.  It also means standing up to Donald Drumpf and his fascist regime, using the same weapon he uses to disseminate his vile propaganda:  Twitter.

I try to troll him at least once a day.  I'm hoping everyone who reads this and see the examples of my efforts, decides to do the same thing. Maybe if he's trolled enough, he'll shut his tweeting pie-hole.  Maybe his insecurity from reading such responses to his activities will cause his blood pressure to shoot up and give him a fatal stroke. Better yet, maybe he'll finally lose his mind from all the pressure, and take out his entire administration and family before he offs himself.  I don't see a more ideal way of draining the fucking swamp in Washington DC.

But the pushback has to start now because, as I said, I doubt we have much time to freely express ourselves in this country.  The clock has been ticking since the evangelicals began blurring the line between church and state, beginning in 1980.  That clock is running out of time.